Ch15

Claire sat on the cushioned outdoor sofa and closed her eyes as the soft breeze from the Pacific washed over her. She pushed a hand through her dark, wavy hair and stared off into the distance, contemplating her unfortunate predicament. Miller's increasing aloofness had her on edge. Just when she thought he couldn't seem any more detached, he surprised her by reaching a new level. What in the world was going on with him? He'd left the house that morning vaguely stating he had "things to do". It seemed as though the happy world they had created together was starting to crumble, and she had no idea how to remedy the problem. Was writing the screenplay honestly causing Miller thatmuch turmoil? And if that was the case, how would he act if his script actually turned into a movie? Would the stress continue? Would it grow even stronger?

It was so frustrating! The heavy weight of the situation could not possibly be good for the baby. Constant pressure was not healthy for anyone, let alone for the new life that was trying to grow inside of her. Maybe if she broke down and just told Miller the truth things would start to turn around. Although, deep down she knew that would not be the case. He'd put his entire career on hold to work on this screenplay. He was so invested, hehadto finish it.

Having Brooks around might help ease the tension, even though it hadn't seemed to yet. If anything, Miller appeared even more distant. Maybe if she gave it some more time he would start to relax in the company of their friend. Dinner the night before had been strained, and she'd felt embarrassed that Brooks had noticed. He even questioned them about it! Claire felt uncomfortable, she'd always been an extremely private person, it horrified her to know that their friends were picking up on the fact that something wasn't right. It was one thing to be going through this trouble herself and quite another to let an outsider in on what was going on. Of course, she and Miller had both made excuses, but it was clear that Brooks could see past that.

If I can't even talk to my own boyfriend about the stress he is under, how am I going to break the news about the baby? she worried as she brought a protective hand to her growing bump. And when I do finally tell him, what's he going to think about me keeping it a secret for so long? I've made such a mess of things!

"Hey, Claire," came a gentle voice from the patio doorway."You look like you could use a friend."

Claire glanced up to find Brooks watching her, a worried expression covering his handsome face. With everything he was going through, there was no way she could burden him with her problems! She buried her discontentment and attempted a wide smile. "Brooks, I would love to have your company!" She moved over on the sofa and pat the spot next to her.

Brooks sat down with a plop and stretched his long legs in front of him.

"How're doing today?" she asked, determined to make up for the lack of warmth the night before. "Feeling any better?"

"I'd feel a whole lot better if my house wasn't being ransacked by the police right now. I drove past it this morning and they have it all blocked off with yellow tape." His face puckered and he shook his head. "As if I didn't have enough to deal with, now I'm sure I'll have a bloody mess to clean up when I get home-like I even want to go back there," he added harshly.

"Perhaps you can have a company come in to take care of it for you?" she suggested. "You can find another house while you're staying here and hire someone else to pack up your things and move them to the next place?"

"Yeah, maybe . . . " he responded, looking distracted. Abruptly, Brooks turned to her and offered a small smile. "I'll look into it-thanks, Claire." He took a moment to study her and finally his suspicious blue eyes met hers. She had thrown on black yoga pants and a loose-fitting sweatshirt that morning when she'd crawled out of bed, and now she was wishing she had put more thought into her appearance. After all, they did have a house-guest. Claire broke his gaze and looked out toward the ocean, embarrassed.

"How are you doing?" he asked softly.

"I'm good, thanks," Claire tuned back to him with a smile.  "It's so nice to have you here. Miller and I couldn't be happier. It's seems like forever since we've all gotten to hang out." She tried to keep her tone light and casual, hoping he wouldn't be able to see through her facade.

"I don't mean to pry, Claire," Oh no, here it comes. "But things seem to be a little off between you two. Is everything okay?" he asked, bringing his eyebrows together in concern.

"Of course, everything is fine," she forced a quick laugh. "We've just been so busy. Miller with his screenplay and me with . . . other things."

Brooks nodded in understanding. "I bet you'll be thrilled when he's finished, huh? It can't be easy having to share him with that script."

Was she that easy to read? Claire released a small sigh, "You know me so well," she said with a sheepish smirk. "Miller has been pretty distracted lately, but it's all good. Things will get back to normal as soon as Runaway is complete. He's extremely dedicated at the moment, and I couldn't be more proud of all the hard work he's put in."

Brooks appeared to consider what she'd said and his eyebrows arched in concession. But he wasn't finished with her yet.

"I don't mean to be nosy, but you seem pretty tired. Are you feeling alright?"

Claire's heart sunk at his acute observation. She had been feeling exhausted, all to be expected, of course, but she waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, I'm fine. I've been busy reading several scripts my agent has sent over. Gotta get busy on the next project, you know? Before everyone forgets who I am," she joked.

Brooks let out a hearty laugh, "I don't think that'll happen any time soon! You did just win one hell of an award. It's not likely you'll be fading into the woodwork any time soon," he reassured. "I really hope that's all it is. You and Miller mean the world to me, I would hate to see you two having problems."

"I promise, that's all it is," she answered back, as though the idea of her and Miller in turmoil was ridiculous. Here she was supposed to be helping Brooks through a difficult time, but instead he was trying to comfort her! Claire felt her stomach grow queasy. He was bringing up things she wasn't ready to talk about, and she worried about where the conversation was headed. I've got to get out of this house for a while, she decided.

"Hey, I need to go to the store," she began suddenly. It really wasn't a lie, her pants were starting to fit tighter and tighter. Shopping wasn't something Claire normally enjoyed, but a little retail therapy might do her some good. "Do you need anything while I'm out?"

Brooks shook his head, his blond hair tumbling carelessly around his face. "Nope, I'm good. Think I'll just take it easy today, if you don't mind. Maybe go for a swim and try to catch some sun."

Claire stood up and carefully adjusted her sweatshirt. "Of course! Please feel free to do whatever you like," she smiled, even though smiling was the last thing she felt like doing. She started to walk toward the patio doors when a thought struck her. "My assistant is supposed to stop by today and drop off more scripts for me to look at," she said over her shoulder. "You'll be here, then?"

He rewarded her with a big grin. "No problem, Claire-bear. I'll hang out here and be on my best behavior, scout's honor," Brooks promised, holding up two fingers in mock salute.

"I'm not worried about that at all," she chuckled.

Or should she be?

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

The Young Woman sat in her car outside the beach house hoping to catch Miller before he left for the day. But the longer she waited the more evident it became she had already missed him.

Dammit! Did he already go downtown? Her thoughts were consumed with capturing more discriminating pictures of him with the young girl.

When a navy BMW inched out of the garage a short while later, it was almost too good to be true. The elusive Claire Ryan rarely went out in public! The Young Woman had always suspected that pictures of her would be the most difficult to obtain. When Claire backed her vehicle onto the street a little too quickly, the bumper scraped against the curb and she'd gotten out to inspect potential damage. It was the perfect time to snap some close ups!

Claire looked worn out and stressed, worry lines etched her face, and she was dressed down in a way  The Young Woman had never witnessed before in all the years she had known her. Yet, no matter how disheveled the actress appeared, she still seemed lovely, untouchable, like a delicate porcelain doll.

Beautiful bitch. Let's see how you like these pictures! Where are your stylist and hairdresser now?

The power made her feel unstoppable! Here she was, right under Claire's nose, taking pictures the stunning actress would never want taken, and she didn't even realize it! The Young Women's plans were coming together perfectly. In her possession she secured proof that Miller Bradley was fooling around with some little girl in Hollywood while Claire Ryan looked a run-down wreck! No one had ever seen the irritatingly perfect lovebirds in this light before!

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud . . .

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

Miller quickly walked the active downtown streets, focused on what he came to do. His heart thumped loudly in his chest as he imagined Marie's departure from the daily life she had come to know. No longer would she be alone, or hungry, or scared. No longer would she have to beg strangers for money, or snoop through garbage cans for something to eat. She could start over, in a new town, with a new life-he would make sure of it. Once the proper authorities were involved, they would have the opportunity to explain the abuse she'd endured at home in Utah-her strung out mother, the stepfather who would try to violate her-and convince them she didn't belong there. Who knows, maybe eventually she would live with him and Claire-after she received all the help she needed, of course. As much as he wanted to be there for her, he was not willing to bring someone who suffered with certain addictions into his home.

How did I get so attached? he wondered for the thousandth time. He felt the same way toward Marie as he did for his younger brothers, especially while his parents were going through their divorce several years before. He'd had an intense desire to protect his siblings, and the responsibility he had taken on stayed with him over the years.

He wandered the area near Hollywood and Highland, a spot he knew Marie frequented daily, and worked his way toward Vermont Avenue. To him, the walked seemed tedious and pointless, but to the runaways living on the streets, it was a way of life. With no rules or schedules to follow, they lazed around all day, going where they wanted, when they wanted, and had no one to tell them otherwise. He passed Santa Monica Boulevard, Melrose Avenue, Beverly and Wilshire, finally making his way into MacArthur Park. The Purple Prophet stumbled down the trail that edged alongside the lake, and he discreetly stuffed several dollar bills into the mumbling man's dry, calloused hand.

"Taste and see that the LORD is good," Miller heard him mutter under his breath. How was it that this man, who was obviously mad, could recite the whole entire Bible from front to back? What had his life been like before he lived on the streets? Before he could pull his hand away, the homeless man wrapped his fingers tightly around Miller's wrist.  His small, black eyes burned through his, and Miller's stomach reeled in response. "And blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him," he whispered fiercely, his eyes steadfast.

Miller swiftly pulled his arm from the demented man's grasp and hurried along the path, anxious to distance himself. The sooner he found Marie, the sooner they could leave this life behind. He didn't slow his pace until he came upon the playground where he knew Marie slept. He ambled around, carefully observing every person loitering in the park.

Where the hell was she? He told her he would be back and she had agreed to come with him. So, why was she hiding?

He was about to make his way back toward the streets, when he recognized a girl he had seen talking to Marie before. She was sitting at a picnic table, speaking with two other teenagers. Slowly, he approached them, not wanting to scare them off. "Excuse me," he said as the girls turned to stare at him. "Hi . . . my name's Mike, I'm a friend of Marie's."

"What do ya want, a prize?" a girl with spiky magenta hair asked, a cigarette dangling from her thin lips.

"Uh . . . no, I've just been looking for her and can't find her. I was wondering if maybe you've seen her?"

This time, another girl with shoulder-length brown hair answered, "I haven't seen her since last night." She was the teenager he'd seen hanging out with Marie before over the past several months. The third kid, a baby-faced blonde, sat there quietly with fixed eyes, obviously stoned.

The brown haired girl was much nicer than the first, so Miller directed his next question toward her. "Where did you see her?" he asked.

The teenager shrugged. "She stopped by here for a little while, and then she disappeared. Haven't seen her since."

"Why do you care so much?" the spiky-hair girl demanded. "What are you-her pimp?" She laughed and took the cigarette out of her mouth, letting the smoke snake out in a long, slow tide.

Miller ignored her and continued on. "Was she with anyone?" he asked, even though he was scared to hear the answer.

His heart sank when she nodded her head. "Yeah, she was with some guy who calls himself Bix. They've been meeting up lately."

"Yeah, and Bix isn't going to like that you've been looking for her," answered the spiky-haired girl. "He doesn't like his girls messing around with guys when he's not around."

What did she mean his girls? What had Marie gotten herself involved in?

"Look," he answered impatiently, "I'm going to try and find her. If she comes back here, please tell her I'm looking for her. Tell her I'll be back later and to stay put."

"What's in it for us?" challenged Magenta Spikes.

Miller fished around in his pocket for the ten dollar bill he knew was sitting there. He took it out, knowing the girls would not spend it wisely, and handed it to the nicer one of the three. "Here, this is all I have," he lied. "Tell her Mike will be back."

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

"I think I'm pregnant," Brianna announced over Neapolitan Calamari and Shrimp Salad, carefully monitoring her stepmother's reaction.

Tiffany raised her perfectly plucked brows in surprise and stared back at her. "Excuse me?"

They were sitting on the stone patio overlooking an enormous in-ground pool while Lucy, their maid, served them an early lunch. Lucy set out two gold-rimmed glass bowls, but apparently the salad did not live up to its appetizing name. Tiffany took one look and rolled her heavily-lined eyes, "There's not enough calamari in this salad, Lucy," she said, looking up and staring directly at the middle-aged woman. "How many times do I have to tell you that I like lots of calamari?"

Lucy nodded her head and rushed to her side. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Walters, I must have misunderstood," she apologized, quickly removing the offensive meal from the table. "I'll add more to yours, right away."

"See that you do," Tiffany retorted before returning her attention back to Brianna. "Now . . . what makes you think you're pregnant?"

Brianna frowned, and prayed once again she was mistaken. "Well, for starters, I've completely lost my appetite," she said, pushing around chucks of eggplant with her fork before moving the bowl aside. "I'm nauseous and tired, and my breasts are so sensitive I can barely stand wearing a bra."

Tiffany took a healthy gulp of wine and shook her head, her gold hoops gleaming in the early afternoon sun. "Yep, sounds like all the symptoms, but you never know," she shrugged, matter-of-factly. "Have you taken a test?"

"God, no!" Brianna responded in horror.

"Well, how're you ever going to find out if you don't take a test?"

"But that will make it seem too real," Brianna cringed.

"That logic makes absolutely no sense," Tiffany said, throwing her a look. "Have you missed your period?"

"It was due earlier this week . . ."

Tiffany gasped. "And you're just now telling me? Your father is going to freak!" she shrieked dramatically. "How long were you gonna wait to mention it-when you went into labor?"

Brianna rolled her eyes. Didn't she just tell her? God, her stepmother could be such a drag sometimes, especially when she plunged into the wine before noon. "I've only just started to suspect," she explained. "And besides, I-" Suddenly, her eyes went wide and she brought a hand to her mouth.

"What is it?" Tiffany asked, alarmed.

Brianna shook her head and quickly pushed away from the table. She ran into the house at lightning speed, making a mad dash for the bathroom. Tiffany followed in hot pursuit.

"Brianna! Are you alright?" she screamed, running after her. But before she could make her way inside, Brianna slammed the door in her face.

"That's it!" Tiffany called out from the other side of the doorway. "I'm going to get you a test. I'll be right back."

Is Brianna pregnant? Find out in Chapter  16!

Hello, and thank you for reading Fast Lane! If you liked this chapter, please remember to vote/comment! Take a peek at the media section for a pic of Jonathon Walters!

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, or look me up on Twitter or Facebook.  Thank YOU for helping make this dream a reality!

(Chapter 15 approx. 3, 085 words)