L.a. Woman
Too late. “Well, I think you might want to consider before you go out.”
“Consider what?” Sarah felt a little burn of anger. “You’re going out for beers with the guys. I’d just have, I don’t know, a drink or two with Martika.”
“L.A. isn’t Fairfield, you know. It’s a more dangerous city.”
Sarah thought of Martika and Taylor, the imposing duo. “I think I’ll be fine.”
“You’re so naive sometimes,” he said. “Fine. Do whatever you think is best. I have to go.”
“I’ll be sure not to boink any coeds,” she replied, wanting to lighten the conversation a little.
He laughed, as she hoped he would. “I’ll talk to you next week.”
“Love you,” she said quickly.
“You, too,” he said. He clicked off.
What was that all about? Sarah hung up the phone, pensive. She wanted to believe he was just being protective—but part of her felt like he was just maintaining some sort of double standard.
He’s going out and having beers with the guys. Why shouldn’t I go out?
After all, he was the one who said that she just clung to him like a vine. If anything, this would be…asserting her independence, she thought.
She went out to the living room. Martika was in the labor-intensive process of lacing up her knee-length black leather boots. “Martika?”
“Mmm?”
“Is that invitation still open?”
Martika looked up from her boots. “Really? You’ll really go?”
“Just for a little bit,” Sarah hedged. “I’ve got a big day at work tomorrow.”
“It’s Friday. Who does much on Fridays?”
Sarah bit her lip. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
“You don’t do anything much your first week,” Martika said, as if countering Sarah’s resistance. Then she flashed her a quick, mischievous grin. “Besides, I told Taylor you weren’t going to come anyway. You’d probably just curl up with a book and be asleep by ten or whatever.”
Martika was doing everything but calling her chicken. She really didn’t… “What, do I have ‘Shirley Temple’ written across my forehead or something?”
“You don’t need it,” Martika answered with a wink. “You practically introduce yourself that way. So, out to 5140 with me and Taylor? Just a few drinks, and I promise we’ll get you home early since it’s a school night.”
“All right,” Sarah said, ignoring the tail end of Martika’s statement. “Just let me get my coat.”
“This is historic,” Martika said from the living room. “Next thing you know, I’ll have you dancing with male strippers.”
Sarah came back, tugging on her coat and then clutching her purse. “Just a few drinks,” Sarah hastily added. She didn’t want to do anything that would make Benjamin right about her being naive. “No strippers, nothing like that.”
“Careful, Shirley,” Martika said with a wicked smile. “You’re backsliding.”
“Maybe 5140 wasn’t the best place to take her for her first time out,” Taylor said with a note of concern.
Martika leaned back against the slick red vinyl cushion of the booth they were sitting in. The lights were dim enough to cause your pupils to dilate like dinner plates. Sarah sat huddled against one corner, trying as hard as she could to blend into the scenery.
Martika sighed…5140 was a fairly rough-and-tumble bar, nice and seedy, with none of the Hollywood club kids or the college pricks from West L.A. and Santa Monica. As good a testing ground as any.
“So, can I get you another drink?” Martika asked as politely as she could, considering she needed to yell to get over the blasting jukebox.
Sarah shook her head vehemently, clutching her piña colada with a weak smile. “I’m fine. Thank you, though,” she said politely, doing her Martha Stewart impression again. She glanced around, as if she were sightseeing in a demilitarized zone.
Taylor scooted next to her. “Don’t worry, girlie-girl, Martika just likes dives.” He grinned at her. “Trashy.”
“Drama,” she said back, blowing him a kiss. “I do like dives. Less pretentious.” She turned her gaze on Sarah. “What do you think?”
Sarah bit the corner of her lip, looking around. “It’s…surprisingly roomy,” she offered, with a hopeful look.
“Roomy,” Martika repeated, as Taylor roared with laughter. “That’s a good description. Roomy. Well, I’m going to go see if I can’t make it over the vast expanse to the bar,” she said, tilting her empty glass. “I could do for a refill. Taylor?”
“Another currant martini, please.”
She smiled, heading over to the bar, noticing several of the guys at the bar were watching her as she walked. She was used to it, sending them a killer smile then ignoring them.
She’d finally taken Taylor’s advice and decided to live with somebody she wasn’t planning on sleeping with, and she wound up with a virgin schoolgirl. Irony. Like a continual cosmic joke.
Still, the kid had potential—and she got the feeling that that phone conversation Sarah had been on was with her boyfriend/fiancé/whatever. And that it hadn’t gone well, if she was going out with Martika & Crew.
“One watermelon shot and one currant martini,” she said to Bill, the bartender. He nodded, quickly making up the drinks. “Oh, and another piña colada,” she said. “Strong.”
He added the third. “You gonna pay off that tab anytime soon, Tika?”
“I get paid next Friday,” she said, with a wink, and deftly balanced the three drinks, carrying them while still managing to wiggle her hips. She put them down on the small table in front of the chatting Sarah and Taylor with a plunk. “Bottoms up, people.”
“I’ve still got half a drink,” Sarah protested.
“Well then,” Martika drawled, “you’d better hurry, huh?”
Sarah’s eyes grew round.
“Taylor…would you care to show her how?”
Taylor grinned. “Not really, as I’m forced to drive during this excursion. Besides, I’m supposed to see Luis later this evening, and he hates it when I’m plowed without him.” He sipped genteelly from the martini glass instead, then made a florid gesture at her own shot glass. “You show her. You’re the pro, anyway.”
Sarah said, “You want me to just chug this, don’t you?”
Martika was surprised into a real smile. “Chug?”
“I know. I’m not that sheltered,” she said. “I’m not good at that sort of thing, though, I have to warn you.”
“Well, show me what you’ve got.”
Sarah screwed up her face for courage, then took the half-drunk piña colada and finished it off in about eight manful swallows. Martika grinned at Taylor, watching the debacle.
Sarah took a deep breath. Her pale cheeks were flushed and pink—from the alcohol or from the time that it took her to drink it without pausing for air, Martika wasn’t sure.
“There. I did it.”
Taylor made a polite golf clap. “Brava.”
“Now the other one,” Martika said. “A little faster, this time.”
“But…I have to go to work tomorrow!”
“Two piña coladas isn’t going to put you under the table,” Martika said, with an exasperated sigh. “Besides, we haven’t even gone to a club yet. This is just warm-up.”
As Taylor started to protest that he needed to make this an early night (“I promised Luis!”) Martika noticed that Sarah was going from flushed to pale.
“I think I’ll just nurse this one.”
Martika shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She took her watermelon shot, and with a quick snap of the wrist threw it back, feeling more than tasting the quick tang of Midori before being hit with the slight flame of alcohol. She put the glass down, smiling at Sarah. “One piña colada, and you’re trashy. This is downright epic.”
“I didn’t say I was trashy. I just said I had to go to work tomorrow.”
“What is it you do again?”
“I’m an assistant account executive,” she said. Her dilated eyes were beginning to look a little out of focus. “At Judith’s…that’s my friend.” She took another sip of the piña colada, as if she weren’t thinking about it—like she was just thirsty. “My friend Judith, who you haven’t met.”
“I have,” Taylor said, also noticing that Sarah was slowly working down her drink. “Judith makes this one look like you.”
“Wow. Guess I’ll have to not meet her, then.”
Taylor chuckled. Sarah sipped.
In an hour, Sarah had sipped her way through another piña colada and was getting surprisingly talkative. The club idea was out—the girl was weaving as they got her into the car, something Martika thought completely hysterical and Taylor found “charming.”
“I’ve gotten so used to you stereotypical Irish two-fisters that it’s been a while to see a ladylike, girl-drink-drunk,” he said. Martika frowned at him.
“I’m ladylike.”
“Sure,” Taylor patted her cheek. “And I’m Keanu Reeves.”
“Good night, Keanu!” Sarah said, and abruptly started hiccupping. “Oh, God. Hope I don’t yuke.”
“You and me both, sister,” Martika said, propping her up in the elevator. “Four piña coladas and you’re a mess. This is so funny.”
Martika guided her back to the apartment. She was still talking in that little girl voice of hers.
“So I’m waiting for Jam to move back,” Sarah confided earnestly. “Well, not back, it’s not like he’s lived here before. But you know what I mean.”
“Sure.” She grinned as she undid the top two dead bolts and finally got the door handle. “Although, if I hadn’t heard the details from Taylor, I’d guess that Jam was your invisible friend rather than your fiancé.”
“Well, he’s sort of my invisible fiancé,” she said, with a hiccupy little laugh.
“You said it,” Martika pointed out, closing the door behind the wobbling Sarah. “Not me.”
“I know. I don’t mean to complain. I just miss him, that’s all. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like he misses me,” she said. The tone was so matter-of-fact, Martika felt a pang of pain on her behalf. She wondered if Sarah were sober if she would have felt the pain. Then she realized—if Sarah were sober, she wouldn’t be saying all of this. “So why do you stay with the guy?”
Martika knew she probably shouldn’t counsel her roommate on her love life—but hell, she counseled all of her friends. And if anyone ever needed a mentor, it was this little drunk girl with the long blond hair—like a misplaced Norwegian waif.
Sarah stopped by the arm of the couch, in the middle of a very amusing tableau of trying to kick one shoe off with the other foot. “Why what?”
“If he’s invisible, and you miss him, why do you stay with him?”
“Can’t walk away,” she mumbled, finally successfully kicking off one shoe and sighing. “I mean, you can’t just give up on something like that. Besides, I love him. I couldn’t walk away from somebody I loved.”
“I can understand that,” Martika said. Not about relationships. But say Taylor—she’d never walk away from him. “But the question is, does he love you? He seems to be hurting you an awful lot.”
Sarah seemed to sober for a moment—like a kid at a high school party who had suddenly realized that her parents had come home. “He’s not hurting me,” she said, struggling with the other shoe. “He just…he’s just busy. He needs me to understand. I’m trying to be very, very understanding.”
Martika was understanding this whole thing a bit, herself. She frowned. The guy was an obvious asshole. Sarah really ought to dump him, move on. Maybe she’d start that campaign, too, as well as her campaign to “corrupt” the kid. “Well, as long as he’s away, it doesn’t matter how often you’re out, right?”
Sarah thought about this for a minute, then grinned. “Nope. Doesn’t, really. I’m sure he might mind if it were like every night or if it were interfering with my career…”
“Well, it won’t.”
“I’m just saying,” Sarah said…then slumped into the couch. “I think I’m going to sleep right here.”
“Oh, no, you’re not,” Martika said, tugging her to an upright position. She’d never seen somebody decompress quite this fast. “Shit. Come on, Sarah. You take Martika’s advice—a few vitamins, a few aspirins and one huge glass of water. Then brush your teeth, and go to bed.”
“What day is it?”
“Thursday, sweetie. Remember?”
“I think I have something important to do tomorrow, but I can’t remember what.”
“You’ll remember tomorrow,” Martika promised. “I swear, honey. Now get up and brush.”
Chapter 4
Unhappy Girl
“Walker! Where the fuck have you been?”
Sarah stood stock-still, as if she’d been shot. Her slight headache made her feel as if she had been shot. “I beg your pardon?”
“I told everybody they needed to be in here early today!” Becky’s eyes were glinting like gunmetal, and if she’d shot red lasers out of them, Sarah would have been no less surprised. “Early! What time is it?”
Sarah glanced at her watch, unsure if that was a rhetorical question or not. “Eight?” she said, glad that she’d set the alarm before she went out on the town.
“Goddam eight. Jacob has been in here since seven. Michelle has been here since goddamn six.”
Jacob and Michelle had not been hazed at 5140, either, Sarah reflected. She knew there was something she was supposed to do today. “I’m sorry,” she said instead. Just when she was trying to make a good impression, too! She needed this job. She really, really needed this job!
Becky was not appeased. “I need you to input all of these—and double check this time—and Raquel’s going to be busy doing copying for me, so I need you to go to the cleaners and get my suits. Goddam presentation is first thing Monday morning, we’ve got absolutely nothing worth showing yet, I need to pull off a goddamn miracle. If you’re not careful, Sarah, you’re not going to be staying here. Off the top of my head, I can think of twenty people who’d give their right arm to work for a place like Salamanca.”
Oh, no. Sarah felt herself go clammy with shock. “I’m really very sorry,” she breathed. “I know you’ve got a lot to do, and I want to make sure that everything gets done. No matter how much overtime it takes, I’ll make sure you get what you need. On time.”
Jacob and Michelle were staring at her with expressions of abject horror. Becky, on the other hand, looked speculative.
“Now there’s team spirit. Much better,” Becky said, with a smooth, pleased tone that gave Sarah the willies. “Why don’t you come to my office after I finish up this conference call, and we can talk about that?”
“Sure,” Sarah said, but Becky was already on her way. Once she’d left the room, Jacob turned to Sarah.
“Are you out of your mind?”
Sarah shrugged. “I’m trying to get a little more in my paycheck. I’m not going to prove anything by coming in hung-over,” she said, rubbing at her temples. “I’m just trying to show that I’m good at my job.”
“You could come in here with a gun and they wouldn’t fire you,” Michelle said. “You’re in for a world of pain, Sarah.”
“You’ve got absolutely no idea,” Jacob said, in sepulchral tones. “Brand review is coming. You’re going to be in hell.”
Sarah shrugged. “Aren’t you exaggerating just a bit?”
Michelle looked at Jacob. “Cavalier little thing, isn’t she?”
“You can’t say you weren’t warned,” Jacob replied to Sarah instead. “I put five dollars on you cracking like a walnut in two weeks.”
“I give her a month,” Michelle said. “She looks like a scrapper.”
Sarah sighed. “I’m going to go scrounge up some Tylenol before she gets finished with that call. And believe it or not, I’m going to make it.”
Sarah was walking away as she heard Ernest down the hall call out, “Put me down for two months.”
By the end of the fifth week, Sarah was bleary-eyed. She left the office at eight, Friday night, surprised that it was suddenly April. Thank God she did her taxes early this year…she didn’t even know it was coming.
“Good night,” she said to Schuyler, the portly security guard. He no longer asked her to show her badge. She’d been there the past five weekends and late every single night. He knew her on sight, and regularly asked her “how it was going.”
“You get some rest, Miss Walker,” he called after her.
She drove home, exhausted. It was only about twenty minutes back to West Hollywood from the Mid-Wilshire district, if that, but tonight traffic seemed particularly bad. She’d be back in at ten tomorrow morning—Becky was letting them have a little sleep-in before cracking down on yet another pointless presentation, complete with requisite numbers and velo-bound reports. God, she hated velo-binding.
She parked her car, noted that Martika’s car was not there and sent up a little prayer. Probably out with Taylor, searching for this weekend’s Random Fuck, as she so colorfully put it. She and Martika were not working out as well as she had hoped. Martika had tried to invite her out again, but after having her job threatened, Sarah made it a point of not joining Martika on her excursions. Martika was sort of hurt by this, and consequently cold, but there wasn’t anything that could be done. Benjamin had been right—she was naive.
Now, Sarah would stumble in just as Martika was striding out, or sometimes at the same time as Martika stumbled in, with or without a companion. They only spoke about things like the utilities. Sarah had hoped to have a bit more friendly relationship with her roommate. Now, she just prayed that Martika would pipe down and maybe put some WD-40 on her box springs.
She closed the door of her Saturn, hearing the alarm beep on. She made her way to the elevator from the parking garage and hit three, then leaned her head against the door as it slowly creaked its way upstairs. A bath. No, food. No, a bath, and then food. If she had food then the bath, she’d drown.
She stepped out of the elevator, then stopped abruptly. A figure, a male figure, was hovering by her doorstep. He had a dark coat, and his blond hair was…
“Jam?”
He turned, and his face was like a storm cloud. “I’ve been here for hours,” he said, without preamble.
“I’m so sorry!” The response was automatic, like saying ouch when you stubbed your toe. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to come down?”
“I didn’t really know myself. Screw up at the L.A. office…and they brought me in to ‘consult’ on some possible solutions to getting their numbers up. It’s going to be soon, I’m telling you. The flights were delayed, so I figured I’d stay over a night and see you.”
She wanted to feel more elated by the whole process, but felt weary as she fumbled for her keys. She let him in the apartment. “I’m so glad you made it,” she said, wondering even as they spoke what kind of food she had around. They could do a restaurant. Of course, it was Friday night in WeHo. They were going to have a hell of a time getting a table. Maybe she could order a pizza.
“So this is the apartment. Huh. I haven’t seen it since I signed the lease.”
She paused, before hanging her key on the set of hooks under the pretty white wooden cabinet-looking thing that she used to separate mail for herself and Martika. Her mailbox had a cheerful yellow daisy on it…Martika’s, a sticker of one of the Powerpuff girls. “Home sweet home,” she said, wondering what his tone was all about.
“Hmm.” He was studying the place minutely. Then he shrugged. “Pretty good sized. Seems like a nice enough neighborhood.”
Sarah let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. “I like it.”
He scowled. “I think some guy was hitting on me in the lobby, though.”
“Really?” Now was obviously not the time to explain West Hollywood to him. “How odd.”
They wound up staying in and ordering pizza. Sarah wished she could take that hot bath, but he seemed in the mood to talk. They talked at length about his job, and she told him about the hell that was her boss and the ad agency. “I’ve got to go into work tomorrow, too,” she said sorrowfully.
He didn’t seem very sympathetic. “Honey, I’ve told you before…you’ve got to pay your dues. You didn’t just think they’d give you some six-figure job you loved right out of school, do you?”
She hated it when he got patronizing, but she knew he was just trying to be helpful. “I didn’t think that. I just didn’t think I’d have to work every single day for a month going to a job that frankly makes me want to vomit every time I go in in the morning. Honestly, when I get sight of the building, my foot eases up off the accelerator.”
He shook his head. “It’s normal. If it were fun, you wouldn’t get paid for it.”
“Don’t you think that’s sad?”
He shrugged. “I think that’s reality.” He smiled, and it was one of his indulgent smiles. “Honey, you just want a little dream world.”
“Guess I’m in the right city,” she said, and went over to the bedroom.
He followed her in, sighing heavily. “Don’t be this way,” he said, in a voice that was persuasive but she knew could turn stern at the drop of a hat. “I’ve come all the way down to L.A. to see you. Do you really want to waste what little time we have fighting?”
She immediately felt the wave of guilt hit her, and she sighed. “No. I’m sorry.”
“Then let’s make up.” He stroked the back of her neck, then reached forward to unbutton her blouse. Within minutes, she was naked, on her back, while he went at her a little more quickly than she’d have liked. Of course, she’d been so tired lately, it wasn’t like she was even really in the mood. She went through the motions of being interested as best she could, when all she could picture was her deep tub and scalding hot water. Maybe some lavender bubble bath. Mmm, she thought, smiling over his shoulder. Bubble bath. God, that sounded good.
Still, she was glad he was there, she thought as he shuddered and groaned, pushing against her. It had been a while. Besides, it was only twenty minutes out of an otherwise very long day.
Sarah turned over the next morning, and immediately gasped. Shit, ten o’clock, ten o’clock, ten o’clock! She prayed that Becky wasn’t coming into the office this morning. She sort of doubted it…Becky usually had plans on the weekend, and she left the work to her “able team.” Sarah grabbed her toothbrush, smeared toothpaste on it as she turned the shower on, then jumped in, brushing and getting her hair wet at the same time. Screw shaving, no time for that. She jumped out and was toweling herself off when she realized that something was missing. It wasn’t unusual to wake up alone, she realized, but this morning she had, and she shouldn’t have. Benjamin had been snoring in her ear when she’d dozed off last night around one.
She came out in a towel. “Honey…?”
She stopped, abruptly. Martika was sitting at the kitchen table, eating cottage cheese straight out of the carton with a spoon. “Sweetie?” she said, mimicking Sarah’s tone.
Sarah blinked at her, surprised twice in the past five minutes. “I’m sorry. I thought…did you see my fiancé here? Tall guy, blond…”
“Bit of a prick?” Martika calmly spooned up some more cottage cheese, then put the cartoon down and drizzled honey over it. “He was leaving when I got home. I tried to introduce myself, but he looked at me like I was some sort of thief until he realized I was your roommate. Then he looked at me like I was a potted plant. Grunted something incomprehensible, left in a hurry.”
Sarah’s heart fell.
“Real prince you got there.”
“You could tell that from just five minutes,” Sarah said sharply. “You don’t know him. You don’t even know me, and I live here.”
“Good!” Martika smiled, a bitchly-sweet sort of grin. “I was starting to wonder if you were dead. You know, that’s the loudest and clearest I’ve ever heard you speak? And what exactly is so wonderful about Mr. Personality, that I seem to have overlooked?”
Sarah didn’t even grace it with a response. She was already late, it was ten, and her boyfriend had left her without so much as a goodbye. She just sort of harrumphed in Martika’s general direction. Sarah conjured up a vision of him, stumbling around in the dark, getting ready and trying not to wake her up, kissing her gently while she slept. No, Martika didn’t know him, and she did. After being engaged to him for four years, she ought to know, dammit. She pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, dumping her towel on the floor. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.