The Devil has a British Accent: Book One: Jackson (White Carpet #1)

by Z. N. Willett

  “He looks familiar.”

  “That’s Jackson Cruz.” She paused, waiting for my response, but none outwardly came. “He’s one of the lead actors in Primal Darkness.” She sounded peeved at my ignorance for not recognizing the heartthrob instantly. “The production we’re catering!”

  How was I supposed to know about the production since she failed to mention it in the first place? I didn’t follow celebrities, and I could barely remember names of people I actually met, but Jackson Cruz was a name everyone knew.

  “Lauren, are you going to thank him?”

  “I asked Leroy to tell him thanks.”

  “Ashley. Give the girl a break,” Gloria chimed in. “This is the twenty-first century. You do what you want, Lauren. You make him come to you, girl.”

  Um, no, I did not want that.

  Jocelyn then mumbled under her breath, “Looks as if he got the message. Here he comes.”

  When I looked over, he was headed in my direction. He was shorter than I first thought and armed with a crooked, coy grin.

  I couldn’t help smiling back.

  “Hello, ladies. Excuse my interruption. I saw you from across the room,” Jackson said. He leaned in toward me, looking straight into my brown eyes.

  I knew my expression said, “That was one of the dumbest lines invented.” Yet, it didn’t stop my body from reacting to his sexy-as-hell good looks.

  His smile vanished, and I noticed his lips were charmingly slanted. “There was something familiar about you, and I couldn’t quite place it, so I had to meet you.” He chuckled to himself. “It sounds cliché, but it’s true.” He ran his hand through his wavy, black hair.

  I stayed speechless. How could the guy have any problems introducing himself to anyone? And he had to meet me? He must have thought I was someone else.

  “I’m Jackson, and you’re . . . ?” He stretched out his hand toward me.

  I leaned over and placed my hand in his. “Thanks for the drink, Jackson.”

  I couldn’t stop staring into his deep-set, blue eyes, and I jumped, startled, when it looked as if one sparkled at me.

  “Is there a name to go with the hand?”

  I looked down at our joined hands and tried to shake off whatever spell he had on me. “Lauren. My name is, Lauren.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Lauren. May I join you?” He placed his drink on the table, indicating the empty chair close by.

  “Of course, you may,” Ashley answered for me.

  As we shifted our chairs to make room, he sat a chair down next to mine, and Ashley introduced the rest at the table. My cell rang, and I looked down at the number, smiling widely. Blake must have told him I had arrived. I silenced it, thinking I would call him back later, looked up, and Jackson was staring at me quizzically.

  “Jackson, I was telling the ladies that you’re here shooting a movie,” Ashley remarked, giving me a knowing smile.

  “I arrived a couple days ago. We start shooting tomorrow morning.” He winked at her, and I swore she let out a sigh.

  “Jackson, how did you find this place?” Jocelyn asked.

  “The director mentioned he was coming here with the composer to listen to a band. A group of us decided to join them. We rarely have these moments when we’re all together, socially.”

  “Are you enjoying our little town so far?” Ashley asked, coming out of Jackson’s trance.

  “Much better now.” He gazed at me. “The warm weather reminds me of home.”

  “Where are you from?” Doris asked.

  “I was born in Puerto Rico,” he said, as if something amused him. “We moved to L.A. when I was thirteen, after a talent scout saw me in a school performance.”

  “I’m sure your family was happy,” Jocelyn added.

  “My family made some sacrifices, but they now seem happy.”

  “It seems everything worked out for the best.” I assumed that was true since he was a movie star.

  “You could say everything worked out,” Jackson replied, as the corner of his mouth turned up.

  “What about you, Lauren? Are you from here?”

  When he scooted his chair closer, I felt drawn to do the same.

  “I was born in Baton Rouge. My parents moved us to Venice when my grandfather became ill.”

  “You lived here your entire life? Your accent isn’t as strong as others I’ve met.”

  “I moved to Minnesota four years ago for high school. I was tired of people making fun of the way I spoke, so I worked hard to tone it down. And actually, today is my first day back.”

  “Lucky for me.” He bit his bottom lip, before releasing it. He looked pleased, because he knew my eyes were glued to his mouth.

  He had amazing, perfectly plump lips, and his tanned skin looked radiant in that blue shirt. Yes, I said radiant. The contrast against his eyes was beautiful.

  “Do you like this band?” He interrupted my ogling.

  “Yes, we do,” the ladies answered. They looked at me, laughed, and turned toward the stage.

  Could I have embarrassed myself anymore? What was I supposed to do? Hot movie star came and started up a conversation with us. Who wouldn’t ogle?

  “They are really, really good,” I finally answered.

  Jackson leaned closer. “They are good. The studio is considering using their music for the film.”

  “Great! That’s so wonderful. I love their music.”

  His eyebrows creased. “Do you know them?”

  “Gigs up, suga.’” Gloria turned her head and giggled.

  “Well, I am a little biased. Black Sun is my brother, Blake’s, band. He writes all of their music.”

  “The director made an excellent choice.” He winked at me as he looked intently past me at someone.

  As he turned his body more toward me, our arms touched, sending a warm current running up and down my arm. My mind suddenly warned, “Beware,” as my body craved more of his touch. It was the strangest thought.

  “Are you a musician?” he asked.

  “No. Blake’s the true musician.”

  “What do you do, Lauren?”

  “Well, nothing at the moment. I recently graduated from high school. I’m taking some time off, to do whatever.”

  “That’s a good idea. My schooling was unconventional. I was tutored on set. It would have been nice to go to an actual high school. Play sports, hang out, you know, be a teenager.”

  “You didn’t miss much, believe me. Most of us would love to live your life.”

  He shrugged and placed his arm around my chair. Out of all the girls in that place, why was he talking to me? He must have had too much to drink. I wasn’t sure how old he was, but I smelled the alcohol.

  He leaned in, and whispered in my ear, “What are you doing after this?”

  I stopped breathing. I felt his breath on my ear, and I swore he even pressed his lips softly on it.

  Breathe, Lauren.

  “Um, well, after this I’m going home.” I looked straight ahead, because I couldn’t risk looking at him.

  “Home?”

  I could feel his eyes, as well as the rest of the eyes at the table, staring me down. “I’m tired. I don’t usually stay out this late.” What was I saying? I wanted to crawl under the table, but I rambled on. “New Year’s Eve can be a pretty dangerous night. You should make sure you’re inside by midnight. People shoot their guns up in the air to celebrate.” Please, I begged, someone stop me!

  He paused, and then started to laugh. “Thanks for the warning. You’re not going to stay?”

  “Not tonight. This is my first day back home, and I had an early flight.” I knew I was going to regret saying that later. He made me feel strange, nervous, and self-conscious all at once.

  “Do you have plans for tomorrow?”

  “I’m helping Ashley for a while with catering at the plantation where you’re filming.”

  “Really? Great!”

  Why did he sound excited? By tomorrow morning,
he wouldn’t even remember me. He’d find another girl after I left.

  “Ladies, thank you for sharing your table.”

  “It was our pleasure, Jackson.” Ashley flashed her big smile at me.

  “Lauren. I will see you tomorrow?”

  “You might,” I said, but my brain said, “I don’t think so.”

  “Happy New Year, ladies.” He raised his glass. We clinked our glasses in unison.

  “Happy New Year, Lauren.”

  “Happy New Year, Jackson.”

  “It sure will be.” His eyes were heavy and very knowing.

  My gaze followed him as he stood and returned to the group. A few people stared in our direction, probably wondered why he came over. It had to be my imagination, but it seemed that one man farther back sneered at me.

  I couldn’t see his face well, but I could tell by the wrinkling of his nose and mouth that he wasn’t happy. Uneasiness hovered over me as he continued to stare. My cell interrupted my thoughts.

  Happy New Year. I hope you’re behaving!

  My heart skipped involuntarily as it always did for him. I replied to his text with a wide smile.

  And if I’m not behaving?

  He responded immediately.

  Don’t make me call Blake!

  I laughed to myself. I missed him, and then told him so.

  I miss you.

  The moment I hit send, clarity rushed in. What was I doing? Would he read more into it?

  Before panic set in, though, his text appeared.

  I miss you more, love.

  At the awful early time of 5:00 a.m., all I could think about was bacon. Mamaw could wake the dead with the aroma of her breakfast of bacon, eggs, biscuits, and cheese grits. My stomach was more awake than the rest of me.

  I threw on something to wear for my first day of work, stumbled out of my room, and it was as if time stood still. Photos of Mom and Uncle James as kids lined the hallway. Pictures of Blake and me from every year of school were on display in the formal living room, where plastic still protected the furniture. Yesterday, I’d even noticed our childhood toys still on the porch, to be played with again someday by our children. That thought gave me a chill.

  “Bonjou,’ Mamaw.” I entered the kitchen, picking up a plate.

  I took in my eighty-year-old frail, petite grandmother as she stirred grits in a pot. She had been ill and lost weight, which made her yellow-checkered housecoat hang off her shoulders. Mamaw’s long, gray hair was thinning, and her mocha colored skin had dark blotches, but her rare, sunken blue eyes beamed when she saw me.

  “Let Mamaw look at you. Have you been eatin’ up there? James been starvin’ you, hasn’t he?”

  “I’ve been eating. The food up North is cooked a little different.” Completely different—it was baked, not fried. “I’ve been trying to take better care of myself. You made my favorite breakfast?”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  I squeezed her, confirming her bones had thinned. “Mamaw, I love you. You know what makes me smile.”

  “Child, between you and your brother, Mamaw knows what her chil’ren want to eat.”

  Anyone who listened to our conversation would have thought nothing of it, but my relationship with my grandmother was complicated. It was made that way because of her cooking, and my lack of control.

  When I was younger, I would come visit my grandparents for the summer. I’d always looked forward to my grandmother spoiling me with her cooking. However, there were personal drawbacks to that.

  Even though Mamaw taught Mom to cook, Mom became somewhat health-conscious. She didn’t believe in using all that butter and lard for frying.

  When Granddaddy fell ill, and I was about nine, we moved from Baton Rouge to help Mamaw, and she did all the cooking. Needless to say, all that wonderful Southern food ended up hitting not only my waistline, but also my breasts and butt.

  I gained over thirty pounds in the first year alone. After my granddaddy’s death, I gained another thirty. For my short height, that was extreme. Not only was I dealing with that for the next year, I was still grieving over my father’s death and Mom’s hospitalization.

  Coping with all that at a young age was difficult, to say the least, and I found comfort in food.

  Even though I loved Mamaw dearly, we weren’t as close as I was with Granddaddy. As I continued to blow up from food, she would comment on my weight and that I should watch what I ate, yet she still cooked fattening meals. I wasn’t blaming her, and I was thankful she was there for me when I needed her, but my stress load started to become too much.

  One night, when I was at a real low point, Mamaw came into the kitchen while I ate a hunk of her red velvet cake. She shook her head and told me how fat I was, and that no boy would want me.

  Out of respect for her, and the manners instilled by my parents, not to raise my voice to elders, I left. I stayed with my friend, Neesha, for a couple days while I cooled off. I knew my grandmother loved me and was trying to give me tough love, but at that moment, I didn’t like her—at all.

  Blake and I were close, but he was also trying to come to grips with everything—and failing at it as miserably as I was. While I used food as a crutch, he used his music, and alcohol.

  The women in my family were usually strong and confident, as well as beautiful. For me, though, I struggled with insecurity in certain attributes—and the added fear of inheriting my mother’s mental illness didn’t help.

  Sometimes, I needed an esteem boost, so I shut out everyone and everything.

  That was when I discovered a handy tool I had never used, which I called: my autopilot. I turned it on and floated numbly through the final months of my last year of junior high.

  When I moved up North, I joined my Uncle James in his daily exercise routine, and I started to change. His mid-life crisis of getting buff and back to his high school weight, helped me not only become healthier and lose the weight, but restored my confidence. Boys started to pay attention, and I didn’t put up my safety wall every time I spoke to them. I began to be comfortable in my skin, and I slowly healed inside, as well.

  “Oh, and Happy New Year!” I kissed Mamaw’s cheek, while scooping some eggs.

  “Happy New Year, baby.” Mamaw grabbed her cane and limped to the refrigerator. “Not too much food there, baby. You want to keep that nice figure.”

  It took everything in me not to roll my eyes at her.

  “Are you goin’ to visit your mother?”

  Mamaw often asked me if I’d spoken to Mom. It was hard on me, because every time I called or visited, she never responded. I shared what was happening in my life, but no reaction. I’d continued to talk as if she heard me. “I plan on seeing her later today.”

  “Good. She’ll be excited to see ya. It sure is good havin’ ya home, Lauren.”

  Mamaw smiled warmly and went back to stirring her pot.

  “Mamaw, I didn’t have the chance to ask you about your last doctor’s visit. Did your tests come back?”

  “Child, don’t put worry in your head ’bout me. Mamaw’s goin’ to be fine, and the doctor gave me new medicine to help control my sugar.”

  “What about your blood pressure?”

  “Good, too. I was more concerned ’bout my aching knee.”

  “I’m sorry you’re in pain.”

  “Nothin’ you can do ’bout it. No worries. You bein’ around makes me feel better. Your uncle and Victor called last evenin.’ Those boys are always callin’ me. They both call every Sunday. You know, checkin’ up on Mamaw.”

  “They should be checking up on you. We all love you.”

  “Well now, you betta get a move on. You’ll be late.”

  “Did I oversleep? And is that a new wig? I like it.”

  Mamaw had a wig for every day of the week, but the fancier ones were reserved for church.

  “Yes, it is, my dear. It’s goin’ to take you a bit to get to that house. I went to help Ashley early yesterday morning, and it took thirty mi
nutes to get past them guards. Why would an old woman want to see that nonsense? I’ll tell ya child, those people were runnin’ around some dressed as zombies and such. Makes no sense.”

  “Zombies are the big thing now,” I mumbled, scarfing down my food.

  “That mess is nothin’ but the devil, you hear. Folks paradin’ around killin’ each other.”

  “They’re just acting. Zombies are what the movie’s about, but they aren’t real.”

  “You’re right about that. Them are demons.”

  “Really, Mamaw, demons?”

  “Yes, child. You listen closely to Mamaw. You be careful up there. I prayed that the good Lord would protect you from those evil creatures. I know he has his angels protecting you, but you can never be sure about them. Still don’t know why those movie people came here, but you be careful, you hear.”

  Mamaw took the Bible at its word, and that included Lucifer and his minions, as she would say. She believed in spirits as they related to the Bible, and anyone showing evil tendencies, she would assume the devil was in them. I grew up listening to her go on about various people being influenced.

  Mamaw didn’t refer to the word demon much. Although, her face showed that she truly believed what she was saying. Since I saw those so-called demons at Alligator’s last night, I could say, her imagination had gotten the best of her.

  I drove down the long, private road leading away from Mamaw’s brick house and past the old church I used to paint as a child.

  I wasn’t sure why the old, white church, that looked like it used to be a school back in colonial days, fascinated me. It sat alone in a field of neglected grass beside Mamaw’s property line. I would sit out there for hours painting and drawing the building, trying to capture the perfect light before sunset.

  As I made my way through town, I noticed the fishing and charter boats were already out of port, leaving small dinghies floating and bobbing in the Gulf.

  It took an hour from outside of town before I joined the long line of cars that led into the plantation. People loved the Primal Realm books the movies were based on, and fans of all ages lined the road as they held up signs for the actors. One of them said, “Marry me, Jackson,” with hearts and lipstick kisses all over it.