Authors: Cathy Yardley
She spent the better part of an hour under a hair lamp with foil on her head. Joey had now entered the insanity with Martika and Taylor, and was tearing out magazine pictures and comparing things. Sarah couldn’t hear what they were saying, just
watched as they gesticulated wildly. Patrons were taking sides. It was turning into a free-for-all. Sarah tried to read the magazine in front of her and pretend she had nothing to do with all the proceedings. After a grueling long time, Joey finally pronounced her done.
“It was not easy,” he said, in a tone usually reserved for Oscar acceptance speeches, “but I think we can all agree that it was worth it.”
Sarah looked at the mirror, and her mouth dropped open.
She looked
frosted,
was the only way she could describe it. Her usually ashy-honey blond hair now had all these streaks, like she was running through a perpetually sun-dappled meadow. She knew she had wavy hair, but this was
artistically
wavy, not the Sonic the Hedgehog tangles that she was used to.
She, too, had gone into a sexy wind tunnel and lived to tell about it.
“How long will this last?” she said, her fingers reaching up but only touching the aura of her hair, as if by touching the hair itself the whole thing would vanish in a puff of smoke and she’d be reduced to the hedgehog looking thing she’d resembled when she walked in.
Joey laughed. “You just need to do a few simple steps,” he said. “I’ll give you some molding mud, and you need to put that at the roots…then some of this mousse at the tips…you just go like this—” he tilted his head upside down, pretending that his closely-cropped hairstyle matched hers “—and then like this, swing your hair up, and it’s just that easy.” He grinned. “And tell everyone you came here, naturally.”
Martika and Taylor could not have been prouder if they were her parents. “Let’s hit the town,” Martika said, and in that moment, Sarah could have said yes.
Taylor nay-sayed. “What do we always say in Marketing? It’s all about positioning. The haircut is a
fabulous
start, granted. But we’ve still got to draw up a game plan.” He grinned, taking Martika’s arm. “I say, dinner at El Torito with absolutely
tons
of margaritas.”
“I concur.” Martika linked her arm in Sarah’s, and Sarah smiled. Martika saw the hat in her hands, frowned and took it, tossing it in a tall artsy silver trash canister. Sarah still smiled.
“You did what?”
Judith watched Sarah calmly eat her salad, her hair glinting platinum and honey-blond in the afternoon sun. “I dumped Benjamin.”
“Would this be before or after your emotional pyrotechnics at Salamanca?” Judith asked. “Because if it was before, maybe I could negotiate to get your job back. Sort of like temporary insanity. I mean, Becky herself has been under some emotional strain and would probably cut you some sort of slack, especially as she’s shorthanded now…”
“I don’t want to go back,” Sarah said firmly. “I’m sorry if it made you look bad, Judith.”
Judith smoothed her napkin in her lap, glancing out the window. “It did cause some commotion. I mean, I did recommend you.”
“And I’m sorry, but I couldn’t work for that horrid woman one more day,” Sarah said, her green eyes earnest. “She wanted me to clean out her cat box, Jude. I swear, the woman was a nightmare.”
“You could have handled it better, Sarah,” Judith corrected her gently. “You could have simply told her no.”
Sarah sighed. “I don’t think you’ll be able to understand.”
“I’ve been there,” Judith said. “We’ve all had nightmare bosses. You just pay…”
“Don’t say pay your dues,” Sarah said, her voice uncharacteristically steely. “I mean it. I’ll scream.”
Judith was so surprised, she put her fork down. “Sarah, what’s gotten into you? First the outburst at Salamanca, then dumping Benjamin—and what really happened there, anyway?”
“He was being a
dick.
Don’t even try to argue with me on that point.”
Now Judith openly gaped. “What do you mean?”
Sarah pushed radicchio leaves from one side of the broad white plate to the other. She looked like a bored starlet with that hair, Judith noticed. “I mean, he’s been so insensitive. Here I am, working thirty hours in one day, and all he can say is I have to pay my dues, keep my chin up. Everything I was doing was for him, Jude,” she confided. “Everything was to convince him that I could make the cut, that he wouldn’t be making a mistake in marrying me. Can you believe that?”
“It can’t have been that bad.”
“Couldn’t it?”
Judith couldn’t believe the bitterness in Sarah’s voice. “Sarah, moving to a new city is hard—and working at an ad agency in Los Angeles is brutal. You might have lost some perspective, but it’s not impossible to pull off. I mean, I do it. I’ve been able to balance a husband and a work life for the past few years.”
Sarah pushed her salad to one side. “I don’t know how, honestly.”
“Well, good organization and keeping your priorities balanced, basically,” Judith said. “I’d love to help you out. I can give you the name of my meditation coach…”
“I’m unemployed right now, Judith,” Sarah said. “I don’t think I can afford him.”
Judith looked away. It would help if Sarah wasn’t so
negative
about the whole thing. There was always a solution. “You know what…I’m going to loan you a book that might help you.”
“Really?” Sarah said unenthusiastically.
“
Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.
It’s been a godsend in my life,” Judith said.
“Judith, can I ask you a question?”
Thinking it was about the book, Judith smiled. “Certainly.”
“Are you really happy?”
Judith blinked. “What a question!” She paused. “Of course I’m happy.”
Sarah looked at her suspiciously, then shrugged.
Judith waited for clarification—when Sarah didn’t respond, she finally asked. “What brings that up?”
Sarah shrugged again. “I don’t know. It’s just that—well, you always seem to be in a hurry to do something, you know? You’ve got everything neatly compartmentalized. I’ll bet you’ve got me written down in your notebook as a to-do item. You know, something like ‘get explanation from Sarah’ or ‘get Sarah to take job back.’”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Judith said sharply. It was listed in her “friends/family” section as “provide emotional support.” Sarah would understand when she read the book—no point in mentioning it to her now.
“Anyway, I guess you’re right, to a point,” Sarah said. “I let my life spin a little out of control. I was totally focused on Benjamin, what he was thinking, what he
would
think—and then I was totally focused on work, because I thought it would help me prove something to Benjamin. Well, not this time around. I’m going to have some
fun.
”
Judith didn’t like the sound of that. “And get a new job,” Judith said.
“I figured I’d temp,” Sarah said casually.
Temping? Judith hid a wince. She’d had temps work in her department. They all seemed like submorons. Sarah certainly deserved better, after all her education. “Well, I’ll look around, too,” she promised, wishing she could write it down in her organizer. She would when she went to the ladies’ room, she decided.
“I’ll find something, Judith. Don’t worry.”
Well, obviously one of us needs to.
“Read the book?”
Sarah sighed, then smiled. “Sure, Judith. After all, it’s worked like a charm for you. Who am I to argue with success, right?”
Judith smiled. “Right.”
Worked like a charm.
Of course it did.
Of course she was happy.
“Waiter?” She stopped the man walking past them with a
little hand gesture. “You know, I think I’ll have a little glass of wine after all.”
“Sarah, are you ready yet?” Martika called.
Sarah adjusted her outfit…a bra-strap styled tank dress in pink. She thought it looked good with the new haircut, and she hadn’t worn it out yet. Frankly, she wasn’t sure about the straps, but she was in L.A. Hell, she was
frosted
in L.A. A little bra-strap tank dress was probably just the thing.
She stepped out. “Ta-daah-ah-AH!” The fanfare announcement turned into a disconcerted wail.
Martika was wearing a vinyl dress that ended somewhere just below her pubic hair, from the looks of it. It looked like she poured herself into it. She was wearing leather knee-high boots that were supported by absolutely mountainous black platform heels. Her hair flew out in a bloodred nimbus that made Fire-starter look like Alfalfa. She had everything but the whip and zippered mask.
Sarah quickly looked around. Nope, no accoutrements that she could see. She counted herself lucky.
Martika looked her over with a disdainful eye. “I thought I told you we were Goth clubbing.”
Sarah choked.
“Hmm. Well, we can see if I’ve got anything you can borrow.” She grabbed Sarah by the arm and tugged her into her room. Compared to Sarah’s relative neatness, Martika’s room looked like a war zone. She dug into her closet with relish. “Let’s see…it’ll have to be something small—you’re on the short side, aren’t you?”
“Five-six,” Sarah said. “Average.”
Martika laughed. “Average is never something to aspire to, darling…ah! Here we go.” She handed Sarah a plaid micromini with a white crop top that said “boys suck” on it in rhinestones. “If you’re going to go with the little girl look, be slutty about it.”
“Who said that? Betsey Johnson?”
Martika laughed again. She looked like some evil arch nemesis of, say, Wonder Woman. “Go on. And put some makeup on.”
“I have some makeup on!”
Martika rolled her eyes and followed her into the bathroom. “For God’s sake, we’re clubbing. You can’t wear Bobbi Brown neutrals clubbing!”
Sarah grumbled something. The miniskirt fell just above her knee…God knows where it fell when Martika wore it. She pulled the crop top on. It was less crop than Martika seemed it should be and she had to stop her from cutting it to make it shorter.
“Maybe you could wear the netting top…”
“No!” Sarah’s arms crossed protectively in front of her chest.
“Oh, all right, Sister Sarah.”
A half hour later, coated with a healthy shellacking of Urban Decay and enough eyeliner to give Cleopatra a run for her money, Sarah was pronounced “slutty enough.” She tottered on her highest high heels next to Martika, who made it look like she was born in stilettos.
“Just think attitude…attitude…”
As opposed to thinking “sharp, agonizing pain.”
Sarah limped after her.
“We’re picking up Taylor, and then we’re going to Perversion. God! It’s been ages.”
They got into the Martikamobile, and went to Taylor’s place. Then they drove to Hollywood, Sarah doing her usual “brace yourself!” against Martika’s version of Offensive Driving.
When they parked, Sarah said a small prayer of thanks for arriving in one piece, then followed Taylor, wearing what looked like rubber lederhosen, and Martika the vinyl war goddess. The two of them looked like vampires, she noted. She must be the character of the little blond girl that Lestat changed. She snickered at that, until she saw the line to enter the club.
Oh, my God.
Apparently, the memo had gone out to the other vampires, because they were there in full force. You couldn’t
throw a dart without hitting someone with black clothing, pale skin…and a scary expression in his eye, for that matter. Sarah took a protective step behind Martika.
“It’s not that bad,” Martika admonished. “Come on!”
Martika and Taylor chatted while they slowly moved forward in the line. They were greeted by an absolutely huge guy in a yellow shirt with bold block letters that said SECURITY, for those who couldn’t have guessed. He was wearing one of those speaker-headphone things, like Madonna wore on the Blonde Ambition tour.
“ID?”
Sarah dutifully produced her awful driver’s license photo. He scrutinized the license, then her face. She expected some pithy comment, like “Related to Tammy Faye Baker?” but instead he just waved her on. She paid the cover, and then followed Martika and Taylor into a large, darkened hall.
The first thing that struck her was the music, and that almost literally. It had all the force of a cannon blast, and it kept going.
Martika turned and said something to her—she couldn’t make out what it was.
“WHAT?” she yelled.
Martika pointed to the bar, then broadly pantomimed getting a glass and tossing back a drink.
“OH.” Sarah shrugged. “HOW ABOUT WATER?” she bellowed into Martika’s ear.
Martika looked at Taylor, then rolled her eyes and dragged Sarah to the bar. She said something to the bartender. Sarah was then unceremoniously presented with a vodka and cranberry, which Martika paid for.
“To your first night clubbing!” she said, clinking her own drink against Sarah’s.
Sarah nodded weakly, then took a sip. It was strong enough to set her coughing. The cranberry was simply there for coloring, apparently. The bartender winked at her. She quickly looked away.
After a few minutes, Martika had finished her drink and was
staring at the floor. It was eleven o’clock, late by Sarah’s reckoning, but apparently “when things got going.” Everything in Martika’s posture said that she wanted to dance.
“Come on, come on!” Martika nudged at Sarah impatiently.
Sarah forced down the rest of the drink, then fought off another fit of coughing. She was still feeling the burn of the alcohol in her chest as Taylor and Martika dragged her out onto the crowded dance floor. Taylor and Martika started to dance to the music. It sounded like a man singing…harsh and guttural enough to sound like some sort of German. Sarah couldn’t make out the words, but apparently the lyrics were secondary to the pounding electronic beat.
Taylor and Martika cut a stunning figure. Sarah, herself, felt like she was just shuffling. Other people jostled her. She felt an elbow prod into her side.
“Hey!”
She turned, only to see a man with one white eye and one red eye stare back at her.
“Sorry,” she muttered, and hastily turned back to Martika and Taylor.