Zachary David Productions (3 page)

What was going on with her?

“What’s this concerning?” Zach asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose, but will you let her know I’d like to schedule a meeting and my direct number is…”

Zach didn’t take down the number or even offer a goodbye.

He googled the name of the law firm. It was as he’d thought—they were experts in estate and divorce law.

Now more than ever he wished he could hear the explanation he hadn’t let her voice, but time didn’t run backward and he’d vowed long ago to never look back. With a deep breath, he made a promise to himself to keep that vow.

I
n the large plantation home
, the pool house was a place that went unused. Being privileged to this information, Cammie punched the code into the electronic combination and let herself in. She reasoned that it wasn’t technically breaking and entering if she knew the code.

Art easels and dozens of old, clunky cameras filled much of the studio space. She dropped her wet clothes on the glass coffee table and walked across the room to the back brick wall that housed the thermostat. Switching it on, she hoped the small area would warm quickly.

She felt yucky since she’d run from the house wearing the clothes he’d brought her. A dirty body in clean clothes was akin to nails across a chalkboard to her.

The bathroom in the pool house was sizable, but dated. The wallpaper was textured silver velvet that sported an iridescent purple, almost black, grapevine print.

She found a bottle of Pantene shampoo where some of the product had dried hard like wax around the top. The bottle was an old design, but the shampoo inside smelled feminine and slightly like pine. It was old Pantene formula—like the soap her mother used on her when she was a child.

After she showered, Cammie filled the kitchen sink with water and poured in some of the shampoo she’d found. She piled her clothes into the soapy water, but given her waning adrenaline, didn’t have the strength to hand wash.

Content to let her clothes soak, Cammie sat on the dusty couch and inhaled slowly and deeply from the bottle. Stinging tears filled her eyes at the memory of her mother washing her hair and the way she used to paint a beard onto her face with bubbles and recite the Gettysburg Address.

There were still so many questions she’d meant to ask her mother about life and love. Cammie wanted to ask her if she thought she’d make a good nurse because she liked caring for people but grew weak kneed at the sight of blood. Maybe she’d make a better therapist. Cammie was also intimidated by the large size of the college campus. She’d tried several times to walk into the interior, but instead walked in the direction of a coffee shop and sat, wishing her mother had been there by her side.

She didn’t know how long she cried, clutching the Pantene bottle, but the shadows moved across the wall until they’d finally gone full dark.

She awakened to Zach staring down at her with crossed arms and a puzzled expression.

She jerked to full awake mode, and then stood before him so fast that her equilibrium was thrown by the movement.

He stood, statue still, his green eyes piercing her.

“Why didn’t you go home?”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Please, I don’t have anywhere to go. Can’t I stay here, just for a little while?”

His lips tightened and he looked away from her, exhaling loudly. He paced the space in front of what comprised the kitchen—a counter unit with mini-fridge, microwave, and a sink. A sink that was soaking her outfit from earlier. He paused, taking it in.

“Look, this isn’t my house. I can’t just let you live out here doing God only knows what.”

“I won’t do anything.”

“Oh?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Just like you’re innocent, but you just so happen to have a gram of coke on you?”

Her face stung as if she’d been slapped. Phil used to slap her. “I’ve never been around drugs until today. I got sucked into a bad situation.”

“A bad situation.” He shook his head. “I just can’t do this again.”

His voice was low and ran fingers through his hair. His eyes followed her form from head to toe.

“I’m sorry, Cammie. Please, gather your things”—he pointed to her soaking clothes—“and I’ll be waiting in the car for you.”

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place.”

“What place?”

“Catholic Charities.”

That could work, and with a little luck she’d be able to get a copy of her lost papers and resolve her problem within a few days.

If not, she was truly screwed.

***

D
riving through the French Quarter
, a mosaic of thoughts colored his mind as he longed to insert himself in the middle of her problems. He forced his mind still and it surrendered, focusing on the yellow lane stripes as the miles passed.

“If you have a preference speak now, otherwise, I’m dropping you north of town.”

“North of town is good.”

They didn’t speak. He drove and the windows fogged.

He wanted to ask about her legal needs, but in his business he knew better than to get too involved. Young girls preyed on men like him—men with means—men with the ability to support drug habits, among other addictions.
But she’s different
, his alter ego added. In six months hadn’t she proven herself to be genuine?

“Um, here’s good.” She reached for the door handle.

He reached over and stopped her from getting out. “Wait.”

Slowing the car, he came to a stop in front of a church. He killed the engine and wondered how long it had been since he’d attended.

He walked her to the door. An old Bishop answered, bristling when a chill swept through the air, and proceeded to lead them into the atrium of the church to escape the wind and rain.

At their feet were bodies huddled in blankets, keeping warm and dry. Zach was relieved. He didn’t want to stay around her too long. If he did he’d just end up trying to save her.

Zach pushed Cammie gently forward. “She needs a place to stay.”

“As you can see, we’re over capacity.” The bishop extended his arms in either direction.

Zach stepped forward, “Surely you can accommodate one more.”

“With the cold front we’re already over capacity. If the fire marshal gets wind of this we’re all doomed.”

“You could fit four more people in this entryway.”

“Good sir, this vestibule is for men. You understand the dilemma.” He hadn’t until the Bishop had just said that. He glanced at the men who were taking in all Cammie had to offer.

The Bishop shook his head, giving a knowing nod, “You see. There really is no room.”

“So you’ll just turn her away?”

“Perhaps you can do a deed and offer your assistance to the girl.”

Zach nodded, he could do that. He’d give Cammie some money and send her on her way.

Walking back toward the car, he fished some bills from his pocket. He gave her all he had—about five hundred bucks.

“That should be enough to get a place for the week and some food.”

“Thanks,” her lips curved up in a smile. “I’ll pay you back.”

Sure she would.

“Take care of yourself.” He squeezed her shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t blow the money on drugs and would actually take care of herself.

Zach watched as she walked toward the gate. What a strange series of events. He thought of Priscilla and her struggle to get off drugs. His stomach burned with acid at the thought of Cammie lying in his bed unconscious from overdose. He hadn’t done so in a long time, but he sent up a prayer, for Cammie.

***

F
ive-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?”