Free Beg by C. D. Reiss Page A

walls and a roof and
maybe heat, but no one can afford it. The houses up in Griffith Park are
scenery. They’re owned by other people, the people who live on the other side.
Not nouveau riche rock stars and actors. Old money. Generations worth of trust
funds. Three thousand square feet was a palace behind ten-foot hedges. I drove
up the winding pass. Never having looked at the addresses before, I was at a
loss to find them. It was as if you were supposed to just know where you were going because you belonged there.
    I finally found the address under a gigantic fig tree with a
brass plaque next to it, announcing the tree’s status as a protected landmark.
The gate opened for me, and I went up the drive and parked next to the Jag.
    I sat in the car and looked at the house, convincing myself I
still had a choice between going in or going home. The house was a craftsman,
all warm lighting and dark woods. The porch was as big as my living room,
leading to a wide, thick door. It was closed.
    I took a deep breath.
    Bottom line: He was hot, he was charming, and he didn’t want
anything out of me but the same thing I wanted. Unless he wanted me to clean
his bathroom. I took hours to clean a bathroom, and I wasn’t cleaning his.
    I slid my phone out of my purse and called Darren.
    “Hi,” I said. “How was the show?”
    “Fantastic. What’s up?”
    “I thought you should know…” I swallowed hard. “I sent Gabby home
in a cab.”
    “You what?”
    “She’s tired of being followed around.”
    “And where are you?” He was pissed. He sounded like he was in the
middle of a street, with people everywhere.
    “Griffith Park. I can explain more later.”
    “No, explain now why you let a suicidal woman go home alone when
her meds obviously aren’t working and she’s showing the same behaviors she did
just before you found her bleeding into your kitchen sink.”
    “She’s fine.”
    “This is completely irresponsible.”
    He hung up, which was a huge favor. I didn’t want to tell him why I’d ditched Gabby.
    I got out and walked up to the porch. Stained glass windows
bordered the door. The light on the other side was soft and inviting. This would be all right. Just fine.
    I knocked so softly, he couldn’t have heard me unless he’d been
waiting. I needed to see if he’d found something else to occupy him or if he
was looking forward to seeing me. That could set the timbre for what I could
request in the way of a warm call to WDE on my behalf.
    The door opened immediately.
    He wore the same button down shirt and jeans he’d worn at
Frontage. His feet were bare, and in his right hand, he held a glass containing
whiskey on ice.
    I stood with my bag in front of me, which didn’t stop him from
looking at me as if he wanted to eat me alive. He leaned on the door jamb and
swirled his drink. “I thought you weren’t coming. I was starting to think I was
losing my touch.”
    “This is a nice house.”
    “I wanted to mention something about that, before you come in.”
He paused, and I waited. Despite the distractions of the past half hour, I was
back to wanting to put my tongue all over his body. “All bets are on?” he
asked.
    “I’m yours to command.”
    He took my bag and put it on a side table. “Turn around.”
    I put my back to him. My car sat in the drive, next to his, the
gate to the street wide open. He clicked the button on a little handheld box,
and the gate slid closed.
    The ice in his glass clinked, and I felt the touch of his hand at
the base of my neck, then a tug as he unzipped my dress. “Jonathan…”
    “No one can see.”
    The zipper went down past my lower back, and he slowly pulled it
open. The sleeves slipped off a little when his hand, cold from the drink,
touched between my shoulder blades. He ran his hand up to my neck, then over my
right shoulder, pushing the dress off. Then he ran his hand to the left
shoulder, until the dress slipped off and pooled around my ankles. I felt a
breeze