L.a. Woman. Cathy Yardley
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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 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