Read Online Mother's Milk by Charles Atkins - Free Book Online Page A

the department having to pick you up after Cathy overdosed or got arrested. It’s not an option.’
    â€˜It’s not fair,’ she repeated, pulling at a lock of her frizzed-out hair. Her lower lip pouted as she looked at Chase. ‘I don’t know why I have to stay there.’
    â€˜It’s stable, you can walk to school. It’s the best we’ve got.’
    â€˜What do I need high school for? It’s not like anyone cares about that, and I’m going to be an actress. I don’t think they check diplomas in Hollywood … Is that a new watch?’ Her eyes caught on Chase’s gold Movado with its sleek black onyx face and absence of numbers.
    â€˜Nice, isn’t it?’ he said, letting her view the recent purchase. ‘This is why you need to finish high school. You can’t get nice things unless you have a way to make money. I don’t want to destroy any dreams you have, but Hollywood is a long shot. Thinking you can just go out there and hit it big lands people in trouble. Suddenly you’re in California, no friends, no connections. You start making some bad choices, hook up with the wrong people. It doesn’t go well.’
    â€˜I don’t care,’ she said, digging in. ‘The first chance I get I’m out of here.’
    Chase sighed. ‘You thinking of running away … again?’
    â€˜What else can I do?’ she intoned. Her eyes started to tear, further smudging her thick mascara. ‘You’re not helping me. None of you ever do. It’s just, “Here’s another group home, Morgan,” and then all the things I can’t do. I want to see my mother. I want to stay with her. Why can’t I?’
    He leaned back, watching as this train wreck of a human being collapsed. Her runny makeup was rapidly transforming her into a puffy blond raccoon, but underneath the bad dye job, and the amateurish attempts with cheap cosmetics, she wasn’t bad looking. Unlike many of the girls who insisted on midriff-baring clothes, Morgan’s belly was flat and toned. With a little work, he thought, she’d be a respectable piece of merchandise. She was also at that critical age – fifteen – when if a kid ran from a group home, not much was done to get them back. A missing person’s report would be filed, and that’s about it. There were too many others, and it was the younger kids that got preference. ‘Look, Morgan,’ he said, pushing a box of tissues toward the weeping girl, ‘you know I care about you.’ His voice was soft as a kiss. ‘I’d worry if you ran away, bad things happen out there.’
    â€˜I don’t care,’ she sobbed and pulled a hunk of tissues from the box. ‘I can’t stay in that place.’
    â€˜I hear you,’ he said, shaping his words and the way he said them carefully. ‘If you’re really serious, I might be able to help.’
    She looked up. ‘How?’
    He leaned back, looked at her meaningfully, paused, and then reached into his desk. He pulled out a blank piece of paper and wrote a number on it. ‘Memorize this,’ he said, giving her ample time to do so, watching the corners of her mouth move. ‘This is for a friend of mine, who’s connected in showbiz. She’s gotten a lot of kids their first jobs.’
    â€˜Like an agent?’ Morgan asked.
    â€˜Exactly,’ he said, spinning the story like a length of fishing line, ‘but don’t think Hollywood … at least not yet. It’s more bread-and-butter stuff, cruise ships, convention work, traveling productions of some of the Broadway shows, catalog modeling, that kind of thing.’ He tore the paper with the number on it into tiny pieces. He had a moment’s pause, there was huge risk with minors, but also the possibility of a big payday, and keeping up the flow of money was everything. ‘Of course, I never said any of this, and