L.A. Fire (8 page)

  “Okay,” she said, “I get it. But
be careful with this, Ser. I love you girl, but your taste in men is
questionable. And I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

  I slumped back onto the couch.
“Right, my notoriously bad taste in men.” I sighed. Lisa had hated my ex, Rob,
right from the beginning. We’d gone to a dive bar in Venice Beach together at
the end of our sophomore year at UCLA, and Rob’s band,
The Bare Essentials
,
was playing that night. His vocals were haunting, raspy, majestic, and I’d
immediately known I’d randomly come across the next big thing. Both Lisa and I
had been rapt through their whole set, with the drummer effortlessly laying
down the beat, and Rob doing these crazy, intense guitar riffs between his
delivery of his rockin’ lyrics. He caught my eye at the end of his set, and
came over to join us. Our connection was instant. He was tall and handsome,
with disheveled dirty blond hair, and he was wearing an endearingly grungy band
t-shirt underneath a badass leather jacket, and motorcycle boots. We ended up
going down to the beach after Lisa went home, and talking all night, then
watching the sun rise over the ocean together.

  Lisa had found him charming
enough that night. But she soon started to develop a distaste for him. She once
warned me that he was too needy for praise and attention, and whenever he got
it, it made him act cocky. She predicted that he would probably cheat, and she
was right.

  Lisa cleared her throat over the
line. “Listen. I don’t mean to be a downer, but I’ve heard things about Julian
McGregor. Well, not exactly heard. But I’ve read all about him in the gossip
column. From what I’ve read, he seems to be with a new girl every month.”

  I suddenly felt dread and
jealousy form knots in my stomach. “So you’re telling me he’s a player,” I
said, matter-of-factly.

  “Ser, I don’t know. It’s just
what I’ve read. But you should be super careful with this one.”

  I felt a feeling of unease creep
into my stomach, and my chest tighten. Lisa’s words were like a well needed
splash of cold water in my face. Of course the man was a player. It was so easy
for him. I’d seen all the heads that turned when we walked into
Melinda’s
that afternoon. If the attention he received then was any indication, he had
women crawling all over him. And look at my own reaction. It was pathetic,
really. I was practically ready to drop my panties at the first sight of him,
and jeopardize my whole future for what would end up being a casual lay for
him. No, there was no way.

  “Thanks for hearing me out, Lisa.
And for the advice. You’re probably right. Getting involved with him is a
stupid idea.” I could hear Lisa banging around in the kitchen. “Enough about
me. What’s up with you?”

  Lisa chuckled darkly. “Oh, you
know, I’m living the dream, babe. Making thirty grand in Manhattan, fetching
coffee all day, and reading horrible unsolicited manuscripts. You know, leading
the oh so glamorous life of the editorial assistant. Remind me, why did I want
to move to Manhattan again so badly?”

  I pulled my legs up onto the
couch. “For the frenetic pace, and the culture and sophistication you said you
couldn’t find in L.A.”

  “Right,” she said, her tone
sheepish. “Now if I only I made enough money to actually enjoy those things.”

  I bit my lip, and decided to
tread cautiously. “What about the trust fund your parents set up for you?”

  She sighed in frustration. “I
want to make my own way.”

  I nodded to myself. I knew the
feeling. “Of course you do.”

  She laughed again. “But that
didn’t stop me from dipping into it for buying a ridiculously chic set of
clothes for work. Too bad everyone else was dressed in jeans or outfits from
Walmart. Now my pretty threads just sit in the closet because I’m too embarrassed
to wear them.”

  I chuckled. Lisa had always been
obsessed with sophisticated clothes. While everyone else came to class in jeans
and a tank top, Lisa always showed up wearing designer dresses in bright floral
colors. With her straight, sleek brown hair, hazel eyes, and high cheekbones,
she was a real looker. But no matter how sexy her outfit was, she always wore
her trademark dark framed square glasses. She said she hated contacts, and
liked that the intellectual look intimidated guys. According to her, she could
quickly tease out what guys were worth her time based on how they responded to
her ‘nerdy glasses.’

   I got into an argument
about this with her, saying her method of observation wasn’t very scientific.
Just to prove her point, she drew up a fake resume, and, dressed in a naughty
school girl outfit, full makeup, and trademark glasses, she dragged me to a
strip club on Sunset. The sleazy manager invited her over to a table by the
dance floor for an informal interview. He told her they should talk privately,
but she insisted that I would be staying with her for protection. The six foot
tall manager looked me over and chuckled to himself, clearly amused that Sarah
consider at 5’4 girl as ‘protection.’

  The whole time they were talking,
his eyes ran all over her body, looking at her as though she were a delectable
piece of meat. Finally, he said she had the job, but only on the condition that
she lost the glasses. She asked him why, and he said, because most men don’t go
for the sexy librarian fantasy. She immediately turned her attention away from
him, grinned at me, and exclaimed enthusiastically, “Point proven!” Then she
grabbed my hand and dragged me out of there, with the manager yelling “Hey,
what the hell!” behind us.

  “Oh, by the way,” Sarah said.
“Congratulations! I talked to Angela before I called back to leave a message,
and she told me you discovered a brilliant script!”

  “Thanks, babe. But we haven’t
signed the guy yet.”

  “Listen,” Lisa said, her tone
sounding conspiratorial. “I was thinking I need a break from Manhattan, and I
couldn’t think of anything more fun than visiting my bestie soon. Like, say,
this coming weekend.”

  “Oh my god!” I actually squealed
into the phone. “Get your ass over here! You’re welcome any time!”

  “Okay, great. I’ll buy my ticket
tonight. Can you get me at the airport Friday night?”

  “Sure thing.” I was grinning ear
to ear. I so needed to see my best friend. “Angela will be thrilled to hear
you’re coming.”

  Lisa snorted. “Well, maybe, but
she won’t show it.”

  “Her snarkiness toward you is a
form of endearment.”

  Lisa snorted again. “Right. Or
jealously. Anyway. You have a fantastic time at
Strut
tonight. And I’ll
see you on the weekend!”

  “Awesome.” I hung up the phone
still grinning. Then I looked at the time. It was eight-thirty. If I was going
to make it to the club, and still get back home in time to get a decent night
of sleep, I’d have to get ready and leave immediately. I jumped off the couch
and headed for the shower, excited about the prospect of having a relaxing
night, enjoying a few drinks, on the Sunset Strip.

***

  I arrived at
Strut
wearing
a strapless, fire-engine red Ferragamo dress with a fitted bodice, and flared
skirt. I’d slipped on my red Fendi stilettos, an impulse buy that I barely got
any use out of. In fact, Angela had borrowed them so many times, I’d almost
forgotten that they were mine. I’d straightened my hair, and it was sleek and
shiny. I rarely wore bright makeup, but for clubbing, I usually went all out.
Tonight I’d made me blue eyes look extra defined and intense with smoky makeup,
and my lips were painted cherry red. There was a long line up to the door, but
I went up the bouncer, John, and he smiled at me and let me through the velvet
ropes.

  “Lookin’ hot, Sarah,” he said,
giving me an approving nod.

  I gave him my most winning smile
and said thanks. When I got into the club, it was overcrowded, as usual. The
huge dance floor, done in black imitation-onyx tile, was full of bodies
gyrating and slamming into one another. Purples neon lights were flashing like
lightning along the walls, and everyone was dressed to the nines. Men had on
slick designer suit jackets in navy and purple silk, paired with designer jeans
and black leather shoes. Girls were dressed in slinky silver sequins, tight hot
red numbers, black leather tanktops and skin tight jeans, teetering on
stilettos of every color, their gold and silver jewelry glimmering in the dim
light. An elevated VIP section had soft velvet couches and booths, with the
preferred clientele sipping martinis brought to them by a waitress in snakeskin
skinny jeans and a black leather halter top.

  I scanned the main bar, and
noticed Angela, dressed in a purple, scoop necked minidress, hair tied into an
elegant ponytail, with loose strands of her brown hair framing her beautiful
oval face. She was working the bar like a mad woman. She was shaking and
serving and shuffling and mixing; the absolute queen of her bar. I also spotted
Elle with her teased blond hair, cheap, gaudy makeup, a black tank top and
matching short leather skirt, sitting at the bar right in front of where Angela
was working. Great. Elle was a good friend of Angela’s coworker, Pamela, who
must have been on break. She was always hanging around the bar, trying to get
every guy to either buy her a drink or take her to the washroom for a quick
one. I found her rude and obnoxious, and felt myself cringing as I started
walking over to the bar.  

  As I got close, Angela looked up
at the right moment and I caught her eye. She waved me over, then winked
confidently at a guy who probably just propositioned her. She was great at
blowing guys off in a way that made them save face. I slid onto the one empty
stool left, and waited for someone to come take my order.

  “Well, well, look at what the cat
dragged in,” I swiveled around in my chair. Elle. She was about 5’9, and she
stood there with her hand on her hip, leering down at me.

  I glared up at her. “What do you
want, Elle?” She made a gasping noise and put her hand to her mouth, pretending
like she was offended.

  “Easy there, sour puss,” she
said. “I was just coming over to say hi. Anyway, having me here will bring you
good luck. All the guys flock to me. If I’d left you alone, you’d be sitting
all by your lonesome the whole night.”

  I laughed. Really hard. I had to
hand it to her. She could be very entertaining. “Oh, Elle,” I said in an
admiring tone that immediately made her narrow her eyes at me.  “It’s so
hard to be the ugly duckling. Thank you for taking me under your wing. It’s
such a grand gesture.” I laughed again, and swiveled back around to face the
bar. But she wasn’t done yet.

  “Was that sarcasm?” she asked,
looking confused, and worried that I’d just made fun of her. In addition to
being obnoxious, she wasn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box.

  I put on my most innocent looking
face. “Sarcasm? What’s that?”

  This time she got it. She scowled
at me, and turned to face the bar, but she didn’t leave. I was just
contemplating getting up and moving to another section when Angela bounced over
to me and smiled brightly. Her face was all shiny with sweat, and I could see by
the strain in her face that she was having a hard night, but she still somehow
managed to look absolutely gorgeous.

  “Hey darlin’,” she said in her
best sultry southern accent, “What can I get ya?”

  “How ‘bout a whiskey sour.”

  “Comin’ right up.” She turned to
grab a bottle of Jack Daniels, and I watched her pour and stir and shake at
almost an alarming speed. She was damn good at her job. She hated when I told
her that, though. Her biggest fear was that she’d never make it as an actress,
and still be bartending by the time she was forty. I kept telling her there was
absolutely no chance of that. She was talented, and she would find some way to
make the acting thing work. Still, every time an audition didn’t go her way,
she’d come home defeated, and then do a little too much coke at the bar that
night.

  After she added the cherry
garnish, she placed the drink in front of me, and I rummaged in my purse for
some change. “Don’t even
think
about it, Sarah. This one’s on the
house.”