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Authors: Fiona Wilde
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the "END" button on the phone and raised her arm to throw it and stopped. Naomi put the phone on the bedside table, sat down on the mattress and lowered her face into her shaking hands as she willed herself not to cry.
Now was not the time to get angry or emotional. She needed to think ahead so she could avoid what she feared might be heading her way.
Jasper wasn't one to give up, because Jasper didn't know how. Jasper only knew how to do one thing, and that was win over people and get his way.
Naomi could still remember the first time she met him. She'd been standing at the corner of Front and Vine carrying the groceries that represented the last of the money she had from panhandling. The sky above had been as grey as her mood, and she'd been too busy worrying about where she'd stay that night to look where she was going. It had been Jasper who had grabbed her and pulled her back from in front of the Chinese delivery biker, who swerved around her cursing in his native tongue.
Naomi's bag of groceries fell on the ground. A can of Pringles rolled into the gutter, followed by the two apples. Only the can of sardines remained at her feet.
Sitting down on the curb she began to cry.
"Hey, hey," Jasper had sat down beside her. "Come on now. It's just a little bit of food. It's better than you falling in that gutter, which may have happened if that guy had hit you."
She shook her head. "You don't understand. That was all the food I had."
"Let me guess," he said. "You came out here expecting to make it big and now you're broke?"
She nodded, sniffing pitifully.
He stood and offered his hand. "Hey, don't feel bad. There's a million more just like you. Stand up."
Naomi sighed and took his hand.
"A million more," he repeated, looking at her. "But most aren't as pretty."
She looked at him then. He was handsome, too, with dirty-blonde shoulder-length hair in a surfer-boy cut. His face was tanned, his eyes light blue. He wore a shell necklace, a Billabong t-shirt, long cargo shorts and flip-flops.
Naomi had seen a lot of people on the street that made her feel uncomfortable, but Jasper wasn't one of them. His boy-next-door charm instantly put her at ease, which was - she later learned - part of his plan.
"I'm Jasper," he said, putting out his hand.
"Naomi," she replied, accepting his handshake.
"Naomi," he repeated. "That's pretty. It's from the Bible, right?"
She nodded. "Yeah, my parents are real religious."
"Ouch," he said, beginning to walk as he beckoned her to join him. "Religious people freak me out."
Naomi smiled. "Me, too. That's why I left."
He took her to a Greek restaurant the next street over and bought her a chicken gyro so good it almost made her cry. Over a desert of baklava she told him about her stifling childhood, her father's inflexible nature, her mother's inability or unwillingness to intercede and how all of it had made her decide to leave.
"I just wish I'd known what was waiting here," she'd concluded. "It's one thing for a fifteen year old to run away and end up like this, but I was in college."
"Yeah, but it was crappy Bible college that didn't prepare you for the real world, let alone the streets of LA," he'd said.
"So how is it that you're making it?" she asked. "You look to be about my age."
"Well, first of all, I'm a local," he said in first of many, many lies he would go on to tell her. "I have a degree in theatre and this year lucked out landing a job."
"You're an actor?" she asked, intrigued.
"Nah," he replied. "Maybe one day. Now I just work lining up talent for a theatre and dance company."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
"Yeah," he said, and looked at her thoughtfully, as if something were dawning on him.
"What?" she asked, after several minutes of his prolonged scrutiny.
"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "You'd probably say no anyway."
"Try me," she said. "You saved me from that Chinese bike guy. I kind of owe you."
He laughed. "Well, I know you said you didn't take acting
Now was not the time to get angry or emotional. She needed to think ahead so she could avoid what she feared might be heading her way.
Jasper wasn't one to give up, because Jasper didn't know how. Jasper only knew how to do one thing, and that was win over people and get his way.
Naomi could still remember the first time she met him. She'd been standing at the corner of Front and Vine carrying the groceries that represented the last of the money she had from panhandling. The sky above had been as grey as her mood, and she'd been too busy worrying about where she'd stay that night to look where she was going. It had been Jasper who had grabbed her and pulled her back from in front of the Chinese delivery biker, who swerved around her cursing in his native tongue.
Naomi's bag of groceries fell on the ground. A can of Pringles rolled into the gutter, followed by the two apples. Only the can of sardines remained at her feet.
Sitting down on the curb she began to cry.
"Hey, hey," Jasper had sat down beside her. "Come on now. It's just a little bit of food. It's better than you falling in that gutter, which may have happened if that guy had hit you."
She shook her head. "You don't understand. That was all the food I had."
"Let me guess," he said. "You came out here expecting to make it big and now you're broke?"
She nodded, sniffing pitifully.
He stood and offered his hand. "Hey, don't feel bad. There's a million more just like you. Stand up."
Naomi sighed and took his hand.
"A million more," he repeated, looking at her. "But most aren't as pretty."
She looked at him then. He was handsome, too, with dirty-blonde shoulder-length hair in a surfer-boy cut. His face was tanned, his eyes light blue. He wore a shell necklace, a Billabong t-shirt, long cargo shorts and flip-flops.
Naomi had seen a lot of people on the street that made her feel uncomfortable, but Jasper wasn't one of them. His boy-next-door charm instantly put her at ease, which was - she later learned - part of his plan.
"I'm Jasper," he said, putting out his hand.
"Naomi," she replied, accepting his handshake.
"Naomi," he repeated. "That's pretty. It's from the Bible, right?"
She nodded. "Yeah, my parents are real religious."
"Ouch," he said, beginning to walk as he beckoned her to join him. "Religious people freak me out."
Naomi smiled. "Me, too. That's why I left."
He took her to a Greek restaurant the next street over and bought her a chicken gyro so good it almost made her cry. Over a desert of baklava she told him about her stifling childhood, her father's inflexible nature, her mother's inability or unwillingness to intercede and how all of it had made her decide to leave.
"I just wish I'd known what was waiting here," she'd concluded. "It's one thing for a fifteen year old to run away and end up like this, but I was in college."
"Yeah, but it was crappy Bible college that didn't prepare you for the real world, let alone the streets of LA," he'd said.
"So how is it that you're making it?" she asked. "You look to be about my age."
"Well, first of all, I'm a local," he said in first of many, many lies he would go on to tell her. "I have a degree in theatre and this year lucked out landing a job."
"You're an actor?" she asked, intrigued.
"Nah," he replied. "Maybe one day. Now I just work lining up talent for a theatre and dance company."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
"Yeah," he said, and looked at her thoughtfully, as if something were dawning on him.
"What?" she asked, after several minutes of his prolonged scrutiny.
"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "You'd probably say no anyway."
"Try me," she said. "You saved me from that Chinese bike guy. I kind of owe you."
He laughed. "Well, I know you said you didn't take acting
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