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“Animal House,” Taylor interjected.
“Shut up.” Martika studied Sarah’s face. “So how about it?”
“I really can’t,” Sarah said, and there was a trace more firmness in her voice. “My boyfriend—that is, my fiancе, is going to be calling me tonight.”
“Oh?” She raised her eyebrow, then glanced at Taylor. He rolled his eyes, and formed a small “W” with his thumbs and index fingers. She didn’t think that Sarah caught it, and even if she did, she doubted she’d put it together.
Whatever, Taylor was telling her. And he’d fill Martika in on the rest of it later, no doubt.
“Fine,” she said, shrugging. So her new roommate was…boring. Well, hell. It’s not like she had to sleep with her. “Wouldn’t want to get in the way of true love. I’m going to use the bathroom, sweetie, so if you’ve got to pee, better do it now…I could be a while.”
“I’ll be back here in an hour, Tika,” Taylor said with a tone of warning.
“I’ll be ready,” she said, shuffling the boys out the door. After she closed it, she turned to Sarah, only to find her still staring. “You sure? You could always call him back later. Or tomorrow.”
Sarah just gave her a cool smile. “Thanks anyway.”
She shrugged, then headed for the bathroom, remembering belatedly to shut the door before she started stripping. She doubted Sarah would be amenable to her relatively exhibitionist ways.
Well, Martika thought as she stepped into the shower, I’ve shacked up with a nun who’s pining away for some absentee boyfriend. Joy. Fun.
Two choices: get ready to move again, which was unpalatable. Or start corrupting the girl.
Martika smiled against the force of the water hitting her face. Like there was even a question there.
It was Saturday night…rather, it was Sunday morning, Sarah thought, blearily looking at the clock. She had woken up, and initially she wasn’t sure why: 3:00 a.m. What the hell?
She hadn’t had a great Saturday night, frankly. She had waited for Benjamin to call…then had left a message on his machine at work and at home, and still waited. By eleven, she had made herself a hot chocolate, thought about it, dumped a little rum in and went to bed. She’d plowed through Bridget Jones and enjoyed it thoroughly, then switched gears and was now reading Harry Potter. She had gone to sleep, curled in a ball by eleven o’clock. Now, 3:00 a.m., and she was…
“Oh… Oh… Oh, yeah, baby, like that…”
Sarah went still, like a frightened mouse. The sounds were growing louder. They reminded her of Martika’s shower singing, all low and throaty.
Sarah got up and crept to her half-opened bedroom door. She peeked out. It was dark, and Martika’s bedroom door was closed. She could hear the bedsprings creaking wildly, picking up in speed.
Horribly embarrassed, Sarah shut her door quietly, all the way. In the deathly stillness of the early morning, she could still hear the noises, which were starting to gain a bit in volume. Looking around, she saw her fuzzy terry-cloth bathrobe hanging from a hook on her closet door. She threw it down across the crack of the door, hoping to muffle some of the sound. Still no help. She crawled back into bed, yanking a pillow over her head and pushing it against her ear. And the flannel and fleece lap blanket her mother had given her for Christmas from Costco, saying that it did get cold at nights.
Martika, Sarah reflected, might not have been the great idea Taylor thought it’d be.
On that Thursday night, almost a full week of work at Salamanca and a paid month’s rent behind her, she felt downright jubilant.
“Benjamin Slater.”
“Jam, it’s me. Sarah.”
“Sarah.” She thought she could hear the smile in his voice. “Hey there. How are things going in L.A.? I was going to call you Saturday.”
“I figured I’d jump the gun,” she said. “Guess what? I got a job!”
“I knew you would,” he said. “What are you doing?”
“I’m an assistant account executive at Salamanca Advertising Agency. That’s where Judith works, but I’m not working with Judith—she’s in production. I’m on the account management side.”
“That’s great, honey.”
“I’ve been really busy, and it’s only been the first few days…”
“I’ve been swamped, myself,” he said, with a heavy sigh.
She paused. “Any luck with Richardson? I’m not trying to push.”
“None. I have to make the assumption that Andrew—the V.P., you know?—that he’s making good on his promise to get me out of there. So Cal could use somebody like me. That’s what he said.”
“That’s great, Jam.”
“So just a few more months, and then I’ll be able to move down,” he said. “I just have to make it up here in the meantime.”
“I’m sure you will,” she said warmly.
“Actually, I can’t talk long,” he said. “Paul Jacobs and, well, some people from the L.A. office are up for a visit—I promised I’d go out for a few beers with them. You know, blow off some steam.”
She bit her lip. “Um, okay.”
“It’s just a few beers, Sarah.” He sighed again, this time a little more irritably. “It’s not like I’m going out and boinking a bunch of coeds.”
“I know that!” she replied. What, did she expect him to stay in every night, just because she wasn’t up there with him?
Still, a little more pining would be comforting, she thought, then brushed the thought aside.
“Sarah! Saaa-rah…” Martika called from the frame of Sarah’s bedroom door. “You wanna come out with us? We’re drinks.”
Sarah frowned, then motioned to the phone that she held to her ear. Martika huffed irritably, then retreated to the living room.
“Sorry,” Sarah muttered.
“Who the hell was that? I thought you were at home.”
“I am,” Sarah replied. “That was…well, I couldn’t quite make rent just on my salary. So I took on a roommate.”
There was a pause as Benjamin digested that fact.
“It wasn’t my idea,” Sarah assured him hastily. “Besides, Martika knows that it’s month-to-month…”
“Martika? What the hell sort of name is that?”
“I don’t know. Danish, I think.” Okay, that was a shot in the dark.
“I told you that I’d make it down to Los Angeles as soon as Richardson gives me a goddamn chance, Sarah. I didn’t tell you to get a roommate.”
Sarah frowned. “What you told me was that I had to cover rent on this apartment—this considerably more expensive apartment, I might add—by myself. Since you’re not living here yet. Really, realistically, what would you have had me do, Jam?”
“Dammit, Sarah, I didn’t…don’t get all touchy on me, okay? I really don’t need this right now.”
Like I do?
She sighed. “I’m just saying I didn’t have a lot of options.”
“I see.” He made a low grumbling sort of sound. “Well, you’re right, of course. It’s better that you got a roommate. Just… Did you do a thorough search?”
Sarah crossed her fingers—childish, granted. “Sure I did. She’s a friend of a friend of mine, so it wasn’t like getting a complete stranger.”
“Huh. What’s she like?”
She thought about Martika’s late night sex-a-thons. “Um, she’s very social.”
“Social?”
“Yes,” Sarah said hastily, “but responsible. I mean, she’s kicked in for half of the bills already, on time, and she’s a graphic designer.”
“I see.” He didn’t, obviously—his tone said that much. “Did she just say something about drinking?”
Sarah shrugged. “I think she wants me to go out with…them.” She was going to say her and Taylor, but she suddenly didn’t want to explain Taylor. That whole incident was something Benjamin would definitely frown upon.
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 pi?a 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.
