LITMIR.BIZ

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      She discreetly checked her jeans zipper.

      Maybe it’s because I’m here by myself, she thought. She noticed there were at least twosomes at most tables, usually more.

      Next time, she told herself, she’d bring a book. If there were a next time.

      He took her to a minuscule table in the corner, half obscured by a potted plant. She took a menu and sat. At least from her duck-blind vantage point she got to look around, which was nice. Nobody famous yet, but it was only, what, eight or so? She imagined they’d probably come out later. Somewhat like vampires.

      The thing she noticed immediately was that the restaurant was predominantly filled with men…all well dressed, she noticed, in that stylish, edgy way that seemed very “MTV.” You wouldn’t see guys dressed like this in Fairfield. At least, not in a café, for dinner.

      She turned her attention to the menu. Her stomach grumbled. The place smelled wonderful, and the desserts…what she could see in the glass case looked so good, she briefly considered having a dinner of chocolate cake with a side order of éclairs. Still, she was running on empty—she needed real food first, or she’d be twitching on the carpeted floor with a sugar rush all night.

      “What do you mean, there’s no table for me?” a flamboyant voice pierced the rumble of conversation. All eyes turned to the new arrival. Sarah turned, too, then gaped, momentarily ignoring the menu.

      He was one of the biggest men she’d ever seen. He had short hair that was obviously curly in its natural state—it waved over his forehead, obviously calmed by gel of some sort. He had big, dark eyes, broad shoulders, and like everyone else here, it seemed, his clothes were stylish. He was wearing black, shiny cargo pants and an almost metallic looking red shirt. He had two earrings in his right ear, and to her surprise, he had on black nail polish.

      “But I’m starving, Mitch,” he said, in a melodramatic whine, then winked at the maître d’. “Besides, I’m clubbing with Tika tonight, so I can’t wait two hours for a table!”

      The giant glanced around, then suddenly descended on her. “Is anybody sitting with you?”

      Goggling, she gathered enough presence of mind to shake her head.

      “Great. Then I’ll just have dinner with you. Hi,” he said, pulling up a chair and sprawling down heavily on it. “I’m Taylor.”

      She nodded, feeling overwhelmed. “S-Sarah,” she said.

      He beamed. “What a delicious voice! Like a Powerpuff girl. I love them. Did you know they were originally called the WhupAss Girls when they were just a student film? But of course, Cartoon Network wouldn’t let them stay that way…but I digress.” He looked at her. “You haven’t ordered yet, have you?”

      “Uh…no.” She glanced back down at the menu. “I’ve never eaten here before,” she ventured, “so I hadn’t decided.”

      “Never?” He sounded delighted. “Well, then, you’re in for a treat. Start with the corn bisque, then have a pizza…the barbecued chicken and gouda. It’s fantastic.”

      Her stomach growled, and she pressed a hand to it, embarrassed. “That sounds great.”

      “Obviously!” He looked her over. What was it with that look? But he was less disparaging, and smiled. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

      You think? “Well, I am now.” She smiled weakly. “I just moved in. Up the street.”

      “Really?” She wondered if he ever sounded disappointed about anything. “That’s great. I live right up the street, myself! Oh, hold on a sec. That’s a friend of mine.” He got up and maneuvered his way across the room, managing to catch the eye of every person in the restaurant. Which, Sarah supposed, was the point. “Michael! It’s been way too long. Why weren’t you at Beer Bust?”

      Sarah watched in amazement as he exuberantly hugged the man in question, who was presenting another man to her dinner companion.

      Well, it beats eating alone.

      The waiter walked over to her. “Made your decision?”

      She nodded. “Corn bisque,” she repeated dutifully, “and the barbecued chicken pizza.”

      He smiled again, that sort of slick, polite smile.

      “Oh, but he’s sitting with me,” she said, as the waiter started to walk away. “He hasn’t ordered yet.”

      “He doesn’t have to,” the waiter said, with a little sneer in his voice. “He gets the same thing every time.”

      “Oh.” The food here had better be damned good, she thought, because the service definitely leaves something to be desired.

      Taylor was back in a matter of minutes. “Great guy, that Michael.”

      “He seemed nice.” Sarah didn’t know what else to say.

      He grinned at her, then winked. “Next time, I’ll have to introduce you. We’re practically neighbors, after all.” He sighed gustily. “I’ve been going on and on. You look like a little drowned rat, no offense, with not a friend in the world. So what’s your story, little girl?”

      “I didn’t know it rained in L.A.,” she said in her defense, “or I would have brought an umbrella.”

      He grinned at her. “So you don’t know L.A. Where are you from?”

      “Fairfield.”

      His brows raised. She wondered briefly if he had them plucked—they looked like perfect arches. “Fairfield? Where is that? Out in the valley?”

      She shook her head. “No. It’s up by Sacramento, sort of. Well, closer to…well, it’s in Northern California,” she said, realizing if he thought it were in “the valley” he didn’t know the area at all.

      “Oh, Northern Cal,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Well, that explains the clothes, at least. So you just moved down today? Are you…no, you’re not an actress.”

      “How do you know?”

      “Not a high enough bitch factor, to be perfectly honest. I mean, you could be an actress, but I doubt you’re a very successful one…of course, L.A. is full of those, too. Besides, you look like you have too much money.”

      She didn’t know if she should be insulted by Taylor’s reasoning or not, so she chose not to be. The corn bisque had arrived, and she sampled it, sighing deeply.

      “Told you,” Taylor said smugly.

      “It’s wonderful,” she said, trying her best not to gobble it down. She didn’t want to know what Taylor would say about deplorable table manners.

      Taylor looked at her, his head tilted to one side. “You know,” he said, taking a spoonful of his own bisque and tasting it, “I’ve decided to like you.”

      She smiled, the aches from moving momentarily forgotten. “Thanks. That’s nice.”

      “And of course, you’re going to like me, so there it is,” he said, and she laughed…she couldn’t help it. He motioned for the waiter to come over. “I like her,” he said expansively. The waiter simply smiled, much more friendly and simpering, Sarah noted. “We’re going to need some wine.”

      Sarah stopped him, alarmed. “Oh, no, really, I couldn’t…”

      He stared her into silence. “Nonsense. You’re getting a Tayler welcome to L.A. Get me a bottle of that Ravenwood cab, would you? Thanks,” he said, dismissing the waiter, who just nodded and turned silently.

      “Now then,” Taylor said, all but rubbing his hands together. “Being such good friends and all, you need to tell me your whole life, beginning to end. Leave out no detail. I want to know everything.”

      The master

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