“Not Sandra Bullock…not Jenna Elfman…not Meg Ryan…”
“Thank you, God.”
“Martika!” Pink said sharply.
“Sorry.”
Sarah continued as if no interruption had occurred. “Didn’t he used to date Nicole Kidman?” she asked, suddenly. “You know, that’s perfect. Nicole Kidman.”
“Days of Thunder Nicole Kidman, or Eyes Wide Shut Nicole Kidman?”
Sarah smiled. “Practical Magic Nicole Kidman.”
“I see. The girl is good with her movies—has she met Kit?” Pink smiled, as if seeing Sarah in different clothes already. “I think I know what sort of style would suit. Stand up again.”
Pink produced one of those cloth tape-measure thingies, and took down all of Sarah’s measurements.
“Now, let’s talk budget…”
“Um, I don’t know how far I want to go with this until I get an idea of what sort of style you have in mind,” Sarah said, not caring that Martika was shaking her head at her. “Martika, I am not blowing all my money on new clothes. It’s just not happening.”
Pink looked at Martika, her eyes sharp with predatory interest. “How much money is she not spending, say?”
Martika grinned. “Somewhere in the neighborhood of five grand.”
Pink looked at her. “I could definitely get her a good foundation…fill it out a little more with chintzy stuff, but a good solid foundation is always worth the money.”
Martika did a little strut, showing off her own bloodred silk suit. “Tell me about it.”
“Five thousand dollars?” Sarah almost stamped her foot. “I am not going to spend that much money! I don’t even have a permanent job yet!”
Pink looked at Martika. “Hmm. She doesn’t seem as into this as reported.”
“She will be,” Martika assured Pink. She pulled Sarah into the kitchen under the pretense of getting Pink a glass of water. “What’s the matter with you? It’s not like you’d have to spend it all at one time. And you’ve got credit cards, haven’t you?”
“I’m not spending five thousand dollars on clothes!”
“It wouldn’t just be clothes,” Pink called from the living room. “From what I’ve seen, accessories and makeup definitely need to be added to the list.”
Sarah groaned, covering her face.
“Listen, Pink is here as a personal favor to me,” Martika said, her tone slightly sharp. “You said you wanted to change. Is that true, or is that just bullshit?”
“It’s just…too much. Too fast,” Sarah countered. “I’ll do a few things, but no big grand leaps, okay?”
Martika growled in frustration, then the two of them returned to the living room.
“I think I’ll start with looking over what you have in mind, and then see how much I can afford,” Sarah said diplomatically.
“She’s being a pussy,” Martika said, ruining Sarah’s effort at tact.
Pink nodded, giving Sarah a quick, thoughtful nod. “This is new, I understand. It can be traumatic and not everyone can make the plunge all at once.” Like Martika and I can, Sarah imagined her adding. “Tell you what—why don’t we get you one outfit, and some new makeup, and then you can decide if it’s a worthwhile investment?”
Sarah looked at Martika, who was glaring at her. “Okay,” Sarah said, then quickly added, “but I’d like to put a—” she did some mental calculations “—two-hundred-dollar cap on it.”
Pink looked at Martika, who rolled her eyes. “Hmm. In that case, let’s just start with makeup. Next Saturday okay? Perfect.”
Sarah was about to protest —two hundred dollars for makeup? But Martika’s glare silenced her.
Pink stood up, and Sarah was shocked to be air-kissed by the Mary-Kay-haired stylist. “Don’t you worry, chica, we are going to make you look, as Taylor would say, imminently fuckable.” She smiled and put her sunglasses back on. “Ciao.”
After Martika shut the door, she turned on Sarah. “What was that all about? I thought you said you were over him!”
Sarah blinked. “Who, Benjamin? I am over him! What does that have to do with anything?”
“If you’re over him,” Martika said, folding her arms across her chest, “what’s the big deal about changing your look?”
“Five thousand dollars is a huge deal, Martika. Or would you rather I not pay the rent?”
Martika clucked her tongue impatiently. “You’ll make the rent, Sarah. You’ve got credit cards that you could at least start with. This isn’t about money.”
Sarah sighed. “Maybe I’m just not ready. This is all too fast!”
Martika’s eyebrow went up with a look of frustration. “Life’s faster here, farmgirl. You might want to think about that.”
Sarah stuck her tongue out at Martika’s back as Martika retreated to her room.
“I saw that,” Martika said, turning with a wicked grin. “Martika knows all and sees all. And believe me, someday you’ll thank me.”
Sarah took a deep breath. She’d been here almost a month, and she could honestly say she was hardly impressing anyone, much less making progress toward her short-term goal of getting hired. She needed to—how did they put it? Expand her Sphere of Influence or something?
At any rate, she really needed to get her butt in gear. This job had plenty of potential, if she’d just show a little initiative.
Potential for paper cuts, sure, Sarah heard Martika drawl in her head.
Sarah shut her eyes. Okay, she needed not to be hearing Martika’s voice in her head, giving her advice.
Come to think of it, she really didn’t need to be hearing any voices in her head.
“Sarah? Are you all right?”
Sarah looked up. It was Janice, looking at her with a mixture of kindness and apprehension. She wasn’t quite sure how long she’d been sitting there, listening to the Martika-voice.
This wasn’t looking like a good day to get any of her goals accomplished.
No, no, that’s not the right attitude! Stay focused and positive!
Great. Now Judith’s voice had popped up into her head. It was like dueling shoulder angels, with Judith in a prim white suit holding a gold organizer instead of a harp, versus Martika, in a red vinyl dress, replete with pitchfork and grin.
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.
Chapter 8
Love Me Two Times
Sarah 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.
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