Hard Pressed for Six Ounces of Plum Juice

By Syberina5

Don't shoot me, I had to.

Episode I:

Brenda had come back to Port Charles for Ned's latest wedding. That it was his second to Skye had been the source of considerable irritation. Said irritant had fueled her to find a reason to stay on in town so that she could be present when Ned came to his senses and divorced the Non-Quartermaine...again.

She'd decided to stay, the rote reason went, to look for new/fresh/interesting faces for her modeling agency, Unforgettable. Granted most of her models worked out of Europe and were superstars but she herself had been discovered in Port Charles. Look where her career had gone.

After weeks of exhaustive searching—even though it only constituted a few hours of her workweek—a man had approached her. She'd never seen him before, she didn't think, and she'd never seen him again. He'd told her, if she was looking for interesting faces in Port Charles... really beautiful women, he had a man for her to go see. The stranger handed her a card.

She'd called the number and set up an appointment with the man on the other end. Mr. Zirming had said that he was more in the habit of acquiring models for his company, but if she wanted to discuss something he was not adverse. They might be able to do business.

She'd been sure they could, even if he didn't then know it; she'd been sure she could talk him into letting her take the girls with the most potential. After all, she'd never heard of him before, how good an agent could he have been?

His portfolio of models had impressed her. They were all exceptionally lovely. She'd mentally earmarked a few she would attempt to represent.

After her visit, as she was leaving the yacht Mr. Zirming's office was on, she'd bumped into one of the girls she wanted for her own agency. She'd called out to her and started her campaign to win the model's favor. She could, after all, make any one of the girls famous beyond their dreams.

The young woman had behaved strangely, confusing and frightening Brenda. She'd warned her to leave while she still had a life to return to. Then she'd walked away and suddenly it had hit Brenda.

Drugs. It got the best of them.

It was likely the reason the girl hadn't been picked up by a really top-notch agency already. Brenda'd shrugged and left the floating palace thinking of ways to find and woo the other models to her company.

Why hadn't she heeded the woman's warning? Why had she pursued Mr. Zirming's girls? Brenda sighed. She was now in quite a pickle. And all because of her naïveté. Few would guess—Brenda would never admit it—but she knew at heart she was really just a sweet, innocent little girl who trusted the world to be just as kind-hearted as she.

Thinking back to those weeks of childish ignorance, Brenda realized the old adage was true. Ignore-ance was bliss. She'd ignored the signs from above that more was at stake than a couple good contracts.

Now Brenda was tied up. What's worse was that she was tied up with Carly. What was unbearable was that she was tied up with Carly and really, really thirsty. She hadn't had her plum juice in days.

Carly's plan had required a hide-out/stake-out sort of a deal and the rundown warehouse they were hiding in—to keep the boat they had used to followed the yacht when it left Port Charles from being suspicious—didn't exactly come stocked with a weeks worth supply of organically grown and hand squeezed plum juice.

When Brenda had asked Carly where she'd packed the plum juice she'd retorted that there wasn't any. They were on a mission, Carly'd said, they packed necessities. If they'd been off for a week in the sunny Caribbean thenshe'd have packed plum juice. For now, Carly'd continued bitterly, she'd have to do with essentials. Like water. Which was all Carly had packed.

All that she'd found in the provisions bag was water, Powerbars, jerky, some fruit, and potato chips. Brenda had grumbled over the chips. How were theyessential? It had touched off another row.

When the smoke cleared around midnight and Carly was busy taking pictures of the activity on the yacht, Brenda—who was supposed to have been resting for her turn at the watch—snuck out in search of an all-night convenience store that carried organic, hand squeezed plum juice... on foot.

After another exhaustive search—which had taken hours—Brenda saw the first convenience store of the night. Sal's Smokes 'n Stuff. It was instantly her Mecca. She'd stumbled through the door and landed, in exhaustion of course, on the checkout counter before the young clerk.

Breathing hard she'd said, "God, you look good," and laughed. "You've got to be the handsomest guy I've seen in," she paused dramatically and lurched forward, "days."

It hadn't been a lie, Brenda reflected. She'd barely seen a man at all. The few she'd encountered during her midnight—it was then the wee hours of the morning—search were as repulsive and dilapidated as the buildings around them. The clerk, with his acne, oily hair, and Cobain-esque fashion sense, was the sexiest thing with a dick she'd seen in a while.

She'd flirted with him, out of exhausted glee of course, and before she'd inquired if his rundown establishment had organically grown and hand-squeezed plum juice she'd been attacked from behind, a bag had been placed over her head, and she'd been hauled away.

Now she was linked to a very resentful Carly—via a set of metal shackles with a long chain connecting them, the likes of which Brenda has used on occasion for much less annoying endeavors—who blamed her, Brenda, for their capture. To top it off Brenda now heard scratching sounds emanating from the door into the plush and sensuous stateroom in which they were being detained.

"How good was that story you told Sonny?"

"Too good for our prayers to be answered," Carly answered. "No way is that the cavalry."

"Shit."

"Yeah, that's about the stench of it." Carly was being snarky but Brenda didn't care. She was far too upset.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit." She was panicking. If both she and Carly panicked they'd never get out alive. She didn't trust Carly not to panic. Regardless the bile rose in her throat. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit."

"Shit," came a muffled voice form the other side of the door when Brenda took a much needed breath and thusly had to cease her cavalcade of the word.

At the sound both Brenda and Carly ceased to move, or breathe.

"I think you broke it, Steph." The sounds continued.

"Thank you. I'm so glad I brought you along to point these things out to me, Lula."

"Brought me nothin'. It was my car. It was my boat. We're partners in this, remember?"

"You never let me forget it. And it wasn't your boat. I could have gotten the keys from Vinnie just as easy."

"Oh, really? How?"

"By asking." There was a loud derisive snort.

Brenda and Carly exchanged a wary look. The accent was thick but definitely not one from far off lands. It sounded to Brenda like...no. No, couldn't be. Can't be. Absolutely not. This situation just went from really bad to a whole lot F'in worse.