Cathy Yardley - L.a. Woman

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 to, but I can’t.”

“You’re just saying that,” Martika said. Sarah sounded so polite it was painful. “Come on. It’ll be fun, and I really do want you there. Think of it as an initiation ritual.”

“Like hazing,” Kit offered. “I name you…Pinto.”

“Animal House,” Taylor interjected.

“Shut up.” Martika studied Sarah’s face. “So how about it?”

“I really can’t,” Sarah said, and there was a trace more firmness in her voice. “My boyfriend—that is, my fiancé, is going to be calling me tonight.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrow, then glanced at Taylor. He rolled his eyes, and formed a small “W” with his thumbs and index fingers. She didn’t think that Sarah caught it, and even if she did, she doubted she’d put it together.

Whatever, Taylor was telling her. And he’d fill Martika in on the rest of it later, no doubt.

“Fine,” she said, shrugging. So her new roommate was…boring. Well, hell. It’s not like she had to sleep with her. “Wouldn’t want to get in the way of true love. I’m going to use the bathroom, sweetie, so if you’ve got to pee, better do it now…I could be a while.”

“I’ll be back here in an hour, Tika,” Taylor said with a tone of warning.

“I’ll be ready,” she said, shuffling the boys out the door. After she closed it, she turned to Sarah, only to find her still staring. “You sure? You could always call him back later. Or tomorrow.”

Sarah just gave her a cool smile. “Thanks anyway.”

She shrugged, then headed for the bathroom, remembering belatedly to shut the door before she started stripping. She doubted Sarah would be amenable to her relatively exhibitionist ways.

Well, Martika thought as she stepped into the shower, I’ve shacked up with a nun who’s pining away for some absentee boyfriend. Joy. Fun.

Two choices: get ready to move again, which was unpalatable. Or start corrupting the girl.

Martika smiled against the force of the water hitting her face. Like there was even a question there.

It was Saturday night…rather, it was Sunday morning, Sarah thought, blearily looking at the clock. She had woken up, and initially she wasn’t sure why: 3:00 a.m. What the hell?

She hadn’t had a great Saturday night, frankly. She had waited for Benjamin to call…then had left a message on his machine at work and at home, and still waited. By eleven, she had made herself a hot chocolate, thought about it, dumped a little rum in and went to bed. She’d plowed through Bridget Jones and enjoyed it thoroughly, then switched gears and was now reading Harry Potter. She had gone to sleep, curled in a ball by eleven o’clock. Now, 3:00 a.m., and she was…

“Oh… Oh… Oh, yeah, baby, like that…”

Sarah went still, like a frightened mouse. The sounds were growing louder. They reminded her of Martika’s shower singing, all low and throaty.

Sarah got up and crept to her half-opened bedroom door. She peeked out. It was dark, and Martika’s bedroom door was closed. She could hear the bedsprings creaking wildly, picking up in speed.

Horribly embarrassed, Sarah shut her door quietly, all the way. In the deathly stillness of the early morning, she could still hear the noises, which were starting to gain a bit in volume. Looking around, she saw her fuzzy terry-cloth bathrobe hanging from a hook on her closet door. She threw it down across the crack of the door, hoping to muffle some of the sound. Still no help. She crawled back into bed, yanking a pillow over her head and pushing it against her ear. And the flannel and fleece lap blanket her mother had given her for Christmas from Costco, saying that it did get cold at nights.

Martika, Sarah reflected, might not have been the great idea Taylor thought it’d be.

On that Thursday night, almost a full week of work at Salamanca and a paid month’s rent behind her, she felt downright jubilant.