L.A. Woman

by Cathy Yardley

  “Then I want to give him a damned awful high bar to jump over, Barry,” David said. They did the secret-handshake-wink thing that apparently only lawyers understood. She wondered if maybe they taught it to you after you passed the bar. Maybe included it in an instruction booklet with your test scores.

  “Can I get you another drink, dear?”

  She looked at Marta. Marta, Barry’s wife of God knows how many years. She was unusual, fancied herself a writer apparently. To the best of her knowledge, the extent of her writing was a series of voluminous letters to friends and families over the Christmas holidays and doing some sort of children’s books for her son, the same said son who was currently “acing through law school.” Their law school, not surprisingly. She had always seen Marta as pressed, polished, rather like one of the other furniture pieces. She’d overheard one of the law students (who had also indulged rather plentifully from the margarita pitcher) call her Marta Stewart. She’d laughed and felt ashamed, both of laughing and of agreeing.

  “No, I’m fine.” If it got really bad, Judith supposed she could sneak a sip of margarita if the good son hadn’t gone through it all.

  Roger would find this funny.

  “So, Judy,” Dean Matthews turned his focus on her, finally and uncomfortably for her. “How is it at that little job of yours?”

  To lawyers, it seemed like all other jobs were little jobs. “I’m a production supervisor over at Salamanca advertising…one of the youngest in their history, actually,” Judith said, hoping she hit the tone just right: just this side of bragging, emphasizing being important and accomplished enough to be David’s wife but to never have delusions of outstripping or outshining him. Like that was somehow possible.

  She was getting bitter. Better that she not drink, she realized.

  “Well! That’s got to be keeping you busy, especially with David working so many late hours. I know him—he was like that in school.”

  “Yes, yes.” A Merchant-Ivory sort of grin of understanding—understated, speaking volumes. “I try to do what I can.”

  “Of course, you’ll be giving that up when the baby comes,” Marta said.

  The matter-of-factness in her tone surprised Judith. “Well, we hadn’t really discussed it. Maybe for the first couple of years…”

  The three of them burst into laughter. More surprise, this time more discomfort. “Kids are a full-time endeavor. Believe me, I know.” Marta fluffed her hair, then nodded at Jeffrey, their soon-to-be-blotto son. “Once they’re out of the house, you feel like you’ve suddenly got more air to breathe.” When she noticed that the men had stopped laughing, she smiled, one as practiced and smooth as Judith’s own. “So you’ve got more time to devote to your loving, harried husbands, of course.” That got them laughing again, even though it wasn’t close to funny.

  The look in Marta’s eyes wasn’t close to funny, either. More like a clerk at a convenience store, trying to somehow communicate that there was a man with a gun behind the counter.

  Help me, it said.

  Get out, while you can.

  “I was wondering, Dean Matthews…”

  “Barry, please!” He clapped Judith on the shoulder, a little too hard. “After all these years, you can definitely call me Barry.”

  “Well, then, Barry, I’ve got a hot project that’s going on at work, and I need to check in,” she said smoothly, linking her arm in his and gently leading him back toward the house. “Not to seem like too much of a workaholic, but could I jump online on your computer for just a quick minute?”

  Sarah stood, dressed in a chic little white dress that left little to the imagination. The club was Moomba, which Martika had roundly denounced as “bougy” and a “chichi starfucker rat-trap.” Of course, as Taylor pointed out, Martika had made no such comments when it was the Love Lounge, hosting clubs like Cherry and Club 1980s. “She’s old school,” Taylor had murmured, putting slight emphasis on the old. Martika had ignored him for the rest of the night.

  She sipped at a drink while Jeremy, her date and “tryout,” was in the men’s room. She couldn’t help but wonder who was being tested here. She wished that Taylor, Pink or Kit were in the crowd somewhere, for moral support. Even Martika, even though she’d been snippy and hard to be around lately.

  The crowd was rich, well-dressed…preening. It sort of reminded her of the Anais.com party.

  For his part, Jeremy turned out to be a good dancer. They’d done a few slow bump and grinds, starting out about a foot apart and, before he’d gone off to the rest room, making it to, say, a millimeter apart. If that.

  Unless he carried pepper spray in a front pocket, the guy gave Raoul a run for his money.

  Sarah took a sip of her Cosmopolitan. Thankfully Jeremy was buying drinks—they were hellishly expensive in here.

  He’d been saying things to her all evening—teasing her for being some kind of temp, asking her if she did absolutely everything.

  “Whatever the job requires,” she’d replied, surprised at her own licentious streak. She’d brushed up against him, suggestively. It gave her a little charge, taking the initiative like this. She definitely had the reins, here.

  “Having a good time?”

  She jumped, then mentally cursed herself. Of course, she’d look a lot more in control if she’d just get comfortable. Just because this place wasn’t Probe or the World Club, or even Velvet…

  “You okay?” Jeremy’s voice was a little more emphatic now.

  “Sorry,” she said, thinking to explain. “I…this isn’t a club I’m used to.”

  “Where do you normally go?” he asked, amused.

  She told him. His eyes widened, and he laughed.

  “Oh. More of the trashy circuit,” he said dismissively, causing Sarah to cross her arms in a defensive posture. “Nothing wrong with that. Hell, if you’re broke, it’s the way to go.”

  Now Sarah definitely didn’t like his tone. “My friends hang out there,” she said firmly.

  “Don’t pout. Much as I like the baby-girl look on you, pouting is rarely attractive.”

  She exaggerated the pout, then flashed a smile at him. “You could make it up to me,” she said.

  His eyes went low-lidded. “You don’t say.”

  She took a deep breath. Ignore his attitude—focus on the body and what he could do with it. She didn’t have to keep him. “You could always…”

  The shrill beeping of a cell phone interrupted his request. He glanced at the number flashing on its faceplate, and muttered something. “I’ve got to take this. Let’s go outside—I think this place is pretty much done.”

  She negotiated the steep steps that led out of the club while he yelled “Hello? Hello?” with his cell phone to one ear and his hand to the other. She stood at the base of the steps, watching as he wandered around the corner of the building, just before he disappeared down toward the end of the block.

  Just when I was going to go for round two of the tryouts, she thought. Probably not sex—she was going to insist on foreplay, and plenty of it.

  Sarah was deep enough in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice who had approached her. The grumbling, however, tipped her off almost immediately.

  “I don’t see why we have to go to this club,” a male voice groused. “We could have just gone to Islands, then rented a movie.”

  “Honey,” a female voice wheedled, “we never go out.”

  Sarah turned…and was face-to-face with Benjamin.

  “Hello, Sarah.” He was wearing a suit—it looked lame, out of place in this very trendy nightspot. He looked like he was a Jehovah’s Witness, come to save some sinners. He also looked uncomfortable. He was really more of a sports bar type. Moomba was going to be a poor choice for him.

  Sarah’s gaze moved slowly to Benjamin’s companion. Tall, impossibly thin. She could probably hold a wallet in the side of her pelvic bone, Sarah thought uncharitably, thinking of the pounds she herself had put on through indulging in drinks and restaurants. The
woman had straight chocolate-brown hair that curled at the ends in a slight pageboy. She wasn’t smiling at Sarah.

  If I were her, Sarah thought, I wouldn’t smile, either.

  He stood there for a second, awkwardly, with his—date? lover? girlfriend?—standing off to one side. “How’ve you been?” he finally asked.

  Since I ran out of your house because you slept with me in the bed you slept in every night with your…Jessica?

  She shot a quick glance toward Jeremy. He was still down the street, engrossed in conversation. She shrugged. “I’ve been fine. You?”

  “Business is doing really well. They’re talking promotion, but I don’t know. I get a little sick of this city,” he said. “I might look for something else, something back up North. Without the smog and the weirdos.”

  Sarah couldn’t help but notice that his companion didn’t really look pleased at this announcement, the frown making her attractive face look suddenly older. Sarah wondered how old the woman actually was.

  “Have you got a job yet?” He actually managed to sound concerned. Hell, he probably was concerned. Walking away from a job that had career advancement to be a temp/secretary/whatever was probably tantamount to death to so-called normal people. Was death, she thought, or at least that’s what she’d been raised to believe.

  “I have a job now.”

  “Oh. Something with a future, I hope?”

  Sarah shrugged. “I’m not really looking for something with a future.”

  “Just something to get yourself some space? That’s probably a good idea—you’ve been so stressed.” Of course, now he was understanding. How convenient. Of course, he was now with someone else. As if just remembering that himself, he turned and said, “Have I introduced Jessica?”

  So it was Jessica. And he’d managed to just ace her in one fell swoop, throwing Jessica into the mix with a broad and faintly smug smile.

  Jessica smiled. It was probably supposed to be warm, but there was a shade of wariness there.

  “No, you hadn’t introduced Jessica, but of course I figured, who else could it be? Hi, Jessica,” she said, gritting her teeth and holding out a hand. “I’m Sarah. I used to be engaged to Benjamin.”

  The woman shot a pained look at Benjamin. Obviously, she didn’t know that bit of information. Instead of looking older, Jessica suddenly looked younger, and vulnerable. In that moment, Sarah hated Benjamin. She hated him enough for the two of them.

  “Actually, I like my new job a lot,” she added carelessly. She could have mentioned their last time together, but wouldn’t. The woman would find out what Benjamin was like, soon enough. Chances were, she wouldn’t have cared. If Jessica had found out, what would she have done? Sarah didn’t want to think about it. “You could call what I do being a secretary if you wanted, I suppose. I’m a personal assistant. To Richard Peerson.”

  His grin seemed indulgent. “Am I supposed to know him?”

  She shrugged. “He won the Pulitzer for fiction and is a multimillionaire bestselling author. But you’re right—I guess not everybody would know that.”

  She’d hit a sore spot, and she felt glad…and somewhat dirty that she felt giddy about his discomfort. She ignored that part.

  “So, you get his coffee and change his toner,” he said, with a grin to Jessica that she returned uncertainly. “Movin’ on up, Sarah.”

  “Sarah! I’m sorry, I couldn’t get him off the line. Why can’t some idiots leave their work at work?” Jeremy was slightly out of breath. He’d done a business-jog over to stand by her side, and the little motion had ruffled his hair slightly. He looked sophisticated in his casual but expensive ensemble, especially compared to Benjamin’s obvious conservative tastes. Jessica all but goggled, and again, Sarah felt that guilty little thrill of pleasure. “Am I interrupting?”

  “No. This is my ex-fiancé, Benjamin, and his…um. Jessica,” she said. She wasn’t quite sure what Jessica was to Benjamin. Judging by Jessica’s frown at Benjamin after the introduction, Sarah guessed that the woman was feeling the same way.

  Sarah sidled up to Jeremy, leaning close to his ear. “So. Still up for more…tryouts?” She tried to whisper it to him, but got the feeling Benjamin overheard.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t.” To his credit, he looked genuinely disappointed. “I have to drive on back and go over some numbers.”

  “So,” she said, ignoring Benjamin’s glare and now sending over a deliberately sexy smile. “Guess you’re one of those idiots, huh?”

  Jeremy blinked, then laughed. “Guess I am. But trust me, we are doing this again.” He leaned down and kissed her, to her surprise, right on the lips, lingering slightly. “I’ll call you later. I’m really, really sorry to be rushing off like this. Are you going to be okay?”

  “Of course,” she said easily. “Don’t worry…my car is just over there.”

  He walked off toward where his car was parked, but not before shooting a sexy smile at her and winking. She felt warm, and happy.

  She turned back to Benjamin and Jessica. Jessica had a satisfied smile on her face, until she noticed Benjamin smoldering, and then the smile quickly turned into a tight blank expression. Sarah got the feeling this was something Jessica had been practicing, probably for a long time.

  “I’ve got to go. I’m going to catch up with some friends,” she said, her voice light. “But it’s been…” What? She fumbled for a proper description. Interesting? Vindicating? Unnerving? “I’m glad you’re doing well,” she finally said. “Anyway, I’ve really got to go.”

  “I’d hate to keep you,” he said, and his tone was frosty.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, and she couldn’t resist. “You couldn’t.”

  Chapter 13

  We Could Be So Good Together

  Sarah had gotten used to the routine. She would get in, have breakfast with Richard in the kitchen, then leave him alone to type until he ambled in asking if she felt like lunch or she left for her extended break, around eleven-thirty or twelve. Then, in the afternoon, it was extended Internet research. Usually Sephora.com, looking at the new makeup offerings Pink had mentioned, or possibly Amazon, checking Richard’s sales ranking with a casual boredom. Not that she’d share what she found—numbers, as Richard always said, made him nervous. Then she’d jet out at four. The process repeated itself.

  If somebody would throw in “a naked guy to pleasure her whenever she rang a small bell,” as Martika would say, it would be the most perfect job ever created.

  The phone rang. “Sarah Walker,” she answered, in her best I’m important tone.

  “You sound so much like a grown-up, it’s eerie.”

  She smiled. “Kit.”

  “If you’ve got the time for us peons, I was wondering if maybe we could do lunch—Taylor’s rounding the crew up, I mean. And then, of course, I’d drop you back to your fabulously important job, to talk to people who are far more interesting and socially acceptable than myself.”

  “It’s not like that,” she protested. “My job isn’t that…”

  The phone beeped—call waiting. This could be Oprah, she thought with a laugh, wouldn’t Kit think it was a hoot? “Could you hold on for a second?”

  “No.”

  She grinned. “Thanks,” and clicked over. “This is Sarah Walker.”

  “This is Jeremy.”

  The voice was too damned sexy. “This is a surprise.”

  “Want to go out, have a little fun?” Was it just her imagination, or did he put a sort of Shakespearean emphasis on the word fun?

  “I’m sort of busy, Jeremy.” No need to let him think she was panting for him—she sort of felt that was her other mistake with Raoul, actually.

  “You’re always sort of busy. All work and no play, etcetera.”

  “I play.”

  “Do you, now?” Sinfully sexy. Ridiculously sexy. Sarah felt flushed, for pity’s sake. “I wonder. I’d like to play with you, Sarah.”

  “I’m sure you would,” she said,
thinking of Kit on the other line. He didn’t sound like that at all, not this total seductive, complete player voice. Kit was just a friend. He was a relatively good-looking, relatively funny guy. She might like to try someone like him sometime—later. When the poison she was feeling toward relationships was out. Jeremy, on the other hand, was imminently fuckable and, conversely, easy to walk away from. And so damned sexy! “I’m not ready to play just yet.”

  “Well, you’ve got my number,” he said. “I’ll keep calling you until you are ready, though. Bye, darling Sarah.”

  She loved the way he said her name. “Sah-rah,” two long “ah’s.” It sounded exotic…less like bread-and-butter quilts.

  She clicked back over to Kit. “Sorry about that.”

  He paused. “That was a guy, wasn’t it.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  She felt her chin go up. “Maybe. What makes you say that?”

  “Because I don’t think you get that breathless talking to reporters.” She thought she heard a snicker. “Unless you’re more dedicated to your job than I thought, anyway.”

  Strangely, she felt a teeny, almost imperceptible pang of—guilt? Like hell. “I’m sorry,” she said, mimicking Martika—so sweet, you almost didn’t feel the smack. Almost. “You know, of course, that they’re all just appetizers until I get to you.”

  “Naturally,” he said, not missing a beat. “Unlikely I’ll get action, though. I’m a nice guy. In my experience, you’ve got to be a bit more of an asshole to get any in this town.”

  “When was the last time you got some, then, Kit?”

  “That’s sort of a personal question, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “You don’t have to answer it.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I know.”

  There was a pause.

  “Okay, that was weird,” Sarah said.