Release Me

our night on the town. Through the denim, I can barely feel them, but if I close my eyes I can easily picture the thick, brutal scars that mar both my inner thighs and my hips. “He wouldn’t be getting what he thinks he’s getting.”
    Her grin is wicked. “
Caveat emptor
, baby. Buyer beware.”
    And that’s why I love Jamie.
    I turn back to the house and try to imagine myself standing in front of those windows. The curtains. The bed. Everything as he described it—and Damien Stark with his eyes on me.
    My whole body quickens at the thought, and I can no longerdeny how much I want this. Damien Stark has thrown me off-kilter, and part of me wants to punish him for it. At the very least, I want to regain the upper hand. Although perhaps “regain” is the wrong word. Where Damien is concerned, I’m not sure I ever had it.
    “
Caveat emptor
,” I repeat. And then I squeeze Jamie’s hand and smile.

15
    On Sunday, I am forced to face the most basic truth of my life: If I don’t spend a few hours washing clothes, I’ll be going to work naked.
    “Carl would like it,” Jamie says, when I tell her why laundry is my plan for the day.
    “I’d rather not test that theory. You coming?” I have a laundry basket tucked under my arm and am leaning against her bedroom door. She looks around at the mishmash of clothing strewn across her floor and says cautiously, “I think most of this stuff is actually clean.”
    I shudder. “How is it that we’re friends?”
    “Yin and yang.”
    “Do you have any auditions next week?”
    “Two, actually.”
    “Then rewash all that stuff, and I’ll help you fold and iron. Because you are not going to an audition covered in cat fur.” As if she can tell that I’m talking about her, Lady Meow-Meow lifts her head. She’s curled up on a pile of black material that looks suspiciously familiar. “Is that my dress?”
    Jamie flashes a guilty smile. “One of the auditions is for Sexy Girl in Bar and there’s three lines of dialogue. I was going to have it dry-cleaned.”
    “Yang,” I say wryly. “Come on. Let’s go see if the machines are free.”
    The laundry room is connected to the pool deck, and once both our loads are going, we snag two lounge chairs. As I’m settling in, Jamie runs back upstairs without explanation. A few minutes later she returns with a tote bag slung over her shoulder and a bottle of champagne in her hand.
    “We have champagne?”
    She shrugs. “Got some at the store yesterday.” She lifts her shoulder and glances down at the tote. “And orange juice.” She untangles the metal cage, then places her thumbs and deftly wiggles the cork. A moment later, I’m jumping at the sound of the
pop
and then the
twang
of the cork slamming into the metal sign prohibiting glass in the pool area.
    “Awesome,” I say. “Did you think about cups?”
    “I thought of everything,” she says proudly, and proceeds to unpack the juice, the cups, a bag of chips, a jar of salsa, and a small plastic bowl.
    “I love Sunday,” I say, taking the mimosa that Jamie hands me and holding it up in a toast.
    “No shit.”
    We settle down on our lounge chairs, sipping and talking about nothing in particular. Fifteen minutes later, I’ve finished my drink, Jamie’s finished three, and we’ve made a blood pact to go to Target that very afternoon and buy a coffeemaker that brews coffee instead of swill.
    That’s apparently all the conversation Jamie can stand, because she closes her eyes, tilts back her head, and starts to soak up the sun.
    I, however, am antsy.
    I shift around on the lounge for a few minutes, trying to get comfortable. Then I give it up and go upstairs to fetch my laptop. I’ve been fiddling with a pretty simple iPhone app, and I run what I’ve coded so far through the simulator before settling into the fun part. But in the end I spend only a half hour or so with coding, declaring objects, synthesizing properties, and creating various subclasses. The day is just too lazy for even easy programming work. Besides, the glare from the sun makes it hard to see the screen. I shut down my computer and head back into the apartment, this time returning with my camera.
    The pool area is not beautiful, but the cracked concrete and splashes of water make for some interesting close-ups. A flowering plant I don’t recognize grows near the fence, and I grab a few petals and toss them in the pool, then lay on my stomach, trying to get a shot of only flowers and