L.A. Woman by Cathy Yardley

need you to do, though. It’ll be quick, and it’ll be on your way.” She shot her an accusing glare. “You said you’d do anything to make my job easier, you know.”
    Paying your dues, peace within the storm…
    “What did you want me to do?” Sarah said instead. Sainthood, here I come.
    Becky rummaged around in her pockets, pulling out a key. Sarah stared at it. “This is the key to my apartment. I just need you to take care of Charlie. You remember Charlie, right? The cat I asked you to feed over the July Fourth weekend, when I was out of town?”
    Sarah sighed. “You want me to feed Charlie.”
    “Not…well, no.” Becky shrugged. “His litter box is just behind the…”
    “NO.”
    Becky looked at her. “Well, it will get you out of work early, won’t it?” she said like she was conferring a favor.
    Sarah stared at the key, at the pile of presentation booklets, at Jacob who was staring at Becky like she was possessed. She didn’t even have any inflection in her voice when she spoke.
    “Becky, I quit. I completely, utterly, totally quit. ” She grabbed her purse. “I’m through paying my dues, I’m not growing up, and fuck peace within the storm!”
    Sarah made it home safely, guessing that it was probably due to whichever saint it was that watched over drunks, tramps and stupid twats who stuck to jobs long past the point of abuse. Martika was blessedly still at work when she got home at twelve-thirty. She took off her clothes and burrowed under her covers naked. She wandered through the living room at around three naked, to pee, then promptly went back to sleep. She finally emerged at around seven, realizing she was hungry. She’d been crying in her sleep…she’d left makeup on, and there were rings of mascara around her eyes. She looked like she’d been beat up.
    She rummaged through the fridge. There was some Chalula, the hot sauce that Martika used on pretty much everything, and a few takeout containers. God knows how long they’d been in there. There weren’t even any ingredients to cook anything. She rattled through the cupboards, finally producing mushroom-flavored ramen. She cooked that on the stove, yawning as she tied her terry-cloth robe more tightly around her. She then picked up the phone, dialing Benjamin’s work number.
    “Benjamin Slater.”
    “I quit my job.”
    She heard him sigh, and she sighed in return. “What happened?” he asked, in an exhausted tone of voice.
    She went through everything, from the copying to the litter box. “I can’t believe she asked me to do that,” she finished, repeating “I can’t believe” for about the fiftieth time in the whole story. She still reeled from the shock of it.
    “Well, it’s obviously a done deal,” Benjamin said, still with that tired note in his voice. She knew he’d been working hard,but dammit, a little more righteous indignation was called for, a little voice told her. “So now what are you going to do?”
    “I don’t know,” Sarah said woodenly. “Find another job, I suppose.”
    “That would seem like the best course of action.”
    “You could be a little more…I don’t know, helpful,” Sarah complained.
    “I don’t know how I can be,” he said. “I mean, you just quit your job with no notice and walked out saying something about ‘fuck inner peace’ or whatever. I don’t know how I can help you out of something like that.”
    This was so him Sarah thought, then she was starting to fume. “Why don’t you try telling me something cheerful, then?” she suggested acidly. “You know, like ‘I really miss you’ or ‘I’ll see you soon.’ You know. Boyfriend-fiancé kind of stuff.”
    “I miss you,” he said. “And actually, I will see you soon.” He took a deep breath, and his voice took on an intonation of pride. “I got it. I got the promotion.”
    Sarah shut the burner off with a click. “What?”
    “I got the promotion. I’ll be head of the L.A. office.”
    Sarah beamed. “Oh,