Ch22

Anna and Brooks stared down at the beach below, waiting in silence as Claire stalked toward Miller.

"I can't watch this," Anna declared, turning her back away from the couple. She walked toward the outdoor couch and plopped down, covering her face with her hands. "This is all my fault."

Brooks stood in the ocean breeze and watched as Anna's shoulders began to lightly shake. "Hey," he said, walking over to her. He sat in the spot next to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "This is not your fault," he said awkwardly, unaccustomed to catering to anyone else's needs but his own.

"Yes, it is," she said, looking up at him. "If I hadn't brought over that stupid magazine, Claire wouldn't be as upset as she is. God only knows what she's going to say to Miller! I'm not sure their relationship can survive this mess." She shook her head and pushed her hands through blonde hair as tears fell freely down her cheeks. "I never meant to upset her like this."

Brooks' eyebrows came together. "If you hadn't shown her, someone would have. I have a feeling there are a lot of people talking about this bloody issue right now. All those pictures . . ." he said, his voice trailing off. How could he have been so stupid? It was unfathomable to think that the pictures of him with that teenager had surfaced the way they had. What kind of monster would do something like that-purposely exploit someone's private activities? Not only would his record label be pissed at the mess he'd gotten himself into, what about the poor girl he'd been with? Was she even legal? He had no idea! What kind of trouble would she find herself in as a result of the tabloid?

"I've made such a mess of things," he said quietly.

Anna stopped crying and looked over at him. "I'm sorry, Brooks. I'm being insensitive," she apologized. "How are you holding up?"

He shook his head and laughed. "Oh, I'm just great!" he announced sarcastically, looking at her with a dour expression on his face. "Brooks Kennedy strikes again! You know, you probably shouldn't even be talking to me, Anna. I have a black cloud that follows above my head that likes to fuck things up from time to time."

Anna gave him a small smile. "I don't believe that. The last time we spoke, you said you were making changes," she gently reminded him. "And I know you have."

"How do you know?" he asked, giving her a disheartened smirk. "Maybe I was just feeding you a line of bullshit. That's what I do to girls, you know."

"No, you weren't," she said, sitting straight up in the chair. "You're not as bad as you think you are, Brooks. I refuse to believe it."

He stared at her in astonishment. Here was a girl who had a good head on her shoulders. She was sweet and kind, responsible and caring. A girl like that would never get herself mixed up in the kind of situations he found himself in on a regular basis.  "What makes you so sure?" he challenged.

"Because I can tell. I know you're unhappy with the choices you've made, and there's no way you'll ever be able to take them back. But you've learned from them. You're not the same person you used to be," she said with an encouraging smile. "The first step is admitting you have a problem."

Brooks was quiet for a moment, then softly chuckled. "You sound like a twelve-step program."

"I'm sure I do," Anna answered softly. "My father's a recovering alcoholic."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything-"

"It's okay, Brooks, I'm not offended!" she giggled. "The steps he took to get where he is today made a lot of sense to me, in all aspects of life, not just in recovery. My favorite step has always been step three, 'Make a decision to turn your life over to the care of God as we understand Him.' I think you've done that. Maybe not to God, per se, but to a higher power."

What? Not only was she supporting him, she was sharing family secrets! Was she doing that for only his sake, or would she do that for anyone stuck in a bad situation? Most likely the latter. Anna seemed to be that kind of girl, the kind who genuinely cared about people. "What are some other steps?" he asked, completely engrossed in what she was saying.

"Let's see . . ." she said, trying to recall the rules of change. "'Admitting to ourselves, and to another human being, the exact nature of our wrongs,' and 'admitting we're powerless.' You've done those things, Brooks," Anna observed. "There's no turning back now, change is already in motion. And maybe you can't take back things you've already done, but you know now you'll never do them again, right?"

He nodded his head. He had made those vows. He admitted he was wrong and that he was powerless. He'd been walking through the steps of recovery all this time and hadn't even even realize it.

"Maybe you should try going to a meeting sometime?" she suggested softly. "Recovery isn't only about drugs or alcoholism. It's about changing bad habits, unhealthy ways. If you don't want to go alone, I could come with you. I've been to more meetings than I can count," Anna added gently.

Brooks didn't know what to say so he just nodded his head again, finally beginning to feel the black cloud that had followed him for so long slowly dissipate.

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

What could I have done differently? Miller went over for the hundredth time, blaming himself for Marie's untimely death. The horrific events continued to play over and over through his mind, like a merciless nightmare that refused to let up. I should have insisted she come with me. If I had, this never would have happened, she'd still be alive.

Beating himself up was starting to take it's toll, but he didn't care.It'd been days since he'd ate or even slept, he walked around like a zombie, oblivious to everything going on around him. Every time he closed his eyes, Marie's young face danced before him, reminding him of the role he'd played in her short life. I should have done more! She trusted me and I let her down.

The sight of her pale, lifeless body lying on the table in the morgue was almost too much too bear, and his stomach twisted violently whenever the image flashed through his conscience. Miller attempted to push the memory away, but the stench of formaldehyde lingered offensively in his nostrils, and he couldn't shake the uneasy chill that invaded his bones and refused to leave. It was true what people said about losing someone. There was giant hole, centered smack in the middle of his chest, right where his heart should be. It felt hollow, empty, painful . . .

She didn't deserve to die that way, she was just a kid. The mortician suspected an overdose, but it wouldn't be official until the toxicology report came back.  Miller didn't need a report to confirm Marie's death. A strip of dirty cloth had been found tightly wrapped around her arm, and a dirty syringe lay nearby. She'd succumbed to the bitter pressures of the street, one more sad statistic in the homeless youth epidemic. And it was his fault.

To think it all started with research for his project. Runaway. The screenplay that would prove he was more than just a pretty actor. This script was supposed to give him depth. It was supposed to mean something, get people to stop and think about life outside their carefully constructed worlds. It had certainly done that for him. Getting so involved within the street scene had not been part of the plan, but there had been something special about Marie he couldn't resist. He saw himself in her. She was so charming, cocky, full of life. She felt like the little sister he never had, but always wanted. Maybe that was it? Maybe he was trying to turn her into something he'd always craved but would never have? How could he continue on with the screenplay now? Did he even want to? It seemed so pointless.

No. It wasn't pointless. The problem still existed. there was a staggering number of runaways within the city limits. And that was only one city, how many homeless kids were there in the world? The best way to honor Marie's memory was to make a difference. Maybe he wasn't able to save her, but perhaps he could save someone else? He had to at least try . . . Marie would want him to.

Miller's eyes flickered over the waves of the Pacific, barely noticing the white-caps as they rolled toward the shore. In the days since her death, Miller had managed to learn quite a bit about her, more than she'd ever been willing to share. He now knew her name. Marie Adrianna Leone. Fourteen-years-old. Cedar City, Utah, not far from the Mohave Desert. Only child to Clariss Leone, single mother who worked odd jobs when she wasn't in jail or court-ordered rehab. Notorious for her run-ins with the law, usually involving drugs or accusations of domestic violence. Live-in boyfriend, in and out of the picture, also boasting a rap sheet a mile long. Marie lived with the two of them in a dilapidated trailer on the outskirts of town, recently deemed uninhabitable by public health officials.

At what point had she left? What had been the final straw? He knew what she told him, but what exactly had taken place in that tiny trailer? What horrors had she been forced to live through? She came to Hollywood seeking refuge. Did she think she found it? Was life on the street that much better than what it had been like for her at home? These were questions he would never get to ask her. Not anymore.

Miller had taken it upon himself to pay for Marie'a burial. He'd chosen a nice, quiet cemetery, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. A place he thought she would enjoy. It had a large pond, with flocks of ducks living in the grass nearby. Just like the ducks she had fallen in love with at MacArthur Park. Except, this place was safe. There were no drugs, pimps or prostitutes loitering through the serene acreage . . . there was only peace. He wondered if Marie finally felt at peace. He wondered if she had any idea how much he cared about her, how he'd tried to make things right.

Miller was so deep in thought, he didn't hear the soft footsteps as they approached. Absentmindedly, he looked toward the sun and found Claire standing nearby, studying him with a peculiar expression. "Hey, I didn't hear you walk up," he said, forcing himself to smile. "Shouldn't you be resting? You still look a little pale," he observed, his eyes washing over her sallow features.

"I'm fine, Miller. How are you?"

His hand lifted, shielding his eyes from the midday rays. He couldn't be certain, but Claire seemed uneasy, more so than she had been as of late. There was something different about her, she appeared so frail. He knew he should be paying closer attention, especially if she was sick, but it had been so difficult to concentrate. As hard as he tried, he just wasn't able to focus. Marie had consumed his thoughts for so long, it had become second nature thinking about her. Thank God Brooks was staying with them. He knew his friend would look after Claire while he was unable to. Even though he hadn't shown it lately, his girlfriend meant everything to him. He just had to get through this . . .

"I'm alright," he answered, jumping off the rock and walking closer to her. It felt like ages since they had touched. Claire had been giving him space to work on his project. She understood how involved he had gotten, she just didn't realize the context. He should tell her about Marie, but he couldn't. Not yet. As soon as he was ready, he would. And together they would work on the safe haven he had been planning. He wished now that the two females had met, they would have adored each other. Marie, with her quick-wit and lively personality, and Claire with her nurturing ways. She could have been the mother-figure Marie needed. But now it was too late.

"I don't think you are," Claire challenged, interrupting his train of thought. He squinted his eyes, studying her face. Was she angry? She almost seemed to be. Her forehead was wrinkled, uncharacteristically. And her tone. That was off, too.

"What do you mean?" he asked, unable to read her stance.

"Anna dropped something off just a little while ago." Claire held up a magazine but he was not able to make out the details in the harsh sunlight. "It's the latest copy of the tabloid Celebrity."

"Why would she do that? We don't pay attention to that garbage."

"No, we don't," Claire slowly agreed. "But this issue is a little different. There are several interesting pictures in here I think you might like to look at."

"I'm really not into it right now. I'm not sure why you would think I'd care."

Claire's eyebrows arched, as if she were questioning what he had said. "Actually, I think you'll want to see these."

She smoothed out the magazine in her hands and straightened out the cover. Miller finally was able to see what she meant. "Is that Ashton and Juliana?" he asked in disbelief. "What the hell are they doing?" But he knew exactly what they were up to, the picture didn't leave many details hidden. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Had he been in that much of a daze he'd somehow missed out something? How long has this been going on?

"Actually," Claire continued, "That's not what I wanted to show you."

As Claire's slender fingers flipped through the pages, Miller became more confused. If the picture on the cover wasn't what had been so important, what could it possibly be? Discovering that Ashton and Juliana were together was a pretty big deal, assuming the photograph was real. It was amazing what images could be faked these days. His eyes traveled up to study Claire's face. Her expression was hard, determined, creased with a stubbornness he'd never before seen.

"Here," she answered finally, thrusting the magazine into his hands. "Can you explain these pictures?" Claire asked, her voice tinged with desperation. "Please, Miller, tell me you can."

Confused, he stared at her, wondering what she was accusing him of. Everyone knew not to believe what they put in the tabloids! This year alone, they'd had him paired up with everyone from Rihanna to Robert Pattinson-she had to know whatever nonsense they stuffed in there was nothing but a lie! Miller drug his eyes away from Claire's and reached for the magazine she held in front of him. His eyes scanned the images and he felt his face pale. He teetered back, an unexpected bought of dizziness catching him off guard. "What the-" he exclaimed, refusing to believe what he was looking at. Pictures of him and Marie, hugging. Pictures of them talking, intensity outlining their expressions. The photos were crisp, clear—too clear. With a heavy heart, Miller turned the page, the threat of nausea swamping him. He swallowed hard, attempting to keep the contents of his stomach from rising. It was Marie, with her eyes closed, being carried away on a stretcher, a crowd of people surrounding her, as if she were part of some sort of sick display.

Who would do this? She deserves some peace!

And standing on the shore of the Pacific Ocean, with his girlfriend closely scrutinizing his every move, Miller began to cry.

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

"Natalie? It's your father," Oliver Mcgee offered, as soon as she picked up the phone.

Of course she knew it was him! Did he think she was an idiot? As if his name didn't appear on the lit screen of her cell every single time it rang. As if the morbid lyrics of Eminem's song "Puke" didn't signal who was waiting on the other end.

"Hello, father. How are you today?" Had to keep him on her good side. Had to at least try.

"Have you seen the latest copy of Celebrity?" he demanded, his voice an annoying whine.

"Celebrity?"

"Yes," he answered impatiently. "The tabloid magazine that features all the movie stars and famous singers?"

"I know what it is father. Why do you ask?"

"Have you seen it today?" he repeated excitedly.  "The entire cast of Paradise Cove is in it!"

Had she seen it? Of course she'd seen it. She more than seen it. "I'm not sure what you mean?"

"It appears our young stars have gotten caught up in some unsavory situations," he offered, his voice thick with amusement. "Everyone is talking about it! And you know what they say - there's no such thing as bad publicity - except maybe in this case." Natalie listened to him cackle, waiting for him to get to the point. "I think now is the time to approach them about the movie."

"Now?" she asked, a cold sweat coming over her.

"Of course, now. Strike when they need a friend to listen to them. When they need someone in their corner, lapping up their ridiculous excuses. They'll be begging me to let them return to their roots. To take them back to where it all began, when the world first fell in love with them! This timing is perfect."

"Have you thought anymore about bringing Cecilia back?" she asked timidly, holding her breath. Cecelia had been an extremely important character, it would be crazy not to include her in the movie. Her father had to see that!

She heard a heavy sigh on the opposite end. "Natalie, we've been over this. I'm not interested in bringing Cecilia back. In the final episode she left for Europe. That's where she's going to stay. Case closed."

"But it wouldn't be the same without her! You can't bring back every character except her! The movie would be incomplete!"

"Natalie, the truth is she wasn't that popular. No one really cared."

"That's because you never gave her any good story-lines!"

"She never got any good story-lines because she just wasn't in demand. The public wanted to see more of the other cast members, not her." His voice softened, "I'm sorry, Natalie. I know you want to be an actress, but the studio let you play that role as more of a favor to me, not because you had a career in acting ahead of you."

A flash of heat rushed over her. Was the room spinning? She felt so disoriented. Pig! He never did want me to be an actress! He never supported my decision to try! He's just as bad as those two-bit actors he loves so much. I hope they all say no! I hope his movie is shot down in flames before it even begins!

"I still want you to be my right-hand man, Nat," he continued, completely unaware of the knife he was turning. "You'll see—it'll be great! We'll make an excellent father-daughter team! Paradise Cove will be better than ever! I'm going to call a meeting, and I want you to be there."

Natalie didn't want to be his right-hand man. She wanted her role back.

And she would do anything to get it.

I think I'm starting to see a side of Natalie I haven't seen before . . . how about you? And will Brooks find out Brianna's pregnant? Find out in Chapter 23!

Hello, and thank you for reading Fast Lane! If you liked this chapter, please remember to vote/comment!

(Chapter 22 approx. 3, 200 words)