Sunday, in a dull suburban street in New Zealand. Fourteen year old Charlotte lies on the floor in her house on the telephone. Charlotte is bored. Charlotte is beautiful, hovering on that uncertain line between child and woman.
A shadow falls across her. A stranger is in the doorway, asking for help. Nic is in hisearly forties. He’s blonde, a handsome confident man, but there’s something strange about him, over-sweet, like ripe fruit going rotten. She is a little nervous about being alone with him, but also intrigued.
It is a little strange, how his brand new sports car has a flat tyre and no jack. He says he’s a photographer, on his way back to L.A.
She dresses up, lipstick and mum’s high heels to bring out tea and biscuits. She swings between provocateur and innocent. He tells her she is worth a million dollars. He wants her to come with him. She’s amazed it’s like a dream come true, but with the delicious undercurrent of a nightmare.
