Roommates
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Cribs with Justine and Jimmy
1. The Runaway Mustard Mobile
2. A New Hood
3. Hunting
4. A New Arrival at the Zoo
5. Adventures in Blind Dating
6. The Unspoken Roommate
7. The Baby Storm
8. Jimmy’s Invitation
9. The Sound of Music
10. Lights Out
11. Special Mail
12. The Hunt Begins
13. By the Beach
14. Call Me
The Real I World: Iris and Megan
15. Orientation
16 .Youthful Guidance
17. And They’re Off
18. Thieves
19. A Wild Ride
20. Dinner at His Place
21. The Ultimate Invasion
22. The Best Steak of Her Life
23. Reckless Dialing
24. Monster Situation
25. Slow Down the Hoedown
26. Labor Day
27. Motherly Advice
28. An Offer
29. Good-bye and Hello
Praise for Always the Bridesmaid
“A charming, rollicking commentary on weddings in the twenty-first century. I loved the Jane Austen-ish heroine.”
—Jeanne Ray, author of Julie and Romeo and Eat Cake
“The ultimate bridesmaid gift.”—Publishers Weekly
“Full of comedy, style, wit, and romance.”—FictionAddiction.net
“Quite entertaining . . . [an] amusing charmer.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Written in savvy style . . . displays clever wit and crafts a handful of priceless scenes.”—FictionFactor.com
“Phenomenally entertaining. The pace of the story is perfect.”
—TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
“Engrossing, amusing and surprisingly heartfelt.”—myshelf.com
“Talented newcomer Lyles has written a compulsively readable novel. Her descriptive gifts transport readers to the single girl’s San Diego, with its beaches, bars, and bistros.”—Romantic Times
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2005 by Whitney Lyles
All rights reserved.
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PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley trade paperback edition / November 2005
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lyles, Whitney.
Roommates / by Whitney Lyles.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-0-425-20253-1
1. Roommates—Fiction. 2. Female friendship—Fiction. 3. San Diego (Calif.)—Fiction.
4. Triangles (Interpersonal relations)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3612.Y45R66 2005
813’.6—dc22
2005048063
http://us.penguingroup.com
For my husband, Rob Dodds
Acknowledgments
I owe many thanks to the two godmothers of this book, my editor, Leona Nevler, for her priceless expertise and invaluable feedback, and my agent, Sandy Dijkstra, for always being such a wonderful guide and source of motivation.
I would also like to thank the SDLA team for all their hard work, especially Elise Capron for her insight during early drafts of this book.
Much appreciation to Mike Sirota for all his feedback, and for continuing to be the fresh set of eyes that sees all the bad stuff.
Many thanks to my sister, Jennifer, whose opinion always shapes a better novel.
Again, I am forever grateful for my parents for all their support. Thanks to my dad who taught me this past year that you can overcome anything. He is truly a hero, and I am so thankful he is always here to talk writing with me. And to my mom who is probably responsible for selling more of my books than any media source in the country. Endless thanks for all her enthusiasm!
Finally, I can’t thank my husband, Rob Dodds, enough for his never-ending encouragement and whose smiles and laughter during last-minute readings made it all worth it.
Cribs with Justine and Jimmy
1. The Runaway Mustard Mobile
The first time Elise had ever lived with a complete stranger had been nine years ago when she’d packed up her parents’ station wagon and relocated from the suburbs of San Diego to the freshman dorms at the University of Arizona. Talk about anxiety. She’d seen Single White Female that summer, and to this day blamed the movie for scaring roommate hunters all over the world.
She watched while her friends from high school had called their future roommates ahead of time to “get to know each other.” Rather than imagining their roommates as psychotic versions of Jennifer Jason Leigh, they knew what kind of music they listened to, which sororities they planned to rush, and what their favorite movies were.
Elise had been assigned to live with a Russian exchange student named Anya Gordeeva. Icebreakers had been out of the question.
“Russia? You want to call Russia?” Her father responded to her request to “briefly” become acquainted with Anya Gordeeva. “A two-minute phone call to Russia costs more than your tuition!”
For the duration of her last summer in San Diego, she wondered whether or not Anya Gordeeva would copy her haircut, and if she might share her affinity for Alfred Hitchcock movies. As it would turn out, Anya Gordeeva copied the hairstyles of the female cast of Baywatch. When asked if she liked Alfred Hitchcock movies, Anya wanted to know if he had been on Howard Stern. She was consumed with the idea of ending up on a College Girls Gone Wild video, which of course would ultimately land her a guest appearance on Howard Stern, who would launch her career as a “model” and introduce her to Vince Neil of Mötley Crüe. American Dreams.
Instead of dating Vince Neil she found her American beau at the Tucson miniature golf course where he worked and frequently parked his tricked-out Honda Accord. He looked like Eminem on crystal, and they had sex on the squeaky bunk
above Elise’s at least four nights a week.
When Elise had summoned up the nerve to ask if they could please have sex at his place, Anya Gordeeva threw her head back and laughed as wickedly as Cruella De Vil. Then in a very thick Russian accent said, “You very jealous because you don’t get any.”
Living with Anya Gordeeva for her first year of college had been like belly flopping the first time she’d dived as a child. Having the wind knocked out of her on her first diving attempt had left her forever wary of diving boards. And having a total weirdo for her first roommate had made her forever cautious of living with strangers. She wouldn’t have minded living with an interesting weirdo. If Anya had been, say, a stripper who was considerate and friendly, Elise probably would’ve found it intriguing. She would’ve asked her fifty million questions about her profession and overlooked that she was saving up for implants so she could qualify for Penthouse.
Throughout undergrad and graduate school Elise had lived with friends—people she knew. Girls with solid references. For the most part, they’d been pretty decent roommates, occasionally annoying her when they did little things like leaving one chip in a huge bag. A cruel way of fooling her into believing there was actually something to snack on until she pulled a bag as light as a Kleenex from the cupboard.
By the time she received her master’s in criminal psychology, her roommates had either left Tucson or found a husband. Elise decided it was time for her to move on as well.
The dating scene in Tucson was about as dry as its climate, and if Anya Gordeeva could see her now, she just might have a point. At twenty-seven she was heading back to her southern California roots and living with a stranger for the second time.
At times she wondered if she had been crazy when she’d made the decision to leave. Socially, she’d be starting all over again in San Diego. Though most of her Arizona friends were married, she still had lots of friends. Economically, Tucson was great. She could probably afford to buy her own home within a year or two if she stayed there. California was much more expensive, and she’d have to rely on roommates to cover her rent. Furthermore, her only real friends in San Diego were her family and her best friend, Carly. She was leaving a lot behind. But she needed change. After a string of terrible dates she really wanted to see what else was out there. It was an adventure.
Her skinny arms vibrated like a pair of dentist’s drills as she steered a beastly U-Move truck across the Arizona desert highway. Ever since they’d left Tucson she’d been peppering the trip with silent prayers that the bike lane would be empty until she reached her new home in San Diego.
Driving this rig called for a lot more than just paying attention to the road and pressing on the gas. It required strength. At five foot three and one hundred pounds, she felt as if the truck had more control than she did.
When she’d gone to U-Move Rentals for a vehicle, she’d asked for something small. Just like the ones she’d seen in their spiffy ads. A newer model, a sporty van with eagle’s wings painted on each side and the gold U-Move logo dangling from a raptor’s beak across the hood. However, U-Move had been out of those and had provided her a with a vehicle the shade of Grey Poupon and comparable in size to a mattress delivery truck. It smelled like mustard and looked like mustard. Her brother had dubbed the truck The Mustard Mobile before they’d even driven it off the lot, and she felt like an insect trapped inside a hot-dog stand.
Furthermore, a rattling noise from somewhere in The Mustard Mobile had been irritating her since they had left, and the radio was broken. Without realizing it, she hummed the Buzz Burger commercial jingle. “Buzzz Buhurrrrger,” she sang to herself in a voice that had potential to break the windshield.
“Where the burrrrger makes a buzz!” Stan sang before he sat up. He’d been dozing in the passenger seat next to her. “I gotta take a leak.”
Her Boston terrier, Bella, woke, too, and released a yawn so large that her pink tongue curled into a leafy loop.
“Can you wait until we get to Centro Mesa?” Personally, she could. Centro Mesa was the capital of Buzz Burger, and she’d been thinking about the number-two combo since they’d started their road trip three hours earlier.
Stan propped his feet on the dashboard. “No. I can’t wait. And quit driving like an old lady.”
She ignored the last comment. Carly was following them in Elise’s red vintage convertible Volkswagen bug. Sixty was the maximum limit for the bug, and even that was pushing it. Besides, if he thought she was driving like a grandma, he had only himself to blame.
The original plan had been for Stan to drive the U-Move and Carly to serve as copilot. Two people needed to man The Mustard Mobile for backing up and changing lanes. Being a tour guide for the Wild Animal Park, her brother was the best candidate to drive. His tram at the park toted over thirty passengers. Elise had planned to follow in her convertible behind them. However, Stan had gotten smashed at Elise’s going-away party, passed out an hour before they had planned to leave, and was still drunk while they packed the truck.
As she turned into the rest stop she got the same creepy feeling she associated with watching Unsolved Mysteries. It seemed as if most of the missing in America were “last seen” at a rest stop off some desolate highway. Fragrant with urine and decorated with carvings that said things like, “Kenny ’n’ Amber 4-Ever,” they were places where her mother had always advised her not to touch anything or talk to anyone.
Pulling into a parking space was a task reserved only for seasoned truckers. There were a million opportunities to nail someone’s bumper or take out a car door with a single swipe. She ended up parking in a dirt field that made the restrooms appear to be tiny cream-colored bumps on the desert horizon. They needed to stretch their legs, she reasoned.
Smothering heat covered her as she climbed from The Mustard Mobile. She pulled Bella’s leash from her purse and clicked it onto her little red collar.
“I like what the weather does for my hair,” Carly said, touching the bottom of her blonde bob as if she’d just gotten a haircut. “My straightening iron has never been able to make it this flat.”
“Having straight hair is definitely God’s way of making up for destroying your CD cases and favorite lipsticks.” Ever since Elise had moved to Arizona, her wavy brown hair hadn’t experienced a single day of frizz. However, she’d stopped buying expensive lipstick after several melted tubes and a couple of destroyed purses.
Carly squeezed her arm. “Are you excited?” she asked. “We’re getting closer.”
“Yeah. I’m kind of nervous. I feel like a freshman in college again, heading into the unknown. Remember how horrible that turned out.”
“You really did get a shitty roommate. Has Stan told you anything else about Justine?” Carly asked as they neared the restrooms, the scent of urine hovering like a nuclear cloud.
“I wish. Stan has been asleep ever since we left Tucson.”
“I’m sure she’s cool. Stan wouldn’t be friends with her if she was a total weirdo.”
Elise picked up Bella before they entered the ladies’ room, and in doing so caught a whiff of her hands. They smelled like Dijon, and the dog smelled like mustard, too.
After she scoured her hands with powdered soap, which felt like sand and made her fingers smell like a hospital, she returned to the lovely Mustard Mobile.
“I’m feeling much better,” Stan said. “I can drive the rest of the way.” He pulled the keys from her hand.
“Are you sure? I’m actually getting used to it.”
Ignoring her, he quickly climbed into the driver’s seat. “I can’t wait to drive this thing,” he said, like a child playing Nintendo for the first time.
“Really? I don’t mind driving.”
The engine roared to life. “I’m fine! Hop in!”
She could feel the bridge of her nose turning slick and sweaty where her cat’s-eye sunglasses rested, and she wanted out of the sun. “All right.”
The Mustard Mobile was pleasantly fre
ezing when she climbed in, and the rattling noise was as loud as ever.
“So, tell me more about Justine,” she said once they were on the highway.
“Well, what do you want to know? You probably know just as much as I do. You’ve talked to her on the phone.”
Elise had spoken to her a few times but knew only the basics. Her soon-to-be roomie worked at her uncle’s coffee shop, was twenty-six, originally from Nebraska, and had a boyfriend named Jimmy who played in a local band called Potter. Stan was a huge fan and a good friend of Jimmy’s.
Justine was nice on the phone, and Elise had imagined them becoming close friends, hanging out at the coffee shop where she worked, sharing their favorite books and recipes. Maybe they would double date—if she ever found a date.
“What does she look like?” She kicked off her flip-flops and stretched her feet on the floor in front of her. Elise always liked to have a visual of everything. For example, if Carly was telling her a story about a coworker, Elise would have to know what she looked like, or more specifically, what kind of shoes she was wearing.
“I don’t know.” Stan said. “A girl.”
“How can you not know? You’re the one who set this up.”
“She’s got red hair and she’s skinny.”
She’d forgotten how horrible Stan was with details. He turned on the radio but found only static and switched it off. “Oh, there is one thing I forgot to tell you about her.”
Something about his tone made her muscles stiffen. “What?”
“Oh, well. It’s probably nothing. I should really just let her tell you.”
She sat up. “No. You have to tell me.”
“It’s none of my business. Besides, it’s really something she should tell you.”
“You can’t do this to me. You’re the one who set this up, and you’re going to tell me whatever it is. Now.” It suddenly seemed much hotter in The Mustard Mobile.