Perfect Timing: Those Were the Days / Pistols at Dawn / Time After Time. Nancy Warren
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cases that filled it. “This is good for you.”
Ever since the first day they’d met as freshman roommates at UCLA, Tina had presumed to know what was best for Sylvia. A trait that Sylvia had—and still did—found both endearing and annoying.
“This is a sex exhibit,” Sylvia said, her feelings for Tina today leaning toward the annoying side of the equation. “And this,” she added, pointing to the ivory object in front of her, is a dildo.” She said the last in a hushed voice, her cheeks burning.
“It certainly is,” Tina said, her tone almost reverential.
“Are you insane? It’s the size of a…of a…of an I don’t know what!”
“They say Catherine the Great did it with a horse,” Tina said.
Sylvia put her hands over her ears. “I don’t even want to hear about it.” She walked away, Tina following.
“See, that’s your problem,” Tina said, as they moved into the next room, this one apparently devoted to electronic enhancement of the sexual experience. The Sex Through The Ages exhibit was touring the country, and this week it was in Los Angeles, on display at the Greene Mansion in Beverly Hills.
By happy coincidence, Tina and Sylvia were both in town and could visit the exhibit and the house. They’d lived in Southern California during their undergrad years, but for graduate school, they’d left the sunny beaches for the lure of a Stanford law degree. Sylvia had graduated in the top one percent of her class, with Tina not far behind in the twenty-fifth percentile. The nature of their friendship had shifted when Tina had moved to LasVegas to take a job with the district attorney’s office. Sylvia had stayed in San Francisco, snagging a very coveted position with one of the major law firms in the country.
Now that Sylvia was making the move to a Los Angeles firm, Tina had taken some vacation time, flown up to San Francisco and had driven down the coast with Syl. The trip had been a blast, with Syl and Tina playing tourist at every little town they came across. They were even doing the tourist thing in Los Angeles, even though they’d both called the city home during college. They’d gone drinking and dancing, and Sylvia had flirted and chatted, making a concerted effort to get more into the social thing.
The rest had been even more fun. They’d done shopping, the beach, the Pier, Hollywood Boulevard and the Universal Studios tour, including the totally fun tram ride through the back lot, an experience that had been Syl’s favorite so far. Corny, but she was a movie buff, and seeing the Psycho house and all the other bits of movie history had been a huge thrill.
They’d also been hitting a few museums and exhibits, including the Getty and this exhibit at the Greene Mansion, which clearly was not dedicated to butterflies. But despite Tina’s deviousness, Syl was glad they’d come. She’d always loved the Greene Mansion. It had been the home of Tucker Greene, one of her favorite film directors from the 1930s, but she’d never been inside before. And, honestly, she had to admit that while the chance to visit the mansion was what made the excursion palatable, the sex exhibit was interesting, too.
Despite her friend’s devious behavior, Syl was sad that their trip was coming to an end. Tomorrow she started her new job. And later this evening, Tina was off to the airport. It might be months before they saw each other again, what with the pressure of their jobs. Bittersweet, but time changed everything. She knew that. And she also knew that she and Tina would always be best friends, even if her friend did sometimes drive her insane. Like, for instance, now.
At the moment, Tina was gesturing to a glass case filled with vibrators. “So tell me the truth,” she was saying. “Have you ever even used a vibrator?”
Around them, other patrons glanced in their direction, and Sylvia felt her cheeks flame. “Tina,” she whispered, grabbing her so-called friend’s arm and tugging her toward a secluded corner. As she did, she noticed that one of the security guards was watching her, and she caught a twinkle in his blue eyes before he looked away. She resisted the urge to melt with embarrassment, and instead focused on Tina. “Of course I’ve used a vibrator,” she said, turning her back to the guard.
With any other friend, Sylvia would have put a quick end to the conversation. But the truth was that Syl had no other close friends. She wasn’t a loner by any means, but her whole life she’d been selective about who she let in close to her heart. Tina had barreled her way in that first day in their dorm, when she’d thrown her arms around Sylvia and said—absolutely earnestly— “Thank God you’re rooming with me. I don’t think I could make it through freshman year without a best friend.” And even though Syl had never seen the girl before in her life, it was as if Tina’s mandate had magic. Tina, quite simply, became her best friend. And that was that.
Some things, however, a girl didn’t have to put up with even from her best friend. And discussion of the use of vibrators was tops on that list, Sylvia thought as she scowled daggers at Tina.
Her friend, as usual, was unconvinced. “You?” Tina said, her voice dubious. “You’ve used a vibrator?”
“Yes. And I’ve watched dirty movies and I’ve made out in the back seat of a car.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “But I thought your whole problem with Dwight was, you know, sexual.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m clueless about vibrators,” Sylvia said. “God, Tina.” She stifled a sigh, telling herself she was grateful to have a friend like Tina with whom she could talk about things like sex, even while kicking herself for ever hinting to her friend about her hideous childhood, her asshole stepfather, Martin, or the problems in bed that had plagued her ever since.
“Sylvia? You wanna clue me in here? What exactly am I missing?”
Sylvia sighed, then cocked her head toward the side of the room, urging Tina toward the relative privacy of the far wall. “Sex with Dwight was fine,” she said. “Except, it’s not fine. I mean, I’m not, you know, comfortable with him. With telling him what I want. Does that make sense?”
“You’re the quiet type in bed,” Tina said with a shrug. “A lot of girls have trouble telling a guy what they want. Not me, of course. But a lot of girls.”
“Sure,” Sylvia said. “You’re probably right.” Not that she believed that, but this was hardly the time to talk about it.
“I mean, it even makes some sense,” Tina said. “Your early experiences with men weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy. Martin totally dominated you. It wasn’t like you could ask him to stop doing something, right? So now you don’t feel you can ask, either. For what you want or for what you don’t want.”
“Absolutely,” Sylvia said, wishing Tina would just drop it. She didn’t want to talk about this. Not when she was still dripping with guilt from having left San Francisco for Los Angeles. Everyone—her mom, Tina, Dwight—thought she’d left because she’d had an amazing job offer from the largest law firm in California. But what none of them knew was the reason she’d applied for the job in the first place—to escape.
Dwight was on the verge of popping the question. He’d been hinting around for weeks. But Sylvia didn’t want to marry him. Hell, she was only so-so on the subject of dating him. He was nice enough, and she did love him. But she wasn’t in love with him.
But she couldn’t tell him that any more than she could tell him what she wanted in bed. Instead of dealing with Dwight as a normal, rational, reasonable adult, she’d called a Los Angeles headhunter and been snatched up so fast that Sylvia had called it fate in an attempt to alleviate some of her guilt.
Of course, she’d known the job offers would flood in. That was a given considering her résumé. In a perverse way, she supposed she even had Martin to thank for her success. She’d delved in to enough pop psychology to realize that her overachiever personality was her way of fighting back. Of proving to him—and to herself—that she was worthy.
She’d aced school and landed an amazing job in San Francisco. Now she was moving to Los Angeles for an even better job with an even better