Ch5

Miller sat at the cast aluminum table and stared at his laptop, sucking in a breath. Normally, sitting on the large patio with the sound of the ocean in the background gave him a sense of peace, but this time that was not the case.

This screenplay was going to be the death of him if he wasn't careful! Not only was creating the script for Runaway an extremely daunting project, researching it came with its own set of headaches -- headaches he hadn't been anticipating. The thought of going undercover and learning about life on the streets had seemed like an exciting adventure at first, but when the time came to actually go out and do it he found it laced with danger . . . and some very sad stories. From the very beginning he'd learned this project was going to be different, and not only because it was his movie -- his baby -- but he quickly realized it would be life-changing on many different levels.

He'd met dozens of teenagers living under bridges and sleeping in doorways since he began the endeavor six months ago, some as young as twelve-years-old. He still had a hard time wrapping his mind around that startling discovery. How someone could choose to leave their family at such a young age completely baffled him. How bad must it have been at home to make a child want to live on the streets alone, panhandling and God knew what else, for the little bit of money they made to sustain themselves? The thought made him sick.

Miller made a silent promise to do something about it. In addition to his own hard-earned money, a large portion of proceeds from Runaway, assuming there were any, would go directly toward helping the homeless teenagers and runaways that littered the crowded city streets. It was the very least he could do. Often times, he felt more than a twinge of guilt over the privileged life he lived. Now that he knew there was an intense need for programs to help these wayward fugitives, he planned to make it his mission to pay it forward.

One runaway in particular had caught his eye, and he had grown to feel deeply protective of her. He'd met her his first day out, walking the dirty, destitute streets alone. She was a precocious girl, going on fourteen-years-old at the time, and had been living on her own for almost a year. He'd first met her hanging out near the corner of Highland and Hollywood Boulevard, in front of the famous "Frederick's of Hollywood" lingerie store. Other than her age and a few vague facts, the only thing he really knew about her was her first name. Marie.

She shared the same old story so many of the street kids harbored; ran away from home to escape an abusive stepfather and strung-out mother who never paid her the time of day. Shed hitchhiked from Utah all the way to Hollywood in search of "the promised land". God forbid! Hollywood would be the last place he would run off to if he were a thirteen-year-old girl trying to make it on her own. The very thought was ludicrous! But that's exactly what she had done. He clearly remembered the first day they had met.

"Hey -- you got a cigarette?" a young voice asked, interrupting his train of thought. He looked up from the discarded newspaper he'd been reading to find luminous, brown eyes watching him closely.

"Uh . . . No, sorry," Miller said to the girl.

A cherubic face framed by a mass of ebony curls stared back at him. "What about some pot?"

He studied her, dumbfounded, not sure he'd heard her correctly. "Excuse me?"

The girl's eyebrows hitched together in disbelief. "Pot. You know. Ace, Hooch, Mary Jane?"

Was this girl for real? "Sorry, I don't have that, either."

The teenager stared at him as though he'd grown a third eye. "You're kidding me, right? Look, dude, I don't your stash -- just a little hit, that's all. I promise. Come on, help me out, would ya? Someone jumped me the other day and swiped mine. I've been without for awhile now and just need a quick fix."

"I said I don't have any," Miller responded calmly, although his heart was thumping wildly in his chest. She looked so young! Why the hell was she asking a total stranger for Marijuana? "How old are you, kid?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

She shrugged. "Old enough."

"Come on," he coerced. "I'll tell you my age if you tell me yours. I'm eighteen," he lied.

The girl looked him up and down slowly, suspicion burning brightly in her experienced eyes. "You a cop?" she questioned with arched eyebrows.

"Hell no."

"Then why do you care how old I am?"

"Look -- I was just making conversation. Sorry," he said, turning to walk away. He hoped this tactic would be enough to get her talking. It had always worked with his younger brothers in the past. Sure enough, the girl fell in step beside him.

"I'm thirteen-and-a-half," she finally answered, giving him a sideways glance. "My name's Marie. What's yours?"

Marie wore ripped blue jeans and a dirty Mickey Mouse sweatshirt at least two sizes too big for her petite frame. It looked as if she'd recently had a black eye, now fading into different shades of browns and yellows. He wondered if it had happened when she was ambushed for her Weed.

Miller hesitated for a moment, a sudden rush of doubt consuming him. Was he really going to do this? Once he started with the homeless charade, there would be no turning back. "My name's Mike. It's good to meet you, Marie," he said, deciding it was worth the risk. He stopped walking and offered his hand for her to shake. Marie stood rooted to the spot and stared back at him, a look of wariness oozing from her young eyes. At first, he wasn't sure if she would accept his offering, but eventually she shoved a small, dirty hand into his.

"I've never seen you around before, Mike," she began once they started walking again. "You new around here?"

"I am, just came to Hollywood a few days ago."

"Yeah, I can tell. You have "newbie" written all over you."

Miller let out a loud laugh. "It's that obvious, huh? What gave me away?"

Marie looked startled by his outburst, as if she'd never heard someone laugh before. "Well, for starters, your clothes are still clean. Plus, they don't look second-hand. So either you're very new to the streets, or you just robbed an Old Navy."

Miller glanced down at his outfit in surprise. He had taken special care to put together an ensemble he thought appeared rugged and well-worn. Obviously, he'd fallen short. "How long you been here?" he asked her, taking mental notes.

Marie shrugged again. "About six months, or so. Came here from Utah. Where're you from?"

He decided to tell her the truth, he didn't see a need to lie. "I'm originally from Louisiana, but I moved to California around ten years ago."

"And why are you here now? On Hollywood Boulevard, I mean?"

"Why are you here?" Miller countered.

Marie gave him a funny look and shrugged her shoulders once more. "Things happen," she answered vaguely, not giving anything away. "Now, what about you?"

Miller shared her response. "Things happen."

Marie looked off into the distance for moment, not saying a word. Finally, she turned her knowing eyes toward Miller and rewarded him a big smile. Apparently, he had passed her test. He'd been meeting up with her on a regular basis ever since, soaking up all the knowledge of the streets she had to share. It wasn't uncommon for runaways to move around quite a bit, so the fact that they only ran into each other a couple of times a week never seemed to phase Marie. Miller always brought goodies to pass along to her, things he figured she might need or want. He would stop by a diner or convenience store before hitting Hollywood Boulevard and pick up snacks he thought would be easy for her to eat with her fingers, or stash away safely for later. Sometimes, he would bring her a shirt or socks he said he'd found at a local shelter. Once, he even managed to get her to take a pair of shoes. He'd noticed she had worn holes through her second-hand Vans and convinced her he had found a new pair lying abandoned on the side of the road. He told her he couldn't fit into them, so he saved them for her. Grateful, she tried them on and found they were a perfect fit.

Marie was special.

Miller stared at the words on his computer screen and gave his tired eyes a few solid blinks. He had never imagined that writing and investigating could be so draining! And along with the extra work of trying to keep Claire from learning too much about his research, he felt absolutely exhausted. He didn't like being dishonest with the woman he loved, but he didn't want her to worry about him either.

Claire understood he was extremely involved in the project, but had no idea just how deep in he'd gotten. And now he was so far buried, he wasn't sure how to tell her. She would be livid if she knew he'd been hanging out on the streets of downtown Hollywood, talking to lost souls who spent the majority of their lives surviving any way they could. Not that Claire was snob, far from it, she just worried a lot. She couldn't help it, it was part of her sweet, nurturing nature. If she knew how life really was for the kids living on the streets she would want to help fix the problem, just like he did. Miller was working on a strategy that would allow them to make a huge difference in the lives of so many homeless teenagers wandering aimlessly around Hollywood. And once his research for Runaway was complete, they would put his plan into action.

He owed that to Marie.

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

The Young Woman looked over the pictures she had developed and allowed herself a satisfied smile. Her snapshot collection of The Fabulous Five -- as she liked to call them -- was coming along quite nicely.

The recent photographs taken of Brooks Kennedy and Jonathon Walters' daughter together had turned out fantastic. Even better than she had hoped! She'd been a bit concerned at first about the lighting in the parking lot and the steam-covered windows of the Porsche Cayanne, but the troublesome obstacles had not deterred the craftsmanship one tiny bit. Tongues and nipples -- along with other unmentionable body parts -- were clearly visible, just as intended.

The Young Woman busied herself around her apartment, preparing for the evenings activities. She still had so much to get done before she began her typical Saturday night routine. What she really needed to do was get her camera into the shop sometime soon. It had been flaking out on her a bit recently and she'd not yet had the extra time to drop it off for someone to look at. It just would not do to have it break down now, leaving her high and dry until she could get out to buy another. Perhaps she should start shopping around? She didn't want anything getting in the way of her master plan. Nothing would stop her from bringing down The Fab Five, least of all a bum camera.

She turned the beloved piece of equipment over in her hands, marveling once again over the way it had changed her life and given her a purpose. It would be a shame to part ways with it, but she would have to do what she would have to do -- there was just no other way around it. She had a mission to complete and she needed to be able to rely on her trusty camera to help get the job done.

Turning toward her half empty walk-in closet, she gingerly set the camera down and went to look through her wardrobe. She'd better add shopping to her lengthy to-do list. Her hands quickly picked through her meager selection of black clothing and she released a long, drawn out sigh. She'd never been much of a clothes horse and sadly it showed. The Young Woman removed a garment from a wooden hanger and then threw the brushed cotton on the floor in frustration.

How was a girl supposed to stealthily stalk much sought-after celebrities in a bright yellow tunic? Nothing screamed, "Hey-look at me! I'm as sneaky as a drunk buffalo!" like the clothes hanging in her closet.

On this particular evening she would be on the prowl, seeking out Ashton Montgomery and Juliana Santiago. Ha -- on the prowl made it sound like a challenge! There would be no challenge involved in finding the whereabouts of those two. Ashton and Juliana normally hung out in a handful of Hollywood clubs, yucking it up with all of the other beautiful, famous faces. Whether they were getting down on the dance floor with Miley Cyrus or bellied up to the bar with Lindsay Lohan, chances were they would be doing so in any one of about five places, all within blocks of each other. Not much of a challenge there. They weren't terribly difficult to spot, either. Not with Ashton's annoyingly vibrant curls and personality, or Juliana's I'm-too-cool-for-you Spanish pout. Those two craved attention like men craved sex. It was disgusting.

The Young Woman gave her wardrobe one last mournful look. There was no putting off the task any longer, she needed to go shopping in the worst kind of way. It wasn't that she didn't have the cash to go to the store, although she always had been a bit of a penny-pincher. It was because she truly despised shopping. Trying on new clothes felt intimidating. It wasn't always fun to look in the mirror. Oh well. No time to dwell on the depressing details, it had to be done. She needed to remain anonymous while on the job. Getting caught taking the kinds of pictures she planned to be taking was not part of the plan. If she wanted all of her hard work to pay off, she would need to be smart, and if that meant going shopping for more dark-colored clothing then that's what she'd have to do. She let out one final distressed sigh before grabbing her car keys and heading out the door.

There was no way she wanted to run late for the evening's busy agenda. Ashton and Juliana were up to something -- she'd been suspecting it for awhile. Now, she just had to find out what it was.

Does Claire have a secret she's keeping from Miller? Find out in Chapter 6!

Hello and thank you for reading Fast Lane! If you enjoyed Chapter 5, I ask that you please consider leaving me a vote/comment! Take a peek at the media section for a picture of Marie!

As many of you know, my story Strawberry Wine was chosen as the winner of The Write Affair writing contest and will be published in both print and eBook! I couldn't have done this without you, but I need your support now more than ever. Check out my website DarlyJamison.com and sign up for my email list (I give away FREE STUFF!), and look me up on Twitter or Facebook.  Thank YOU for helping make this dream a reality!

(Chapter 5 approx. 2,490 words)