L.a. Woman. Cathy Yardley

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СКАЧАТЬ shook her head vehemently, clutching her piña colada with a weak smile. “I’m fine. Thank you, though,” she said politely, doing her Martha Stewart impression again. She glanced around, as if she were sightseeing in a demilitarized zone.

      Taylor scooted next to her. “Don’t worry, girlie-girl, Martika just likes dives.” He grinned at her. “Trashy.”

      “Drama,” she said back, blowing him a kiss. “I do like dives. Less pretentious.” She turned her gaze on Sarah. “What do you think?”

      Sarah bit the corner of her lip, looking around. “It’s…surprisingly roomy,” she offered, with a hopeful look.

      “Roomy,” Martika repeated, as Taylor roared with laughter. “That’s a good description. Roomy. Well, I’m going to go see if I can’t make it over the vast expanse to the bar,” she said, tilting her empty glass. “I could do for a refill. Taylor?”

      “Another currant martini, please.”

      She smiled, heading over to the bar, noticing several of the guys at the bar were watching her as she walked. She was used to it, sending them a killer smile then ignoring them.

      She’d finally taken Taylor’s advice and decided to live with somebody she wasn’t planning on sleeping with, and she wound up with a virgin schoolgirl. Irony. Like a continual cosmic joke.

      Still, the kid had potential—and she got the feeling that that phone conversation Sarah had been on was with her boyfriend/fiancé/whatever. And that it hadn’t gone well, if she was going out with Martika & Crew.

      “One watermelon shot and one currant martini,” she said to Bill, the bartender. He nodded, quickly making up the drinks. “Oh, and another piña colada,” she said. “Strong.”

      He added the third. “You gonna pay off that tab anytime soon, Tika?”

      “I get paid next Friday,” she said, with a wink, and deftly balanced the three drinks, carrying them while still managing to wiggle her hips. She put them down on the small table in front of the chatting Sarah and Taylor with a plunk. “Bottoms up, people.”

      “I’ve still got half a drink,” Sarah protested.

      “Well then,” Martika drawled, “you’d better hurry, huh?”

      Sarah’s eyes grew round.

      “Taylor…would you care to show her how?”

      Taylor grinned. “Not really, as I’m forced to drive during this excursion. Besides, I’m supposed to see Luis later this evening, and he hates it when I’m plowed without him.” He sipped genteelly from the martini glass instead, then made a florid gesture at her own shot glass. “You show her. You’re the pro, anyway.”

      Sarah said, “You want me to just chug this, don’t you?”

      Martika was surprised into a real smile. “Chug?”

      “I know. I’m not that sheltered,” she said. “I’m not good at that sort of thing, though, I have to warn you.”

      “Well, show me what you’ve got.”

      Sarah screwed up her face for courage, then took the half-drunk piña colada and finished it off in about eight manful swallows. Martika grinned at Taylor, watching the debacle.

      Sarah took a deep breath. Her pale cheeks were flushed and pink—from the alcohol or from the time that it took her to drink it without pausing for air, Martika wasn’t sure.

      “There. I did it.”

      Taylor made a polite golf clap. “Brava.”

      “Now the other one,” Martika said. “A little faster, this time.”

      “But…I have to go to work tomorrow!”

      “Two piña coladas isn’t going to put you under the table,” Martika said, with an exasperated sigh. “Besides, we haven’t even gone to a club yet. This is just warm-up.”

      As Taylor started to protest that he needed to make this an early night (“I promised Luis!”) Martika noticed that Sarah was going from flushed to pale.

      “I think I’ll just nurse this one.”

      Martika shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She took her watermelon shot, and with a quick snap of the wrist threw it back, feeling more than tasting the quick tang of Midori before being hit with the slight flame of alcohol. She put the glass down, smiling at Sarah. “One piña colada, and you’re trashy. This is downright epic.”

      “I didn’t say I was trashy. I just said I had to go to work tomorrow.”

      “What is it you do again?”

      “I’m an assistant account executive,” she said. Her dilated eyes were beginning to look a little out of focus. “At Judith’s…that’s my friend.” She took another sip of the piña colada, as if she weren’t thinking about it—like she was just thirsty. “My friend Judith, who you haven’t met.”

      “I have,” Taylor said, also noticing that Sarah was slowly working down her drink. “Judith makes this one look like you.”

      “Wow. Guess I’ll have to not meet her, then.”

      Taylor chuckled. Sarah sipped.

      In an hour, Sarah had sipped her way through another piña colada and was getting surprisingly talkative. The club idea was out—the girl was weaving as they got her into the car, something Martika thought completely hysterical and Taylor found “charming.”

      “I’ve gotten so used to you stereotypical Irish two-fisters that it’s been a while to see a ladylike, girl-drink-drunk,” he said. Martika frowned at him.

      “I’m ladylike.”

      “Sure,” Taylor patted her cheek. “And I’m Keanu Reeves.”

      “Good night, Keanu!” Sarah said, and abruptly started hiccupping. “Oh, God. Hope I don’t yuke.”

      “You and me both, sister,” Martika said, propping her up in the elevator. “Four piña coladas and you’re a mess. This is so funny.”

      Martika guided her back to the apartment. She was still talking in that little girl voice of hers.

      “So I’m waiting for Jam to move back,” Sarah confided earnestly. “Well, not back, it’s not like he’s lived here before. But you know what I mean.”

      “Sure.” She grinned as she undid the top two dead bolts and finally got the door handle. “Although, if I hadn’t heard the details from Taylor, I’d guess that Jam was your invisible friend rather than your fiancé.”

      “Well, he’s sort of my invisible fiancé,” she said, with a hiccupy little laugh.

      “You said it,” Martika pointed out, closing the door behind the wobbling Sarah. “Not me.”

      “I know. I don’t СКАЧАТЬ