L.a. Woman
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Sarah watched in amazement as he exuberantly hugged the man in question, who was presenting another man to her dinner companion.
Well, it beats eating alone.
The waiter walked over to her. “Made your decision?”
She nodded. “Corn bisque,” she repeated dutifully, “and the barbecued chicken pizza.”
He smiled again, that sort of slick, polite smile.
“Oh, but he’s sitting with me,” she said, as the waiter started to walk away. “He hasn’t ordered yet.”
“He doesn’t have to,” the waiter said, with a little sneer in his voice. “He gets the same thing every time.”
“Oh.” The food here had better be damned good, she thought, because the service definitely leaves something to be desired.
Taylor was back in a matter of minutes. “Great guy, that Michael.”
“He seemed nice.” Sarah didn’t know what else to say.
He grinned at her, then winked. “Next time, I’ll have to introduce you. We’re practically neighbors, after all.” He sighed gustily. “I’ve been going on and on. You look like a little drowned rat, no offense, with not a friend in the world. So what’s your story, little girl?”
“I didn’t know it rained in L.A.,” she said in her defense, “or I would have brought an umbrella.”
He grinned at her. “So you don’t know L.A. Where are you from?”
“Fairfield.”
His brows raised. She wondered briefly if he had them plucked—they looked like perfect arches. “Fairfield? Where is that? Out in the valley?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s up by Sacramento, sort of. Well, closer to…well, it’s in Northern California,” she said, realizing if he thought it were in “the valley” he didn’t know the area at all.
“Oh, Northern Cal,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Well, that explains the clothes, at least. So you just moved down today? Are you…no, you’re not an actress.”
“How do you know?”
“Not a high enough bitch factor, to be perfectly honest. I mean, you could be an actress, but I doubt you’re a very successful one…of course, L.A. is full of those, too. Besides, you look like you have too much money.”
She didn’t know if she should be insulted by Taylor’s reasoning or not, so she chose not to be. The corn bisque had arrived, and she sampled it, sighing deeply.
“Told you,” Taylor said smugly.
“It’s wonderful,” she said, trying her best not to gobble it down. She didn’t want to know what Taylor would say about deplorable table manners.
Taylor looked at her, his head tilted to one side. “You know,” he said, taking a spoonful of his own bisque and tasting it, “I’ve decided to like you.”
She smiled, the aches from moving momentarily forgotten. “Thanks. That’s nice.”
“And of course, you’re going to like me, so there it is,” he said, and she laughed…she couldn’t help it. He motioned for the waiter to come over. “I like her,” he said expansively. The waiter simply smiled, much more friendly and simpering, Sarah noted. “We’re going to need some wine.”
Sarah stopped him, alarmed. “Oh, no, really, I couldn’t…”
He stared her into silence. “Nonsense. You’re getting a Tayler welcome to L.A. Get me a bottle of that Ravenwood cab, would you? Thanks,” he said, dismissing the waiter, who just nodded and turned silently.
“Now then,” Taylor said, all but rubbing his hands together. “Being such good friends and all, you need to tell me your whole life, beginning to end. Leave out no detail. I want to know everything.”
The master bathroom in Judith and David’s house had two sinks: his and hers. It was a sign of how well David was doing. He’d be making partner any day now. His side of the sink reflected that: an organized display of toiletries, from his silver toothbrush holder and razor holder (no disposables for David), to the little silver mug that he lathered his shaving cream in, right down to the way he folded the towel that hung on his own towel rack, for his own use. He kept the toothpaste and other tackier items hidden in the drawer, even if the toothpaste was Rembrandt and not something cheap like Colgate.
Judith’s side was almost clinical looking. There was a complete line of Dr. Hauschka skin care, sitting companionably with its almost generic labels of white with a thin band of orange. Cleansing milk, cleansing cream, toner, moisturizer—daily and Rose Cream, for problem areas. Her toothbrush was sitting in a ceramic cup, a creamy white. The toothbrush itself was orange.
She went through the ritual: brush, wash, tone, moisturize. Search for wrinkles, even at twenty-five, even with her moisture-plump Asian skin that people at work continually proclaimed an envious miracle. Remove hair band. Brush lustrous black hair, fifteen measured strokes. Throw clothes in hamper, put on cotton nightgown. Climb into California King bed, on the right hand side, by the wall. David liked sleeping on the side by the door. She rolled and picked up the book she’d left on his nightstand. The Oz Principle. Something for work. She wanted to get a leg up on it—the next few weeks would be busy. Her Filofax was pretty full.
She barely registered the noises of David going through his ritual: long span in the bathroom, evacuating that night’s dinner (in this case, Ahi tuna appetizer and braised lamb chops from Chinois) with a book in the bathroom before brushing his teeth and surveying the wrinkle situation, a larger possibility considering he was thirty-two. She felt rather than heard him checking his hairline for signs of losing ground—a tiny buzz of apprehension before the shrug of denial. He wouldn’t stoop to doing a full nightly regimen including moisturizer, but she’d walked in on him trying some of the Dr. Hauschka. Judith planned on picking up some more bottles in preparation for the eventuality. She felt sure he’d keep his hidden in the other drawer, or in the medicine cabinet.
He lumbered toward bed in just boxers, and she handed him the book. He rested it on the nearby bookcase. David in just boxers signaled sex. She took off her nightgown and panties, handed them to him, as well. He stripped out of his boxers, and climbed into bed, settling the covers around him.
It would take about five, ten minutes of conversation for him to be ready.
“So. Anybody call while we were gone?”
“Sarah,” Judith said. “She wanted to know if I wanted to see her for lunch tomorrow. I think I’ll go visit…she sounded a little lonely.”
“Sarah. She was one of your friends from college, right?” He toyed with her shoulder, then absently with one breast.
She smiled. “She was my best friend from college. She was like my little sister. We roomed together as freshmen, in the dorms.”
“Little sister? Is she younger than you?”
Judith shrugged. He was stroking a little more insistently. “She always seemed younger. She changed her major four times,” she said with a laugh. “She just always needed to…I don’t know. She had trouble getting it together.”
He laughed, his deliberate caressing sidetracked for a moment. “You two must have been the Odd Couple, redux.”
“I helped her, a little. She’s nice. You just want to give her a hand.” Judith stared at the ceiling. “Still, I was really glad that she got involved with Benjamin. He is a very stabilizing force for her. Now, if she could just get him to the altar…”
David looked at her for a moment. “You say his name funny. Like it’s a title or something.”
“Do I?” She thought about it. “He’s the consummate salesman, from what I can tell. I’ve never met anybody more driven in my life.”
“Not even you?” He resumed stroking. She ignored the ticklish sensation as he traced across her stomach, and consciously moved so he’d tickle elsewhere. He didn’t notice.
“He went through his M.B.A. program in record time, but he still went for sales—something about his personality. Very charismatic.”
“The guy’s got some redeeming features, right?”
That would be jealousy. Lately, David’s ego was bruising a bit more easily. Judith made sure some of her skin rubbed lightly against his developing erection.
“He’s loyal, I think.” Even as she said it, she wasn’t sure. “At least, I hope so, for Sarah’s sake. He shouldn’t be long in moving, anyway. A man shouldn’t be left to his own devices for very long.”
“Why not?”
“He’s young, attractive, good income, good car, going places. Women target men like that—and men like that find women who target hard to resist, I get the feeling. Sarah would be smart to keep an eye on him, until they’re married.”
The erection was still hovering at semihard, and Judith studied him to gauge possible problems. This might be a blowjob night. Damn.
He was staring at her with a look that was part fascination and part disgust. “Target, huh? That sounds downright eerie.”
“I don’t make the rules.”
“You just live by them, right?”
She inched away from him, irritated. Why couldn’t he just enjoy this and go to sleep? “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He needed coddling, apparently. She should have chosen more appropriate foreplay conversation, but work was pressing her a little too hard recently. She needed to get back into her meditation. With a sigh, she concentrated harder. Leaning over, she kissed him rather thoroughly. “I landed you, didn’t I?” she asked, and was glad to feel the familiar press against her inner thigh.
If it were that easy, he couldn’t be too upset.
“That’s right. You did land me. Damned good choice on your part.” There was that overtone of the cocky lawyer back in his voice. He’d be energetic, she thought as she angled away from him. Chances were good he’d be relatively quick.
Within moments, he’d shut off the light. In the darkness, he felt him reach for her. Minutes after that, she was being pressed into the soft, enveloping mass that was her mattress pad, foam egg crate, and gently resilient Sealy-Posturepedic mattress. She deliberately moaned, getting louder when his breathing picked up pitch.
When he groaned against her, she closed her eyes.
He rolled off of her and handed her her nightgown and underwear. She could feel his weight pressing down on the bed, his maneuvering his boxers back on, clumsily.
His breathing turned to snores not long after.
She put her clothes back on with a bare minimum of movement, careful not to wake him. She could picture her Filofax in her mind, mentally scheduling a call to that meditation coach after her 10:00 a.m. meeting. Canceling her manicure. Seeing if there were a job opening for Sarah somewhere…maybe account management or H.R.
By the time she mentally got to the section of the day labeled Go To Bed, she fell asleep.
Chapter 2
Take It As It Comes
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.