Cathy Yardley - L.a. Woman

She hated the interview process. Still, as Benjamin pointed out, those bills weren’t going to be paying themselves.

And I don’t need him to pay them for me.

Becky impatiently motioned her to take a chair, which she did.

“John, I didn’t ask for the numbers for first quarter sales to be on my desk by Monday. I asked you to get them to me today.” Becky paused slightly. “That was this morning, John. You don’t need to whine at me, I know what the time difference is. Just do it, okay?” She sighed, obviously listening to whoever was on the other end of the phone. “Listen, would you rather deal with Stefan? I can patch him over the next time he calls to chew my ass out.” She waited again, then smiled smugly. “Great. I’ll look forward to seeing them tonight.”

She hung up the phone, then looked at Sarah, as if trying to reorient herself. “Right. Who are you, and why are you here?”

Before Sarah could answer, Becky snapped her fingers. “Oh, right. You must be…let’s see…Sarah.” She reached across the desk, shaking Sarah’s hand with a firmness that bordered on painful. “I’m Becky Weisel. I’m one of the Account Supervisors here at Salamanca Advertising.”

She leaned back against her leather seat, surveying Sarah. Sarah sat up straighter, trying to make the best impression possible. It was Let’s Make A Deal. She was doing everything except holding a sign that said “Hire me! Hire me!”

Sarah smiled at the thought. The friendly gesture seemed to give Becky pause.

“So…why do you want to work at Salamanca Advertising?”

Because I like paying my rent. “I’ve read it’s a great firm, really up-and-coming, with cutting-edge advertising and a lot of high-tech clients…” At least, that’s what the Web site had mentioned. Sarah had had only a few minutes to go over it prior to the interview.

Becky smiled. “Done your homework. Like that. And friendly. That always helps.”

“Thank you.”

“And polite.” Becky looked like she was buying a car. Sarah hoped she wasn’t going to kick her tires, as it were—or check her teeth, to mix metaphors. “All right. You’re better than most of the applicants I’ve seen, I’ve got to tell you that.” She glanced down at the copy of the résumé Sarah had faxed to her. She made a few inarticulate noises of acknowledgment. Sarah sat quietly. “Hmm. P.R…. and some education…kind of all over the place, aren’t you?”

Sarah felt her stomach drop a little. “I’m still narrowing my focus,” she explained. “I have a lot of interests…”

“How old are you?”

Sarah blinked. That was an illegal question—this woman ought to know that.

Becky’s smile turned crafty. “You don’t mind me asking that, do you?”

Sarah felt stunned, but found herself shaking her head slowly. “No, of course not,” she said, thinking about her bank account…the way the savings number slowly decreased. Rent was coming due soon. “I’m twenty-five.”

“That’s not so old,” Becky said dubiously, then laughed. “You’ve got plenty of time, I guess. And maybe advertising is just what you’ve been looking for.”

Sarah took a deep breath, feeling as if she’d somehow passed a test. “That’s what I’m hoping.”

“Great. How’s your Excel? PowerPoint? We do a lot of presentations here.”

Sarah nodded. Now she was on familiar ground. “I’ve got a lot of experience in all of the Microsoft Office Suite.”

“How do you feel about overtime?” Becky asked. “We work on big projects for important clients here, Sarah. I need somebody I can count on.”

Sarah felt her spine straighten, and she nodded her head proudly. “I am willing to work overtime if a project needs finishing. I want to do the best possible job I can.” She wondered if that last touch was a little too kiss-ass, then decided she didn’t care. Besides, a little overtime wouldn’t kill her. It wasn’t like she had a social life to speak of in this town.

Becky’s eyes flashed. Sarah had obviously jumped through the second hoop. What else… “We ask people to do things that are outside of their job description here. I’m going to need you to be versatile, and really think outside the box. Are you willing to do that?”

Sarah nodded. “Of course.” Outside the box. Good grief. Next thing, she’d be saying, We need someone who’s a people person and a team player who displays over-the-line accountability.

Becky leaned back, all but putting her hands behind her head as she smiled triumphantly. “I don’t usually do this, but I have a really good feeling about you, Sarah. What would you say if I offered you a job, right now?”

Sarah goggled, then got a hold of herself. “We might want to discuss pay,” she said instead, feeling shaky.

Becky laughed. “Well of course! Well put, shows you’re paying attention.” She named a figure. Sarah did some quick math. It would cover her rent…if she lived very, very spartanly.

And, say, didn’t turn on her lights.

I don’t know what the next job offer’s going to be, either. Or when. And Benjamin isn’t going to help me.

Sarah weighed, decided. Nodded. “That seems fine.”

Becky’s quick smile sealed the deal.

Sarah would be starting work that following Monday. It was now Thursday. Rent was coming due Tuesday.

She needed help.

How do you expect to survive in L.A. without me? Benjamin’s voice rang in her head.

She’d find help somewhere else.

There, on the coffee table in her barren-looking living room, sat Taylor’s business card, with “Martika” written on it. Taylor’s friend, Martika—the one looking for a roomie.

Possibly the help she was looking for.

She finally dialed Martika’s number. It rang five times. She was about to hang up on the sixth when she heard a deep, sultry voice say, “This is me. And you are?”

“I’m sorry?” Sarah looked at the number. “Maybe I’ve misdialed…”

There was a pause on the other line. “Maybe you have. This is Martika.”

Sarah winced. This was not starting off well. “Um, Taylor asked me to call you…”

“Taylor! That bitch, he hasn’t called me, and he missed Beer Bust. Well, you can’t be his new flame, unless something weirdly radical has changed in his life that he’s not telling me,” she said, all in a rush. Sarah thought she could hear her puffing cigarettes…there was a crackle, and Sarah realized that she had called Martika’s cell phone. “So, what did he want you to call me for?”

Sarah paused. “Well, ah, he seemed to think you might be looking for a place to live, and I’m looking for a roommate…”

“Great! As a matter of fact, I am,” she said. “Where are you?”

“Santa Monica and Robertson.”

Martika squealed. Sarah had to pull the phone away from her ear. “Perfect! I’m right around the corner…and this is my spot. I hadn’t realized Taylor would find me something so convenient. How do you know Taylor again?” Sarah started to answer, but was quickly cut off. “Dumb question. I’ll be over in ten minutes. What’s your address?”

Numbly, Sarah gave it to her, then heard her say “Be there in a sec. Byee!” and quickly clicked off.

Please, let her not be a psycho.

She still didn’t quite know why she trusted Taylor as much as she did…maybe it was still gratitude at the fact that he’d at least given her one positive experience in this strange new world. She would have had a truly miserable night if she hadn’t bumped into the flamboyant giant.

It was less than ten minutes when her intercom buzzed, and Martika announced her presence. Sarah buzzed her in, praying even as she walked to the door. When she opened it, she felt her jaw drop.