Free Bad by Francine Pascal Page A

realized she was talking. Instinctively he reached across the table and took her hand. “Heather, you’re not going to be homeless,” he said, soothing.
    She flashed a brittle smile. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. But look, can we go by Scores after dinner? I hear those strippers make, like, five hundred bucks a night.”
    Ed laughed. “You’re going to dance on a greasy pole? I don’t think so.”
    â€œOkay, then. I’ll be a sex phone operator.”
    â€œI don’t know,” Ed mumbled jokingly. “Let’s hear your audition. I’ll judge whether or not you’ll get hired.”
    Heather flipped her hair behind her shoulders and eyed Ed with a look of exaggerated sexiness. She slouched in her new red dress. “Hi, there, big boy,” she whispered. “What are you wearing? Oh, nothing? Well, guess what; neither am I—”
    â€œStop!” Ed cried, holding up his hands. “You’re making me sick. I mean, you know, in a really good way.”
    She giggled. “So I get the job?”
    â€œDefinitely. But I . . .” Ed stopped talking.
    Tears were suddenly rolling down Heather’s cheeks. But she was still laughing. Okay. Major problem. Rewind.
    â€œHeather, what’s wrong?”
    â€œI . . .” She shook her head, biting her lip. “I’m sorry, Ed. I’m trying . . . really. But every time I have a second to
think,
I just can’t. Everything is too screwed up. My parents are broke, Ed.” Her voice caught. “And Phoebe . . .”
    She wasn’t laughing anymore. She was only crying.
    Damn.
He had known she was bummed out. But Ed had never seen the great Heather Gannis in despair. She had mastered the art of the emotional mask. Seeing her actual tears in public was the equivalent of spotting Elvis Presley, alive and well, in the middle of Times Square.
    â€œI think now would be a good time to tell you that I won twenty-six million dollars in my lawsuit,” he whispered. “As soon as the appeal is over.”
    She sniffed and looked at him. She didn’t say a word, but her eyes flickered.
    â€œCome on, Heather.” His grip tightened on her hand. “I could never spend that much money. I promise I’ll take care of you and your family until things get better. You are
not
going to be homeless.”
    Heather wiped her cheeks with her napkin. “I couldn’t take your money—it would be wrong. I shouldn’t be bawling on your shoulder, anyway....”
    Ed swallowed. “It’s my money,” he stated. “I can do what I want with it.” Maybe tonight wasn’t the right time to tell Heather about the operation. Besides, he had no idea whether or not it would be a success. Why build up her hopes? Right. He would keep the news to himself for now. It would be the best thing for everyone. For now, he would make Heather happy.
    Â 
    â€œI CAN’T BELIEVE I’VE NEVER DONE this,” Sam whispered, shivering. “It’s amazing.”
    Less Than Nothing
    Walking across the Brooklyn Bridge had been Gaia’s idea. It was one of her favorite New York activities, mainly because it didn’t cost anything. Of course, she hadn’t done it in a very long time, and not only because of the cold. Mostly she hadn’t done it because she’d been mushed too deep inside her own trash compactor of a life to think about taking time do something
fun . . .
for fun’s sake. But now — and very suddenly, it seemed — she had all the time in the world. It was as if she had abandoned her own existence and been reincarnated as a normal teenager.
    Gaia’s eyes roved over the deserted walkway. Thousands of cars crossed the bridge every day, but like all things New York, it was also designed for pedestrians. Gaia would miss that about the city if she left: its pedestrian-friendly vibe. Well,
if
Oliver ever got in touch with her.