Kristin Hardy - Turn Me On

“Uh, right. Like I could even afford that at cost.”

Sabrina turned and looked across the room at the array of couches. “What color are you doing the walls in again?”

“Sage.” Kelly handed over the paint chip. “Cream trim. The coffee table’s blond wood.”

Sabrina rose and began stalking between the couches, glancing at the chip in her hand.

Kelly trailed her anxiously. “Just don’t do a Paige on me. Nothing in the back three rows.”

“I should get myself some furniture one of these days,” Sabrina muttered.

“Why don’t you? What I don’t understand is why you live in Venice when you could live anywhere.”

Sabrina shrugged and leaned over to inspect the fabric of a floral couch. “What’s wrong with Venice?”

“Why not Brentwood? Or the Westwood Corridor?”

“It’s not like it’s a wreck. I like Venice. I like the canals. It feels right to me.”

“But you’ve got all of L.A. at your fingertips,” Kelly protested.

“I suppose,” Sabrina said absently. “But I’m happy where I am.”

“I wish I could say that.”

“But you’ve got a great little flat,” Sabrina protested, thinking of Kelly’s little 1940s courtyard apartment.

“Sure, if you don’t count the triple-X movie theater on the main boulevard.”

“At least you’ve got entertainment nearby.”

“Sorry, I’ll take my porn at home like everyone else, thanks. Anyway, it’s not the flat. I just wish the neighborhood were better. Next promotion, I’m moving.” She smiled faintly.

“What about a roommate?”

Kelly shook her head again, more definitely. “No way. I like living alone. I mean, it was one thing to share a house with all you guys when we were in college, but it’s different now. I like my privacy.”

“Are you sure? You could move in with me.”

Kelly nodded. “Naw, I like being able to come home and have wild sex on the kitchen counter if I feel like it. But if you move to Brentwood sometime, you can ask me again.”

“Okay.” Sabrina slowed, then walked purposefully to a couch set up next to a distressed armoire. “That one.”

It was an overstuffed sofa in a deep plum, with a slight deco flare to the arms.

“You’re out of your mind. It’s a green room. Why would I want to go with purple?”

“It’ll look ravishing, trust me.” Sabrina’s tone was brisk. “Green is too matchy matchy, cream is boring, slate is predictable. This will be just the bit of shock that you need.”

Kelly frowned. “This isn’t one of your bizarre design statements, is it? I don’t want bohemian chic, I want something that looks stylish.”

“Trust me,” Sabrina said simply and held out the paint chip.

“OKAY, A GLASS OF the ten-year tawny and one cosmopolitan,” said the waitress. “I’ll be right back with your cheese plate.”

They sat at a patio table at Morels in the Grove, watching people walk by. A cross between Disney’s Main Street USA and the Mall of America, spiced with a snip of Paris, the Grove had sprung up next to the L.A. Farmers’ Market and had quickly become a place to be. Kids loved it for the old-fashioned streetcar that ran down pavement untouched by a car. Parents liked it because it was safe and contained, and full of goodies to buy.

Sabrina liked it because it held Morels, the only restaurant in town that boasted a cheese list as long as its wine list.

Sabrina raised her glass of port. “To your new furniture.”

“To you, for helping me choose,” Kelly countered, clicking her glass against Sabrina’s.

“The living room’s going to look great.”

“I’m actually excited about the kitchen table. I’m just trying not to think about the fact that I just killed my savings account. How in the hell do people make themselves buy houses,” she muttered, taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh, come on, remember your promotion. You should be rolling in it now.”

“I don’t know about that, although certainly senior writers make better money than associate editors.”

“There, see? How’s the new job going, anyway?”

Kelly grinned. “Pretty well. I’ve been getting out on interviews a lot. I just got to report from the set of Matt Ramsay’s new film,” she said with a gleam in her eye. “Hey, how come you never invite him to any of our parties, anyway? You never even invited him to the drama productions back when we were all at UCLA.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to get anywhere near my cousin.”

“What, is he a jerk? You’ve always talked about him like he’s a nice guy.”

“Oh, the nicest. Totally sincere. Fatally.” Their waiter set their cheese plate at the table. Sabrina shook her head and reached out to spread Gorgonzola on a slice of brioche. “That’s the problem, he’s fatally sincere. A woman catches his eye and suddenly he’s nuts for her. He’s telling everyone who’ll listen that she’s the one. And the woman, whoever she is, eventually falls for it, because he believes it himself. Then he sees that she’s only human and the infatuation wears off. After that, it just gets ugly. He’s an incredibly creative and interesting guy in every other way, but I’d never in a million years let anyone I actually liked date him.”

“Sabrina, how long have you known me?”

Sabrina counted in her head. “Nine years. God, has it really been that long?”

“Probably. And in all that time, have I ever said anything about looking for true love?”

“No, but—”

“Have I?”

“No.”

“Then what makes you think I’d go all doe-eyed over your cousin?”

“It’s this mind control thing he gets going. You wouldn’t mean to, but you wouldn’t be able to help it.”

“Trust me, I’d help it.” Kelly waved the waiter over and ordered another drink. “Anyway, never mind. I’m not interested in any guy who’s going to go all gaga over me anyway. I want a good time, good sex and a hot career. I’d rather stick with the ones who know how the game’s played.” She waved her hand. “Speaking of games, how’s the great American documentary going?”

“Okay,” Sabrina said noncommittally, nibbling on an almond. “So are you going to the premiere?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. Last time I saw you, you were dancing on air over this thing. What, are you having problems now?”

“No, everything’s fine, great.”

Kelly’s eyes narrowed fractionally; then she relaxed, glancing over at the dancing water fountain next to the restaurant. “You know, we have known each other a long time,” she said, leaning back in her chair and looking at Sabrina. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but did you know that every time you lie, there’s this little muscle by the corner of your eye that starts to twitch?”

Sabrina choked on her drink.

“What’s going on, Pantolini? Something’s up.”

“Nothing’s up.”

“Boy, look at that thing go,” Kelly said with enjoyment, and began digging in her purse. “I know I’ve got a mirror in here somewhere. You oughtta take a look. It’s really something.”

Sabrina scowled at her. “I get the idea.”

“So?”

“I just had some problems lining up a director. Mine bolted for another project before we had him locked in.”

“Are you going to be able to find someone else in time?”

Sabrina chewed on her lip. “That’s where the problem comes in. My uncle Gus came up with someone, which was a good thing since I’d scoured the town and couldn’t find anybody.”

“Why do I want to say uh-oh?”

“It’s Stef Costas.”

Kelly blinked at her. “Stef?”

“Stef.”

“The Greek god? Are you out of your mind?”

“It’s okay, Kelly.”