For The Love Of You. Donna Hill

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      Jewel Fontaine took her cup of chamomile tea out to the back veranda of her sprawling pre–Civil War home. The house on Prytania Street, which was once a plantation, sat on five acres of land with a creek that ran the length of the property into the wooded area beyond. One of the former slave shacks still stood on the property, but it had been converted into an art studio when Jewel’s career took off. Every time Jewel surveyed her home, she was infused with the spirits of her ancestors who’d toiled on this land and served in those rooms. As an artist she firmly believed in the sanctity of preserving the past for future generations. The constant work that had to be done for the upkeep of the Fontaine home and the cost of maintenance had all but drained her accumulated wealth from her art career, compounded with the care of her ailing father—she was on the precipice of being broke.

      The idea that she might lose her home kept her up at night and dogged her steps during the day. She hadn’t worked or sold a piece of art or sculpture in several years. She’d become disillusioned following her last poorly reviewed show nearly five years earlier, and then the decline of her father’s health had turned her away from her passion. She refocused her energies on taking care of the man who had sacrificed everything for her. But in the past six months, she’d realized she couldn’t do it alone, and she’d had to hire a live-in nurse. The cost was astronomical.

      Then the call came, and like a miracle, her financial problems would be solved. CL Productions wanted to rent her home for the next six to eight weeks to shoot a film and was willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money for the privilege. She’d nearly leaped through the phone at the chance to lift the financial burden off her chest. The influx of cash would give her some breathing room and a chance to find other sources of revenue.

      Jewel took a sip of her tea and gazed out onto the midafternoon glory. The tight churning in her stomach had finally begun to ease.

      “Ms. Fontaine!”

      Jewel spilled her tea down the front of her floral sundress as she jumped up at the frantic call of her name, which could only mean one thing—Daddy. She ran across the main level and up the winding staircase. The sound of something crashing and shattering quickened her steps. She reached her father’s bedroom door, and her heart stood still.

      * * *

      Craig didn’t waste much time at the hotel. Now that he’d arrived in Louisiana, the adrenaline of his upcoming project pumped through his veins, making him more brusque and antsy than usual. He began spouting orders to his team the minute he walked into the suite. Within moments everyone was scurrying around like their jobs depended on it.

      Less than a half hour after arriving, Craig, Anthony, Paul and his assistant, along with the photographer and driver, were heading to the Fontaine mansion.

      “Why the rush?” Anthony asked again. “You generally don’t get involved at this level.”

      Craig adjusted his shades on the bridge of his nose. “I have a bigger investment this time. I want everything to be on point and run like clockwork. No screwups. We don’t have the usual wiggle room on time and cost overruns.”

      Anthony nodded his head. “Agreed.” He clapped Craig on the shoulder. “You’ve done this countless times, bro,” he said, lowering his voice. “This is going to be your best project yet. We got your back on this.”

      “’Preciate that.” He returned his attention to the script and line notes. The film chronicled a poor black family that rose from sharecropping to command the upper echelons of finance, real estate and politics, with great sex scenes and plenty of family drama and scandal thrown in. He wondered if his family would recognize themselves in the characters. Of course, he’d changed names and some professions to suit the storyline.

      The driver turned the black Suburban onto a winding road that led to the Fontaine mansion. According to his location scouts’ notes, the home had once been a plantation and one of the shacks that had housed former slaves on the expansive land still remained. When the home appeared and spread out in front of him, it was like being thrown back into time to the days of Gone With the Wind. The only thing missing was the Confederate flag. The SUV came to a stop.

      Craig got out and fully took in the setting, already beginning to visualize the scenes and where they would take place. It was better than any description or photograph could capture. This was exactly the setting he wanted. What he needed to do now was meet the owner and set up the official working arrangement. Generally this was something that Paul handled, but this project was his dream movie. It was his first time at bat as writer, director and executive producer. He had a lot riding on this and knew that there were plenty who wished him well and an equal amount that couldn’t wait to see him fail.

      “Anthony and Paul, come with me. You guys can wait here,” he said to the photographer and Paul’s assistant. He flipped a page on his clipboard. Jewel Fontaine. It sounded like the name of someone that would live in a house like this. He strode down the pathway that led to the palatial entrance. The front was framed by six white columns, three on each side of the double front door. It was two levels with a wraparound terrace on the second floor and paneled windows.

      Craig led his small entourage up the three steps to the front door. He rang the bell and made a mental note to have a temporary door knocker installed for the film.

      Moments later the door opened and a woman dressed in what appeared to be a nurse’s uniform stood in front of them.

      “Can I help you?”

      “Craig Lawson. Ms. Fontaine?”

      “No. I’m... Ms. Fontaine is busy right now. It may be best if you come back.”

      “No. I don’t think that would be best. I’d appreciate it if you could get Ms. Fontaine. Please let her know that Craig Lawson is here to talk with her about the film.”

      The woman in white huffed and rolled her eyes. “If you go round back, I’ll ask Ms. Fontaine to meet you there.”

      “Thank you,” Craig said, his tone softening to match the smile on his lips.

      “I’ll get Ms. Fontaine,” she said, her tone decidedly changed.

      Craig turned and got a quick I told you so look from Anthony. He ignored it.

      The trio rounded the building and found themselves in a mini paradise.

      “You did good, Paul,” Craig said, slapping him heartily on the back.

      “Thanks, boss. Ron was the one that actually found it,” Paul said of his assistant.

      Craig pressed his lips together and nodded. What he appreciated about his staff was that they never hesitated to spread their support and share the credit. He set the clipboard down on a circular white metal table that was shaded by a huge umbrella. There was a half cup of tea on the table and a newspaper that had fallen to the ground. He reached down, picked it up and placed it back on the table. He turned at the sound of a door opening behind him.

      The woman didn’t simply walk through the door. She swept in like a character from a novel. Every nerve in Craig’s body vibrated. Like the filmmaker that he was, he cataloged every inch of her, from the riotous swirl of cinnamon curls that seemed to want to break free from the knot on the top of her head to the high cheeks, wide expressive honey-toned eyes, sleek arching brows and full pouty lips all set on a flawless canvas of nut brown. The loosely flowing sundress that bared her shoulder and reached her ankles did nothing to camouflage the curves beneath.

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