Cathy Yardley - L.a. Woman

He rolled off of her and handed her her nightgown and underwear. She could feel his weight pressing down on the bed, his maneuvering his boxers back on, clumsily.

His breathing turned to snores not long after.

She put her clothes back on with a bare minimum of movement, careful not to wake him. She could picture her Filofax in her mind, mentally scheduling a call to that meditation coach after her 10:00 a.m. meeting. Canceling her manicure. Seeing if there were a job opening for Sarah somewhere…maybe account management or H.R.

By the time she mentally got to the section of the day labeled Go To Bed, she fell asleep.

The next morning, it took Sarah a few minutes to figure out where she was. Sunlight was pouring in cruelly through the bedroom window. Los Angeles, she thought groggily. She was in bed, in her new bedroom, in her new apartment.

She had absolutely no recollection of how she got there. Or why her head was pounding.

She glanced down.

Or, to add to matters, why she was wearing her clothes.

The doorbell rang, and she groaned, stumbling out of bed. Well, the door was locked, even if the dead bolt wasn’t, she noticed. Small blessings. She hit the intercom. “Hello?” she croaked.

“Sarah, darling? It’s me, Taylor.”

Taylor? She flipped through her mental Rolodex. “Taylor…”

“Gorgeous man who tucked you in yesterday, sweetie. Come on, be a good girl and open up…oh, never mind, here’s a gentleman getting the door. Up in a second.”

She stood there, listening to the door shut with agonizing loudness. Her heart started beating a little faster.

How could you have been so stupid?

Last night was a blur, but she did remember the stylish giant she’d had dinner with. At least, she remembered him to a point. She closed her eyes, swaying a little as she did so, fighting to remember. She’d managed to knock out a bottle of Ravenswood Cabernet with a six-foot-five stranger. He’d helped her to get to her door…she seemed to recall being carried part of the way, or did she dream that?

He had tucked her in, she seemed to remember. He’d given her a kiss on her forehead, and said he’d be back in the morning.

She hastily went over to her purse, pawing through it. Well, the credit cards were still there, as was her cash.

How could you have been so stupid? She’d let a complete stranger, no matter how “nice” he was, into her house! And let him lock up after himself! After getting drunk with him!

A sharp knock on the door rapped her out of her thoughts. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest.

He could be some kind of serial killer. Don’t you open the door!

“Sarah? Sweetie, open the door, it’s just me.”

She stayed silent for a minute.

“Sarah.” She heard him let out an irritated sigh. “Come on, I know you’re there, and I’ve got something that will fix you right up.”

She thought about going to the kitchen, getting a knife or something. She couldn’t lock the dead bolt without being…

Without being what? Rude?

There was a long pause. “Oh, baby, don’t be this way,” she heard him finally say, obviously pitching his voice deeper. “After you slept with me last night, I thought…”

She gasped, and before she could think the better of it threw open the door. “I did not sleep with you!”

She looked up and saw him grinning at her. “Well, obviously. But I figured you’d open the door if I said you did.”

She was blushing. She knew she was blushing.

“Mind if I come in for a sec? These are a little heavy.”

Without really waiting for an invitation, he walked in, followed by another man. She eyed them both nervously.

Taylor was resplendent in a sparkling white T-shirt and jeans that looked like they were pressed, with various holes that were obviously cut in the knees for artistic effect, not worn-out naturally. He was carrying what looked like two cases of soda. “I figured eleven was late enough to come over. Kit? Could you give her the coffee?”

The other man was lanky, with sandy-brown hair tucked under a backward baseball cap. He wore a gray T-shirt and a pair of khaki cargo pants which sported holes that were probably from actual use, as well as a scuffed pair of suede sneakers. He looked short next to Taylor, but she guessed he was maybe six foot. “Welcome…to Jurassic Park,” he said, and handed her a foam cup with a lid.

She looked at Taylor nervously, and he rolled his eyes. “You’ll get used to Kit. He’s my DSF.”

“DSF?” she asked.

“Designated Straight Friend.”

“So nice to fill a quota,” Kit said, shrugging.

She smiled weakly, then sipped the coffee. It was good. The headache retreated a few millimeters. In fact, she would have felt a lot better if the doorbell hadn’t chosen to ring at that particular moment.

“Yes?”

“Sarah? It’s Judith. I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d take you to lunch.”

Sarah glanced at the dynamic duo in her living room. “Um…it’ll take me a little bit to get ready…”

“Just let me in, Sarah. I’ll wait.”

Sarah buzzed the entry button, then glanced at the men. “That was my friend Judith,” she explained.

Taylor smiled, obviously not getting the point—that she wanted them out of there. “So, this is your place?”

“Such as it is,” she said. “There’s two bedrooms and a bathroom.”

“Heaven.” Without being asked (much like when he entered her apartment) he peeked into both rooms. “Spacious. You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a roommate, would you? I know someone who’s looking…”

“No,” she said emphatically, then rubbed at her temples. Okay, less emphasis. On everything this morning. “I’m…my boyfriend is moving down.”

“Oh, right. The guy you mentioned last night.” He sent a skeptical glance to Kit. Sarah scowled.

“I’m sure he’ll…”

Judith stepped in the half-opened door. “Sarah? Hi. I thought, since it’s eleven, it wouldn’t be too…” She stopped stock-still, and took in Taylor and Kit. “Oh. I didn’t realize you had company.” She arched one inky-black eyebrow at Sarah. “Friends of yours?”

Sarah looked away. “Well…”

“I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. It’s what I’m best at,” Taylor said, offering one of his huge hands. Judith was surprised into shaking it. “I’m Taylor, one of Sarah’s neighbors. This is Kit.” Kit didn’t shake hands with Judith, he simply nodded. “Kit is just Kit.”

“I see. And how well do you know Sarah?”

Taylor’s expression was almost gleeful. “Oh, about as well as someone can get to know another person after getting completely plastered with them. Sarah’s a cutie-pie,” he pronounced, and if he reached over to pinch her cheek, she wouldn’t have been surprised. “I think we’ll keep her.”

“Sarah?” Judith was looking more anxious than disapproving now.

“Taylor’s okay,” Sarah said, and realized that she really did believe he was. “Taylor, thanks for stopping by and, um, checking on me.”

“No problem.” He ignored Judith’s stares, and sidled up to Sarah, dropping to a mock whisper. “No offense, my dear, but you might want to jump in the shower and change before you brunch with Ms. Mom. You’ll feel much better.”

“I was planning to,” she said.

“Oh, and here.” He handed her a can from the case of soda he had carried in and put on her kitchen table.

“What’s this?”

“Fabulous stuff. Buy it in Chinatown by the caseload,” he said. She realized she couldn’t read the label—she thought the label was Chinese, or possibly Korean. “I like to call it Hangover Remover. You chug that down like a good girl. Do you club?”

Her eyes widened. “Um…”

He smiled, and it was like being smiled on by a benevolent god. “You are so sweet! Well, we’ll stick to dinners first, but I like you,” he said expansively. She liked him, too, she realized. “Here.” He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a business card. She read it: “Taylor Mayerling. Marketing Communications Manager, Demille Plastics Company.”

“Plastics?” she said.

Kit grinned. “There is a great future in plastics.”

“The Graduate. That’s so easy.” Taylor frowned at him, then turned back to Sarah. “Well, it’s not sexy, but it’s a paycheck.”

“I hear you,” Sarah said, then winced again.

“Gotta run, but you call me and we’ll do dinner. I’d ask for your number, but…” He looked at Judith and smiled. “Well, some other time. Oh!” He took the card back, grabbed a pen off of her table and wrote on the other side.

She glanced at his hasty scrawl. “Martika?”

“That’s her number. If you change your mind about the roomie thing, give her a call.”

He hugged her, and it was nice—even if Judith was frowning. Kit just gave her a friendly half nod, and the two of them trooped out, closing the door behind them.

“Who were those characters?” Judith said.

Sarah smiled, looking down at the card. “Friends,” she said. “My first friends here.”

Judith’s lips pursed. “You really need to be more careful, Sarah. They could be dangerous.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Sarah,” Judith said. Now that the men were gone, disapproval replaced fear. “Honestly. This isn’t Fairfield.”

“So. We’re having brunch?” Sarah didn’t want to be reminded, or lectured.

“I know you’re looking for the perfect job, but I thought you might want to try advertising. I mean, you’ve done P.R. and a little ad sales, so why not try the agency?”

Ordinarily, Sarah would have considered the agency on the same level as, say, becoming a freelance sump pump service tech. But she didn’t have a lot of options. “I’m a little less picky than I thought I’d be,” Sarah replied.

Judith smiled. “I thought we’d eat and go over your résumé. I seem to remember a spot opening up on Account Management,” Judith said, all business now. “I don’t have any particular restaurant in mind, but I’m sure there’s going to be something fairly close by. This is West Hollywood, after all.”

“What, is that a good restaurant part of town?”

Judith sent her a little puzzled grin. “Sarah…don’t you know about West Hollywood?”

Sarah frowned. “What about it?”

“Your friend Taylor is a shining example of the residents of West Hollywood,” Judith said.

“So what?” Sarah huffed impatiently. “I like Taylor. And he’s right, I need to shower and change my clothes real quick…”

“Notice how many men are around here?” Judith interrupted. “Good-looking, well dressed….”

Something tugged at Sarah’s hangover-fogged consciousness. A very faint light went on. “Wait a minute. You mean, I’m living in the…”

“Gay district,” Judith said, nodding. “I thought everybody knew.”

“Oh.” Sarah blinked.

Benjamin wasn’t going to be thrilled about this. She could just tell.

Just get the job, Sarah.

Sarah stood in Becky Weisel’s office, in the ad agency where Judith worked, albeit on a higher floor. It was a corner office, the kind that looked out over the city, with glass windows rather than walls. She had a full cherry-wood desk set, complete with credenza and bookshelves. Sarah could see little placards and inspirational quotes engraved on chotchke. Sarah waited while Becky finished the phone call, holding her portfolio awkwardly in front of her like a high school student.