L.A. Woman (11 page)

Okay, now she was imagining things, as well.

“Sarah?”

Sarah looked at Janice—whoops, Ms. Peccorino. Wasn’t that a sort of cheese? “I’m sorry. I’ve just been a little preoccupied this morning. I was trying to remember if I had anything else to do for Jeremy.”

Ms. Peccorino’s eyebrow quirked slightly.

“I mean, Mr. Anderson.”

“Of course.” Ms. Peccorino’s voice turned funny. “He hasn’t asked you to do
…too much,
has he?”

Sarah looked at her, puzzled. “Well, there were a lot of folders…”

Ms. Peccorino still stared at her, then sighed. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Do you have some time to work on a project, then? You’d be saving my life if you did.”

Sarah smiled. Aha! The opportunity she’d been looking for! “Sure. I don’t have anything on my plate that couldn’t be, er, reprioritized.” Which sounded better than
all the stuff I’m working on right now is stupid drone stuff, anyway.

“Wonderful!” Ms. Peccorino trotted off, then came back with her arms laden with stapled papers, stacked three feet high. “I’ll need you to input all of these report numbers into an Excel spreadsheet. You don’t have to build it, that’s been created already.”

Sarah looked at the imposing pile. “Okay.”

“And, well, I know this might be asking a lot, but—these are budget reports. If you see any sort of, I don’t know,
trends…
do you think you could let me know?”

Sarah frowned. “Trends?” Simply keying these monsters in was going to take time. And she’d hardly been involved in any kind of finance stuff.

Ms. Peccorino laughed a little. “Oh, you don’t have to be all analytical about it, don’t worry! I know you’re not an accountant. But if you notice that there is any…repetition, say. Money being lost somewhere, money not being spent somewhere else.
Don’t worry, dear, you’ll recognize it if it’s there. And if it isn’t, don’t worry about it.”

Sarah smiled. Frankly, she didn’t plan on worrying about it. “No problem.”

“Oh, and Sarah? I need it by—” she glanced at the clock hanging on the opposite wall “—five today. Is that okay?”

Sarah frowned. It was noon. Five hours to put all this stuff in? Much less that trend analysis thingy? “Well…”

Ms. Peccorino’s eyes were pleading.

“Sure,” Sarah said. Stay focused on your short-term goals, she thought. Increase your sphere. Or whatever.

That’s the spirit,
the Judith-angel said approvingly.
That’s how you’ll get a job here!

Meanwhile, the Martika-devil snickered.
And then you’d get to do this all the time! And wouldn’t that be fun!

Sarah blew out a short breath, and got to work.

By four forty-five, she had slogged through all of the piles…and was noticing some disturbing trends. There were a lot more negatives than positives. If she were reading the sheets correctly (and she might not be—it’s not like she’d been given any clear instructions, she thought bitterly) then the department was about to be several million dollars over budget. That didn’t look good. Ms. Peccorino was right—if there was something wrong, and by all accounts there
was,
then she’d noticed it right away.

In the next fifteen minutes, she drew up a chart that showed where the money was hemorrhaging—and which accounts specifically seemed to be responsible for it. She added a little note that she would be able to figure out what sort of expenditures were causing it, if she were given some more detailed reports and another day or so. She wondered if that last part was too kiss-ass. The Judith in her said no.

She still had a minute to spare when Ms. Peccorino walked up to her, with that penguin-on-speed waddle of hers. “I hate to rush you, but…is it done?”

“Yes.” Sarah resisted the impulse to buff her nails on her jacket. “It’s done.”

“So, everything looks…you know, all right?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, actually.” She called up the original spreadsheet, as well as her notations. “I could definitely do more with this,” Sarah offered.

Ms. Peccorino’s eyes never left the screen. “You’re sure about this? Did you proofread the numbers? This can’t be right.”

Sarah sat up a little straighter. “When there’s a loss that big, I naturally double-checked the numbers.” And she had. Fifteen million had seemed like Monopoly money—she was sure she’d transposed numbers somewhere, only to discover on the third go-round that she hadn’t. It really was that bad.

Ms. Peccorino had paled. “Well. This is…well.”

She continued to stand there and stare, tapping the screen and moving the mouse. Sarah waited, silently. Fifteen minutes later, she finally cleared her throat.

“Sorry? What?” Ms. Peccorino finally looked at her.

“It’s, er, after five,” Sarah smiled hopefully. “I thought I’d go home for the day.” She paused. “Unless you need help with this?”

Kiss ass,
the Martika-devil denounced.

“No. By all means, go home,” Ms. Peccorino said. “This is an excellent job, Sarah. Disconcerting—but really, excellent work. You’ve done a lot of work with computers, have you?”

Sarah smiled.
Now
she was getting somewhere. “Yes. The temp agency knew that you were looking for someone with good computer skills.”

“Fantastic.” Ms. Peccorino smiled weakly. “Well. I won’t forget this. Have a nice evening.”

Sarah went home in good spirits. Martika was already lounging on the couch, with a Green Tea Sobe in one hand and the TV remote in the other.

“So how was your day, dear?” she asked. “Did you make friends and influence people?”

She never should have left the books Judith loaned her on the coffee table, Sarah thought with a wince. “You know, I think I may have.”

Martika lolled her head back, making gagging noises.

Sarah smiled. “So. You and Taylor hitting the town tonight?”

Martika made another rude noise, and her blue eyes were disparaging. “He’s got to stay home and boyfriend-sit. I swear, I don’t know what he sees in Luis. The man is beyond hopeless.”

“Are you going to club by yourself, then?”

Martika contemplated the ceiling. “I don’t know. Oval is still my club of choice, but it’s been getting crowded lately. The club scene just sucks in L.A., have you noticed?”

Sarah raided the fridge, grabbing a Coke. “Hmmm. Maybe it’s because you’re getting…”

Martika raised an imperious hand. “Don’t…even…say it.”

Sarah grinned. “I was going to say ‘jaded.’”

“Oh, honey, I’ve been jaded since I was twelve.”

“Wanna go out to dinner?” Sarah smiled, taking a few quick sips of her soda. “I really think I made some progress at work today. Maybe enough to start getting a few pieces of clothing that Pink suggested.” Sarah thought about her potential salary. “Okay. Maybe one piece of clothing. To start.”

“This is a cause for celebration!” Martika grinned. “How about El Torito? I feel like getting a little
borracho.
” She winked. Sarah laughed. Things were definitely looking up.

S
arah must have gotten a little teeny bit
borracho
herself…at least, that’s the first thing that struck her when she answered the phone that morning at seven. Either that, or she was still dreaming.

“May I speak with Sarah Walker?”

Sarah blinked groggily. “Speaking.”

“Sarah, this is Temps Fugit.”

Her agency? Why would they…

A job.
She must’ve impressed them more than she thought! “Hi. Is there…”

“You won’t be going to your assignment today.”

Sarah propped herself up on one arm. “I’m sorry?”

“You won’t be going to your assignment,” the voice on the other end said.

Sarah waited for an explanation, then realized the person on the other end was about to hang up. “Wait! When am I supposed to go back?”

There was a very long pause on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“I’m going to transfer you over to Monica,” the voice said, and quickly Sarah was listening to a Muzak version of Ricky Martin’s “La Vida Loca.”

This can’t be good.

“Sarah?”

“Yes,” Sarah said eagerly, wide-awake now. “Monica? What’s happened?”

“Sarah, this is very serious.” Monica’s birdlike twitter sounded grave, which in turn, sounded weird. “I’m afraid your assignment called with some rather unpleasant complaints.”

“Complaints? About
what?
”

“Apparently, some large financial files got wiped out last night. It was last opened up on your computer, according to the I.T. people.” Monica sounded like she wasn’t sure what this meant, but it was
bad.

A file…oh, shit. “They lost the
budget?
”

“Yes, I think they mentioned a budget.”

“Well, I don’t know how it got erased, but I’m sure they’ve got to have backups somewhere of all that information.”

“Apparently not—even backup copies were erased from that computer, and then the computer being shut down so the daily backup didn’t work or something…I don’t know. There was even rumor of a virus. The whole thing was very distressing.”

Sarah gasped. “Wait a second. Are you saying that I destroyed the files on purpose?”

Monica sighed. “Well, the company is calling it either criminal destruction of property or amazing stupidity, to be honest.”

Sarah closed her eyes. The room was beginning to spin, and she knew it wasn’t the margarita she’d indulged in last night. “Monica, you
know
me. You know what I’m capable of with computers!”

“Exactly, dear.” There was another long sigh. “Which is why I’m afraid there’s no place for you here at Temps Fugit, either.”

“What?”

“We certainly don’t need corporate espionage rumors haunting the place.” Sarah could almost picture Monica, head bobbing, clothes rumpled. “No, indeed! So as of today, you’re no longer a member of the Temps Fugit family. Your last paycheck will be mailed to you…no need to come in.”

“Monica, you can’t possibly believe this! I’ve got to be able to prove…”

“And there were some allegations that you were sleeping with one of the staff!”

Sarah gaped at that one. Her throat made a surprised, squawking sound.

“Frankly, I wouldn’t have thought you capable of any of this, Sarah,” Monica said mournfully. “I’m usually such a good judge of character!”

Like this was some sort of huge fucking insult to
her!
“Monica, listen to me…”

“No, I think we’ve had about enough. Goodbye, Sarah.”

There was an almost immediate
click.

Sarah hung up the phone.

Okay, Judith hadn’t prepped her for this one.

Sarah was tired. She had to find another job, probably in retail or food service or something that paid minimum wage.
How did everything get this far awry,
she asked herself. She had it all planned out. She’d help out Benjamin. He’d marry her, loving her and supporting her decisions. She’d then naturally find a job that she adored, or be so wrapped up in having kids that the career thing would be postponed, depending. Now, she had nothing, just like Judith had warned. If she’d ever feared being a loser, she didn’t have to fear anymore. She was a bona fide Varsity loser now, with a big flashing L-symbol on her forehead.

This was all Benjamin’s fault, she thought.

She felt like screaming. She turned on the radio, dialing around until she hit a hard rock station. It was playing Limp Biskit’s “Break Stuff.” She felt like they were singing directly to her. She felt edgy, upset…raw.

The more Sarah thought about it, the more perturbed she started to get…and the more determined. Almost unconsciously she looked up Jam’s company in the yellow pages.

Don’t call. This is a really bad idea.

The litany continued in her head as she picked up the phone
and started to dial. She knew it was a bad idea. However, it was the only idea she really had available right now. Besides, it probably was a hell of a lot more productive than going over to see Ms. Peccorino and Jeremy the Cute with a baseball bat.

“Becker Electronics.”

“I’d like to speak to Benjamin Slater, please.” She made her voice sound as businesslike as possible.

Apparently, that wasn’t good enough. The secretary’s voice was definitely suspicious. “May I ask who’s calling, and what this is pertaining to?”

“This is Sarah Walker. He’ll know what it’s pertaining to.” At least, she hoped he would. Or maybe she hoped he wouldn’t—if he knew that she was calling to lambaste him, he’d hardly answer the call.

“One moment, please.” Oh, the woman’s voice was frosty.

She was put on hold, the cheesy music played some instrumental version of a romantic tune. It was ironic, considering her mood.

“Benjamin Slater.”

His voice. Traitorously, her heart panged, just a little bit. “Hello, Jam.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Sarah. You know, I wasn’t even paying attention when Mathilde told me who was on the phone.”

“I see.” Okay, now she’d gotten him on the line. What was she supposed to do? Suddenly, her bad-but-only-option idea seemed like bad-and-what-was-I-thinking? The resulting pause seemed interminable.

Finally, Benjamin spoke. “What do you want to yell at me about, Sarah?”

The comment caught her off guard. “What makes you think I want to yell at you?”

He sighed. “I know you. You’ve probably been working yourself up for weeks. You obviously have something to say.”

“I…” Well, she did. But what exactly?
You ruined my life?
You’re a selfish bastard?
“You haven’t even called to see if I was alive.”

Somehow, that sounded bad. Deflated. Downright wimpy.

“Well, you’re obviously alive,” he said, a little bit of a smile in his voice. No, she wasn’t going to cave. The guy was…what was Joey’s term for it? A prick, an absolute prick. “How have you been, Sarah?”

“Oh, now that’s low.”

“What is?”

“You sound all nice and concerned, when I know if I hadn’t called, you probably wouldn’t even have thought of me at all.” Now she knew where she was going. “You selfish, rotten…”

“I do think about you, Sarah,” Benjamin said quietly. “I think of you a lot.”

That punctured her balloon of ire. “You do?”

“All the time, actually.”

She thought about it. “What, do I owe you money or something?”

“That’s not nice.” His voice was coolly reprimanding. “You know I care about you, Sarah. Just because I didn’t agree with what you did doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you.”

Now Sarah felt like an idiot. An immature, whining fool. She gripped the phone tightly. “You didn’t support me. You made me feel all alone.”

“I didn’t make you feel anything, Sarah,” he said, in a calm and reasonable tone. “I just pointed out that quitting your job—a job with a career path that you were interested in, that your best friend stuck her neck out to get for you—with no notice was really a bad idea.”

When he put it that way, yes, she did sound pretty…
No. Stick to the subject at hand. Don’t start second-guessing yourself!

“I was upset, Benjamin,” she said, softly. “You always shut me out or told me to grow up. You never once paid attention to how I was feeling or why I was doing what I was doing.”

“Do
you
even know why you were doing what you were doing?”

“Of course I did!” she countered passionately.

“So why did you quit?”

She rubbed at her temples. It all seemed so long ago now. Why
had
she quit? “Because the place was intolerable. They were verbally abusive, and I was working all these hideous hours, and they were
never happy.
And I was waiting for you to come down and help me out, and then you just abandoned me!”

“You were waiting for me to rescue you, Sarah.”

Sarah felt heat suffuse her cheeks. “You go to hell, Jam.”

“I’m not saying that to make you feel bad,” he said. “I’m just pointing out a fact.”

“I don’t need you to rescue me. I just need you to be there for me! And you never were—you were always too busy. Every single other thing in your life was more important than I was because I let you get away with it!”

She stopped, thinking about that.
Because I let you get away with it.

“I’m more important than that. I
deserve
better than that.” Her voice quavered slightly, and she took a deep breath, steadying it.

“I guess I did take you for granted, in some ways. You know how important the job is to me. I just wanted to get a good solid foundation…”

“I don’t care.”

She heard Benjamin sigh. “You actually picked an okay day to talk to me about this—things are under control. Why don’t we have lunch, talk about it?”

Have lunch? Sarah blinked, pulling the receiver away for a second and staring at it. Talk about it? “Um, okay. I guess.”

“My treat,” he said. “How about…what’s that place they keep talking about. Jozu?”

“Um, okay.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Um….”

“That all right?”

She shrugged. “Sure.” Spend your gas money, not mine. Why not?

She got dressed three times. The first was a dynamite, sexy outfit. Then she realized she didn’t want him to get the message that she was trying to win him back, so she changed into jeans and a little T-shirt. Then she changed her mind again, thinking that was too obvious. She finally settled on a sundress that wasn’t too risqué, but wasn’t too casual. She thought, anyway. The door buzzer sounded.

“Yes?”

“It’s Benjamin.”

“I’ll be down in a minute.” She snatched up her purse and locked the door behind her.

He looked good, she thought miserably. He was wearing a suit, one she hadn’t seen before. What worked in Fairfield probably didn’t work in his L.A. office. She knew about that one. He looked serious, and a little too conservative. Then again, considering how much time she’s spent at the ultracasual temp job and then around the likes of Martika, Taylor and Pink, who knew what was normal anymore?

He frowned at her. “You changed your hair.”

“Yes.”

“It’s a lot shorter.”

She frowned. “I like it. So do lots of other people.” There! Let
him
decide who the lots of other people were. Probably men. Ha!

“I’m not saying I don’t like it. I’m just saying it’s a lot shorter.”

She knew what he was saying. She shrugged and smiled. “Shall we?”

They went to the restaurant in relative silence. Once they got there, in the cool air-conditioned atmosphere, she began to relax. At least until he started talking. Then she gripped her water glass
nervously. She wondered if it would be tacky to order something to drink. Like a Red Screaming Zombie. She figured she’d need superstrength muscle relaxants at this point, or her shoulders would be permanently pinned together.

“So why did you decide to call me today?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I had been thinking about it for a while.”

“What’s been going on in your life?”

She sighed. “Let’s see. I work as a temp now.”

“I see.” To his credit, his voice wasn’t all that smug. “I worried. I hoped that you were okay.”

“Why didn’t you just call me?” she asked, thinking of the times she’d felt lonely and horrible over the past four months.

He shrugged. “Hurt too much.”

The words pinched at her heart. He was hurting. Because he missed her. She felt a little traitorous warmth, and had to force herself not to reach over like she used to and take his hand. She focused on the waiter instead, putting in her food order and asking for a glass of white wine. Within a short period of time, their meals arrived.

“So how has work been going?” she asked, more to change the conversation than anything. She knew it was a topic he’d warm to.

He shrugged again, to her surprise. “It’s going well—but not like I expected. I’m not really a Los Angeles sort of person, I think,” he said slowly. “I mean, I’m getting used to it, but it’s not really my first choice of cities to live in.” He looked at her speculatively. “Don’t you miss Fairfield?”

“A little.” Like when she was broke, when she’d quit her job and dumped him. Or when she had that horrible time at the club with Tika. Or, say, this morning. She shook off that thought with a shudder. “Sometimes. But L.A. has a lot going for it.”

“Ha.” His face was molded into that classic look of disdain Sarah remembered so well. “It’s like an amusement park.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I guess if you’re just looking for a little fun, it’s okay.” He sipped his water. “We were going to talk about us, Sarah.”

She frowned. “There is no ‘us,’ Jam.”

“And whose idea was that?”

“I already explained why.”

“Well, now I’m listening. I just think that you’ve kind of…” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “You went off the deep end there for a bit.”

“I
what?
”

“You came down here, and you started changing. I mean, you were always sort of flaky…”