Ch14

The Young Woman pulled her car out of the space she'd parked in and followed slowly after the dark green Range Rover along the winding road of the Pacific Coast Highway. She was still a bit shaken over the events of the previous evening, but as someone once said, "the show must go on", and that's exactly what she planned to do.

She'd saved the best for last—Miller and Claire, the two goody-goodies of The Fabulous Five crew. Wrangling up some dirt on those two saints would be a challenge, she knew. But what choice did she have? If she wanted to complete her mission, she needed to try.

The Young Woman hadn't expected to be on the move quite so quickly-she figured she would be sitting out in front of their house all day, waiting for some kind of activity, but no sooner did she arrive at the lovebird's Malibu beach residence, she was hot on the trail of her latest victim. Where, oh, where could Miller Bradley be going?

To church, no doubt, she thought bitterly. Or perhaps he was the leader of some impressionable Boy Scout troop and was off to teach them all how to become good, little philanthropists—after all, he was dressed casually and was holding what appeared to be a backpack, and giving back to the community had always been his lame forte.

Doesn't it just figure? Miller's off to do some sort of outdoor activity and I'm wearing long sleeves and pants!

But the longer she pursued, the more she realized they were passing all of the park entrances. They were heading east, toward the City of Angels. An hour later, she followed the SUV into the parking lot of a Target store, where Miller got out wearing grungy clothes and a baseball cap, looking nothing at all like his normal all-American-boy self.

What is he up to? she couldn't help but wonder. Is he trying to start a new trend?

She waited in her car for nearly twenty minutes before he finally strolled out of the store with several plastic bags in his hands.

Hmm . . . I never would have pegged him as a common-store shopper. Normally, celebrities liked to steer clear of the public, unless they were surrounded by their entourage or on familiar turf—and neither was the case in this instance.

She waited as he put his vehicle into drive and began to make his way through the crowded store parking lot. Twenty minutes later, she parked her car again, this time in the lot of a small diner off the beaten path. She grabbed her brown leather messenger bag and wrapped it across herself, wishing she'd brought her handgun for protection-but how could she have possibly known where she would have ended up? A young woman could never be too safe, and this neighborhood did not feel particularly welcoming. She couldn't imagine what kind of business Miller had to attend to in one of the seedier areas of L.A.

She followed him on foot along the streets of downtown Hollywood, careful to stay several yards behind. Her curiosity was peaked as she watched him wave and slap hands with different people along the way, as if he knew them all personally-these people who lived on . . . the streets.

Miller's pace started to slow as they approached the intersection of Hollywood and Highland, and he stopped all together when a young girl with curly dark hair came into view. The Young Woman hid in a store-front doorway and pulled out her camera. She wasn't sure what was going on, but she wanted to be ready. Did Miller Bradley come downtown to buy drugs? Why would he travel all this way when surely there was some place closer-and safer-where he could have gotten whatever he wanted? Didn't celebrities have people who did their dirty business for them?

She watched carefully as the two embraced, and she knew with utmost certainty that they knew each other intimately-why else would they be hugging? Discretely, she put her camera to work-a new one she had picked out earlier that morning-and captured every movement and expression on film. Their arms around each other tightly; the smiles on their faces; the look of familiarity in their eyes. She continued to click away as Miller removed the large backpack from his back and showed the teenager the contents-her eyes lighting up in earnest.

Suddenly, Miller's face grew serious as he leaned in closer to the girl. She could tell they were discussing something private, something they wanted no one else to hear. The teenager looked uncertain, her eyebrows scrunched together in turmoil, but finally she saw her face give way into a hesitant smile, and they turned around and started heading back in the direction toward Miller's SUV—together. The Young Woman pressed tightly against the doorway as the couple passed by her, not wanting to be seen.

Before she could follow, a rough-sounding male voice called out loudly, and Miller and the girl froze in their tracks. They turned to face a thug, who appeared to be in his early twenties, and listened as he continued to carry on. She could not make out what they were saying, but their stances were tense, it was a situation they were obviously hoping to avoid.

The teenager appeared frightened; The Young Woman recognized the look on her face as she'd recently seen it herself in the eyes of the photographer the night before. With obvious reluctance, the girl turned briefly toward Miller, and then began to walk slowly toward the guy, leaving a crestfallen Miller behind.

What in the world just happened?

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

Miller watched as Marie left with the stranger, a guy he'd never seen before but who clearly had some sort of hold over her.

He'd been so close! She had agreed to leave with him, to go with him to the "shelter" he claimed to have found. They would have all the food and necessities they needed and he promised to look after her, as an older brother would look out for his younger sister, and swore nothing bad would happen to her. She'd been sober, her eyes clear and bright just like they were when they'd first met, and not fogged over with some unknown substance.

Who the hell was that guy? Why did she leave with him? So many questions played over and over in his mind.

The look of fear that covered her face did not escape Miller's attention. If only he knew what the hell was going on! Before she left, he'd managed to whisper that he would be back the next day to collect her, and she carefully nodded her head, showing her acceptance.

I'll be back, Marie. I'm coming to pick you up tomorrow and I'm bringing you home with me,he promised silently. We'll get you the help you need; it will be a fresh start.

Only how was he going to make it through until the next day?

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

Juliana tried in vain to push aside the conversation she'd had with Vivian earlier that morning and concentrate on preparing for an intimate evening alone with Ashton. It's the first quality time they would be spending together since their relationship had transformed into something more than just friends, and it was important that every detail was perfect. She wanted everything to go smoothly so that perhaps her friend would consider giving their connection a real chance to see where it went. Who knew what could become of it? Maybe it would turn into something wonderful and long-lasting, or maybe it would fizzle into nothing at all. Juliana didn't know, but she was willing to try-as scared as she was.

She buried her fears and set about cleaning the apartment and making dinner. She'd given her maid the evening off so the two of them would have complete privacy. Juliana really didn't mind the housework and cooking, in fact, she'd always secretly enjoyed the domestic satisfaction of taking care of things herself. She was planning to prepare a romantic atmosphere, complete with Spaghetti alla Carbonara with Pancetta—her specialty—fresh, green salad, homemade bread, and maybe a small amount of Riesling—she'd promised herself just one glass before going on the straight and narrow.

What she would give for a sip right now—or maybe the whole damn bottle! But she knew she couldn't cave. Vivian had made some excellent points, and she'd promised to take everything she had said into consideration and truly reevaluate the life she'd been living. If Juliana couldn't model, what was left for her? She had no other skills other than acting, but that was something she hadn't done in years.

The stress of everything was beginning to takes its toll, she could feel the tears pooling behind her eyes, but she was not going to give in. She got herself into this mess, and she would get herself out of it-what other option did she have? It was time to grow up.

And if she was really lucky, maybe her fresh start would begin with Ashton.

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

Dinner conversation at the Malibu beach house was stilted at best. Brooks looked back and forth between his friends and observed the tension they were carrying. Ever since Miller had returned home that afternoon, he seemed moody and distant, and like a predictable shadow, Claire's mood followed in his footsteps. They were both quiet, their eyes faraway, as though they were lost in deep thought.

Ha-guess he wasn't the only one who had problems!

But he hated to see his friends this way, it wasn't like them at all. They'd always been so googly-eyed over each, so much in love. Now they were like hollow shells of their former selves. Several months ago, he would have killed to see the two lovebirds fall apart. He would have waited eagerly on the sidelines, waiting to snatch up sweet and beautiful Claire for himself. Now . . . it just didn't seem right.

"Dinner is wonderful, Claire, I hope you didn't go through all of this trouble on my account," Brooks offered, trying to lighten the mood.

Claire pushed around the salad with her fork, never taking a bite. "Hmm?" she asked, clearly distracted. "Oh, I, uh, bought it a few years ago when we were in Mexico on vacation."

What is she talking about? He looked over at Miller to see if he had noticed, but his friend sat in his chair silently, pushing around his own salad. He wasn't even paying attention.

"So," Brooks began slowly. "I met the Queen of England today and she asked me to marry her."

No response.

"And for our honeymoon, she wants to scuba-dive naked in the frigid waters off the coast of Alaska. Think I'm gonna go for it. What do you think?"

Again, he was rewarded with silence.

"Alright! What in the bloody hell is going on with you two?" he asked abruptly.

Miller and Claire looked up at him in surprise.

"Finally, I have your attention!" Brooks boomed.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" Claire replied sheepishly. "I was lost in thought, I'm afraid."

"Obviously," he rolled his eyes.

"Uh . . . sorry, buddy. Guess I've got a lot on my mind, too," Miller apologized. "I've been running over some new ideas for the screenplay and it completely absorbs me."

Brooks glanced over at Claire just in time to see her drop her eyes. Is that what was going on? Miller was buried up to his eyeballs with the screenplay and Claire was feeling left out?

"How's that coming along?" Brooks asked. "Are you about finished?" He hoped the answer would be 'yes' so things between the his friends could get back to normal.

"It's coming along," he said with a shrug. "I'm just taking care of some loose ends." Miller was talking but it was obvious he wasn't all there. His mind was elsewhere, it defiantly wasn't at home.

"Have any idea where you're going to take it when it's finished?"

Miller pushed his plate away before answering. ""I'm not sure. I was thinking maybe Jonathon Walters might be interested in looking at it."

Brooks felt his stomach knot at the name. Jonathon Walters, father of Brianna Walters, the young bird he'd had sex with in the backseat of his Porsche. The girl with the big doe-eyes who asked lots of questions and went on and on like some little fan-girl over his British accent. The teenager who claimed she loved him, and asked if he would call her the next day. He promised he would, even though he had no intention of ever doing so. The little girl whose photo was now plastered across his bedroom wall as he had his way with her, while some sick-minded pervert watched.

God, I'm such an asshole.

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

After the doorman buzzed her in, Ashton took the elevator up to the sixth floor, and knocked lightly on Juliana's apartment door. She smoothed down her stylish silk jumpsuit and fluffed her auburn curls.

Get a grip,she scolded herself. It's only Juliana. You've known her forever! But try as she might, she could not subdue the butterflies that were trapped inside her stomach.

When her friend didn't answer, she knocked again a little louder. Finally, the decorative wooden door opened and Juliana stood there, hair long and tangled and eyes red from crying.

"Juliana!" Ashton exclaimed, rushing in and closing the door behind her. "What's wrong?" She gently grasped her friend's face between her hands and felt her heart melt. Her friend looked so sad, so lost. Carefully, she pushed her jet-black hair away from her tear-soaked cheeks and found herself mesmerized. Even in Juliana's weakest moment, Ashton had never seen anyone look so beautiful.

She wrapped her arms tightly around her friend and held her as Juliana continued to cry. "What happened?" she whispered fiercely.

"I-I had a bad day," she whimpered.

Ashton pulled away slightly to get a better look. She needed to see Juliana's expression, she needed to understand what was going on. "A bad day?" she questioned, slightly confused. Never in her life had she witnessed Juliana cry, much less over a bad day-and they'd had plenty of them. Surely there had to be more to it. "Did someone hurt you?"

Juliana shook her head quickly, "No, it was nothing like that."

"Then-what?" Ashton asked, perplexed. What in the world could have taken place that had caused so much grief? Juliana was the strongest person she knew, there had to be more to it than what she was saying.

"I met with Vivian," Juliana sniffled. "I needed to see my pictures. And she was right-they were horrible!" The tears started fall again down her swollen cheeks.

"So . . . you'll just reschedule the shoot," Ashton shrugged, still puzzled. She just couldn't understand why Juliana was acting as if it were the end of the world. "This kind of thing happens all the time."

But the Spanish girl shook her head sadly and wiped the tears from her face. "Not this time. Vivian said I needed to get my act together or she wouldn't send me on any more jobs. She said my career would be over if I didn't comply!"

Ashton felt her face turn warm with anger. "Who the hell is she to say that to you? That cow doesn't know what she's talking about!" she exploded. "I've said it before, Juliana; you need to find a different agent. Anyone would feel lucky to have you as their client. Vivian Landsbury doesn't deserve you!"

"You don't understand! Vivian is the best. She knows what she's talking about, amiga. I've been under her care for so long . . . "

"That doesn't mean you can't jump ship. You're Juliana Santiago! She can't treat you this way!"

"Please, stop. Vivian knows what's best for me. She's never steered me wrong."

Ashton laughed, "That's not true! If I recall correctly, she didn't want you to appear in Paradise Cove, remember? You told me you had to fight her tooth and nail for that part, and it did nothing except help your career. Vivian doesn't have all of the answers-she's not perfect. And if you ask me, she's way out of line."

Juliana let out a weary sigh. "Modelling years are like dog years-they don't last very long. She's right. I need to get my act together."

"So, what does that mean?" Ashton asked nervously, not wanting to hear the answer. "You're not going out anymore?"

"It means that if I want a career then it's time to grow up."

But if Juliana wasn't up for partying anymore, how would that affect their relationship? As if reading her mind, Juliana continued, "It means, more time spent at home-with you-as long as you don't mind being a good girl," she said with a sly smile, an obvious attempt to recover from her mini breakdown.

Ashton stifled a sigh of relief. "You're sure you want to hang out with me? Maybe I'm a bad influence?"

Juliana gently grabbed Ashton's waist and pulled her closer. "Truth be told," she began softly, "the only thing I would miss about clubbing is getting to hang out with you."

Could it be true? Was there a possibility that Juliana had real feelings for her? It certainly seemed as though perhaps she was more than just a drunken interlude. Should she come out and ask her friend how she felt? Could she?

Ashton closed her eyes and took a deep breath, thinking about the horror she would feel if Juliana didn't return her feelings. No, it was best to keep quiet for now, at the very least see where the evening took them. She sidled up to Juliana and buried her hands in the tangled mass of black hair. Tentatively, their lips touched for a slow kiss. She couldn't remember the last time they had shared an embrace sober. Could it have been the first time they were together, when Juliana had walked in on Ashton during her own emotional breakdown? The day she had planned to take all of the Xanax left in the bottle, only to find it empty? The day when she realized her mother would never love her?

So much had happened since then. Juliana gave her a purpose, even if she didn't exactly know where their relationship was headed. Juliana made her feel good, and made her feel good about herself-something Ashton had never experienced before.

If only she could tell her how she felt . . .

Is Brooks on to Claire's secret? Find out in Chapter 15!

Hello and thank you for reading Fast Lane! If you liked this chapter, please consider leaving a vote/comment—I love hearing from you! Take a look at the media section to find a picture of Vivian Landsbury!

(Chapter 14 approx. 3,155 words)