I'd been driving through the hills of North Carolina for the better part of two weeks, learning about the western most part of the state, nestled snuggly in the Smokey Mountains. I'd made Asheville my base of operations and spent at least 12 hours each day driving the back roads over hill and dale, learning about the people and taking pictures. True to their name, the mountains didn't cooperate most days and most of my footage was of blue haze and pine trees. This was a cool job though, since I was going to write, take photos and take some film shots which would all be rolled into a video brochure of the area.

After spending a day at Chimney Rock Park, shooting from the opera box and the dangling from the rock itself, I was whipped. It was around four when I finally left the park, packing all my equipment into the elevator sunk in solid granite and riding the thing to the bottom of the mountain. I grabbed dinner at a little place right outside the park and after flirting a while with the overweight (but could have been cute) waitress, I left. I decided to take a side road up the other side of the mountain. I'd seen a small house perched precariously on the edge of a hill and was dying to get an up-close shot of it. That's where I met Lucy. Driving along the dirt road with my pickup truck spewing a rooster tail of red dust, I almost didn't see the young girl. I passed her before I realized that she was having troubles and noticed the flat, rear tire. I hit the brakes, skidded slightly and came to a stop. Hopping out of my truck, I was pleased to see the girl smiling. These days a good neighbor can be arrested for talking to a kid, you know?

"Hi!" I called out.

"Hey," she responded in a thick mountain accent.

She was cuter than a button. She had tight shorts that seemed to ride from her crotch, onto her hips and then around her bottom - which they barely concealed. She had a tube top on and it was stretched taught over her melon-sized breasts. Her brown hair caught the sun to reveal hints of red. Her large, hazel eyes reminded me of a puppy.

"Need a hand?" I asked.

"Gee mister, that sure would be fine of ya'," she responded in the characteristic slow drawl of the area.

I took a look at her bike and realized that the tube was punctured and unrepairable. I grabbed her bike, through it in the bed of my truck and opened the passenger door for her. She acted as if I was ushering her into my carriage and actually curtsied before she hopped in. As she leaned over I caught an especially good view of her cleavage.

"So, where to?" I asked. She gave me directions and I was shocked to find out it was almost fifteen miles away, up the mountainside! "You ride to town on your bike?" I asked incredulously.

"Yep," she answered, confused at my shock. "But it's downhill half way," she added without irony.

We rode for a few miles, very slowly since the roads were washed out and deeply rutted. I'd be surprised if we ever went over 20 miles per hour.

"Y'all ain't from around here, are ya'?" She asked politely.

"No miss, I'm from up North. A Yankee, you know?" She giggled.

"So, what cha'all doing in these parts?" She asked.

"I'm a photographer. And a movie producer. I'm just scouting out some areas and taking some film for a project I'm working on," I told her.

"A movie producer?" She asked excitedly, "You mean like Hollywood?" Her eyes were huge with anticipation. I think that was the point I realized I had a good thing going, if I could make it work....(cont)