Ch8

Juliana left before the sun came up, obeying the one rule both girls had agreed upon when their relationship first began--never but never spend the whole night.

It had been Ashton who'd originally mentioned the idea, as she had made it her own personal law after she'd begun dating in her late teens. Spending the whole night with a lover would be reserved only for a serious relationship, should she ever find herself involved in one. It would be the one special privilege she would give to the person she decided to share her love with, not just her bed. So far, she'd never woken up in the arms of another person.

Although, she secretly longed for Juliana to stay. There was something that felt so right about their being together, something she had never before felt with another human being. It was more than just enjoying time spent with her best friend. Ashton was in love. Truly in love for the very first time in her life! In a way it was heartbreaking. She was terrified to confess her feelings to Juliana out of fear she would be rejected, just as her mom had always rejected her in the past--past being the operative word. Never again would she allow that woman to dismiss her, she was letting it all go. That relationship was over. Finished. Marilyn Montgomery was dead to her. It's not the way Ashton wanted it, but it's the way it had to be.

It's true, she went to great lengths to keep her and Juliana's affair a secret, but it was for the best. She didn't think the world would understand the consummation of their relationship. Two successful and very famous females getting it on together? No way would the public accept that--they would be the butt of every joke from Hollywood to Timbuktu! And Ashton was terrified of the affects the revelation would have on their careers. Her very livelihood revolved around her company, RedHead Productions. She was immensely proud of all the hard work she'd put into it. Finding movies to produce and watching them come to life gave her the biggest thrill she'd ever experienced . . . and yet so did being with Juliana.

Oh, her mother would throw an absolute fit if she knew her daughter was dating another female! Marilyn Montgomery only cared about one thing, and that was Marilyn Montgomery. She had proven herself a shrewd and selfish woman over the years--even toward her only child. Especially toward her only child. Nothing Ashton ever did was good enough. According to her mother, any mistake Ashton had ever made over the years somehow reflected back on Marilyn. Exactly how Ashton could never quite understand. There were many people who didn't even realize the two women were even related let alone mother and daughter--that's how little contact they'd had with one another over the years.

Oh well, it didn't matter anyway. Ashton intended on keeping her secret safe. No matter what. And Marilyn Montgomery was a long forgotten memory of the past.

Mother or not . . .

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

The shiny red Ferrari pulled up to the Mediterranean-style mansion situated in Beverly Hills a little past noon. The first thing Brianna Walters noticed was the lack of security as she entered the estate. It was obvious the lawns were well taken care of, but where was the locked gate keeping crazy fans out? Where were the security cameras and the vicious guard dog patrolling the grounds? She figured once Brooks asked her to move in with him, she would take care of all those pesky details--it was quite obvious he needed someone to look over his affairs.

She hopped out of her car and turned to inspect her reflection in the tinted window. Not too shabby, Brianna thought with a pleased smile. She was glad Tiffany had been home to help her put together an outfit. What they had come up with was absolutely perfect! Just the right amount of sexy and innocent to make any boy weak in the knees.

Satisfied with what she saw, she fluffed her honey-blonde hair and wandered up the stairs toward the large oak doors. She gave a tentative knock and waited patiently for a staff member, or perhaps Brooks' personal assistant, to answer. Several minutes passed by and still no one came to greet her. Was it possible he'd given the staff the day off? She decided to pound a litter harder in an effort to get someone's attention.

Eventually, Brianna heard a loud thump followed by the sound of a lock being unfastened, and when the door finally gave way she let out a small, surprised gasp. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she would be greeted in this fashion.

Standing before her, in all of his grungy glory was U-Turn lead guitarist, Avriel Jordan. "'Sup?" he mumbled with a lethargic nod of his head.

For a moment, Brianna was caught off guard. She hadn't expected to come face to face with the gorgeous, olive-skinned heart throb. She took in his unkempt hair and wrinkled clothing and felt her insides turn to mush.

"I'm--I'm looking for Brooks," she stammered, slightly beside herself. "He's expecting me."

She watched with anticipation as Avi leaned lazily against the front door, his bloodshot eyes regarding her with interest. He pushed a hand through his dark brown hair and gave her a slow grin. "Brooks didn't mention he was expecting company--especially company that looks like you," he emphasized, fixing his dark eyes on her. "Of course, I haven't seen him since last night."

Absentmindedly, Brianna twirled a strand of hair nervously around her finger as heat swamped her cheeks. What was wrong with her? She needed to get a grip! She was no innocent, naive teenager anymore. She was a woman. Time to start acting like one. But being this close to Avi Jordan had her feeling a bit . . . unhinged. "Do you think he'll be back soon?"

"Darlin', I have no idea, but you're welcome to come inside and wait if ya want." He leered at her appreciatively. "You can make me breakfast."

Her perfect brows came together in confusion. Was he being serious? She decided to follow him in and find out. Brianna looked around the large living room and noticed several empty liquor bottles strewn about. Cushions from the furniture were scattered carelessly across the hardwood floor and there was a broken lamp laying on it's side next to a table. Was this how Brooks kept house? She was not at all impressed.

"Had a little party last night," Avi explained as he led her through the disheveled room and into a bright, spacious kitchen. He plopped down on a bar-stool positioned at a long center island and continued to watch her. The way his eyes moved leisurely over her body made Brianna feel breathless. She just could not believe she was in the same room as Avi Jordan! And apparently he wanted her to make him breakfast--never mind she didn't know her way around a kitchen.

"I like my eggs sunny-side-up," he said with a lewd wink. "And afterward, I prefer company in the shower. I always have trouble reaching my back."

Holy Shit!

All thoughts of Brooks were pushed aside as Brianna boldly made her way toward the large stainless steel refrigerator sitting on the opposite side of the room. She had no idea what sunny-side-up eggs were, but how hard could they possibly be to make? She could hardly wait to share the unexpected turn of events with her stepmother. Boy would Tiffany be jealous!

This was not at all how she had envisioned her afternoon playing out, but no way was she turning down any invitation from Avi Jordan! As far as she was concerned, he was without a doubt the sexiest member of U-Turn. His naturally tanned skin, intense brown eyes, sexy dark waves and sensual way he rocked his guitar was enough to drive any teenage girl mad with lust.

If Avi Jordan wanted eggs and a shower--who was she to argue?

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

Lunch at Spago was not exactly how Natalie McGee would have liked to spend her afternoon, but when her famous father summoned she always obliged.

She walked through the Beverly Hills restaurant, owned by legendary chef Wolfgang Puck, and noticed the expected amount of famous faces scattered throughout. It wasn't long before she found Oliver McGee sitting primly at his usual table in the center of the busy establishment. "The finest seat in the house", he liked to call it. Nothing but the very best for the successful director.

"Father," she greeted him prudently, still wondering why he had invited her to meet with him. She hoped he wasn't still upset that she had skipped out on the award ceremony a couple nights before. Her father could hold a grudge the way a hungry baby latched onto its mother's breast.

"Natalie," he acknowledged her in his trademark nasal voice, not even bothering to stand as she approached. "I'm glad you could make it. Have a seat."

She pulled out a chair and settled down into, eyeing her father carefully. It was like looking into a mirror, she observed with annoyance. They both shared the same red-brown hair--his graying at the temples; the same sharp, narrow features--his pointy chin concealed by a neatly trimmed beard; and small, heavy-lidded black eyes--his camouflaged by thick glasses. Once again she was reminded of her mother's classic blonde beauty--beauty she had failed to inherit.

He wasted no time getting to the point. "The reason I called you here is because I would like to discuss your living arrangements." He paused as one stubborn expression held the other.

​Finally, Natalie picked up her menu and opened it, her eyes scanning over the contents. "Father, I told you before. I'm not interested."

"Just hear me out, won't you?" he asked. The quality of his voice made it seem as though he were whining--which he normally was. At least she hadn't inherited that disturbing little trait.

"As my daughter, I do not feel it is right for you to live in that small, godforsaken apartment of yours in West Hollywood. You deserve something better, something I wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen in."

As usual, his concern over the place she called home reverted back to him and how it would make Oliver McGee look with his youngest daughter living in that part of town.

"It's fine, Father. I'm happy with it. In fact, I really like it."

"If it's a matter of money, I can certainly fit the bill," he continued on.

God, how tired she was of having this same conversation! "I do not need your money," Natalie replied, annoyance sweeping into her voice. "I have plenty of my own."

Oliver McGee shook his head, clearly irritated by his daughter's headstrong ways. "Well, at least your job is able to put a roof over your head," he lamented, moving his glasses toward the end of his nose and turning his attention toward the menu. "But I insist that you reconsider, and when you come to your senses do let me know. I'll make arrangements for a move immediately."

"Of course, Father. I appreciate your concern," she offered, deciding to pacify him to a degree. It wouldn't do to have him totally pissed off at her.

"By the way, how is that job of yours going?" he asked, scanning over the vast selection of salads. "You've been so busy lately. Too busy, if you ask me."

She hadn't.

Natalie groaned inwardly. Didn't it just figure? Her father only wanted to meet with her so he could dissect every aspect of her life. There was no way she could tell him that she'd been picking up weird vibes concerning her position at the television studio. Lately, it seemed as though nothing she did pleased her pig-headed boss--one of her father's closest friends--if there was such a thing in Hollywood. If it wasn't one thing it was another.

She quickly dismissed the unpleasant thought. "It's been very busy. We've been preparing for sweeps week," she confirmed, referring to the special week during the year when television networks pulled out the big guns and relied on shameless stunts to get viewers to tune in. After each show received it's ratings when the action-pack week ended, networks would have the freedom of charging advertisers even more money than before, based on how many viewers watched their programs.

"I do remember that being a very busy time," he nodded knowingly. His eyes glazed over slightly, just as they always did when he reminisced over his successful years working in television. After he decided on his order, Oliver closed the menu and placed it on the table. "So, what else have you been up to? Are you dating anyone?"

Natalie knew the drill by heart. After they delved into her nonexistent dating life, her father would question her about keeping in touch with her sisters, how she should stop by and visit him more often, and was she putting on some weight? Time after time, it was always the same thing.

She tuned out her father's predictable lecture on her ticking biological clock--she was only twenty -years old for Christ sake--and settled into the lush chair, preparing to sit through the long inquisition ahead.

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

Brooks wandered into his house a little past three and looked around at the remnants of the party that had taken place the night before. It didn't look as if his guests had missed him at all. He was happy to see a nearly empty driveway when he pulled in, that meant they'd all made their way home--except for Avi, of course. His friend would no doubt be hanging around, waiting for a free meal.

Brooks had spent the remainder of the evening walking along the beach, underneath the moonlight, attempting to make some sense out of his crazy life. Finally, he fell asleep in his vehicle and didn't awake until a police officer tapped on the driver's side window around 2 pm with a warning of loitering.

It wouldn't be easy, not by a long shot, but he was determined to make some changes. The alcohol, the drugs, the women--he was going to put it all behind him and start over. Maybe he would even start working out? He'd gone jogging the other day and it hadn't killed him. In fact, he reluctantly had to admit he'd felt pretty damn good afterward, as though he had done something constructive for a change.

When he wandered into the living room, he was greeted by a sleeping Avi, sprawled snoring across the couch. Brooks grabbed a half-full bottle of Bling h2o and poured it over his friend's face.

"What the f--" Avi exclaimed, sitting straight up. He looked over at a laughing Brooks and wiped at the water dripping from his forehead. "Jesus H. Christ," he screamed. "What do ya think you're doin'?"

Brooks continued to laugh. "I'm waking you up, what does it look like, arsehole?"

Avi shook his head forcefully as water dripped from the strands. "Well, you could've woken me up another way, like any other decent human-being would have done."

"Sorry." Brooks shrugged. "I don't see anyone decent around here."

Avi threw his long legs over the side of the couch and set his feet on the floor. "Where the hell ya been anyway? You left me high and dry last night, ya know."

Brooks fell into the cushions next to Avi and pushed his hands through his tangled, wind-blown hair. "I figured you could handle it. How'd it go anyway?"

His friend let out a long, loud laugh. "Damn, yo! I had one helluva good time! Those bitches were hungry for some Avi, let me tell ya!" He cackled some more before continuing on. "They kept me busy for most of the night."

Brooks looked around the front room in dismay. "I can see that," he stated with heavy sarcasm. The room was in shambles, his friend had made no attempt to clean up after himself.

"Hey--it's not my fault you took off," Avi said defensively. "What was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know. Ask them to leave?"

"Yeah right." Avi reached his hand over to the end table next to him and grabbed a nearly empty bottle of whiskey, swallowing down what little was left. "By the way, you had a visitor earlier," he added, nonchalantly.

Brooks eyebrows came together in confusion. He almost never invited people to his house; he had no idea who would have stopped by. "So, is it a big secret or are you going to tell me who?"

Avi leaned into the back cushions of the couch, making himself comfortable once again. He gave a big shrug. "Some young chick, sexy as hell . . . Brianna, I think she said her name was."

Brianna? Who the hell was that?

Oh shit--no fucking way!

"Did she give you a last name?" he asked, feeling a sense of dread come over him.

"Damn, I don't know! What am I, your secretary?" Avi grumbled. "Think it was Waters or something like that . . . " his voice trailed off. "I was barely paying attention."

"Was it Walters?"

"Yeah, that's it. Awfully young to be lookin' for the likes of you, dontcha think?"

Brooks let out a deep sigh and leaned forward, placing his head in his hands in frustration. "I met her the other night at the Film Awards. She came onto me. She's Jonathon Walters daughter." Damn, if only he could take back that one stupid mistake he had made with her in the backseat of his car! If he'd had any idea she was going to turn into some crazy, teenage stalker he would have avoided her all together!

"The Jonathon Walters, as in movie producer Jonathon Walters?" Avi questioned, suitably impressed.

"The one and only," Brooks replied miserably.

Suddenly, Avi let out a loud laugh. "No shit! Hope you don't mind, man, but I had her in the guest bedroom."

Brooks stared at his friend for a long moment before finally shaking his head. "I can't believe you . . ."

"What do you mean?" Avi demanded. "If you'd been here, you would have done the same damn thing. Since when are you holier-than-thou?"

Since now . . . Brooks promised himself once more.

Oh Brianna! What are you doing?! And what evil plan does The Young Woman have in store for Brooks? Find out in Chapter 9!

Thank you for reading Fast Lane! If you like this story, please remember to vote/comment/share, and thanks again for all of your support—I really appreciate it! Take a peek at the media section for a picture of Natalie McGee!

(Chapter 8 approx. 3,100 words)