Becoming Sarah

chapter TEN


A blonde girl in her mid-20s, almost painfully thin, in three inch heels and a gold halter top, came bounding up the stairs. “Quelle catastrophe! Sarah – what are you wearing?” she shrieked, in the accent I recognized from her phone message.

I glanced down at myself. I hadn’t changed out of the skirt and shirt I’d picked out that afternoon. I’d thought it would be fine for going out. Apparently not. “Um, I was just going to change."

“I should hope so!”

Another girl, also scantily clad, came up behind the first. She was Asian; her stick-straight hair hung almost to her waist. She wore shiny black leather boots that laced up to her thighs, a microscopic miniskirt, and a see-through chiffon blouse.

“God, Sarah, I hope you’re not going out like that,” she said.

“She’s changing, don’t worry.” Aurélie ushered me toward the bedroom. She flung open the closet door. “What shall you wear?”

I shrugged. “Help me pick something?”

Aurélie pulled out a plum-colored strapless dress with a fringe on the skirt. “What about this?”

The other girl leaned against the doorframe. “She wore it last week.”

“So. Liza says no to the dress. What else?” She held up a pair of black tuxedo pants. “Yes, good. And perhaps. . .” She rifled through Sarah’s blouses and chose a skimpy silk camisole. “This, I think.” She tossed me the outfit, then rooted around in her purse for a packet of cigarettes. “So, darling, put it on. We have places to go, people to see.”

As I changed, Aurélie lit her cigarette and took a puff. “Beautiful,” she exclaimed, when I finished.

She tossed me a pair of shoes, heels with straps that wound up around my ankles. I put them on.

“Good,” Liza said. She dug into her purse and came up with a tube of lipstick. “Try this.”

I leaned close to the mirror and applied it awkwardly. The lipstick was a deep blood red. I’d never worn anything like it – Chapstick was more my style – but I liked the effect. It made me feel bold and a little wild, utterly unlike my old, boring, unglamorous self.

Aurélie picked out a tiny beaded black bag to go with my outfit. I stashed my wallet and keys inside.

“Ready?” Aurélie asked.

“Ready.”

“You’re driving, right?” Liza asked.

Panic closed my throat. “What? Me?”

“Come on, why not? It’s a pain finding a cab this time of night.”

Why not indeed? Only that I didn’t know where Sarah parked her car, and I was far from confident in my ability to drive it.

I let Aurélie and Liza lead the way out of my building. They headed down the block, straight toward a sleek black convertible parked at the curb. Liza plucked a slip of paper of the windshield. “Forget to move the car for street cleaning?”

“I guess so.” I took the parking ticket and stuffed it in my bag before I hit the button on my keychain. The car beeped; the locks shot open. I climbed into the driver’s seat, my heart in my throat. Liza got in the back seat. Aurélie slid in beside me.

The engine started easily with the turn of my key. I eased out onto the street. Driver’s ed felt like a distant memory. Thank God there wasn’t much traffic this time of night. “Where to?” I asked.

Aurélie named a club downtown. When I gave her a blank look, she sighed. “We only go every weekend, Sarah. You can park in the garage at Fifth and Mission, like always.”

I did know where that was – next to the Metreon, a bunch of shops and a movie theater. I drove there carefully, and so slowly that some guy in a car behind me honked in frustration. I also managed to forget about a one-way street, and had to go all the way around.

“At this rate, it’ll be dawn before we get there,” Liza complained.

“You drive like an old lady,” Aurélie added.

This was hard enough without the constant stream of criticism. “So one of you drive next time,” I snapped.

They both burst out laughing. “Ooooh, she’s in a mood,” Liza said.

Aurélie nudged my shoulder. “Fighting with Nick again?”

“No, actually. Everything’s fine with Nick.” Though, come to think of it, he’d never called. “I just saw him today.”

“Mmm. I’ll bet.” Aurélie nudged me again. “How much of him did you see, exactly?”

My cheeks burned hot as I flashed back to Nick’s visit. “Enough.”

“Wonderful. So he’s finally left his wife?”

We were in the middle of a block, but I slammed on the brakes. The car behind us screeched to a halt just in time, and Liza let out a shriek of fear.

“His wife?” I choked the words out. Blood roared in my ears.

“Of course, his wife,” Aurélie said calmly. “You said last week that you wouldn’t sleep with him again until he left her. Of course, you’ve been saying that for almost a year.”

Cars behind us were honking furiously. “Go, go,” Liza yelled, right into my ear. “Do you want to kill us all?”

I drove, but I barely saw the road in front of me. How could this be? Nick, the perfect boyfriend, married?

I made a right into the garage and parked in the basement. Aurélie and Liza led the way to the club; I trailed behind. First I was crushed, then furious. Furious at Sarah, for getting herself into this situation. Furious at myself, for blindly forgiving him when I didn’t know why they’d fought. Furious at Nick, for being lying, cheating scum.

At the club, the bouncer checked our ID – as Sarah, I was legal – and let us in. Liza grabbed my arm. “Hey, Sarah, you don’t mind covering this, do you? Aurélie and I are both pretty strapped for cash.”

“Sure,” I said, still in a daze as I handed over a hefty wad of bills. We plunged together into a dark, crowded room throbbing to a DJ’s beat. Strobe lights threw out a dazzle of rainbow colors. So many people, such loud music – I’d never been to a club before, only high school dances, and I felt out of my element. At the same time, though, I picked up on the current of excitement, the sense of possibility, and my body swayed in time to the music almost against my will.

“Come on, let’s get a drink,” Liza shouted. Aurélie took my hand and pulled me toward the bar.

I felt a stab of alarm. I’d had a beer once, at Maria’s house. We stole it from the fridge and shared it in her bedroom. We’d reeled around the room, flopped on her bed, and pretended to be drunk. But even then I’d had my qualms. Alcoholism was genetic. All my life I’d vowed I wouldn’t turn out like my mom’s.

Aurélie put her lips to my ear. “What are you having?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

She motioned to the bartender. “I’ll have a martini, and a cosmopolitan for my friend here.”

“No, Aurélie, I. . .”

She thrust the drink into my hand. Liza ordered and I paid for us all. I eyed my plastic cup suspiciously, then sniffed it. It smelled like grapefruit juice.

“Drink up,” Aurélie urged.

My head swam already from the pounding music, the bad news about Nick, and my hopelessly screwed up life. What could one drink hurt?