Cathy Yardley - L.a. Woman

“So this is the apartment. Huh. I haven’t seen it since I signed the lease.”

She paused, before hanging her key on the set of hooks under the pretty white wooden cabinet-looking thing that she used to separate mail for herself and Martika. Her mailbox had a cheerful yellow daisy on it…Martika’s, a sticker of one of the Powerpuff girls. “Home sweet home,” she said, wondering what his tone was all about.

“Hmm.” He was studying the place minutely. Then he shrugged. “Pretty good sized. Seems like a nice enough neighborhood.”

Sarah let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. “I like it.”

He scowled. “I think some guy was hitting on me in the lobby, though.”

“Really?” Now was obviously not the time to explain West Hollywood to him. “How odd.”

They wound up staying in and ordering pizza. Sarah wished she could take that hot bath, but he seemed in the mood to talk. They talked at length about his job, and she told him about the hell that was her boss and the ad agency. “I’ve got to go into work tomorrow, too,” she said sorrowfully.

He didn’t seem very sympathetic. “Honey, I’ve told you before…you’ve got to pay your dues. You didn’t just think they’d give you some six-figure job you loved right out of school, do you?”

She hated it when he got patronizing, but she knew he was just trying to be helpful. “I didn’t think that. I just didn’t think I’d have to work every single day for a month going to a job that frankly makes me want to vomit every time I go in in the morning. Honestly, when I get sight of the building, my foot eases up off the accelerator.”

He shook his head. “It’s normal. If it were fun, you wouldn’t get paid for it.”

“Don’t you think that’s sad?”

He shrugged. “I think that’s reality.” He smiled, and it was one of his indulgent smiles. “Honey, you just want a little dream world.”

“Guess I’m in the right city,” she said, and went over to the bedroom.

He followed her in, sighing heavily. “Don’t be this way,” he said, in a voice that was persuasive but she knew could turn stern at the drop of a hat. “I’ve come all the way down to L.A. to see you. Do you really want to waste what little time we have fighting?”

She immediately felt the wave of guilt hit her, and she sighed. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Then let’s make up.” He stroked the back of her neck, then reached forward to unbutton her blouse. Within minutes, she was naked, on her back, while he went at her a little more quickly than she’d have liked. Of course, she’d been so tired lately, it wasn’t like she was even really in the mood. She went through the motions of being interested as best she could, when all she could picture was her deep tub and scalding hot water. Maybe some lavender bubble bath. Mmm, she thought, smiling over his shoulder. Bubble bath. God, that sounded good.

Still, she was glad he was there, she thought as he shuddered and groaned, pushing against her. It had been a while. Besides, it was only twenty minutes out of an otherwise very long day.

Sarah turned over the next morning, and immediately gasped. Shit, ten o’clock, ten o’clock, ten o’clock! She prayed that Becky wasn’t coming into the office this morning. She sort of doubted it…Becky usually had plans on the weekend, and she left the work to her “able team.” Sarah grabbed her toothbrush, smeared toothpaste on it as she turned the shower on, then jumped in, brushing and getting her hair wet at the same time. Screw shaving, no time for that. She jumped out and was toweling herself off when she realized that something was missing. It wasn’t unusual to wake up alone, she realized, but this morning she had, and she shouldn’t have. Benjamin had been snoring in her ear when she’d dozed off last night around one.

She came out in a towel. “Honey…?”

She stopped, abruptly. Martika was sitting at the kitchen table, eating cottage cheese straight out of the carton with a spoon. “Sweetie?” she said, mimicking Sarah’s tone.

Sarah blinked at her, surprised twice in the past five minutes. “I’m sorry. I thought…did you see my fiancé here? Tall guy, blond…”

“Bit of a prick?” Martika calmly spooned up some more cottage cheese, then put the cartoon down and drizzled honey over it. “He was leaving when I got home. I tried to introduce myself, but he looked at me like I was some sort of thief until he realized I was your roommate. Then he looked at me like I was a potted plant. Grunted something incomprehensible, left in a hurry.”

Sarah’s heart fell.

“Real prince you got there.”

“You could tell that from just five minutes,” Sarah said sharply. “You don’t know him. You don’t even know me, and I live here.”

“Good!” Martika smiled, a bitchly-sweet sort of grin. “I was starting to wonder if you were dead. You know, that’s the loudest and clearest I’ve ever heard you speak? And what exactly is so wonderful about Mr. Personality, that I seem to have overlooked?”

Sarah didn’t even grace it with a response. She was already late, it was ten, and her boyfriend had left her without so much as a goodbye. She just sort of harrumphed in Martika’s general direction. Sarah conjured up a vision of him, stumbling around in the dark, getting ready and trying not to wake her up, kissing her gently while she slept. No, Martika didn’t know him, and she did. After being engaged to him for four years, she ought to know, dammit. She pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, dumping her towel on the floor. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Sarah was still thinking about the exchange on Sunday, the first day off she’d had in…hell, too long. They were testing the building for asbestos or something, so Becky couldn’t force her to come in. Though she’d tried.

Sarah sat at a lunch table at Il Trattorio on Melrose with Judith. It was nice to see a friendly face that didn’t want a mound of paperwork done.

Sarah toyed with her salad. “Judith? Do you think Benjamin…I mean, does he strike you…”

Judith sighed, putting her own salad fork down. “This has your roommate Martika written all over it. What’s the so-called problem with Benjamin now?”

“You don’t think he’s a prick, do you?”

Judith goggled. Sarah didn’t think she’d ever heard Judith say “prick” in her life, now that she thought about it.

“No, I most certainly do not think he’s…that.” Judith straightened out her napkin on her lap with a cluck. “Just because he’s not some sideshow freak or a candidate for that Jim Rose tattoo show doesn’t mean the man’s a…” Judith glanced around, seeing if any of the other tables were noticing the inappropriate turn this conversation was taking. “Well, he just isn’t.”

Sarah smiled, suppressing the urge to say “Prick! Prick! Prick!” and watch Judith turn purple.

“Why do you ask? Do you think he is?”

Sarah looked down at the table. “I’ve been sort of unhappy lately.”

“Well, that’s understandable,” Judith soothed. “You’ve been apart for a while, and you guys haven’t been separated since college, for pity’s sake.”

“I know, I know,” Sarah said. “It’s just…”

She paused.

“Spit it out already.”

“Well, don’t you think it’s sort of…well, prickish of him to be completely behind me moving down here, to help him out, and then all of a sudden he can’t help me make ends meet with the rent?”

Judith looked at her inscrutably. “You mean, when he found out the promotion he was counting on suddenly fell through?”

Sarah continued doggedly, “Okay, but…he never calls, and he’s only visited the once, and it always seems like it’s all about him…”

“When it ought to be all about you?”

Sarah glared at her. “When it ought to be, you know, more even.”

Judith shook her head, then took a sip of her iced tea. “Sarah, what exactly do you think he’s done to you that’s so ‘prickish’?”

“He just doesn’t seem supportive at all.” Sarah knew that was a lame way to put it, and her carefully thought out argument, the one that made so much sense when she ranted to herself in the car on the way over to this lunch, suddenly seemed like a cross between a whine and a wail. “I mean, I know he’s busy and all—and he has a set career, while I’m still bobbing, but…but I mean, I’ve been working really hellish hours…”

“That he’s been working all this time,” Judith interjected.

“Judith, you’re not helping!” Sarah finally burst out.

“Sarah, I’m trying to. I’m trying to help you put this in perspective.” Her voice had the cold logic of Mr. Spock. Sarah bit back on a pout, feeling like a complete and utter idiot. “He’s been working really hard to try to get down here to be with you. He’s been working crazy hours for years, while you’ve flitted from job to job. You volunteered to help him out by moving down here. Now, are you going to help him out or not?”

“I thought you’d be on my side, is all,” Sarah finally grumped. “I’m being a complete baby about this, aren’t I?” Strangely, she felt a little better—like she wasn’t dating a loser prick, as Martika was intimating.

Judith smiled. “You’re just losing perspective a little, that’s all. You’ve become really independent lately, and that’s a big change.”

Sarah sighed. “Work has really been grating on me.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

But I don’t want to get used to it!

Sarah sipped at her Diet Coke. “Well, does it get any easier?”

“Yes. After a while, it’s like you’ve been doing it all your life. It’ll be like…brushing your teeth, washing your face. You won’t remember a time when your life wasn’t like this. Here’s a bit of advice from a greeting card I once got…”

“Judith,” Sarah warned.

“I like it. It said, ‘Not shelter from the storm, but peace within the storm.’ You just have to look at life like that. Recognize how everything is, and be okay with it.”

That was depressing enough to send Sarah to the dessert tray with Chocolate Suicide in mind.

Peace within the storm, peace within the storm, Sarah thought, as she made copies in the office. It was three in the morning. She was here, alone, with a temp from CompuPros. He was working furiously on one of their stronger graphic design computers, doing some complicated presentation with animation and music and movie clips. He hummed the theme to Star Trek to himself incessantly as he ate Chee•tos and drank Mountain Dew. “Highest caffeine of any regular brand,” he confided in her, producing a two-liter bottle from his knapsack. “I don’t like the taste of Jolt. Those are a hell of a lot of copies,” he noted, as the computer whirred, processing something. “Why don’t you send it out to Kinko’s?”

Sarah rubbed at her eyes, waiting for the bleary, blurred vision to clear. After a second, it did. “My boss wants me to keep an eye on it. Kinko’s screwed up her last order.”

“Must’ve been pretty bad.” He shrugged.

“It wasn’t entirely their fault,” Sarah said, trying not to lose count. At least the conversation was keeping her awake. “But…well, you met my boss.”

“Briefly.” The man’s tone spoke volumes. “She always like that?”

“She’s been stressed…” Sarah started to make the excuse, then sighed. “Yes. She’s always like that.” She took a deep breath as she hit the stapler with a little too much force. She pulled out the crumpled bit of metal and tried again, more carefully. “She threw such a fit that the Kinko’s manager said not only would he not help her, he was going to send her picture out like a Wanted poster to all the other branches in a fifteen-mile radius. I thought Becky was going to have an aneurysm.”