L.a. Woman. Cathy Yardley
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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.
Chapter 3
People Are Strange
“Well,” Martika murmured, “it’s not much, but it’s home.”
“I think we moved you in record time,” Taylor drawled, surveying her new digs with the air of one bored with the process. “What, five hours?”
“I’ve unloaded a lot since last time.”
“You mean, besides Andre?”
“Let’s not be bitchy,” Martika chastised, then stuck out her tongue at him before arranging her peacock feathers in a tall wooden vase in the corner. This looked much more homey. The way this Sarah chick had decorated—ick. It looked like corporate housing. She was surprised the girl hadn’t put a Sanitized For Your Protection banner across the toilet.
Kit glanced around, muttering incoherently.
“Sorry?”
He half smiled at her. She didn’t think he ever full smiled. “I said, there’s no place like home.”
“Wizard of Oz,” Taylor said promptly.
Martika simply rolled her eyes. “You two still playing that game?”
Kit shrugged. Taylor started babbling. Martika grabbed her last moving box, labeled Private in big block print, and moved to the bedroom. This was always the last part of her unpacking ritual—the nightstands. She wondered how Andre would fare tonight, getting his bed out of storage, since the three pieces of furniture that she had since she was twenty-two was a California king bed and two nightstands. Girl’s gotta have her necessities, she thought. She loaded up the nightstand on the right of the bed with condoms and a variety of oils and other lubricants, her handcuffs, and a few other knickknacks she’d picked up along the way. The one on the right was always for guests. The one on the left…she put her chicken-scratch-filled journal, loaded with the most disgustingly self-pitying poetry ever spouted on earth, a few Chunky bars, several boxes of cigarettes, a vibrator and a pack of gum.
That drawer wasn’t for anybody else.
She closed it with a nod, and headed out. The guys were on the couch. Sarah was giving them glasses of lemonade. How very Martha Stewart, Martika thought with a grin.
This was already weird. She hadn’t roomed with a girl in longer than she could remember—and a girl like this, the native version of F.O.B. She supposed Sarah was F.O.F… Fresh Outta Fairfax. Or whatever the name of her Podunk town was.
“Well, looks like I’m all settled in,” Martika said.
Sarah was nodding as she looked around, clearly bewildered. “It’s…more than I expected.”
Was that disapproval? Martika smiled. God, she hoped so. “Well, when I move someplace, I like to…”
“Take it over?” Luis, Taylor’s boyfriend, commented with a nasal whine.
Martika grinned at him, feeling her anger start to turn over a little. She usually couldn’t take Luis for longer than, oh, fifteen minutes. She’d now been with him for over six hours, and if the man realized how close to death he was…
She shrugged it off, searching for lemonade. At least the asshole moved the bed in. You made allowances.
“Well, everything looks great,” Sarah said in a soft voice behind her.
“Thanks.” Martika smiled a little more easily. Kid’s shy, she thought, but there’s potential there. “I’m a graphic designer, did I mention that?”
“No.”
“Well, I am. I like to have artistic things around me.” She noted that almost all of the prints up were hers. “It’s all about atmosphere, presentation…you know.”
Sarah nodded, although Martika doubted she understood a damned word. She was doing that agreeing-to-be-agreeable thing.
“I mean, what did you think you were saying with the apartment before?” she pressed.
“Um….” Sarah blinked, very deer-in-headlights, at being put on the spot. “This space for rent?”
Martika laughed. Definite potential.
She wandered back out to the living room. “Well. I’m starving.” Translation: We are now going out to eat. She looked around expectantly.
Taylor looked happy at the proclamation, Luis looked sour at spending time with her (ah, but I’m so looking forward to bonding with you! she thought with a smile), and Kit…well, Kit just looked the same as he usually did. She had tried getting him to sleep with her, but she suspected he must actually bat for Taylor’s team, no matter what Taylor said about him being a DSF. She just had a feeling about this sort of thing.
“So. Where are we eating?”
Luis spoke up. “Why not Trader Vic’s?”
She shot Taylor a glance. He shrugged, embarrassed. She rolled her eyes, communicating quite clearly: Well, you’re the one fucking him. She shook her head. “Let me try this again. So. Where are we eating?”
“What? What?”
“Too tacky,” Taylor explained.
“If I wanted to spend that kind of money to see a bunch of old white men, I’d go to Le Dome,” Martika added, causing Luis to pout.
“How about Le Dome?” Kit put in sardonically.
She thought she heard Sarah giggle at that, again softly, but when she turned around Sarah’s face was impassive.
“Hmm…obviously I’m going to…ooh! How about L.A. Farm? I haven’t been in ages.” There! A viable alternative. “They’ve got a great vegetarian spread.”
“So you’re vegetarian this week?” Kit asked.
She frowned at him. “Like you’re even going, Kit.”
Kit shrugged. “Nope. Working a shift at the coffeehouse.”
“Didn’t anybody tell you? The grunge scene is over.”
“It’s retro.”
Taylor shook his head. “Working at a coffee shop on a Saturday night seems just wrong, somehow. Going to the club with us later? I thought Asylum, just for kicks.”
Kit shrugged. “I guess. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Lovely. So L.A. Farm it is,” Martika said, and glared at Luis, who looked ready to dissent.
“Sure,” Taylor said, and Luis did not look pleased. “Just give me time to run home and change…I’m not going all sweaty and stinky like this.”
She laughed, then looked at Sarah. She was standing there, very wallflowerish. Well, now was as good a time as any to test the new girl. “What about you? I’ll give you forty minutes to get ready, but only because I’m going to use the bathroom first.” She winked, to show she was kidding. Although she really wasn’t.
Sarah cleared her throat. “No. I’m sorry. I’d love