I was writing THE LEGEND OF BILLY BEAD when this story popped into my head.
Young adult, straight-up romance...no paranormal in sight...
(*I can't believe it, either!*)
Da Pitch:
What if the most famous male teen star on the planet blew into your life and swept you off your feet like Prince Charming? Holy crap, wouldn't THAT be fantastic? But what if you discovered that inside the gorgeous package and overflowing bank account was just a guy...a guy who falls in love with you?
Jenna and Johnny meet under the most extraordinary circumstances -- he nearly dies in a catastrohpic flood event, she saves him and her family keeps him safe, and during the three days they spend together cut off from the rest of the world in the foothills of Mt. Hood in rural Oregon, their bond is forged, the futures are woven together. If only the world wouldn't keep getting in their way.
They spend nearly three years in a secret relationship, seeing each other only six times, battling their way through their teen years, across the miles, waiting for their time to be together as a family...fighting publicity, paparazzi, domineering parents, guilt, pride, gossip and constant loneliness. Six dates kept them going, six times in each other's arms, six times to remember what they were fighting for...love and the right to choose to live their lives on their own terms.
The following is an excerpt from the first draft of SIX DATES by C.L. Moyer:
I need caffeine, so if the woman in front of me doesn’t hurry up with gab, I swear to God I am going to open this pop and start drinking before I pay for it.
Hey Clerk Lady! I’m standing here!
Don’t they see me standing here?
Okay, these two must be best friends. After all, they’re wearing the same fancy hunting jackets. Same bad dye jobs, same down-home accents, too. Awesome. And Camo Clerk Lady apparently can’t do two things at once. The second she starts talking, I notice her fingers stop moving on the cash register. Shit. Tick-tock goes the clock.
One of these days they will discover these people eat their young.
“Oh, you know my husband, if he’s not at the bar he’s at Jim’s working on the lawn mower. They just ‘bout have the throttle adjusted, you know. It’s sure to kick up all kinds of dust at the races this summer.”
“It better,” Camo Thing 2 says, “y’all got skunked last year by Tyler, and he was only seventeen!”
I jump as laughter rips through two sets of lungs damaged from years of cigarette smoke.
Lawn mower races? Are they kidding?
Look at me-ee, Lady...I’m reaching for my Co-oke...gonna twist the top off...gonna start drink-ing....
Jesus, I just want to pay for this and get back on the road. I still have almost an hour to drive before I reach Zigzag, and I don’t want to fall asleep at the wheel before I get to the rental house. I just can’t wait to see the latest in a long line of quaint and picturesque vacation spots my mother thinks will be just the thing for the three of us to finally find some family harmony.
Like I have time for this.
I have to be in Taiwan in two weeks.
And now my sunglasses are bugging me. This pair completely hits my nose wrong, but they are my darkest pair, so they are the ones I always grab first. I left my baseball hat in the car, though, because the gas station minimart didn’t look too crowded, but now I’m regretting my decision because Camo Clerk Lady is looking at me with that look--she knows who I am.
I stepped up to the counter to receive my sentence.
“I’d know those cheekbones anywhere,” she cackles, pointing one finger at my face. The fingernail polish is chipped and cracked now, but had been the color of red wine at some point. So fancy. “You’re Johnny Everett, can’t tell me no different!”
She smacks her co-worker on the arm, nearly causing her to drop the chicken strips she’s cramming into a paper bag that is way too small. “Lookit, Jeannie...it’s Johnny Everett! Ain’t he as dreamy in person as he is in his movies?” She lets out a big, dramatic sigh and turns back to lucky me. “Kin I have your autograph? Do you do that? I don’t mean to bug ya, but me and my daughter just love you so much!”
“Ummm...sure. No problem.” I gave her a smile, hoping the rest of the customers don’t care who I am; I’m not in the mood to stop traffic today. The clerk shoves a pad of paper and pen at me as she blatantly ignores the next customer.
“So, where’re you headed up on our mountain? You shore picked a crappy weekend to visit Mt. Hood. Did you see that rain outside? I don’t think it’s ever gonna quit. I’d think you have a mansion somewhere in sunny California to hang out in. You know, swimming pool and all that?” Again with the slapping of Chicken Strip Lady. “Did you hear that, Jeannie? Who’d a-visit our mountain this week with the storms a-comin’ when you have a mansion in Los Angeles, huh?” She laughs so loud people turn to see what’s going on at the counter.
“Don’t know, Jessie. Seems like an easy choice to make.” The other clerk starts shoving jojos in another tiny paper bag.
Why don’t they use bigger bags? Easier to tell themselves they aren’t eating as much, maybe?
I stop thinking about how many fat grams is in a jojo, as well as how long in the gym it would take me to eradicate the kind of damage to my body a fried potato wedge would inflict, and I hand the pad back to the woman. These people would be better off eating the paper from that pad.
I escape out of the gas station’s store and finally open my Coke while standing under the store’s awning. I watch the rain come down and take a few drinks, and notice everyone is discussing the weather and how it’s supposed to only get worse before it gets better. I look up at the sky one more time before darting to the sedan left for me at the airport that morning.
Being only sixteen years old is great, but not having a rental place willing to trust you with a car is not so great. Luckily, I live in a world where if I need a car, one appears, and today’s is a sweet little Jaguar. Nice.
I turn the key, and the car purrs to life. Sleek and black, it is beyond gorgeous. I’ll have to remember to thank my dad when the parents get in the next day for setting me up with such a choice car for our vacation. If the rain clears up, I’m taking this kitty on the mountain roads of the Oregon Cascades just to see what she can do.
I head east on Highway 26, and I can just make out Mt. Hood in the distance through the sheets of rain pummeling the car. The notes from my manager say there is a bigger grocery store in the town of Zigzag, so that’s where I’m headed. I’m on my own for food for today and tomorrow, which means another stop and no doubt another run-in with more colorful locals. But after that I’m done with people for at least twenty-four hours.
Twenty-four hours. I’m trying to remember the last time I was alone for twenty-four hours and I can’t even imagine when that would have been. I’m never alone anymore. At least not since my last movie was released. I wasn’t even the star of that vehicle, but Mr. Leading Man made the fatal error of letting his fame go to his head. He starts dating every girl in sight once the movie was released and was soon branded a playboy who is only in it to break hearts. His swoon meter took a dip.
But here I am; in the same movie and twice as good-looking, or so they say. America notices, then Brazil, France, the rest of Europe, and then all of Asia. I was some kind of overnight pandemic. I’ve been recognized before, but now girls find my house every day and hang out on the sidewalk across the street. They bring chairs, food. I often wonder when someone will just pitch a tent. The really bold ones stand on the sidewalk directly in front of my house, waiting for a glimpse or some sign I’m home.
And then came the car wash photos. I was washing my car. I took my shirt off because it was over one hundred degrees that day, and that was it. Those photos went viral and fan mail poured in and my chest is now a common trending topic on Twitter. Game over.
So now, I live behind sunglasses and under hats. I have a manager who hires extra goons depending on where we are, and I do crazy clown-car moves to fake out the paparazzi when I’m tired of being followed.
At least no one was following me here. I look in the rear-view mirror and see nothing but empty highway. The trees are blowing like crazy outside, so I just want to get to the vacation home. A few houses finally appear, and then I see a tiny sign for “Zigzig.” When the grocery store comes into sight, I slide the Jaguar into a spot, count to three then jump out and run for the door.
The store is packed. And I forgot my sunglasses and hat. Shit.
I grab the last shopping basket and head for the deli. Food is disappearing rapidly, but I manage to find some sandwiches and a tub of potato salad that looks halfway edible. I just have to get through the night, because tomorrow my mom will be here cooking for her baby
I wonder what chef she’s been dogging in France this time. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it.
The candy aisle supplies my requisite peanut M&Ms (so good to be back in the States), and I grab a couple more Cokes from the same aisle. I should drink diet, but it just doesn’t have the same kick, and I’m slipping into serious jetlag-mode here.
Now I’m standing in front of the ice cream freezer, trying to remember the last time I had ice cream.
“Phish Food is really good.”
I turn and my eyes meet another set as blue as mine are brown, staring up at me from an adorable face framed in dark blond curls.
“Is that your favorite?”
“It’s one of them.” Mystery Girl smiles then reaches in the freezer. “This is good, too. Chunky Monkey. Unless you’re not a banana fan.”
“I like bananas. Good source of potassium.”
“Oh, God, you sound just like my mother.” She laughs. “Which one?” The girl holds both of them up, but as she stood between them, I’m at a loss as to which of the three to choose. I want them all.
“Both?” I stick out my basket and she drops the two containers of ice cream in.
She points to my basket, “You must be on vacation or else you don’t know how to cook.”
“Rude girl! Just kidding. My parents get in tomorrow. My mother will make up for all of my deli-eating tonight, don’t worry. Are you here on vacation?”
“I wish, but no. We live here, up the mountain above Zigzag. It seems like the whole county is in here, though, because of the storms. When it starts raining like this, especially since they’re predicting it to get worse, no one will want to leave the house, so they prepare like it’s World War III. Bread, milk, all that. So, what are you doing here? Filming? I thought you were starting your new movie in Taiwan soon?”
I laugh and lean in, dropping my voice to a whisper. “You knew who I was? This whole time?”
“Of course. I might live in the middle of nowhere, but I know who Johnny Everett is.”
“Okay. So what’s your name? That’s only fair.”
“Jenna. Jenna Leigh. Pleased to meet you, and welcome to Zigzag.” She holds out her hand and I take it. I start to shake it, but held it for longer than I should have instead. But it was so soft and warm. No jewelry. No fingernail polish. Just a charm bracelet. I must have been staring into her eyes, because when she blinks and breaks the contact, it startles me.
“Staring contest. You blinked. I won.”
“Well, I should find my dad. I was supposed to be finding him some ice cream, not my generation’s George Clooney. Have a nice trip, Johnny.” She turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd.
She didn’t even ask for my autograph.
