No Such Thing as a Free Ride Read Online Free PDF Page A

dream I’d been having—something about a six-foot tall chimpanzee wearing a business suit and smoking a bubble gum cigar. He spoke English with a Brooklyn accent and was just about to ask me out when my phone rang, waking me up and effectively putting the kibosh on my only date in three months.
    “Hullo?”
    “Brandy, it’s Suzanne!” Suzanne is my boss, Eric’s, nineteen year old assistant/girlfriend. She’s not too bright but she makes up for it with lots of enthusiasm.
    “Hey, Suzanne. What’s up?”
    “It’s an emergency! Eric said to get over to 239 Arch Street. Stat! A camera crew will meet you there.”
    I shoved Rocky off my chest and sat up. “Why? What’s going on?”
    “He didn’t say… or maybe he did. I don’t really remember… .”
    While she pondered this, I hung up.
    My mind raced with possibilities.
What could be so urgent? House fire? Bomb scare? Whatever, I’m finally getting a shot at breaking news. Whoo hoo!
    “Mommy’s finally going to be taken seriously around here,” I told the cat and the dog. I threw on my one nice pair of slacks, gathered my hair into a ponytail and brushed my teeth on the way downstairs. After promising Adrian a long walk when I got back, I made a dash for the car and took off for Center City.
    Turning onto Arch Street, I double parked next to a WINN news van and hopped out. The rain had slowed to a fine mist and a crowd had formed on the sidewalk. I looked around. Nothing seemed to be on fire, there was no SWAT team circling the premises, there wasn’t even anyone wielding a megaphone trying to talk a depressive off a ledge.
And why was the WINN news van the only one in sight?
    We must have an exclusive!
I made a beeline for Eric.
    “What’s going on?” I huffed, completely winded.
    “Here,” he yelled, shoving something into my arms. “Put this on, quick! We’re live in two minutes!”
    Hmm… What is this? Kevlar? Or maybe something flame-retardant? Or…
    I looked down. “A corset?” I said aloud.
    “Well, what else would you expect for a segment on Betsy Ross?”
    “Betsy Ross?” Behind Eric stood a beautiful colonial structure. It looked like a doll’s house, small and narrow and perfect.
    “Um, is someone being held hostage inside or something?” I asked, hopefully.
    Eric gave me a sideways glance. “Real funny, Alexander.” He piled a wig and boots on top of an old-timey gown. “Listen up. I know it’s short notice, but all your lines are on the teleprompter. All you have to do is read ‘em and then toss back to the studio. Now get dressed, we’re on in a minute!”
    Fuming, I grabbed the garb and entered the van to change.
    “Stupid Betsy Ross,” I muttered, jamming the wig on top of my head. “Stupid Eric, making me wear this stupid get-up,” I mumbled as I hopped, first on one foot, then the other, lacing up my boots. “Stupid…” the heel of my boot jammed between two bricks on the cobble stone road. I teetered on the brink as onlookers tried to determine if I’d been dipping into the family spirits, and then I toppled over, landing face first in a fresh puddle of mud.
    The wig slipped over my eyes, sparing me the sight of the gawking crowd. In the next instant I felt a hand tug gently at my arm and pull me to my feet. Then the hand moved to my face and nudged the wig off my eyes, and suddenly I found myself staring into twin pools of melted chocolate. I turned three shades of pink and nearly passed out.
    “Hello, Angel.”
    Oh my god.
    It had been three months since I’d heard that voice, seen that face, felt that feeling I got in the pit of my stomach whenever I was in the presence of Nicholas Santiago. For three long months I’d dreamed of our next encounter. It didn’t look
anything
like the nightmare this was shaping up to be.
    I smiled weakly, wiped the mud off my forehead and readjusted the wig. Nick waited patiently while I went through the motions of being very busy—
too
busy for conversation, the show