Read Born to Run for Free Online Page A
Authors: James Grippando
server into the pantry, away from the noise of the crowd, and took the call.
"Chloe, is that you?"
"Paulette! Listen to me!"
The frantic tone concerned her. It sounded like the bad old days. "Calm down, okay? Just breathe in and out. Did you take something?"
"No--no!"
The call was breaking up. Paulette could only imagine where her sister was calling from. The last time they'd spoken, Chloe was on the verge of passing out in the backseat of a taxi at 3:00 A . M ., no money to pay the fare. She only called when she was in real trouble. Seven years apart, Chloe the offspring of their father's second marriage, they had never been as close as Paulette would have liked. Still, it had been heartbreaking to watch Chloe's decline after getting fired from her White House internship for suspected substance abuse. Chloe denied any drug use, of course, and she refused rehab. Paulette had done her best to help her land on her feet, but it was no easy task when Chloe hated her for being everything she would never be.
"Are you in trouble?" said Paulette. "I'm at the White House party, but just let me know if I need to come get you."
"No, you don't--just . . . listen\"
She sounded out of breath, on the verge of hyperventilation.
"Chloe, what are you doing?"
"Working. A story. A really big one."
"I'm worried about you."
There was no reply.
"Chloe, are you still there?"
Paulette heard a scream.
"Chloe!"
The line was silent.
"Shit!" said Paulette, as she punched 911.
Chapter 8
Chloe tucked her cell into the pocket of her blue jeans, angry at herself for the way the call had gone. Paulette was such a bitch. She zipped up her jacket and started walking.
Chloe had agreed to meet her source at the covered bus stop on Georgia Avenue at ten o'clock. It would have been a pleasant walk past Howard University in daylight, but nighttime made it a long, cold mile. Her breath was steaming and her hands were freezing. Driving, however, was out of the question. She'd lost her license after the DUI conviction, and her old Sebring had been collecting white pocks of bird shit in the alley behind her apartment since June.
Did you take something, Chloe?
It had taken her sister all of ten seconds to accuse Chloe of drug use. Chloe couldn't even brag to perfect Paulette without her heart racing and throat tightening. It was pointless trying to explain that she was about to break the biggest story in the country--bigger than anything "Paulette Sparks reporting live from the White House" had ever dreamed of. And of course Paulette had to tell Chloe--the fallen intern--that she was at the White House Christmas party. What a joke. The stupid member of the Sparks family--the one who was way too dumb for print journalism--was drinking eggnog with the president and First Lady. It was enough to make Chloe gag. She wanted to scream. Again.
Get control, girl.
Screaming in Paulette's ear had been a big mistake. She was probably on the phone right now telling their father how Chloe had snapped again. But so what? Chloe's source was about to make her--not Paulette--the Washington reporter on the move.
The blinking bank marquee at the corner said it was 9:57 P . M . and twenty degrees Fahrenheit. The wind made it feel colder. Chloe pulled her jacket tighter. Gloves would have helped, but she'd lost her only pair on the subway yesterday. She blew on her hands to warm them and--whoa--even she could smell the vodka. It seemed weird that something so odorless in the bottle could stink so badly on the breath, but alcohol was alcohol. She'd learned that lesson when she lost her internship at the White House, too. She dug a mint from her pocket and popped it into her mouth. Cool. Just like Chloe. Way cool.
Definitely too cool for this fool.
The wind gusted as Chloe reached the bus stop. The covered shelter was protected on three sides with Plexiglas, which provided welcome relief from the cold. Down the street, the traffic light changed from red to green. A
"Chloe, is that you?"
"Paulette! Listen to me!"
The frantic tone concerned her. It sounded like the bad old days. "Calm down, okay? Just breathe in and out. Did you take something?"
"No--no!"
The call was breaking up. Paulette could only imagine where her sister was calling from. The last time they'd spoken, Chloe was on the verge of passing out in the backseat of a taxi at 3:00 A . M ., no money to pay the fare. She only called when she was in real trouble. Seven years apart, Chloe the offspring of their father's second marriage, they had never been as close as Paulette would have liked. Still, it had been heartbreaking to watch Chloe's decline after getting fired from her White House internship for suspected substance abuse. Chloe denied any drug use, of course, and she refused rehab. Paulette had done her best to help her land on her feet, but it was no easy task when Chloe hated her for being everything she would never be.
"Are you in trouble?" said Paulette. "I'm at the White House party, but just let me know if I need to come get you."
"No, you don't--just . . . listen\"
She sounded out of breath, on the verge of hyperventilation.
"Chloe, what are you doing?"
"Working. A story. A really big one."
"I'm worried about you."
There was no reply.
"Chloe, are you still there?"
Paulette heard a scream.
"Chloe!"
The line was silent.
"Shit!" said Paulette, as she punched 911.
Chapter 8
Chloe tucked her cell into the pocket of her blue jeans, angry at herself for the way the call had gone. Paulette was such a bitch. She zipped up her jacket and started walking.
Chloe had agreed to meet her source at the covered bus stop on Georgia Avenue at ten o'clock. It would have been a pleasant walk past Howard University in daylight, but nighttime made it a long, cold mile. Her breath was steaming and her hands were freezing. Driving, however, was out of the question. She'd lost her license after the DUI conviction, and her old Sebring had been collecting white pocks of bird shit in the alley behind her apartment since June.
Did you take something, Chloe?
It had taken her sister all of ten seconds to accuse Chloe of drug use. Chloe couldn't even brag to perfect Paulette without her heart racing and throat tightening. It was pointless trying to explain that she was about to break the biggest story in the country--bigger than anything "Paulette Sparks reporting live from the White House" had ever dreamed of. And of course Paulette had to tell Chloe--the fallen intern--that she was at the White House Christmas party. What a joke. The stupid member of the Sparks family--the one who was way too dumb for print journalism--was drinking eggnog with the president and First Lady. It was enough to make Chloe gag. She wanted to scream. Again.
Get control, girl.
Screaming in Paulette's ear had been a big mistake. She was probably on the phone right now telling their father how Chloe had snapped again. But so what? Chloe's source was about to make her--not Paulette--the Washington reporter on the move.
The blinking bank marquee at the corner said it was 9:57 P . M . and twenty degrees Fahrenheit. The wind made it feel colder. Chloe pulled her jacket tighter. Gloves would have helped, but she'd lost her only pair on the subway yesterday. She blew on her hands to warm them and--whoa--even she could smell the vodka. It seemed weird that something so odorless in the bottle could stink so badly on the breath, but alcohol was alcohol. She'd learned that lesson when she lost her internship at the White House, too. She dug a mint from her pocket and popped it into her mouth. Cool. Just like Chloe. Way cool.
Definitely too cool for this fool.
The wind gusted as Chloe reached the bus stop. The covered shelter was protected on three sides with Plexiglas, which provided welcome relief from the cold. Down the street, the traffic light changed from red to green. A