Ch11

The Young Woman drove quickly through the dark, winding streets of Beverly Hills, slowing down once she came upon the drive wisely camouflaged between tall shrubs. It was the closest thing to security in the entire estate. She drove past the entrance and parked down the road, feeling comfortable with the routine she had established over the past several months. Getting in and out of Brooks' residence was a breeze, an action she boldly felt she could do with her eyes closed.

In the dark, she followed the perimeter of the manicured front lawn, carefully eyeing the enormous house in the distance making sure the singer had indeed left for the evening.

The coast was clear.

She wasn't concerned with a time frame, it didn't really matter how long she took. She could enjoy herself at leisure once inside, knowing when Brooks left for the night he was typically gone until the early hours of the morning, an act she'd witnessed first-hand on several occasions.

The house was in its usual form, darkened; with the exception of one bright light visible in the foyer and several smaller lights decorating the outside of the home. Slowly, she crept toward the window she knew would be unlocked. How anyone in Brooks' prominent position could be so blasé about their safety was beyond her. She knew a thing or two about home security and she would be more than willing to take care of surveillance measures once the singer asked her to move in. When she reached her intended destination, she gave the window a gentle push and saw that it opened freely, just as she figured it would.

The Young Woman adjusted the brown leather messenger bag that clung to her side and gave it a protective pat. She never left home without it. It housed everything that was most important to her, including her camera which was tucked safely inside right next to the gift she had so thoughtfully crafted for Brooks. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation when she imagined him finding it. No doubt he would love it. How could he not? She'd gone great lengths to acquire it for him, and there was no question he would appreciate her commitment. If only she could see the delighted look on his face upon its discovery! But that would be much too dangerous.

She expertly hoisted herself through the opening and came down with a soft thud on top of plush carpet. Now that she was in the security of the main living room, The Young Woman let out a deep sigh. Not that she was nervous; fear was never an issue, at least not after the rush of breaking in for the first time. The thrill of the new experience had been electrifying--and surprisingly easy--how could she not come back for more? Her breath always caught in the most delicious way, relishing in the fact that she was in the home of the man she loved. The closeness overwhelmed her. Brooks Kennedy lived there . . . and she was most confident that one day she would, too.

The Young Woman knew the details of the estate by heart. The twists and turns that took her through the most intimate specifics; the bathroom where he showered, the bedroom where he slept, the studio where he practiced with his band-mates. She removed her boots and walked barefoot, the familiar feeling of carpet and hardwood underneath her bare feet. She enjoyed making herself at home; she knew Brooks would want it that way.

Leisurely, she wandered from room to room, taking her time looking through his mail and other personal belongings. The living room, the kitchen, his office, finally making her way up the grand staircase to the place she desired the most . . . the master bedroom. All the house needed was a feminine touch, one that let everyone who entered know Brooks was taken, that he was loved-by her. It would be a role she would never take for granted.

As she entered his room, she went straight for the closet, just as she always did, and opened the ornate wooden doors. The custom-made area that contained his wardrobe was about the size of the bedroom in her small apartment and once again she wondered why he needed all that extra space. Brooks was a simple guy, he didn't need much, certainly not rows upon rows of shirts, pants and shoes. Reluctantly, she had to admire his work ethic. It was no easy feat to take on the challenge of pleasing the world, but he did so without complaint. How exhausting it must be to always try and keep up the superstar image. Maybe once they were together officially, she would be able to convince him to step back from the limelight for a while . . . maybe even forever, and take the much needed break he deserved. Then, Brooks could be all hers and she would never again have to share him with his fans or record label. She would have him all to herself, just as it should be.

The Young Woman stepped deeper inside the closet and let her hands trail deliberately along the row of designer suits worn on the most special of occasions. She removed a navy-blue Armani pinstripe from its hanger and gathered it into her arms, bringing the garment to her nose and deeply inhaling the musky scent attached to it. Brooks had not taken it to the dry cleaners after he'd worn it last, and it held the sweet smell of man and sweat, the very essence of who he was. She felt an intimate stirring deep within her stomach, a sensation she had grown so accustomed to.

She hung the suit carefully before leaving the closet and walking toward the bed, where she gingerly set down her bag. Slowly, she removed all of her clothing and folded the pieces neatly, stacking what she wore in a pile on top of the bedspread. The zipper of her sack opened smoothly, and she removed the contents inside, eager to get to work. There was so much to do! Once her gift was laid out in front of her, she picked up her camera and started taking pictures of the room. She already had a collection of similar photos at home, but these would be different, these images would hold a piece of her in them.

Just as she turned to begin the task of what she had come to do, a large mirror caught her eye and she stared, mesmerized. There she stood, naked, in the bedroom of Brooks Kennedy! She didn't normally enjoy looking at herself in the mirror, but this time she wasn't embarrassed by what she saw. She felt almost . . . proud. She looked happy standing in the buff among the belongings of her love. The Young Woman felt her excitement stir, and before she even realized her own intentions, she began to take pictures of her reflection.

Someday, she might even share the images with Brooks.

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

The fundraiser had been a success. Attendance was high and performances were flawless, there was no doubt the deserving charity had made a good amount of money from the wealthy party-goers.

Just as the event was wrapping up, Brooks received an invitation to partake in a rowdy night on the town. Even though the thought of hanging out with his friends appealed to him-some he didn't get to see nearly enough-he declined, blaming it on a massive migraine and an early-morning meeting.

"Suit yourself, man," jousted Avi. "More women for me." Brooks didn't care, he was not about to let his hard-on make any more decisions for him. He'd promised himself a life-change, and that was exactly what he intended to do. He was proud of himself, turning down a night of fun had not been easy, but he'd done it. That had to count for something.

He settled into the backseat of the stretch limo, a service he rarely requested, and decided to enjoy the short ride home. It wasn't often he found himself adjacent to the driver's seat and he took advantage of the opportunity to enjoy the view. The decorative lights that crawled up the tall palm trees along Rodeo Drive cast a warm glow against the cobblestones and the designer shops continued on as far as the eye could see. It was no wonder the extravagant city attracted its fair share of tourists year after year; it wasn't difficult to see the appeal.

So very far from where I grew up.

Brooks remembered a time when walking the streets of Beverly Hills had seemed a pipe dream, but to actually be a resident of the notorious town? Reality still blew his mind every time he slowed down to think about it. He'd come a long way, that was for sure, but he still had so much farther to go. Achieving the dream had not satisfied him the way he imagined it would, which lead him to believe he'd been doing it all wrong. If only there was an instruction book that came along with life! Something that advised and directed a person toward the right path, especially after they'd fucked up. But no, he could not be so lucky. He would have to figure this mess out on his own. What a drag that was going to be, but he had heard someone say once that "Anything worth having was worth fighting for," only at the time he thought it was stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Brooks was into taking the easy way out, whenever he could, anyway. He'd struggled enough getting where he was, the time had come to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Or so he had thought.

Boy was he wrong!

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

What the hell is this?

Condoms lying in neat, little packages at the bedside.

How could he do this to me? Damn him!

Wasn't she supposed to be the only one for him? Wasn't Brooks supposed to be in love with her? That was the impression she'd been under, they just hadn't consummated their relationship yet. She was still waiting for the moment Brooks would make love to her, and when that moment finally came she knew it would be everything she had dreamed of.

So . . . who had he been with?

The Young Woman's thoughts drifted back to the night at the Film Awards, when she'd caught him in the backseat with some little, teenage tramp. Had he been with her again after all? Had Brooks brought the girl back to his home for sex? How could he do this to her?

Rage began to boil in her blood, a rage unlike any she had known before. Who did Brooks think he was, screwing around behind her back? She'd always been faithful to him. Not even once in all the years she'd known him, had she so much as looked at another man. Yet he was making no effort to respect her.

Brooks is a pig, just like every other man out there! I was stupid to have thought he would be different!

The Young Woman reached inside her messenger bag and brought out a few more items, items she hadn't intended on leaving. But plans can change, right? Why should she present thoughtful gifts to that lying, whoring son-of-a-bitch? It wasn't her fault he'd been messing around. It wasn't her fault he was a pig-bastard! Brooks Kennedy deserved everything that was about to happen to him.

With shaking hands she finished her mission and then quickly dressed. There was no reason for her to be there any longer now that the job was done. In fact, she couldn't wait to get away. She made her way through the house and to the window that sat open, waiting for her. Very carefully, she unzipped the leather bag and removed her camera. She grasped the aluminum tightly against her body, making sure it was safe as lowered herself to the soft earth below. Tomorrow, she would take the beloved piece of equipment into the repair shop. It had started acting up again while she was capturing pictures of Brooks' bedroom and she knew she could not put the task off any longer.

Lifting her wrist, The Young Woman consulted her watch and realized it was still early, just after midnight. She had plenty of time before Mr. Pop-Star found his way home, assuming he made it home at all. It wasn't unusual for Brooks to stumble in well after the sun came up. She began to follow the perimeter of the yard, walking along the tall hedge, when she noticed she was not alone. Standing in the bushes several yards ahead was a small, balding man. He was holding a camera of his own, and he was snapping away frantically, the lens pointed directly at her. The Young Woman recognized him instantly; she had encountered him many times before at parties and events. She didn't know his name but she knew he was hungry, working nonstop to catch the prize-shot every photographer dreamed of. A slow realization dawned on her.

He took pictures of me sneaking out of the window!

Red-faced, she started screaming as she made her way toward him. "What are you doing?"

He walked backward away from her, his finger still on the trigger. Finally, he turned and ran as fast as his short, skinny legs could manage. But she was sturdy and quick, and it didn't take her long to catch up to him. "What are you doing?" she screamed again, pushing his back forcefully.

The old man stumbled forward, then turned to face her, his camera held tightly against his heaving chest. "H-hey, I know you, don't I?" he stammered, trying to catch his breath. "Y-you broke into that house. You broke into Mr. Kennedy's house." His eyes were alive now as recognition set in.

"What do you know, you stupid pig-man?"

"I know what I saw, and I have the pictures to prove it," he gloated, a confident smirk moving across his features. He thought he had her!

"Give me that camera!" The Young Woman demanded, reaching for the offensive device. But he was quicker than he looked. She could almost see money signs in his beady little eyes. That old pig planned to use those pictures against her, his intentions were written all over his smug, weathered face! He had captured her image on film, sneaking out of Brooks' house. There was no way she would be able to deny it once he showed it to others.

"No," he said, moving away from her in earnest. "This is my camera, you can't have it!"

Fury and fear began to build inside of her. There was no way she could let him sell those pictures. If anyone had found out what she'd been up to she would be the laughing stock, not to mention guilty of breaking and entering, a crime that could easily get her thrown into prison.

"I said . . . give . . . me . . . that . . . camera," she urged, as she struggled to pry the device from his wrinkled hands.

"No!"

Suddenly, The Young Woman stopped fighting and stood still just staring at the older man. Although, she wasn't seeing the person standing in front of her, she was seeing Brooks and the disapproving look that would cover his handsome face once he realized what she had done.

She could not let that happen.

Without hesitation, The Young Woman lifted her camera high above her head and brought it down sharply against the side of the  man's face. She ignored his look of horror as she repeated the action over and over, until finally, the he fell to the ground. She climbed on top of him, her camera continued it's assignment as pieces of steel and plastic dropped into the grass.

My camera!

The Young Woman crouched closer to the grass and stared at all of the tiny pieces scattered about. It was only then that she noticed the blood running down her hand. She began to shake violently as she leaned over and stared into the old man's face. His eyes were open, but he couldn't see her. He couldn't see anything anymore.

Why was he covered in blood? Why was she covered in blood? And more importantly, what had happened to her camera?

No . . . Did I do this?

The Young Woman stood from the thin, crumpled body and tried desperately to fit the puzzle pieces together, but it was so hard! What had just happened? A sharp breath caught in her throat as a horrific understanding washed over her.

There was no way the repair shop would be able to fix her camera now.

OMG - what has she done? Will Brooks have a run-in with the crazy Young Woman? Find out in Chapter 12!

Hello and thank you for reading Fast Lane! If you liked this chapter, please remember to vote/comment-I love to hear from you! Check out the media section for a picture of poor, dead Earl!

(Chapter 11 approx 2,880 words)