L.A. Fire (20 page)

  I spent the rest of the day glued
to my desk, working on a couple of contracts, and then reading through the
slush pile. It was exactly what I needed. I was fully occupied with my work,
and didn’t have time to think about what happened with Julian this morning. He
texted me at lunch, demanding that I meet him in his office, but I deleted the
message, and turned off my cell phone. He then tried to call me once on the
office line, but I simply picked up the phone and put it back on the receiver.

  I left at 6pm, an early day for
me. I headed down to the parking lot carrying a chunk of the slush pile under
my arm. I was about to get into my car, when I noticed Julian’s Porsche in the
lot, up the hill and closer to the entrance. The windows were down. A woman
with long, blond hair was sitting in the passenger seat, waving around her
arms. Megan.  Julian was closer, but I could only see the back of his
head. He was angled toward her, rubbing his hand across his forehead. My
stomach started to churn. My whole body trembled, and I felt like throwing up,
right then and there. All of the emotion I’d been suppressing all day came
bubbling up to the surface. I tossed my things in the blue Mini, turned the
ignition, and screeched up the hill. Julian’s head turned, and our eyes locked.
So much rage was surging through me, I completely lost all sense of composure.
I rolled down my window and flipped him the bird. His eyes opened in surprise,
and then I scowled at him, put my car back in gear, and squealed out of the
parking lot.

  As soon as I hit the street, I
started laughing hysterically. And then at the next red light, I was sobbing
uncontrollably. The driver in the lane next to me, yelled, “Hey, lady, you
shouldn’t be driving in your condition.” I gave him the finger too, then
cranked ‘Bad Romance’ as high as it would go, and sang at the top of my lungs,
tears still streaming down my face. Right before I took off, he looked at me
like I was completely deranged, and I probably was. I cried and belted tunes
all the way home, and decided that in order to stay sane, I had to stay far
away from any man who could hurt me enough to drive me this crazy.   

  When I walked in the door of my
apartment, I found Angela on the couch in a Chinese silk bathrobe with just
fucked hair. I groaned internally. “Is Ziggy here?” I asked, unable to hide the
anxiety in my voice.

  She had a glass of white wine in
her hand, and took a long sip. “Relax,” she said. “He just left.”

  I let out an audible sigh of
relief, then instantly felt guilty. Angela was really into Ziggy, and though I
thought he was an asshole for always getting her high, never taking her out for
dinner, and making frequent daytime and late night booty calls, it was her
choice, and not my place to judge. I cared about her, though, and it pained me
that she thought Ziggy was as good as it gets.

  I looked in the kitchen. It was a
complete mess. Great. Now I had to clean up after the asshole too. I dropped my
stuff by the front door, then started moving hastiliy around the kitchen,
throwing dishes into the sink, banging pots and pans, running hot water, and
gritting my teeth.

  “Hey,” Angela said. “What’s up?
You seem pissed.”

  I flicked my eyes sharply to her.
“Really, Ange? The kitchen’s a fucking mess again? You know it drives me nuts.”

  She looked defensive for a
moment, but then her expression changed. She eyed me carefully, taking another
sip of her wine. “I promise I’ll do them later,” she said. “But that’s not
what’s bugging you. Not really.”

  I threw the dishrag in the sink,
and then grabbed fistfuls of my hair. A little scream crawled up the back of my
throat, but I muffled it, and it came out as a low moan. “I’m a gullible
idiot,” I said.

  Angela’s eyes narrowed. “It’s the
guy, isn’t it?”

  I nodded, and let out a
shuddering breath.

  “There’s wine in the fridge,” she
said. “Grab yourself a glass, then get your ass on the couch and tell me what
the hell happened.”

  I yanked open the fridge, grabbed
the bottle with a flourish, and then rummaged in the cupboard for a glass.
“There’s one clean one left. I guess it’s my lucky day,” I said, my voice both
teasing and sarcastic.

  “Who cares about the dishes,
bitch. Right now it’s all about drinking and dishing. Priorities, you know?”

  I let out a heartfelt laugh, and
joined her on the couch.

  “So what’s the deal?” she asked,
he voice slightly apprehensive.

  I took a big gulp of my wine,
savoring the feel of the cool, crisp liquid sliding down my throat. “Well,
essentially, I totally opened up to him, then discovered I was just a rebound
fuck.” My throat tightened again, and I swallowed another sip forcefully,
willing it to open. I was not going to cry again. I’d already shed too many
tears over Julian. But then I couldn’t help it. I shuddered, and then started
sobbing again. Angela quickly grabbed my glass, put it on the coffee table with
hers, and pulled me into a huge bear hug.

  “It just hurts so much,” I said,
my voice trembling and breaking.

  Angela eased back, putting her
hands on my shoulders, and giving me an affectionate and sympathetic look.
“He’s so not worth it, Sarah. No guy is.” Then her brow scrunched in thought.
“Maybe it’s too early for you to be getting serious again. The Rob thing was a
nightmare. You’re still not completely over it.” She gave my shoulders a gentle
squeeze. “Maybe you should just play the field for a bit. You know, keep it
casual.”

  I felt another wave of anger
pulse through me. “That’s what I tried to do, but he insisted that it wouldn’t
work as fuck buddies.” I wiped my cheeks clean of my tears. “I don’t get him,”
I said. “He said he wanted all of me, for me to open up to him completely, yet
he’s still hung up on someone else. It’s just so cruel, you know? Who plays
with someone like that?”

  Angela shrugged. “Guys are jerks.
He sounds like a control freak. Like he wanted you as putty in his hands, while
keeping himself removed.”

  I felt a pang of recognition. “I
think you’re totally right,” I said.

  “Listen,” Angela said in a
coaxing tone. “Come to the bar tonight. I’ll hook you up with someone.”

  “I’m not ready, Ange.”

  “Fine. But come anyway, and have
some fun. You deserve a little bit a fun. Remember our motto in college? Work
hard, play hard, right? So just come out. Get drunk. Dance your ass off. Just
let loose a little.”

  I looked at the slush pile I’d
left by the front door, then bit my lip. I could totally use a proper night
out. It would probably help me clear my head. “Okay,” I finally said. “Sounds
good.” Then I looked at Angela closely, and realized for the first time that
she looked totally deflated. Then I remembered that she had had an audition
that day.

  “Hey, how did the audition for
the soap opera go?” I asked. “
Dashing, Filthy, Rich
, right?”

  She groaned. “The part was
pathetic,” she said. “The monologue they gave me to do was utterly idiotic. I
mean, if I get the part, I’ll take it, but the character totally sucks.”

  I scrunched my brow in sympathy.
“That bad?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said
matter-of-factly. “The scene went like this. I was the dirty, rich heiress,
Camilla, who just got pulled over for driving high. They find coke in my purse,
and a stolen pair of Agent Provocateur bra and panties. Then this is what I
say.”

  Angela put on the haughtiest,
ditziest look she could manage and said, “Oh my god, it’s not my coke, I swear.
And the underwear. That stupid store owed me those. I’ve bought like, so much
there.” She wiped her nose dramatically and continued. “Please, I can’t get
arrested. Look at me. I’m hot. They’ll, like, devour me in prison. Putting me
there would be totally inhumane.”

  I started cackling out loud, long
and hard. She joined me, and soon the two of us were in a fit of uncontrollable
giggles on the couch. “What the hell,” I finally said. “That speech is ripped
straight out of the tabloids. It’s like they took Lindsay Lohan and Paris
Hilton and melded them together into one character.”

  “I know, right?” she said, her
face still red from laughing.

  “I so hope you get the part,” I
said. “I’d TiVo every episode, and tell all my friends.”

  “And then I’d have to kill you,”
she said, and we started laughing again.

  I looked at Angela seriously for
a moment, and then squeezed her arm. “You’re eventually going to make it. You
know that, right?”

  Her expression became pained, and
she looked away. “It would be nice to get more than the odd bit part. And I’m
kinda getting sick of bartending.” She let out a long sigh. “I’ll give myself
another year,” she said. “If it hasn’t worked out for me by then, I’ll get a
real job. Or jump off a bridge or something,” she added, her tone sardonic.

  “You’re only twenty-three, Ange.
You have plenty of time.”

  “Time goes by fast,” she said.
“Soon I’ll be old and wrinkled and no one will hire me.”

  I scoffed at her. “Look at Susan
Sarandon. She’s practically seventy, and she’s still smokin’”

  Angela smiled. Susan Sarandon was
one of her favorite actresses. “I hope I look as good as her when I’m her age.”
Then she grabbed her wine glass, and took a long sip. “Anyway,” she said, her
eyes lighting up with a glimmer of amusement. “I’m not dead yet. And the night
is young. So let’s go get ourselves all slutted up and hit the club.”

  “Cheers to that,” I said.

***

  When Angela and I got to the
club, we both looked ready to take on the world. I was dressed in a structured
white Marilyn Monroe dress. The neckline was cut in a heart shape, showing off
my ample chest, and I’d added a black leather twist belt to cinch my waist. I
had on black Vince Camuto heels with thin spaghetti straps running across the
bridge of my foot, and a silver buckle at the ankle. My hair was curled, and it
literally bounced with each step I took, and my lips were painted a bright red,
my signature clubbing color. Angela was absolutely smokin’ in her electric blue
fit-and-flare Bebe dress, exuding elegance and sophistication. 

  John the bouncer whistled at us
both as we approached him. “Hello ladies. You look like you’re ready to do some
serious damage.”

  Angela pursed her full, ruby-red
lips at him. “Babe, that’s an understatement. We’re gonna destroy the place.”

  He chuckled. “And a few hearts in
the process.” He opened the velvet rope, and we passed through, then slinked
through the front door. Even though it was a weeknight,
Strut
was
booming as usual. Angela had been so lucky to score this gig, because the sheer
volume of people every night practically guaranteed huge tips. It was rare for
her to have a weeknight off, but even when she wasn’t working, she was usually
at the club. It was her go to place, like a second home, where she could party it
up and drink free the whole night.   

  We beelined for the bar, pushing
through a throng of bodies. Several men did double takes as we walked by, and
even stepped back to make room for us. As usual, the pulsing purple neon lights
gave the whole place an eerie, otherworldly glow. Pamela was working the main
bar. She was a tall brunette with killer boobs, which she was showing off
tonight with a slinky, low cut black tank top. “These puppies sure bring in the
tips,” she was always saying. Elle, as usual, was sitting by the bar in front
of Pamela, nursing her drink. I had no problem with Pamela; she’d always been
friendly toward me. I did, however, wonder about her friendship with Elle. What
did she see in her?

  When Pamela saw us coming, she
winked, and by the time we reached the bar, she had two whiskey sours already
lined up for us. “Thanks, Pam,” Angela said, and I smiled appreciatively. We
grabbed the only two empty seats that were beside each other. Unfortunately,
that also meant we had to sit beside Elle.