I see her immediately when I enter the lobby. My libido stands up and does a hula dance in my chest, accompanied by the pounding drum of my heart. So much for waiting patiently at the cage door.

God, she is gorgeous. Oh Lord. You know as I look at her now it occurs to me how much she looks like Sharon Stone. No wonder I want her. She smiles as she waves at me, then holds out her arms to me.

Finally! A very friendly embrace. Oh yeah!

"Kels, God, it seems like forever." She smiles at me as we part, her hands run down my arms slowly, erupting goosebumps along long-neglected flesh.

"It’s been too long, Beth. How are you?"

"Working my ass off, sweetheart, and you?"

"Oh, please." I roll my eyes as thoughts of Harper come crashing into my mind, then, thankfully, leave just as quickly. "Too much to tell in the lobby of the hotel."

"Well, okay." She takes my bag and hands it to the bellman. "There was some problem with my room, a computer foul up of some kind, so they're getting another one ready. Let's go to the bar and have a drink while we catch up."

"Let me get my purse," I start to reach for the bag only to have Elizabeth grab my arm and guide me to the bar.

"Nope, you don't need it. Your money is no good with me. I heard you got a new addition to your show. Harp…"

I cut her off with a wave. "Please, don't say it," I groan out as we settle into a small booth.

She slides in next to me, giving me a concerned look. "Say what?"

"Her name. You would not believe the turns my life has taken since she showed up. And it’s only been a little more than two weeks."

"Not good?"

"So very bad." I give her a smile. "Please, let's not talk about it. I didn't come here to talk about her. I came here," I pause, knowing it will only serve to heighten her interest in what I am about to say, "to lose myself in you for a weekend. To remind myself why I thought you were the best thing about Brown."

"I was the best thing about Brown," Elizabeth replies easily. "Don’t ever forget that."


* * *

We’re on our second round of drinks when Elizabeth’s pager goes off. We both look at the small device with disdain, knowing it has the power to ruin our weekend together. I feel a throb deep within, reminding me that I will die if something interferes with us now. Why didn’t I just drag her upstairs and skip the drinks?

Elizabeth removes the pager from her skirt waistband and stares at the numbers. "Damn! It’s Aguilera. I need to go to our room and return the call. He’s gonna wanna bitch at me about the hearing on Friday."

I look at her warily. "Will you have to go back to New York?"

She smiles the smile that has won her many clients over the years, the same one that first made my sexuality wake up and take note more than a decade ago. "Would I leave you in your hour of need? Let me go calm him down." She leans forward, giving me a pleasant view. "Then I can calm you down."

"Promises, promises."

She winks and pushes away from the table. I watch the gentle sway of her hips as she disappears from view.

I let my eyes wander around the bar and take in the scenery. It is a nice view. There are quite a few gorgeous women scattered around its confines. One, who is particularly easy on the eyes, smiles at me when we make brief eye contact. It’s not unusual, a lot of people recognize me from the news.

As I wait for Elizabeth to return, I watch the other patrons. It never ceases to amaze me how old, fat, ugly men are able to date young, vibrant women and no one seems to note or care. When I’m fifty, would people think it’s normal for me to go out with some young thing?

Somehow, I doubt it. For a variety of reasons.

I am lost in my thoughts until I notice that a number of dark suited men have suddenly joined all of the beautiful women around the room. There is one standing by my table as well. "Yes?"

He opens his wallet and presents me with his badge. "I’m Officer Gibson of the Los Angeles Police Department. I need you to come with me, ma’am."

"What’s this about?"

"You’re under arrest, ma’am. Please get up from the table and come with me."

"What’s the charge?" There is no way in hell I’m getting up. This has got to be some sort of practical joke.

"Prostitution." He leans down and takes hold of my upper arm and begins pulling me out of the booth.

"Stop it!" I swat at his hand. "Let go of me!" I raise my voice, I want attention; this man is insane. "Do you know who I am?"

He rolls his eyes, unimpressed. "If I had a nickel for every time someone in this town said that to me." His grip around my upper arm tightens and he hauls me out of the booth, manhandling me all the way out of the bar and through the lobby.

"I am Kelsey Stanton. I am the anchor on the channel four news." I find myself standing outside and I wonder exactly how I got here.

The officer calls over another dark-suited man. "Sarge, she says she’s some news person."

"Kelsey Stanton, Channel Four," I add.

The older man looks me over, his gray eyes studying me carefully. After a long moment, he turns to the junior officer. "Nah, she’s too short. Put her in the van. I don’t want to cause a scene here."

"I am Kelsey Stanton!" I lose it. I can’t believe this is happening. Will I never get laid again in my life? Are all the gods of the universe conspiring against me obtaining any relief?

"Well, if you are her, show me some identification and I’ll let you go," the Sarge offers magnanimously.

"Thank you!" I huff and reach for my purse.

Which is in the room with Elizabeth.

Shit. Damn. Fuck.

"Look, my friend has my purse in her room …"

The two men laugh. "Uh huh, right." The younger one guides me into a waiting van where all of the attractive women from the bar are awaiting me. "We’ll help you make ID down at the station."

He leans over and handcuffs me to the seat, just the same as the other women. Stepping out of the van, he swings the doors shut and locks them, patting on the metal. At the sound, the driver starts up the engine and pulls away.

What in the hell just happened to me?


* * *

I get my customary single phone call.

"Los Angeles Inter-Continental. How may I direct your call?"

I sigh. This is so humiliating. "Elizabeth Hill, please."

"One moment." I hear the operator’s long fingernails tapping on the keyboard. "I’m sorry, ma’am, our computers are down at this time. What’s her room number?"

"I don’t know. She didn’t tell me. Look, I know she’s staying there. I was just having a drink with her at the bar. Can you please call her room?"

More tapping. "I’m sorry. I have no way of connecting you without her room number."

"You’re kidding me."

"No, ma’am. Not with the computers down."

I groan. Elizabeth, where the hell are you?

"Ma’am, if you call back later, I’m sure we’ll be able to help you."

I bang my forehead against the back of the telephone receiver. This can’t be happening.


* * *

Three hours later the Inter-Continental’s computers are still down. It’s midnight. And, unless I plan on spending the night here, I’m down to a single option.


* * *

The phone rings loudly by my bed, awakening me from a very pleasant dream. My hand snakes out from under the covers and clutches the receiver. I pull it under the blanket and press it against my ear. "Kingsley."

"Oh thank God, you’re home!" Kels gushes.

"Kels?" I manage, pushing myself up on my bed, turning to look at the clock. The LED readout tells me it is after midnight. "What’s going on? Why are you calling me?"

"I need your help, Harper."

I stop moving, stop breathing. With my free hand, I pinch my other arm. Yup. I’m awake. "Come again?"

"I. Need. Your. Help."

I am awake now. It has to be important for Kelsey to want my help. "What’s wrong?"

"I need you to …" her voice breaks. I can’t tell if she’s crying or not. She takes a deep breath and exhales, the air whistling into my ear. "Come bail me out of jail."

I can’t help it. I lose it. Involuntarily, I convulse with laughter, dropping the handset and guffawing loudly.

When my laughter subsides, I grope for the phone and pick it up again. Only to be overtaken by another laughing fit. "I’m sorry, Kels …" I manage. "I just … wasn’t expecting that." Snort. "Uh … which precinct?"

"The Fifteenth."

"What’s the charge?"

She starts to reply but stops herself. "You’ll have to find out when you get here, Tabloid. Now hurry up. I need identification."

I’m barely listening as she tells me where it is and how to get to the hotel, I’m still so in shock that she would actually call me. "Okay, okay … I’m on my way."

Oh, this is gonna be fun! I get out of bed and dress quickly, whistling a happy tune.


* * *

After trying the hotel and asking for Elizabeth for what seems like an hour, I give up on their lame computer system and decide to get Kelsey’s media credentials from the station instead. She keeps her credentials in her desk drawer, always prepared. She must have been a Girl Scout. (I was a Girl Scout who got thrown out for eating a Brownie. Or so goes the old joke.) I hope that her station identification will be good enough. I can talk my way out of or into anything, so I’m certain those skills will come in handy.

The Fifteenth is in downtown, and I notice that the station seems quiet and somewhat lazy as I make my way inside. Los Angeles’ downtown at night is desolate. Anyone with any good sense got out during rush hour. Only a few hotels catering to business travelers are here. Wonder what Kels was doing in this part of town to get herself arrested.