Читать книгу L.a. Woman - Cathy Yardley - Страница 8

The next morning, it took Sarah a few minutes to figure out where she was. Sunlight was pouring in cruelly through the bedroom window. Los Angeles, she thought groggily. She was in bed, in her new bedroom, in her new apartment.

She had absolutely no recollection of how she got there. Or why her head was pounding.

She glanced down.

Or, to add to matters, why she was wearing her clothes.

The doorbell rang, and she groaned, stumbling out of bed. Well, the door was locked, even if the dead bolt wasn’t, she noticed. Small blessings. She hit the intercom. “Hello?” she croaked.

“Sarah, darling? It’s me, Taylor.”

Taylor? She flipped through her mental Rolodex. “Taylor…”

“Gorgeous man who tucked you in yesterday, sweetie. Come on, be a good girl and open up…oh, never mind, here’s a gentleman getting the door. Up in a second.”

She stood there, listening to the door shut with agonizing loudness. Her heart started beating a little faster.

How could you have been so stupid?

Last night was a blur, but she did remember the stylish giant she’d had dinner with. At least, she remembered him to a point. She closed her eyes, swaying a little as she did so, fighting to remember. She’d managed to knock out a bottle of Ravenswood Cabernet with a six-foot-five stranger. He’d helped her to get to her door…she seemed to recall being carried part of the way, or did she dream that?

He had tucked her in, she seemed to remember. He’d given her a kiss on her forehead, and said he’d be back in the morning.

She hastily went over to her purse, pawing through it. Well, the credit cards were still there, as was her cash.

How could you have been so stupid? She’d let a complete stranger, no matter how “nice” he was, into her house! And let him lock up after himself! After getting drunk with him!

A sharp knock on the door rapped her out of her thoughts. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest.

He could be some kind of serial killer. Don’t you open the door!

“Sarah? Sweetie, open the door, it’s just me.”

She stayed silent for a minute.

“Sarah.” She heard him let out an irritated sigh. “Come on, I know you’re there, and I’ve got something that will fix you right up.”

She thought about going to the kitchen, getting a knife or something. She couldn’t lock the dead bolt without being…

Without being what? Rude?

There was a long pause. “Oh, baby, don’t be this way,” she heard him finally say, obviously pitching his voice deeper. “After you slept with me last night, I thought…”

She gasped, and before she could think the better of it threw open the door. “I did not sleep with you!”

She looked up and saw him grinning at her. “Well, obviously. But I figured you’d open the door if I said you did.”

She was blushing. She knew she was blushing.

“Mind if I come in for a sec? These are a little heavy.”

Without really waiting for an invitation, he walked in, followed by another man. She eyed them both nervously.

Taylor was resplendent in a sparkling white T-shirt and jeans that looked like they were pressed, with various holes that were obviously cut in the knees for artistic effect, not worn-out naturally. He was carrying what looked like two cases of soda. “I figured eleven was late enough to come over. Kit? Could you give her the coffee?”

The other man was lanky, with sandy-brown hair tucked under a backward baseball cap. He wore a gray T-shirt and a pair of khaki cargo pants which sported holes that were probably from actual use, as well as a scuffed pair of suede sneakers. He looked short next to Taylor, but she guessed he was maybe six foot. “Welcome…to Jurassic Park,” he said, and handed her a foam cup with a lid.

She looked at Taylor nervously, and he rolled his eyes. “You’ll get used to Kit. He’s my DSF.”

“DSF?” she asked.

“Designated Straight Friend.”

“So nice to fill a quota,” Kit said, shrugging.

She smiled weakly, then sipped the coffee. It was good. The headache retreated a few millimeters. In fact, she would have felt a lot better if the doorbell hadn’t chosen to ring at that particular moment.

“Yes?”

“Sarah? It’s Judith. I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d take you to lunch.”

Sarah glanced at the dynamic duo in her living room. “Um…it’ll take me a little bit to get ready…”

“Just let me in, Sarah. I’ll wait.”

Sarah buzzed the entry button, then glanced at the men. “That was my friend Judith,” she explained.

Taylor smiled, obviously not getting the point—that she wanted them out of there. “So, this is your place?”

“Such as it is,” she said. “There’s two bedrooms and a bathroom.”

“Heaven.” Without being asked (much like when he entered her apartment) he peeked into both rooms. “Spacious. You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a roommate, would you? I know someone who’s looking…”

“No,” she said emphatically, then rubbed at her temples. Okay, less emphasis. On everything this morning. “I’m…my boyfriend is moving down.”

“Oh, right. The guy you mentioned last night.” He sent a skeptical glance to Kit. Sarah scowled.

“I’m sure he’ll…”

Judith stepped in the half-opened door. “Sarah? Hi. I thought, since it’s eleven, it wouldn’t be too…” She stopped stock-still, and took in Taylor and Kit. “Oh. I didn’t realize you had company.” She arched one inky-black eyebrow at Sarah. “Friends of yours?”

Sarah looked away. “Well…”

“I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. It’s what I’m best at,” Taylor said, offering one of his huge hands. Judith was surprised into shaking it. “I’m Taylor, one of Sarah’s neighbors. This is Kit.” Kit didn’t shake hands with Judith, he simply nodded. “Kit is just Kit.”

“I see. And how well do you know Sarah?”

Taylor’s expression was almost gleeful. “Oh, about as well as someone can get to know another person after getting completely plastered with them. Sarah’s a cutie-pie,” he pronounced, and if he reached over to pinch her cheek, she wouldn’t have been surprised. “I think we’ll keep her.”

“Sarah?” Judith was looking more anxious than disapproving now.

“Taylor’s okay,” Sarah said, and realized that she really did believe he was. “Taylor, thanks for stopping by and, um, checking on me.”

“No problem.” He ignored Judith’s stares, and sidled up to Sarah, dropping to a mock whisper. “No offense, my dear, but you might want to jump in the shower and change before you brunch with Ms. Mom. You’ll feel much better.”

“I was planning to,” she said.

“Oh, and here.” He handed her a can from the case of soda he had carried in and put on her kitchen table.

“What’s this?”

“Fabulous stuff. Buy it in Chinatown by the caseload,” he said. She realized she couldn’t read the label—she thought the label was Chinese, or possibly Korean. “I like to call it Hangover Remover. You chug that down like a good girl. Do you club?”

Her eyes widened. “Um…”

He smiled, and it was like being smiled on by a benevolent god. “You are so sweet! Well, we’ll stick to dinners first, but I like you,” he said expansively. She liked him, too, she realized. “Here.” He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a business card. She read it: “Taylor Mayerling. Marketing Communications Manager, Demille Plastics Company.”

“Plastics?” she said.

Kit grinned. “There is a great future in plastics.”

“The Graduate. That’s so easy.” Taylor frowned at him, then turned back to Sarah. “Well, it’s not sexy, but it’s a paycheck.”

“I hear you,” Sarah said, then winced again.

“Gotta run, but you call me and we’ll do dinner. I’d ask for your number, but…” He looked at Judith and smiled. “Well, some other time. Oh!” He took the card back, grabbed a pen off of her table and wrote on the other side.

She glanced at his hasty scrawl. “Martika?”

“That’s her number. If you change your mind about the roomie thing, give her a call.”

He hugged her, and it was nice—even if Judith was frowning. Kit just gave her a friendly half nod, and the two of them trooped out, closing the door behind them.

“Who were those characters?” Judith said.

Sarah smiled, looking down at the card. “Friends,” she said. “My first friends here.”

Judith’s lips pursed. “You really need to be more careful, Sarah. They could be dangerous.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Sarah,” Judith said. Now that the men were gone, disapproval replaced fear. “Honestly. This isn’t Fairfield.”

“So. We’re having brunch?” Sarah didn’t want to be reminded, or lectured.

“I know you’re looking for the perfect job, but I thought you might want to try advertising. I mean, you’ve done P.R. and a little ad sales, so why not try the agency?”

Ordinarily, Sarah would have considered the agency on the same level as, say, becoming a freelance sump pump service tech. But she didn’t have a lot of options. “I’m a little less picky than I thought I’d be,” Sarah replied.

Judith smiled. “I thought we’d eat and go over your résumé. I seem to remember a spot opening up on Account Management,” Judith said, all business now. “I don’t have any particular restaurant in mind, but I’m sure there’s going to be something fairly close by. This is West Hollywood, after all.”

“What, is that a good restaurant part of town?”

Judith sent her a little puzzled grin. “Sarah…don’t you know about West Hollywood?”

Sarah frowned. “What about it?”

“Your friend Taylor is a shining example of the residents of West Hollywood,” Judith said.

“So what?” Sarah huffed impatiently. “I like Taylor. And he’s right, I need to shower and change my clothes real quick…”

“Notice how many men are around here?” Judith interrupted. “Good-looking, well dressed….”

Something tugged at Sarah’s hangover-fogged consciousness. A very faint light went on. “Wait a minute. You mean, I’m living in the…”

“Gay district,” Judith said, nodding. “I thought everybody knew.”

“Oh.” Sarah blinked.

Benjamin wasn’t going to be thrilled about this. She could just tell.

Just get the job, Sarah.

Sarah stood in Becky Weisel’s office, in the ad agency where Judith worked, albeit on a higher floor. It was a corner office, the kind that looked out over the city, with glass windows rather than walls. She had a full cherry-wood desk set, complete with credenza and bookshelves. Sarah could see little placards and inspirational quotes engraved on chotchke. Sarah waited while Becky finished the phone call, holding her portfolio awkwardly in front of her like a high school student.

She hated the interview process. Still, as Benjamin pointed out, those bills weren’t going to be paying themselves.

And I don’t need him to pay them for me.

Becky impatiently motioned her to take a chair, which she did.

“John, I didn’t ask for the numbers for first quarter sales to be on my desk by Monday. I asked you to get them to me today.” Becky paused slightly. “That was this morning, John. You don’t need to whine at me, I know what the time difference is. Just do it, okay?” She sighed, obviously listening to whoever was on the other end of the phone. “Listen, would you rather deal with Stefan? I can patch him over the next time he calls to chew my ass out.” She waited again, then smiled smugly. “Great. I’ll look forward to seeing them tonight.”

She hung up the phone, then looked at Sarah, as if trying to reorient herself. “Right. Who are you, and why are you here?”

Before Sarah could answer, Becky snapped her fingers. “Oh, right. You must be…let’s see…Sarah.” She reached across the desk, shaking Sarah’s hand with a firmness that bordered on painful. “I’m Becky Weisel. I’m one of the Account Supervisors here at Salamanca Advertising.”

She leaned back against her leather seat, surveying Sarah. Sarah sat up straighter, trying to make the best impression possible. It was Let’s Make A Deal. She was doing everything except holding a sign that said “Hire me! Hire me!”

Sarah smiled at the thought. The friendly gesture seemed to give Becky pause.

“So…why do you want to work at Salamanca Advertising?”

Because I like paying my rent. “I’ve read it’s a great firm, really up-and-coming, with cutting-edge advertising and a lot of high-tech clients…” At least, that’s what the Web site had mentioned. Sarah had had only a few minutes to go over it prior to the interview.

Becky smiled. “Done your homework. Like that. And friendly. That always helps.”

“Thank you.”

“And polite.” Becky looked like she was buying a car. Sarah hoped she wasn’t going to kick her tires, as it were—or check her teeth, to mix metaphors. “All right. You’re better than most of the applicants I’ve seen, I’ve got to tell you that.” She glanced down at the copy of the résumé Sarah had faxed to her. She made a few inarticulate noises of acknowledgment. Sarah sat quietly. “Hmm. P.R…. and some education…kind of all over the place, aren’t you?”

Sarah felt her stomach drop a little. “I’m still narrowing my focus,” she explained. “I have a lot of interests…”

“How old are you?”

Sarah blinked. That was an illegal question—this woman ought to know that.

Becky’s smile turned crafty. “You don’t mind me asking that, do you?”

Sarah felt stunned, but found herself shaking her head slowly. “No, of course not,” she said, thinking about her bank account…the way the savings number slowly decreased. Rent was coming due soon. “I’m twenty-five.”

“That’s not so old,” Becky said dubiously, then laughed. “You’ve got plenty of time, I guess. And maybe advertising is just what you’ve been looking for.”

Sarah took a deep breath, feeling as if she’d somehow passed a test. “That’s what I’m hoping.”

“Great. How’s your Excel? PowerPoint? We do a lot of presentations here.”

Sarah nodded. Now she was on familiar ground. “I’ve got a lot of experience in all of the Microsoft Office Suite.”

“How do you feel about overtime?” Becky asked. “We work on big projects for important clients here, Sarah. I need somebody I can count on.”

Sarah felt her spine straighten, and she nodded her head proudly. “I am willing to work overtime if a project needs finishing. I want to do the best possible job I can.” She wondered if that last touch was a little too kiss-ass, then decided she didn’t care. Besides, a little overtime wouldn’t kill her. It wasn’t like she had a social life to speak of in this town.

Becky’s eyes flashed. Sarah had obviously jumped through the second hoop. What else… “We ask people to do things that are outside of their job description here. I’m going to need you to be versatile, and really think outside the box. Are you willing to do that?”

Sarah nodded. “Of course.” Outside the box. Good grief. Next thing, she’d be saying, We need someone who’s a people person and a team player who displays over-the-line accountability.

Becky leaned back, all but putting her hands behind her head as she smiled triumphantly. “I don’t usually do this, but I have a really good feeling about you, Sarah. What would you say if I offered you a job, right now?”

Sarah goggled, then got a hold of herself. “We might want to discuss pay,” she said instead, feeling shaky.

Becky laughed. “Well of course! Well put, shows you’re paying attention.” She named a figure. Sarah did some quick math. It would cover her rent…if she lived very, very spartanly.

And, say, didn’t turn on her lights.

I don’t know what the next job offer’s going to be, either. Or when. And Benjamin isn’t going to help me.

Sarah weighed, decided. Nodded. “That seems fine.”

Becky’s quick smile sealed the deal.

Sarah would be starting work that following Monday. It was now Thursday. Rent was coming due Tuesday.

She needed help.

How do you expect to survive in L.A. without me? Benjamin’s voice rang in her head.

She’d find help somewhere else.

There, on the coffee table in her barren-looking living room, sat Taylor’s business card, with “Martika” written on it. Taylor’s friend, Martika—the one looking for a roomie.

Possibly the help she was looking for.

She finally dialed Martika’s number. It rang five times. She was about to hang up on the sixth when she heard a deep, sultry voice say, “This is me. And you are?”

“I’m sorry?” Sarah looked at the number. “Maybe I’ve misdialed…”

There was a pause on the other line. “Maybe you have. This is Martika.”

Sarah winced. This was not starting off well. “Um, Taylor asked me to call you…”

“Taylor! That bitch, he hasn’t called me, and he missed Beer Bust. Well, you can’t be his new flame, unless something weirdly radical has changed in his life that he’s not telling me,” she said, all in a rush. Sarah thought she could hear her puffing cigarettes…there was a crackle, and Sarah realized that she had called Martika’s cell phone. “So, what did he want you to call me for?”

Sarah paused. “Well, ah, he seemed to think you might be looking for a place to live, and I’m looking for a roommate…”

“Great! As a matter of fact, I am,” she said. “Where are you?”

“Santa Monica and Robertson.”

Martika squealed. Sarah had to pull the phone away from her ear. “Perfect! I’m right around the corner…and this is my spot. I hadn’t realized Taylor would find me something so convenient. How do you know Taylor again?” Sarah started to answer, but was quickly cut off. “Dumb question. I’ll be over in ten minutes. What’s your address?”

Numbly, Sarah gave it to her, then heard her say “Be there in a sec. Byee!” and quickly clicked off.

Please, let her not be a psycho.

She still didn’t quite know why she trusted Taylor as much as she did…maybe it was still gratitude at the fact that he’d at least given her one positive experience in this strange new world. She would have had a truly miserable night if she hadn’t bumped into the flamboyant giant.

It was less than ten minutes when her intercom buzzed, and Martika announced her presence. Sarah buzzed her in, praying even as she walked to the door. When she opened it, she felt her jaw drop.

Martika was an Amazon. Easily five-ten, she had deep maroon hair that cascaded in curls down past her shoulder blades. She was wearing a pair of hip-hugging bell bottoms in a deep black, and a maroon top of a sort of silky material that sported some sort of Indian embroidery design at the bottom. She had on a black leather coat over it. She was wearing sunglasses perched on her head, ostensibly to keep the curls out of her face. Her face…it wasn’t necessarily pretty, not in the vogue sort of way. She had large hazel eyes and a pug nose that looked odd on her. She had a strong chin, and a round face. She stared back at Sarah.

“I don’t bite,” she said pointedly. “At least, not until I get to know you.”

Sarah shook herself. “Oh! Sorry. You must be Martika.”

“I must be,” she drawled, and walked in, her stacked heel half-boots making her stride seem even more impressive. She gave Sarah a little questioning look as she walked in, then let out a low whistle as her attention shifted from the owner of the apartment to the apartment itself. “Nice. Empty, but we could fix that in a minute. All yours?”

“Um, yes. Although it’d have to be month to month…”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Martika said, eliminating that possible bone of contention. She went out to the balcony. “I guess this would be my smoking area…I can’t stand smoking in the house, strangely enough. I like smoking, but hate smelling it all the time.”

“Okay,” Sarah said.

Martika turned around, and studied Sarah again. Sarah felt…dowdy. And old, although she knew the woman was probably older than she was. “And you’re Taylor’s friend?” Martika asked.

“I know,” Sarah said. “I have trouble believing it myself.”

Martika laughed, a leonine laugh that matched the rest of her. Sarah was torn between admiring her and being intimidated by her. “So which room’d be mine?”

Sarah showed her. “I’d move the boxes, of course…”

“Oh, this would work out fine, just fine,” Martika pronounced on the spot. “Great! So when could I move in?”

“Um…” Apparently, this was more of a done deal than she’d expected. “Don’t you want to ask any questions about me?”

Martika looked at her, a sarcastic, wry expression on her very expressive face. “You look like…” She paused, as if editing her words. “Let’s just say I trust you to pay your bills on time, sweetie, and leave it at that.”

Sarah knew that wasn’t a compliment, but didn’t know what she could say to counter it. “I might need a little time to think about it.”

Martika looked at her, curious and amused. “You don’t like me, do you?”

“I don’t even know you,” Sarah protested. “How could I not like you?”

“I can just tell that about people. They get this poochy-faced little look that says, ‘I may not know you, but you’re definitely not my kind of people.’ You haven’t gotten that look yet,” Martika said, ducking her head to meet the level of Sarah’s face, “but you’re working on it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sarah said, even though she did. “I just…I’m new to L.A.”

Martika laughed. “I’d guessed, sweetie.”

Sarah glanced around, trying to buy some time. She needed a roommate, but she’d already made one snap decision out of desperation this week. She was starting to develop a habit.

“It’s just that I’m very linear,” she said slowly, looking at Martika. “I get the feeling you’re very…organic.”

Martika stared at her, then burst out into another round of raucous laughter. “Oh, sweetie, if you keep popping out with gems like that, I may have to live here!” She chuckled. “No wonder you’re a friend of Taylor’s. You’re so cute, I could eat you up with a spoon.”

Sarah wasn’t sure how to handle that comment. Things were already getting less linear by the minute.

“This will work out perfectly,” Martika said with a flourish. “I’ll have Taylor and the boys move me in on Saturday. Do you have a spare key?”

“Wait a second. I hadn’t decided yet.”

Martika shot her a skeptical look. “You’ve got rent on the first, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“Where else were you thinking of looking for a roommate?”

Sarah fidgeted. “I hadn’t…well, I’m still in preliminary stages,” she hedged.

“In other words, you don’t know,” Martika said, cutting through her excuse. “Let me fill you in—if you advertise in the L.A. Times, you’re going to get the crème de la crème of freak shows. If you go through an agency, you’ll get the freaks that are willing to pay some clerk at a Mailboxes Etc. to put their name on a list…and you’ll have to pay to find them. If you’re going for someone who’s willing to go month to month, you’ll get somebody who probably likes to turn young Asian boys into patio furniture in his spare time.” She did a slow twirl. “Or, you can get me—who’s vouched for by Taylor.”

Sarah winced.

“I don’t even really think it’s a question, do you?” Martika said mildly.

Sarah sighed. “I…er. I’ve got the spare key somewhere.”

Martika smiled sweetly. “Wise choice.”

Sarah smiled back uncertainly. Glad one of us thinks so.