Zachary David Productions

C
opyright
© 2015 by Gina Watson

Whiskey Cove Publishing

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SBN-13
: 978-1-941059-25-8

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T
hank you
.

C
ammie shook
drops of lemon oil onto the ornate wooden credenza and inhaled, smiling at the memories of her grandmother’s home that got a daily dousing of the stuff. She wiped the dust onto a rag.

“You always smile when you dust.”

Mmm, Zachary David.

He was so hot she spent every working day burning to a crisp and being reborn from her sexually charged ashes. Typically, it would be quite regular to have sweat accumulating between her breasts, but for once it was cold in New Orleans.

Catching a glimpse of Zach casually reclined in his desk chair and watching her, Cammie wiped the beads of sweat from her upper lip.

He did that a lot...watched her with a smile on his face. The slow burn between her legs answered him and it wasn’t the first time she wished he knew the effect he had on her.

“My grandmother used to clean her home with this stuff. She had a heavy glass jar of it.”

His smile and clover green eyes hypnotized her. The eyes were a bright contrast to his dark blonde hair.

“That’s a good memory.”

She stared too long, but his eyes with their smoky rims had a way of pulling her in.

“It is,” she replied, still dazed and surrendering the win of the staring contest to him. This had been going on since she’d started cleaning the French Quarter mansion. Having started as soon as she’d graduated high school, it had been about six months now. It wasn’t glamorous, but she’d needed money and it was the first job she could find.

“Is it okay if I use your phone?” She pointed to the high-tech office phone on his desk that stood out in a room that was otherwise set in a nineteenth century time capsule.

“Sure.” He turned the phone around, to make it accessible to her.

He gathered some papers from his desk and then headed toward the stairs, she assumed to access his film studio on the top floor. He paused at the threshold and turned back toward her, “I’ve got several old cell phones. You’re welcome to have one.”

He was the nicest man she’d ever known. Last week he tried to give her a car. Well not give it to her, but he’d suggested that she drive his car. He said he’d let her know if he needed it. It was a Beemer. She’d laughed at him and boarded the bus toward Lake Pontchartrain.

But a phone wasn’t a car. “That would really help me out.”

“Great.” His smile, straight and white, beamed at her.

He pulled the phone from a drawer in his desk, along with an electronic tablet. “I’ve also got this iPad. I never use it if you’re interested.”

She took the phone, “I think just the phone for today.”

He pointed at the phone in her hand, “That phone still receives service so you can start using it right away.”

“Thanks.”

There was a long, intense moment—the kind where the guy leans in for a kiss, but the kiss never came.

“Zach, studio’s ready, we just need a director,” A feminine voice called from the stairway.

“I’ll be right there,” Zach answered.

There was a lingering pause and Cammie wanted to make it easier for him to go because right now she really wanted him to stay and sensed he did too. “I’ve got to get back to work. Still got the kitchen and the studio to clean.”

Zach nodded, “We’ll be done around four if you want to clean then.”

She didn’t answer, but watched his retreating backside. He wore a pair of well-worn jeans that were faded most around the thigh and right butt pocket where his wallet lived. His white T-shirt looked as soft as rabbit fur molded over his tight shoulders and back. He always walked around barefoot and it did funny things to her insides because his feet were quite sexy, as feet go. They were high arched and athletic looking with sharp valleys and peaks. Cammie imagined his feet would feel knobby and hard between her fingers.

She sunk on a sigh. She’d spent enough time ogling him like he would one day be hers. But men like him with the best looks, the most money, and the hottest women, didn’t go for women like her…
usually
. Besides, Cammie came with a great big dilemma. A dilemma she needed to solve.

Cammie called the law office of Grant and Baker. Since it was Monday, she thought it strange that she was forced to leave a message. But she did in the hope that they would be able to help her, not only with her problem but also with the payment.

***

H
umming along to some AC
/DC, with the broom as her partner, Cammie danced her way up the stairs. In her opinion,
Back in Black
was the best song in the history of rock. She dusted the iron balustrade as she backed the rest of the way up the stairs, and eventually into the studio.

“
Because I’m back in blaaaaaack
!” Cammie sang without care, sweeping and dusting in large strokes to the beat of the music. She was using the broom handle to crank out the guitar solo when she felt the fingers tap her shoulder.

She froze.

Please, ye gods of nineteen-year-old girls who love rock, don’t let the studio be full of people. Oh, please.

Slowly, Cammie turned.

Oh, no
.

She pulled the ear buds from her ears.

Smiling tenderly, Zach said, “Don’t you just love AC/DC?”

“She’s about as useful as a turnip!” The beautiful, naked actress stormed across the room in stiletto heels that would have had Cammie on her ass. Her costar laughed and lounged provocatively.

Cammie cringed. “S-sorry.” She glanced at her Mickey Mouse watch and frowned. “It’s after four. I thought after four was—”

Zach placed his hand over hers. “Don’t worry about her. And you’re right…we should have been out of here. We’re encroaching on your time now.”

“Did I mess up the movie?”

“It’s nothing.” He bent to whisper in her ear, “I’ll throw some more money at her and she’ll be fine.”

“I’ve cost you.”

“It’s okay. I have money and she needs it. You’ve just stimulated the economy.”

Her body sizzled at the low hum of his voice in her ear and especially at the word
stimulated
.

“I’m glad I caught you enjoying my playlist.”

“It’s a good list.”

Cammie focused on the dirty brown streak on the top of her white sneaker. “I’ll just go try to find my composure. I think I left it downstairs.”

Cammie left and caught the four forty-five bus. Before she’d made it home, the cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“You left.”

The two words spoken without a greeting confused her momentarily. After all, she’d hoped it was the law office returning her call. “I’ll return early in the morning to clean the studio before your first appointment.”

“Don’t worry about it. I just hoped I’d see you before you left for the day.”

“Oh.” Cammie felt her face heat. She was no longer hoping to hear from the law office. She wanted only to hear Zach on the other end of the line.

“Listen, don’t worry about Celeste, she can be a nasty bitch.”

Cammie hadn’t given it another thought, really. She had her own troubles. It’s why she enjoyed being around Zach. In his world she forgot her own problems.

“Thank you, Zach. Next time I’ll make sure the studio is clear of people before I put in the ear buds.”

“Good to know, but like I said before your performance was worth the money. I would have paid thousands.”

“Oh, God.” She placed a closed hand on her forehead.

“Take care, I’ll see you in the morning.”

She daydreamed about him the rest of the ride home. If she were lucky, he’d visit her dreams tonight.

C
ammie tightened
the backpack on her back and tiptoed from her bedroom toward the den. The game blared from the television, the glow brightening the closer she moved.

From the doorway she could see the back of her stepfather’s head. Light snores curled around him and she knew from experience he’d rest there for another hour and a half.

In the room that he’d shared with her mother, she dug through the top drawer of the chest. When her hands closed around her mother’s jewelry box she lifted it and carried it to the bed. Her heart thudded away in her chest. Any moment Phil could awaken and find her…but he wouldn’t because he was passed out drunk.

Cammie pillaged through the box until she found what she’d been searching for. She opened the gold heart locket and admired her mom and dad on one side and her swaddled baby hospital picture on the other. She clasped the necklace around her neck and whispered, “I love you, Mom and Dad. Please help me.”

She replaced the jewelry box and arranged the shirts on top. It was now or never. She took a deep breath and walked with purpose toward the door, looking back once at the house she’d always called home. With tears running freely down her face she pulled the door closed on the life she’d known for almost twenty years. The time for escape was upon her. If she didn’t take it, her life would soon be forever changed—and not for the better.

As Cammie walked in the dark of night toward the bus stop she wondered why she hadn’t realized how cold it had become. She blew warm, moist air into her clasped hands. By the time she walked the two miles to the bus station, she’d be a popsicle. She hoped like hell the Greyhound would have a working heater.

At the Stop-n-Shop she took a break from the drizzly cold and went in for a cup of anything warm.

Walking the paces to the back of the store, a number of curious smells hit her. Old frying grease was the strongest among them and the stench turned her stomach. The place sold fried chicken and fish. As a result, the floors and counters, and pretty much every other flat surface, were perpetually coated in a grimy, gooey substance a direct result of their labors to serve bland proteins. She’d wondered at their efforts—why not add some seasoning to the fry coating? She smiled at the thought of her new Thursday nights free of greasy Stop-n-Shop chicken and fish.

She pulled a styrofoam cup from the tube. The coffee smelled and looked burnt so she opted for cocoa. Their watery, harsh cocoa had never tasted as bitter as it tasted at this moment. It was her first drink since she’d been pushed from the home that was rightfully hers. To top it off, she’d been barely able to keep up with the taxes and the utilities with her part time pay from cleaning.

Life was so unfair.

She should be worrying about exams and registering for classes, not how to evict someone from the home that had belonged to her grandmother.

Cammie lidded the cup and then walked to the counter to pay. She dug through the pockets of her jeans and pulled out a dollar. The store was quieter than she ever remembered and with no attendant in sight, she leaned her hip against the counter and sipped on the warm liquid.

At least it was warm in the store.

An older lady with gray wispy hair entered the store and walked up beside Cammie. She wore a large clip on top of her head that didn’t work so well and allowed most of her hair to escape.

“Cold night,” she said.

Cammie nodded and then sipped.

“Cammie!”

Startled, she turned and looked into the face of Sheila.

Crap.

“Hey, Sheila. I didn’t know you worked nights.”

“Getting time and a half for pulling a double shift since my relief called in sick.”

Cammie nodded.

“You’re out late.”

“Yeah, I just came in for some cocoa.”

“Good night for it. How’s Phil?”

“He’s good.”

“He outside?”

“No…um…he’s home. Asleep. I’m headed that way myself so I’ll tell him you said hey.”

“Please do.”

Since Mom’s death, Sheila and Phil had been an
on again, off again
item. Cammie didn’t think the current situation between them was active since she hadn’t seen Sheila around the house in a while.

As she left the store, Cammie waved back to Sheila silently praying that she and Phil were living in the solitary town of Splitsville. And who could blame Sheila? Ever since Phil had taken his fist to her face, they’d been on the outs. Cammie winced. She’d been on the receiving end of that meaty fist once.

Tonight had been worse than the time he’d bruised her face. Tonight in his drunken stupor he’d called Cammie by her mother’s name and started to touch her. Cammie had managed to knock him loopy with a crystal ashtray, but feared his retaliation if he were to wake.

Phil hadn’t been this way when mom had been alive. Since her death he’d quit going to AA meetings, and then he started returning home from work with a bottle in hand. Things had escalated since then. He’d been fired from welding for being drunk on the job and he’d started pawning things from the house, and stealing money from Cammie.

Tonight had been scary though. She knew he grieved for her mother, but that he was so drunk he saw her in Cammie was scary. He was a large man and could have easily overpowered her.

As soon as she’d left the warmth of the store, the cold and moist Lake Pontchartrain air slapped her in the face. She shuddered and lifted the hood of her jacket to cover her head. It would be a brutal walk to the bus station, but for the sake of her safety, she’d endure it.

Beside her a truck’s brakes squeaked and groaned to a stop. The truck was an antique and had the peeling rusty paintjob to prove it. The condensation on the windows indicated the interior would be toasty warm.

The gray haired woman from the store leaned over to vigorously activate the hand crank on the passenger’s window.

“Need a lift?” She asked.

“I’m headed to the bus station.”

“I can drop you there on my way out.”

Cammie wasted no time opening the heavy door of the truck and plopping down on the warm dry bench. She placed the backpack between her legs and then rested the back of her head against the old leather and closed her eyes, wishing she could stay in the protective warm cocoon all night.

“So the bus station and then where?”

Opening her eyes, Cammie answered, “Florida.” She didn’t know if she should keep her location a secret, but it couldn’t hurt.

“Sounds nice. I’m headed to New Orleans myself.”

Ooh. If she could get this old lady to take her to NOLA for free that would improve her financial situation. “Maybe I could go with you and just get the bus from there.”

The old lady slipped Cammie a skeptical look. “Florida by way of New Orleans?”

“Something like that.”

Looking as if she knew Cammie’s story made no sense, she simply nodded and said, “I’d enjoy the company.”

“I’m Cammie, by the way.”

“Is that short for something?”

“Cameron.”

“Misty.”

Misty somehow didn’t suit her and Cammie wondered if her name was an alias. She wore a brown bohemian skirt and sweater of the same shade. Looking at her now her face remained ageless but her hair, gray as it was, mislead the mind and upon first glance gave the appearance of an older woman.

“Thanks for stopping.”

“Don’t mention it. There are some Twinkies in the glove box if you’re hungry.”

That sounded like heaven. Cammie reached up and jiggled the old clasp into action. Cammie ate the cake within seconds. Agitation always made her hungry, not to mention anxiety over her situation. She had no idea if her best friend would even be home or if she still lived at the same address. She would have called, but Priscilla changed her number more frequently than models changed clothes and Cammie could never keep up.

Tired from the adrenaline rush she’d experienced, Cammie closed her eyes for a while.

What felt like moments later, Cammie was disturbed by a light voice, “Wake up, Cammie.” Fingers gently squeezed her shoulder. “I’m headed to the airport. Whereabouts can I drop you?”

“Where are we?” Cammie asked through a cough.

“Edge of downtown?”

“Do you mind taking me as far as Jackson Square?” Cammie fiddled with the loop on the top of her bag.

“I don’t mind at all, but I’d rather drop you at a hotel.”

“My destination is just around the corner from Jackson Square.”

Misty nodded, “Jackson Square it is.”

At the square, various performers and artists were scattered about and there was one particular piano player who’d drawn quite a crowd. Crowds were good—crowds made Cammie feel safe. She reached into her pocket and pulled out five dollars to offer Misty for the trek down to the French Quarter—the offer still cheaper by far than if she’d taken the bus.

Misty swatted her hand away. “Put your money away.”

Cammie complied and sent up a blessing for her peculiar new friend whose blue eyes burned into her. “Take care of yourself, and for your information, most of the Catholic churches in town will put you up for a night or two. One could move around the city and probably live simply for some time making use of the church in such a way.”

That was good information. Cammie thanked Misty and then set out toward her destination, enjoying the lilting piano notes as they escorted her through the streets of the French Quarter.

Walking up Decatur Street she passed the donut café, the smell causing saliva to stir in her mouth.

Along her journey she received several bumps on her shoulders from intoxicated patrons as they passed each other on the sidewalk. One especially inebriated man spilled his beer down the front of her shirt, making her even colder and wetter than she’d been. The further east she went, the more the crowds started to thin, until she was ultimately alone. Finally, she made the turn onto St. Ferdinand Street that would take her to her destination.

When she reached the barred and shuttered duplex, she climbed the three steps and stood before the door. Inhaling deeply, she knocked. She noticed a pretty blue lantern nailed to the house next to the door. If it were on it would have provided nice lighting over the porch, but instead she waited in darkness. She knocked again and soon saw her blonde friend through the inlaid window on the door.

The door cracked open as if it hadn’t been worked in years and Priscilla reached her arms around Cammie.

“Oh, my God. Cammie.” Priscilla hugged her tightly. “You must be freezing. Get in here.”

“Thanks. I hope I’m not too late.”

“Too late? Gage won’t even be home until after three.”

Cammie followed her friend down the dark paneled hallway and into the living area of the home where a television was tuned to a popular reality show.

“You want a beer?”

Cammie wasn’t quite twenty yet, but knew Priscilla had just turned legal age. “No thanks.”

Her eyes followed Priscilla as she disappeared around a corner, returning a few seconds later with a bottle of beer in hand.

Cammie sat in a wooden glider chair while Priscilla lounged on the couch, her brown eyes focused on the television. “So, you made it.”

“Yeah, thanks for letting me stay here.”

“Sure.” Priscilla shrugged.

She sipped from the bottle and kept her stare on the tube. “So he was coming on to you or what?”

Cammie fidgeted and pushed the glider chair to its max. “Among other things.”

“Well it’s good you left then.”

Cammie nodded her agreement. “You said there might be a way to make some good money?”

Priscilla leaned forward to dig through her purse. She then passed a business card to Cammie.

Zachary David Productions

(504) 723-5445

This was the job?

Did Priscilla think Cammie would actually do this type of thing?

Had Priscilla made a film for Zach?

Did Priscilla know that Cammie already worked for Zach in a cleaning capacity?

“It’s porn but pays extremely well. More depending on what you’re willing to do.” Her brown eyes pinned Cammie. “Two to three grand.” Priscilla pointed her index finger at Cammie. “That kind of dough can get you set up in this town—get you into an apartment and a car. Then you can do whatever you want.”

“Is that what you did?”

She took a large swig of beer and then swallowed. “Yeah, until I met Gage.”

“Gage?”

“My boyfriend.”

Cammie frowned. Her friend lacked the spunk she’d had when they were the best of friends in high school. The mischief in her eyes had been replaced with a haunted darkness that made Cammie’s skin chill.

“So Gage made you quit?”

“No, he enjoyed the extra income. It was Zach. When he found out I was seeing Gage he fired me.”

Cammie had known Zach for a while now and she couldn’t see him firing someone without cause.

“Why?”

“He and Gage are…well, they hate each other. The simple act of mentioning Gage’s name was all it took for him to go ballistic.”

Cammie forced herself to still the rocking chair. “Why do they hate each other?”

“I don’t know.” Priscilla pursed her lips tightly together.