Zachary David Productions
Page 4
* * *
***
* * *
Five-hundred dollars.
Cammie hated to take Zach’s money, but she had no other choice. With it she could get a room for the next few days and lay low while she got her affairs in order.
As she walked, the gigantic southern homes got smaller and less kept. University Greek flags hung from balconies and she realized she was in the frat part of town, near one of the schools.
Across the street a couple of guys hopped out of an SUV and jogged over to her. The larger of the two pulled at her arms, coaxing her back toward the SUV.
She pulled away, and then attempted to walk away, but the SUV pulled up beside her.
Behind the SUV, a Benz was honking like mad.
It was Zach.
The guys turned their attention from her to him. She worried because now there were three of them and only one of Zach. They were large too—like linebackers.
Zach exited the Benz and waved his cell phone in the air.
“She’s fifteen years old. I’ve called the cops. She’s a runaway.”
That did it—the guys split. The SUV squealed as it took off like a bullet from a gun, leaving behind black tread on the saturated cement.
“Get in the car!” Zach yelled.
He took the blocks fast and rubbed those damned fingers over his lips. Lifting her chin she vowed not to be the first to speak. If he wouldn’t even listen to her explanation he could go to hell.
They stopped at a large drugstore.
“Do you need anything?”
She nodded—she needed everything. He held a basket while she loaded it with toothbrush and paste and shower gel. She didn’t ask questions, just grabbed what she needed from the shelves, surprised to see that this drugstore carried a little bit of literally everything, including half-gallon bottles of whiskey and Dom Perignon.
When the plastic red basket was filled to overflowing, Zach placed it in a full-size shopping cart, tight lipped and seemingly frustrated.
She walked beside him as he gathered cereal, milk, frozen pizza, chips, cookies, bottled water, wine, and sodas. His movements were jerky and heavy.
They labored toward the front of the store with the haul, both stopping when they spotted sweats, undies, socks, and flip-flops.
Zach pulled some tube socks from the rack. “I hope you’re a Saints fan,” he said sarcastically as he tossed the socks into the basket.
She pulled T-shirts and sweats from the cubbyholes and several pairs of glittering Saints boy shorts, suppressing a giggle as he watched.
While the clerk scanned their items, Zach scrolled through his phone, reminding her she’d lost one of his expensive Apple gadgets.
She passed him the wad of cash he’d given to her on the street. “I want to pay you for the clothes and other things.”
He took it from her. “You said that before. Why do you keep saying that when you can’t?”
“But I will be able to. One day.”
“Other than throwing your life away with the help of drugs did you have a plan when you left home?”
“I’ve never done drugs, or even smoked cigarettes.”
“Could have fooled me on that one,” he scoffed. “What’s your plan?”
“I don’t have one.”
He leaned in close to her ear, so no one could hear. His warm breath on her skin sent her mind scrambling.
“You should always have a plan before you commit to a life changing situation. Now you’re fucked, see. Before leaving your current place you should have made sure you had another place to stay.”
“I didn’t have that luxury.”
“What luxury? Everybody has the ability to be smart and plan ahead.”
She forced her arms through the plastic sacks.
While he paid she walked away. What did he know about her life anyway?
“Hey, wait up.”
She stopped and turned so fast she bumped into his front. Shaking her fists laden with sacks at him she said, “You’re wrong. Not everybody does.” The bags made a satisfying rustle that mirrored her annoyance.
His arms went out to his sides. “Your grand plan was to leave your Slidell home to hide out in the pool house without asking me if it was okay?”
He wasn’t being so quiet now and she lowered her head, ashamed.
She spoke softly, “The only plan was to not spend another night in my home with my stepfather.” She turned away from him to wipe the tears from her cheeks.
Tugging at her elbow he said, “Hey, I’m sorry.” He pulled her toward the parked car and took the bags from her. With her chin on her chest, she watched him load the items into the car, humiliated that he didn’t believe her.
“The drugs aren’t mine.”
“Oh? You’re a victim of receiving free drugs.” He held the car door open, gesturing her inside.
When he turned the motor on, she held her hand over the shifter, preventing his intentions. “I need you to listen to how I came into possession of that blue package.”
He sighed and rubbed his face. “I’m listening.”
“Last night I stayed with a friend of mine from high school.” She looked out the window at the falling misty drizzle. Old man winter was settling in and he was settling in hard. People walked speedily to their destinations, forgoing the French Quarter views.
“We’d lost touch since she’d graduated. I was a year behind, due to my mom’s death.” She wiped the tears away.
“I was able to call and get her address. She was the one who told me I needed to leave home to get away from my stepdad. She gave me her address and said I would have a place to stay.”
Looking up, she found him intently watching her. Her throat stung so she cleared it. “When I got there she didn’t look so good. Anyway, I slept on the couch and when her boyfriend came home he said I couldn’t stay for free…said I owed him for one night. He forced me to take the packet and then he dropped me near a house and told me to make the delivery. I was supposed to collect eight hundred dollars but then the cops showed up. They were chasing some guys and I was able to get away.”
He pressed his lips together and then looked forward as he put the car in motion.
Her heart raced as he thundered down the road. “You still don’t believe me?”
His knuckles turned white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I believe you, but in my experience dealers aren’t the type of people who will just chalk up a missed opportunity as a loss.”
Ice started to collect around the edges of the windshield. She didn’t need clarification but she wanted to hear more of his soothing voice. It kept her own from becoming too loud in her head.
“What do you mean?”
“I suspect this guy will be expecting his eight hundred dollars”—he downshifted like a stunt car driver—“excuse free.”
“Can’t I just give him back the packet?”
“You could try, but in his mind you owe him. Even if it was just the one night on his couch, you owe him.”
“I don’t owe him anything!” She felt bad for getting emotional but she’d been scared since the incident with the cops had occurred and now she was shaking.
The car slowed and Zach pressed a button on the car’s visor, opening the garage to his brother’s French Quarter home.
He pulled in and put the car in park. “I’ll help you take care of this situation, but I need something from you.” He clasped her hand in his warm one.
“What?” she croaked around a grateful sob.
“You’ve got to promise to try harder to keep yourself out of situations where you’re likely to become hurt. This isn’t the other side of the rainbow, you’re in New Orleans now—nothing’s free.”
“I’m not a stupid child. My best friend had invited me to stay.”
“It wasn’t her place to invite you. Surely you can see that now.”
Cammie opened the car door and exited. He had a point but she also felt naive an
d vulnerable and couldn’t take being closed up in the car any longer with his citrusy scent and smooth voice. She worried he thought her ridiculous and she wondered what he’d been like at nineteen. Had he always been an entrepreneur? Had he always been good at handling problems?
She’d never seen him mad until this afternoon and was devastated that it was because of her. Zach had always been lighthearted and kind. Now he was intimidating and his shortness with her pierced her chest causing sharp pain.
Was this the new Zach? Had she lost the fun-loving, sexy joker?
She hoped he’d let her make it up to him. She had a few ideas she thought he might appreciate.
5
Chapter Five
In the kitchen, Zach turned on the television and then removed the cork from a bottle of red wine. He poured a glass while he watched Cammie at the bar. He’d separated Cammie’s things from the groceries while she’d showered—to get warm she’d said. He couldn’t agree more—this old French Quarter monstrosity was impossible to keep warmed or cooled.
She was busily cutting tags from the clothes he’d stacked on the corner of the counter. Water droplets from her wet hair fell across her chest and rolled between her cleavage. Unfortunately for him, she wore a towel.
He’d seen her swipe at her cheeks three times now and he had a sneaking suspicion those tears were because of his words. Wasn’t it better that she hear about real life from him rather than experience it at the hands of a drug dealer?
“Would you like something to drink? I’m skilled at making cappuccinos with the froth and everything.”
“I’d like a glass of wine if you don’t mind.”
“You’re underage.”
“Until nineteen ninety-five in the state of Louisiana the drinking age was eighteen. By that rationale I’m one year past legal.”
“Too bad for you, we’re in a new millennium.”
She placed her hands on her hips in a demonstration that was undoubtedly grownup. “So I’m old enough to make a porn video but not old enough to enjoy a glass of wine.”
Touché. He poured her a glass and chuckled.
She folded the last of the clothing and took a seat at the bar, sipping from the wine glass with lips so lush his dick didn’t miss it. He watched her lick a drop from her lips using her tongue in the most alluring way. Shit. He’d filmed lots of naked women. Women who’d give their left arm to pull off a move like the one she did without even trying.
Was she going to wear the towel for a while then?
“Aren’t you cold?”
Her giggle knifed him to the wall. “I turned the steam shower to one hundred degrees which I learned was a little too high. It made me dizzy so I’m trying to cool off.”
Using the lower cabinets to hide his movement, he adjusted himself. He cleared his throat and asked, “So what’s the deal with your stepdad?”
She brought the glass to her lips for another sip and he deliberately turned his focus to peeling potatoes.
“I don’t know.” He heard the glass clink against the counter and then she sighed. “He drinks. A lot. ”
The goblet slid across the granite and he forced his thoughts and eyes away from her mouth.
“He’s abusive?”
“He can be.”
She stood and grabbed a few pieces of clothing. His eyes followed her towel-clad body from the room.
Anger bubbled thick like lava through his veins at the thought of anyone harming her. Damn his past and its reach that had almost caused him to lose her.
Relief blossomed like a flower that she was here and she was safe. In the six months he’d known her, he’d grown to expect that she’d be around. He didn’t want to analyze what that meant, but he knew better than to think he wasn’t affected by her.
She returned in a tight white top, the word Saints spread perfectly over her ample breasts. In contrast, the black yoga pants she wore displayed the words New Orleans across her ass that she wiggled at him as she looked back with her chin over her shoulder. Catching his eye, they laughed together.
“Great outfit.”
“CVS at its finest.”
Cammie walked over to him, watching as he operated the potato peeler.
“What are you making?”
“Sausage and potatoes.”
“Can I help?”
He pulled another cutting board and knife out and handed her a bag of assorted peppers. “Julienne these.”
“I see you already forgot my name?”
“Never.”
He had all of the potatoes cut into perfectly diced cubes when he turned and saw her wreaking havoc on the peppers. He took a piece of misshapen red pepper between his fingers. “I asked for julienned cuts. These are cut like spaceships.”
“Oh, is it wrong?” She swiftly set the knife down and backed away from the counter.”
He shrugged, “It can be argued that food is an art form—poetic license lies with the creator. So you’re not wrong but maybe you’d like to learn to julienne.”
“Show me.”
He took the knife from her. “First, you’re holding the knife wrong”—he positioned his hand on top of the blade and handle—“like this gives you more control.” He grabbed a large piece of pepper and flipped it so that the tough skin was on the board. “Cutting through the flesh is much easier than the skin. Slide the knife through from tip to blade.”
He passed the knife to her. “Give it a try.”
She had trouble getting the grip right. Zach encircled her from behind and wrapped his arms around her body to assist. Soon they were cutting peppers together, his hands guiding hers. It was more intimate than he’d meant to get with her, but she felt warm and smelled like fresh lavender from the bath. Once she had the hang of it he tried to pull away but their magnetism held him their.
“Um, I’ve cut them all.” She turned her face toward his and he smelled the dark cherry from the wine on her breath.
“You’re perfect…the cuts are perfect.” He closed his eyes tight and then blinked them open in an attempt to clear her intoxicating scent and touch from his overloaded system.
He added the peppers to the pot of already simmering sausage, potatoes, and onions and covered it with a lid, wondering what they’d do with the additional ten minutes while they waited for the vegetables to soften.
Cammie hoisted herself onto the counter to sit. “So, when are we going to start filming?”
The thought of her on film, and subsequently on the internet for download, didn’t feel quite right. “Did I say I’d be filming you?”
“No, but I’m hoping you will because I’m anxious to start living my life. I need money to do that.”
He could understand that. “What are your plans for the future?”
“I want to go to college.”
She’d need more than the three thousand he’d pay her. “I think you’d do well. What subject?”
“I’d like to be a nurse, but I’m not good with blood so I thought about a social worker.”
His mother had been a social worker. “That’s a good field.”
“If I do a good job will you offer me additional roles?”
Again, the thought of her on film didn’t sit well in his belly. “Potentially.”
“So when can we start?”
“I’ll have to check my schedule.”
With her top row of teeth, she razored her lower lip, worry evident on her face between the wrinkles that had popped up between her brows. He placed his hand on hers, “Hey, you’re welcome to stay here until you figure out what you’re going to do.”
Her anxiety evaporated and a smile slowly built, giving him so much joy in that moment that he could have hugged her to her death. He’d failed in the past, but he wouldn’t fail Cammie. He’d help her accomplish her goals, help her get through college, see her safe and maybe, just maybe, somewhere somebody was doing the same for the one he’d been unable to save.
6
Chapter Six
Living here was an adventure. She’d made use of the bidet—a contraption that she just couldn’t quite understand. Her favorite feature by far was the steam shower, but a close second was the media room. With its movie-theater-style popcorn maker and reclining leather seats with surround sound headrests, watching The Wizard of Oz was one of the best times she’d ever had. The screen was as big as any she’d seen at the theater.
The contraptions in the home were nice, but she knew she’d be happy if only she could get back into her little home she’d grown up in. How long would it take to prove it belonged to her? And how long would it take to boot Phil out? These were all questions she’d planned to pose to the lawyer, but since she’d lost her bag and phone, she knew she wouldn’t be hearing back from him. In fact, she had no private phone line at her disposal to use.
Dusting the three-tier crystal chandelier, Cammie thought of how simple life could be for those who never had to think about where money would come from. It had just always been there like family money. She laughed at the thought. Family money.
No, she wasn’t born into money, but she was left with a home that had been in her family for over forty years and she damn well planned to keep it that way. Three thousand dollars would go a long way in helping her secure the lawyer who could assist her. Somehow she had to make Zach realize she was an adult and could make the choice to star in an adult film.
History and time stood still in this corner of the Vieux Carre. Pausing from her work to look around the grand esplanade mansion, she squinted and imagined the chandeliers alit with candlelight. Gloved women in big Southern Belle dresses with eyelet petticoats and men dressed in double-breasted tailcoats would have promenaded across the floors of the imposing double parlors. Her hand feathered over fluted Corinthian columns that supported sixteen-foot ceilings complete with original medallions and gold foil. The crown molding and matching marble fireplaces exuded opulence and light poured in through veranda windows that were kissed by the leaves of the old towering oaks that lined the streets to form an arc.