Ch13

"By the way, you look fabulous today, Miss Montgomery," Martin Berkovich complimented as he pulled out a plush, black leather chair for Ashton to sit in. "Then, of course, you always do," he said, sitting down in the seat across from her and rewarding her with a charming grin.

"Thank you. You're looking pretty good yourself, Mr. Berkovich," she flirted back, fluttering long lashes.

Martin was several inches shorter than Ashton, and blessed with well-defined muscles, smooth, pale skin and a nose that bordered on being slightly too large for his face. He was dark and handsome, not in a traditional sense but in an off-beat sort of way, which she found quite appealing. It set him apart from the typical blond-haired, blue-eyed California stud. Martin became an overnight sensation when his latest movie, an independent flick called Blaze, hit the theaters. His riveting performance as a single-father firefighter already had people talking Oscar nominations. Martin was the current hot-topic, and every tabloid in the country wanted to learn more about him and his personal life-the perfect complement to Ashton's ulterior motives.

Spago was busy with the afternoon lunch crowd, exactly what Ashton had been hoping for, that way there would be plenty of people around to see her with her famous date. She caught the attention of Kim and Kourtney Kardashian sitting together at a nearby table, and gave them a casual wave. Let them all see who she was with, the more the merrier as far as she was concerned-a little insurance to keep the press off her trail. She picked up the lunch menu and scanned through the options.

"It really is a shame about Brooks," Martin said, interrupting her thoughts.

"What? Oh, yes, it certainly is."

An extraordinarily attractive waiter-most likely an out-of-work actor-stopped by and took their lunch order. After Martin requested the Smoked Jidori Chicken and Ashton the Maine Lobster Salad, he continued on. "I know you and Brooks are close friends. Have you spoken with him today?" Martin asked, his voice laced with sincere concern.

Ashton shook her head, "I've tried, but he's not answering his phone. I imagine the police must be keeping him pretty busy. I cannot even begin to imagine what he's going through!" she responded, surprised by Martin's worry over a guy he barely even knew.

It's a shame I'm not interested, she thought ruefully. Martin's a great guy, so laid back and caring, unlike most of the men in this business who are typically only concerned about themselves. If things had been different, she might actually like him. But things were what they were, and extremely complicated. Of course, nothing with me can never be easy!

"Well, when you do speak to Brooks, please offer my condolences. If he needs anything, anything at all, do not hesitate to let me know. It's in uncomfortable situations like these when you find out who your true friends are, and any friend of yours is a friend of mine."

Ashton gave him a wide smile. "Martin, you're too good to be true! How is it that some lucky girl hasn't snatched you up already?"

Martin let out a little laugh, his eyes sparkling with youth and charisma. "Maybe I'm sitting with her right now. . . " he suggested with a wink.

Her smile faded a tad as she thought about what he'd said and she felt just a twinge of guilt. Sorry, guy, that can never happen . . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Juliana marched into Vivian Landsbury's office unannounced, ignoring the secretary's irate, "you cannot go in there without an appointment" plea.

"Well, well, well," the agent said from behind the confines of her enormous mahogany desk. "Look what the cat drug in." She looked over the rim of her tortoiseshell glasses and stared at Juliana in amusement. "You didn't see fit to make an appointment like all of my other clients?"

Juliana huffed and plopped into a cushioned, leather chair. "I shouldn't have to. I'm a star," she replied sharply.

"You, my dear, are a star that is fading fast," Vivian reminded her, and returned to her work. There was a stack of profile pictures a mile high on her desk, all young and hopeful models trying to find their big break, each one reminding Juliana that she was not getting any younger. Most models were forced into retirement by the time they turned thirty, and that was if they were lucky. She was twenty-one, and she knew all too well her clock was already ticking.

"I would like to see my cover shots," Juliana demanded, pompously. "I want to see for myself what they look like, because quite frankly, I do not believe they're all useless. I think you're just being a difficult bitch."

Vivian raised her head and stared at Juliana in disbelief. She removed her glasses and let them dangle from their fourteen-carat-gold chain. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Juliana lifted her chin, determined not to let the older woman intimidate her. She tossed glossy, black hair over her shoulder in an attempt to look nonchalant. "I don't believe you. I want to see them for myself."

"Gladly." Vivian pushed the chair she was sitting in away from her desk and stood, ample hips covered by a smart Dolce & Gabbana dress suit. She walked over to a file cabinet and pulled out several sheets of head shots taken at Juliana's last photo shoot. She walked over and handed them to her, then sat on the edge of her desk in front of her, not saying a word.

Juliana looked over each picture carefully, page after page, and realized with a shock that Vivian had been right. There was not one shot good enough to grace the cover of Cosmopolitan.

"As you can clearly see," Vivian said, her voice breaking through the uncomfortable silence, "I was not being a 'difficult bitch', as you so gracefully put it. You're a hot mess. You look dehydrated. Your skin is dull and sallow; blotchy and puffy. Your hair looks lackluster and brittle. Plus, you've put on a few pounds. Shall I continue?"

Juliana looked down at the pointy tips of her high-heeled Jimmy Choo's and slowly shook her head in defeat. She couldn't argue her way out of this one. Everything Vivian had said was true.

The older woman let out a deep sigh and took the sheets from Juliana's hands. "So, do you want to tell me what's going on, or do I have to guess?" she asked, as she returned the pictures to their file.

"I've just been having some fun, that's all," she answered meekly.

Vivian walked over and stood in front of her, hands on hips. "Look, Juliana-I understand you're young and rich and beautiful. Doors open for you that would slam shut for most people. You have power and influence and you want to have a good time, but it can cost you your career. Is it worth it?" she asked firmly. "I'm sure you've heard of Gia Carangi? Some believe she coined the term "supermodel" in the eighties. She had the world by the balls and yet she let it all slip through her greedy, little fingers. She partied her way into an early grave. Is that what you want to happen to you?"

Juliana could not look her in the eye.

"I know, dear, the truth hurts," Vivian continued. "But that's what it is, the cold, hard truth. Sometimes, we all need a dose of it. Until you can prove to me that you're turning your life around, I will not send you on any more jobs. I have a reputation to protect, you know."

Juliana's head snapped up and fire burned behind her coffee-brown eyes, "You can't do that!"

"I can and I will," her agent shrugged before turning to walk back toward her seat behind the desk. "The sad fact is, no one wants you like this."

Juliana felt hot tears begin to build. No way was she going to cry. No way! She couldn't even remember the last time she had let her personal feelings control her emotions like that. Crying was a sign of weakness, a sign of failure.

And that was one thing Juliana Santiago was not.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After Brooks settled into the guest room, he returned to the kitchen and found Claire chopping up ingredients for a salad.

"Why don't you hire a cook to do that for you?" he teased lightly. "Between you and Miller, I'm sure you can afford it."

Claire shot him a smile and gestured for him to have a seat at the counter island. "Because unlike you, we find chores therapeutic."

"Hey," he said, laughing, "I haven't hired a house staff."

Claire returned to slicing cucumbers and asked, "So, are you saying you cook your own meals? Clean your own house?"

"Ah, I didn't say that! I just said I didn't hire a bloody staff. Basically, the only thing I do at my house is sleep-if I'm lucky," he added wistfully.

Claire stopped what she was doing and turned to stare at her friend. With his tousled blond hair, and sad-looking blue eyes, he seemed very lost. I guess now is as good a time as any, she thought to herself. Might as well try to get him to open up while he seems half-willing.

Suddenly, Brooks looked uncomfortable, as though he knew what conversation was about to take place. "Uh, where's Miller?" he asked nervously.

Claire sighed and made her way toward the refrigerator with the large bowl of salad in her hands. "He had some work to do, things he said he couldn't put off. He wanted me to tell you he'll be back later and you two can hang out. Would you like some lemonade?" she asked, setting the bowl on a shelf and pulling out a pitcher of freshly-squeezed juice. "I'm having some."

Brooks gave her a shrug. "Sure, why not? I don't think I've had lemonade since I was a kid," he said with a smile.

"Then you don't know what you're missing. I squeeze the best juice this side of California!" she laughed. Claire poured them both a tall glass and sat down next to Brooks at the counter. They sipped silently at their drinks for a moment before she began. "Brooks, I know it's probably none of my business and I promised Miller I wouldn't get involved, but I can't help it. You're my friend and I've been worried about you." She waited for him to stop her and when he didn't she took it as a sign that maybe he did want to talk. "It's just that I care so much about you and Ashton and Juliana, but you all seem so hell-bent on self-destruction." She spoke quickly, worried that if she didn't get the words out she might never have the nerve to say them again. "I know you're all adults and you're old enough to make your own decisions, I just think that you don't always make the right ones." Claire pursed her lips tightly, wondering if she'd said too much. The last thing she wanted to do was offend her friend, especially after the day he'd already had.

To her surprise, Brooks nodded his head in agreement. "I know, Claire. I've been struggling with that myself." He let out a long sigh and swallowed hard.

Was it just her, or did he seem teary-eyed? She reached out her hand and laid it on his arm.

"I'm fucked up," he continued, without needing persuaded. "Completely fucked up. I've got a good thing going and I feel like I'm blowing it, but I can't stop myself!"

"I'm so sorry, I hope I'm not upsetting you," she offered, not wanting him to think that she thought he was weak. "The pressures we face in this business are great. Even the strongest willed people have suffered from self-indulgence. I'm sure it's extremely difficult to not to give in to temptation. Especially when you have everything you could possibly crave at your fingertips."

"Well, you and Miller seem to be doing just fine," he retorted bitterly. "Why can't I be more like the two of you?"

"Because you're you," she soothed. "If every person was the same, this world would be an awfully boring place to be."

Brooks let out a tight laugh. "I'm sure you're right, but you know what I mean. Why can't I resist the appeal of the fast lane? Why am I so drawn to it? Why the hell can't I just say no?"

That was a very good question, and she didn't have an answer. "I'm not sure," Claire shook her head sadly. "But we need you to take care of yourself. If you don't, who will? I just want you to know that Miller and I are here for you, no matter what, and we love you and we want to help anyway that we-"

"Hello, is anyone home?" came a soft female voice from the foyer. Brooks' eyebrows hitched together tightly and Claire sensed that he'd closed up. "I'm sorry," she apologized, wishing the moment hadn't been broken. "That's my assistant."

"Anna," Claire called out loudly over her shoulder. "I'm in the kitchen."

They turned in their stools and moment later, an understated yet delicately pretty blonde appeared before them. "I'm sorry, Claire, I rang the doorbell, but when no one answered-" she stopped abruptly when she noticed Brooks sitting at the counter. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You haven't interrupted, don't be silly!" Claire assured her. "Have you met my friend Brooks?"

"I-I don't think so," she stammered nervously, obviously uncomfortable with what she had walked in on.

"Well then, Anna, I would like you to meet Brooks Kennedy," she began and turned to Brooks. "This is my personal assistant, Anna Lowry."

"It's nice to meet you, Anna," Brooks said, standing up from the counter stool and offering her his hand.

Anna's cheeks burned bright pink, and for a moment Claire wondered if she was going to turn and run away. But eventually she snapped out of her daze and shook the hand extended to her. "It's nice to meet you, too," she replied softly. Claire was certain that even though the two had never met, Anna knew exactly who Brooks was; the look on her face said it all. The flushed cheeks and nervous smile, Brooks had that kind of effect on the opposite sex. And he knew it.

"Anna, Brooks will be staying here with us for a while." Claire turned to her friend and explained, "Anna stops by quite a bit. Not only is she my personal assistant, she's also one of my very best friends. She helps me with just about everything! I imagine the two of you will be getting to know each other quite well while you're here."

"Then, I look forward to it," Brooks announced, seeming somewhat distracted. "Claire, would you mind if I take a swim in the pool? I'd love to try and clear my head a bit."

"Of course, please make yourself at home. There are towels and trunks out in the pool house," she offered.

"It was very nice to meet you, Anna, I hope to see you again soon," he said with a smile before walking out the sliding glass doors and onto the back deck.

Claire watched as Anna's gray eyes followed her friend's every move, and she wasn't at all surprised. Brooks was an extremely man.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Miller searched through the garage trying to locate an old hiking backpack he used to take with him on trips to the Santa Monica Mountains, when he actually had time for recreational activities. He planned to fill it full of useful items, which he hoped would help lure certain prey into his trap. When he pulled his SUV out of the driveway, he barely noticed Anna hopping into her silver Volvo. Miller only had one thing on his mind-and that was finding Marie and bringing her home with him. He decided not to bother Claire with his decision as he was confident once she realized what was going on she would be happy to help, then they could both work together to figure out what to do next. Until he knew that Marie was a sure thing, he was just going to keep quiet. The biggest problem he faced at the moment was how he was going to convince the young teenager to adhere to his plan. He couldn't just tell her the truth, could he? Wouldn't she think he was a lying jerk? Would he shatter the trust he had worked so hard to build with her?

Hell, who was he kidding? He was a lying jerk. He should have just been honest with her from the very beginning. He should have told her he was researching street-life for his screenplay, but then, he knew she would have never talked to him. Street kids had a hard time trusting people, there's no way he would have been able to break through her tough, outer shell. There was no way he would have learned everything he had learned over the past several months.

Fuck!

He felt so guilty! There was no winning solution here. No right, no wrong. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. No way had he ever thought he'd get caught up in the life of some teenage runaway, but that's exactly what had happened. He'd just wanted to create a serious, mind-blowing screenplay-something he could be proud of. Something that resonated throughout the world, and made people stop and think. Instead, he found himself in quite a predicament, one he had no answer for.

I'm just gonna follow my gut, he decided. I'll just do whatever feels right. But one thing is certain, I have to convince Marie to leave the streets—I have to, before it's too late.

Miller was so caught up in his own world; he never even noticed the car following closely behind.

Who's following Miller? Find out in Chapter 14!

Hello and thank you for reading Fast Lane! If you liked this chapter, please consider leaving me an comment and vote! Take a peek at the media section for a picture of sweetheart, Martin Berkovich!

(Chapter 13 approx 2,090 words)