“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.
“Benjamin Slater.”
“Jam, it’s me. Sarah.”
“Sarah.” She thought she could hear the smile in his voice. “Hey there. How are things going in L.A.? I was going to call you Saturday.”
“I figured I’d jump the gun,” she said. “Guess what? I got a job!”
“I knew you would,” he said. “What are you doing?”
“I’m an assistant account executive at Salamanca Advertising Agency. That’s where Judith works, but I’m not working with Judith—she’s in production. I’m on the account management side.”
“That’s great, honey.”
“I’ve been really busy, and it’s only been the first few days…”
“I’ve been swamped, myself,” he said, with a heavy sigh.
She paused. “Any luck with Richardson? I’m not trying to push.”
“None. I have to make the assumption that Andrew—the V.P., you know?—that he’s making good on his promise to get me out of there. So Cal could use somebody like me. That’s what he said.”
“That’s great, Jam.”
“So just a few more months, and then I’ll be able to move down,” he said. “I just have to make it up here in the meantime.”
“I’m sure you will,” she said warmly.
“Actually, I can’t talk long,” he said. “Paul Jacobs and, well, some people from the L.A. office are up for a visit—I promised I’d go out for a few beers with them. You know, blow off some steam.”
She bit her lip. “Um, okay.”
“It’s just a few beers, Sarah.” He sighed again, this time a little more irritably. “It’s not like I’m going out and boinking a bunch of coeds.”
“I know that!” she replied. What, did she expect him to stay in every night, just because she wasn’t up there with him?
Still, a little more pining would be comforting, she thought, then brushed the thought aside.
“Sarah! Saaa-rah…” Martika called from the frame of Sarah’s bedroom door. “You wanna come out with us? We’re drinks.”
Sarah frowned, then motioned to the phone that she held to her ear. Martika huffed irritably, then retreated to the living room.
“Sorry,” Sarah muttered.
“Who the hell was that? I thought you were at home.”
“I am,” Sarah replied. “That was…well, I couldn’t quite make rent just on my salary. So I took on a roommate.”
There was a pause as Benjamin digested that fact.
“It wasn’t my idea,” Sarah assured him hastily. “Besides, Martika knows that it’s month-to-month…”
“Martika? What the hell sort of name is that?”
“I don’t know. Danish, I think.” Okay, that was a shot in the dark.
“I told you that I’d make it down to Los Angeles as soon as Richardson gives me a goddamn chance, Sarah. I didn’t tell you to get a roommate.”
Sarah frowned. “What you told me was that I had to cover rent on this apartment—this considerably more expensive apartment, I might add—by myself. Since you’re not living here yet. Really, realistically, what would you have had me do, Jam?”
“Dammit, Sarah, I didn’t…don’t get all touchy on me, okay? I really don’t need this right now.”
Like I do?
She sighed. “I’m just saying I didn’t have a lot of options.”
“I see.” He made a low grumbling sort of sound. “Well, you’re right, of course. It’s better that you got a roommate. Just… Did you do a thorough search?”
Sarah crossed her fingers—childish, granted.