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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is not intended. All licensed products mentioned in this work are trademarks of their respective companies.
Maid For Martin
Chapter 1
Maids 101
Randi Sanders stood by her smoking pile of junk, tapping her foot, trying to clean the oil from her hands. When the cabby slowed and stopped she got in.
“You can’t just leave your car here, they’ll tow it,” The man chimed as she closed the door.
“That’s fine with me. I need to get to 5th and Washington ASAP. If you get a speeding ticket on the way I’ll pay it.”
“Sure you will, and my name’s Elvis.”
Randy reached into her pocket, pulled out her last hundred dollar bill, and held it out where the cabby could see it. “You get me there before two and this is yours, Elvis.”
The man didn’t bother looking at the clock. He did a u-turn on the four-way street and gave the old cab the gas. "Elvis" didn’t bother with the usual chitchat, but while they sat at a light he held up his card. “You ever get in another jam, call me. I’ll go just about anywhere for the right price.”
Randi took the card, pushing it into her pocket. “Good to know, since old Betsy just died.” Neither of them said another word until the cabby double-parked long enough for her to slide out in front of 5th and Washington.
He was about to say something about his being late. It was two after two, but she cut him off. “Close enough, Elvis, thanks for trying.” She dropped the bill in the seat and took off, barely hearing the cabby thank her as she slammed the car door shut.
She ran across the street to the Maids 101 entrance. The bell rang as she entered and Nancy Dials spoke without looking up. “You’re late.”
“I know. Couldn’t be helped.”
Nancy finally looked up and leaned back in her chair. “What happened? You’re a mess.”
“The car finally died. When something like that goes wrong, dad always just raises the hood, wiggles a few wires, and it comes back to life. All I did was get dirty.”
“Dirty isn’t the word. You have oil on your pants, your shirt, and a bit on your face.”
“I didn’t have time to clean up. I’m late as it is.”
“Not too late. You’re my only hope today. Take this application and go on in. I’ll excuse the tardiness, but you have to get some dependable transportation.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Randi held out her right hand - it was mostly clean - and took the paper.
“Don’t take time to wash. I need someone this evening.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Randi took the application to work for the Martin Taylor household and walked into the testing room.
The seats reminded her of going back to school. Maids 101 didn’t want their applicants looking over their neighbors’ shoulder during the testing, so they’d picked up some chair-and-desk sets from the local flea market.
Five maids had shown up for the positions that were to be filled. Randi moved to a desk and sat down. As she glanced around the room, some of the girls gave her dirty looks. Most of them knew her, and knew she almost always got the best jobs.
Every time the option to clean a new house came available the maids would be asked to fill out an application. It would have random questions about the applicant. 101 wanted to know if you knew the actor personally, if you were a fan, or if you’d heard about the person in question.
The point was to see if the maid hired for the job could and would be able to act in a normal manner around the actor. As Randi looked at the other applicants, she thought back to the girl that was fired last week.
She'd been placed in Pitt's house, knowing very well who he was. When Brad came walking in she freaked and started asking for his autograph. She was asked to leave and taken to the Maids 101 office. They reviewed her application, realized she lied, and canned her butt.
This job paid way too much for Randi to think about doing something like that. She hadn’t watched TV or read any entertainment magazines in the last five years. She enjoyed her job and was planning on keeping it as long as possible.
Whenever anyone started talking about his or her favorite TV show or some new Hollywood actor, she would leave or ask them to change the subject. It wasn’t the easiest thing, but if you didn’t know someone as an actor, it was easier to treat him or her as someone who was not famous.
Fortunately, she’d been raised in a strict home, and she hadn’t watched a lot of TV over the years. She was perfect for this job and thanked her lucky stars that she'd found it.
As she looked over the list, she studied the shows and movies the actor Martin Taylor had starred in. She tapped the pen on her chin. None of them rang any bells. She filled out the paperwork and rose from her chair. One of the other candidates, a new hire, spoke up.
“You’re done already? Is there some part we can skip? I’m Brandy, by the way.”
Lori Jensen spoke before Randi could answer. The two of them didn’t get along at all. You could hear the sneer in her tone. “She’s one of Nancy’s pets. She’s a religious zealot. She never watches TV or anything . . . boring.”
Randi looked at Brandy. “I don’t go to church, nor do I consider my family advocates against TV in general. Mom and dad just thought it was unhealthy to sit in front of a box for hours on end. I’ve also filled out several of these. I don’t watch TV or keep up with the glamor of Hollyweird, so I can skip through most of the form.”
“Whatever,” Lori said, going back to her paper.
Randi ignored Lori and smiled at Brandy. “Also, I advise you not to lie. Nancy has been known to pull out the old lie detector now and then.” Randi ignored the dirty look Lori had given her, turned, and walked into Nancy’s office.
She knew if they did a random test on her that she'd pass. This Martin dude was no one to her. She stood waiting for Nancy to look over the papers, thinking that this money would have to go toward new transportation.
It would be a weekend stay-over situation for a family gathering, and if she played her cards right, she could end up with a permanent position.
The gig would pay well, and she could use the money she’d make on a bike. She loved to ride, and it would be cheaper than a car. A Harley would be nice. An image of sitting on the back of a newly-shined baby-blue Harley formed in her mind as Nancy spoke.
“Everything looks in order. It's been a while since we tested you.” Nancy looked up, her red hair pulled into a tight bun. Nancy also had the bad habit of tapping her pen on her chin. She looked from the paper back to Randi. “I'm not going to waste our time. You've never caused us any issues in the past five years . . . don't start now.”
“I won't. When do I leave?” Randi asked. “I need to go home and get cleaned up.”
“Not so fast. I need to know a few things first.”
“What don't you know about me already?”
“Are you dating anyone? This Martin is a handsome fellow, and one of the requests was that the girl be homely, or dating, and you're not. In your file, there's nothing about you having issues with being harassed. Mr. Taylor has a 'woman friend', and she's been known to be the jealous type.
“If she starts cursing or yelling – I need to know that you'll take it, that you won't fly off the handle.”
“No problems there, she can call me any name in the book. I won't care. I'll pull my hair up and find some ugly glasses. I can ugly down if the need arises.”
Nancy laughed. “You do that, and if there are no issues over the next few weeks—”
“Weeks? I thought this was a weekend deal.”
“It was,” Nancy began, “but we got the request an hour ago. The get-together will start Friday and go until New Year's Day. The Taylors are planning for family to stay over, and decided they could use the extra help. Are you still in? I really need you to do this.”
“Would I get off Christmas?” Randi crossed her arms, thinking it really didn’t matter.
“I doubt it. I can try to get holiday pay. Would that keep you on board?”
“Sure. Has there been any change in the payment arrangements? Same pay, per day?” Randi smiled. That blue Harley was getting even closer.
“You bet, and this looks like it could become a regular job so show them what you’re made of. The usual rules come into play here, too. You treat Mr. Taylor like a king but don't show any attraction to the man. No staring, touching, nothing. Pretend you’re gay if you must.”
“You got it. Is there only one position?” Randi recalled the dirty look Lori gave her.
“No, I need at least one more girl, but I doubt any of those will pass muster. This one can’t have any mistakes so if no one else shows up, work hard enough for two.”
“I can do that. When do I leave?”
“Be here at five. The mistress of the house is a bear. No, make that four-thirty. Be packed, look the part, and don't be late. The limo will be here at five sharp.”
“Limo?”
“Yes, Limo. I talked to Celia Carson, the mistress of the house, and she said she’d be sure to have you girls picked up in the limo. Don’t forget, go to the side entrance. Last week, we had a couple of girls show up at the front door.”
“That’s not good.”
“No it wasn’t. It’s hard to find good help these days." Nancy smiled, “Present company excluded.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime. Now go make me proud. This is an important gig.”
“I will.”
“And don’t forget to clean up.” Nancy smiled and went back to work.
Randi looked down at her messy clothes, took out the card Elvis had given her, and called him. She might be in a cab now, but later she’d be riding in style.”
Chapter 2
Martin Taylor
Martin Taylor ran his fingers through his brown hair. He turned to look at his own reflection in the mirror. His mother would be here in a few days, and she would tell him he needed to get a haircut. You’re starting to look like a girl, she would say.
He would kiss her on the cheek and ignore her comments. His hair wasn’t long enough to make a girly ponytail, and unless it was for a movie, it never would be. A shave might be in order before she arrived. Surprisingly, his dad never mentioned the hair, or the crazy things that got reported in the papers.
His mother, on the other hand, always hated anything that put him in a bad light. Time and time again he told her it was a part of the job, and that he paid it no mind. However, mothers were mothers, and they forever would want to protect their children. He finally learned to adjust to that fact.
Seeing his family would be great. Getting the house ready wouldn’t be. Martin looked over the list. He hated ‘to do’ lists, and Celia Carson, his girlfriend, loved making them. At least, there was no ‘take out the trash’ on her 'honey do' list. He mentally started down the inventory of chores, but his heart wasn’t in it.
The sun and beautiful day were calling to him. He wanted to be in the pool, on the veranda, or on the bike, anywhere but here, looking at this list. Women loved to make lists, and loved to put the things they should be doing off on the men in their lives.
Martin glanced at his phone lying on the desk as it rang. His Mother's smiling face flashed on the screen. He let it ring two more times as he looked over the list. He didn’t like planning things. He liked spontaneity.
He understood they needed to plan for Christmas dinner, but Celia wanted to plan every meal from Christmas day to New Year's Eve, and she wanted him to help.
How was he going to stand this many people in his new home over the holidays? He reached for the phone, looking out at the setting sun. He’d wanted to take his family to Colorado for Christmas, but no, Celia had talked him into throwing the party of his life at his new home.
The house wasn’t decorated. Some rooms needed curtains or linens. They would need the three maids Celia kept ranting about because in three days guests would begin to arrive.
Martin picked up his Bluetooth. From a few days before Christmas to New Year's Day, his house would be full and running over with his family and Celia’s. He wanted to fast-forward to New Year's Day, when everyone would be leaving. After slipping on his Bluetooth, he spoke. “Hi, mom.”
“Hi yourself. How are you? Is Celia driving you crazy about the party yet? I know this was not your idea.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t,” Martin laughed, “and, yes. She’s driving me nuts. Today it’s the menu. You know she can’t cook, and she’s falling apart thinking the party will be a disappointment to everyone.”
“Martin. You know I love you, but I just don’t understand. Why Celia? The two of you are so different.”
“Maybe your opinion will change when you meet her.” Inwardly, Martin groaned. He could see it now: women arguing, children crying, and the men going hungry.
“Unless you’ve given me a drastically incorrect image of this woman, I don’t see my opinion changing. She can’t cook. She won’t clean or do the laundry. I don’t dare even dream of grandchildren. Sorry, but I just don’t understand.”
Martin sighed. His mother didn’t pull any punches, and he hated to admit it, but hearing the description of Celia didn’t make her sound like a promising bride. “It’s not that bad,” he lied. “Things have changed. People don’t cook. They eat out.”
“Are you saying you want to spend the rest of your life eating out? Wasting money? Has she ever cooked you breakfast or anything? Can you see her changing and wanting children a few years from now? I know you love kids.”
“I don’t plan things out. You know I hate that.”
“I know, and that’s always irritated me. You don’t get that from my side of the family. You should be dating someone like Patricia or Julia from our hometown, Church Lane girls. They would cook for you, clean your house -- not curse you or call your family names.”
Martin’s brows shot up, so she did hear Celia’s comments last week. He’d tried to take his mother off speaker phone but wasn’t quick enough. “Mom, I don’t live in Canada now, and you just caught Celia at a bad time. She doesn’t think you’re narrow-minded or old-fashioned.”
Lillian laughed. “Don’t lie to me. I heard her, and you know good and well I’m old-fashioned. And maybe I am narrow-minded, but she’s lazy and a bit about herself.”
“What does that mean?" Martin chuckled. “Celia’s confident, business-minded, and attractive.”
“It means pretty is as pretty does. It’s not about your looks. It's about how you treat people, and how you look inside that counts. I’m trying not to judge by what I’ve heard, but you haven’t made it easy.”
“Me? What have I done?”
“It’s not what you’ve done, it’s what you’ve said and not said. I never hear you mention what you’ve done for your friends or neighbors. Since you started dating Celia, you’ve stopped donating your time to charity. I never hear you mention doing much of anything. When was the last time you went riding, or camping? She’s changing you, Martin, and I don’t like it.”
Martin rose, walking barefoot to the balcony, looking over the grounds. The sun was going down, and a slight breeze rustled the tips of his hair. Talking to his mother was making him homesick for cold weather, snow, fishing, and ice-surfing.
Her voice, too, was making him homesick. He didn’t dare mention it. She often complained that he could turn accents on and off at will. She always thought he was ashamed of his homeland, but it wasn’t that at all. It was just that in his line of work, most jobs called for an American accent.
He got his mind back on the conversation and answered her. “I haven’t changed. I give plenty of money to charity. Celia does too. I know we’re opposites, but it works.”
“Does it? Martin, opposites attract, but the question is can they or should they co-exist? While we’re on the topic, I want you to know I will not stay under your roof if you, and Celia are sharing a room.”
Martin returned inside and ran his fingers through his hair. “Do we have to go there?”
“Yes. We do. I know it’s old-fashioned, but if you want me to be a guest at your home—”
“I understand and I’ll comply.” Martin had never told his mother that he and Celia were living together, but, along with other things, she’d figured it out.
“Good,” She added. “I apologize if you think I’m over-stepping some boundary, but I will not apologize for my beliefs.”
“I understand. I don’t have a problem with it.” He knew Celia would, but he would cross that bridge when he had to.
“I know you’re a grown man, but you will always be my child. I didn’t call to pick. Sorry about that. I called to let you know our reservations are ready. We should be there Friday.”
“Good. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Same here. Now I should go finish packing. I love you, Martin, and I don’t mean to criticize. Marriage is a huge step. I want you to think this through. I assume we’re coming together for more than a dinner. It just worries me if she’s not the one.”
Martin said his good-byes and ended the call. Was everyone expecting an engagement announcement? He hoped not. He wasn’t planning on one. His brow furrowed. Was Celia thinking the same thing?
He shook his head and picked up the list. He needed to get busy. There was paperwork to do, a script he needed to finish reading, and as he glanced toward the clock, trying to remember the last time he ate . . . it hit him . . . the help. He had to make sure someone went to pick up the maids.
Where in the world had the time gone? He should have called the limo service an hour ago and arranged for the maids to be picked up. He'd promised Celia he'd do that before she went to get her hair done.
He picked up his phone but shook his head, pushing it into his pocket. There was no time. He buttoned up the white shirt he was wearing, slipped on a pair of socks and tennis shoes, and took the steps two at a time.
He went into the kitchen, grabbed the keys to the old Ford, and went out through the garage door. He pulled out the address from his pocket, read it, memorized it, and was on his way.
Chapter 3
Limo Driver
Randi stood looking down the lane. Good thing she was wearing her working shoes. The limo driver was late, and she was getting hungry. Instead of taking time to eat, she'd gone home and as Nancy suggested, uglied down.
She was wearing her Maids 101 uniform. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun. She had on only a little makeup, and had found an ugly pair of glasses she'd used at Halloween. The pants were not tight, and the smock did nothing to flatter her close-to-perfect figure.
She had everything she would need in the two bags that sat at her feet. This was the perfect job. She loved overnight stays in a fancy home. The work would be hard, but the pay would be the best.
There was supposed to be at least one more maid, but Nancy hadn't found anyone she thought suitable. She never sent a maid whom she couldn’t trust to a job. Three of her other regular, most dependable maids were off for vacation. One of them, Sandy, was having a baby. Not much of a vacation, Randi mused.
This job wouldn’t have worked for Sandy anyway, because the maids had to be away from home Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day. Randi didn’t have kids so this wasn’t a problem. The money would be good, and she could find plenty of things to spend it on. Her mother wouldn’t like it, but her dad would understand.
She tapped her foot, hoping the limo would come soon. She was starving. Most of the time these fancy mansions had plenty of food, but she didn’t want to show up and hit the refrigerator first thing. She was going to ask the driver if they could stop by a fast food joint and pick something up.
If he didn’t want her eating in the limo, she would understand. Unless he was on a time limit, there would be no rush in getting to the estate. She wasn’t due in until the next morning. She was even willing to buy his supper.
She kicked at a rock and glanced at her watch. Why wasn’t anyone on time? She took out her iPhone and was about to play a game of Crazy Birds when she heard something coming.
She furrowed her brow and looked over the top of the old glasses at the approaching vehicle. It was definitely not a limo. It wasn’t even a current model. She tilted her head, trying to guess what year the old truck was, and pushed her glasses back into place, ready to dismiss the truck, when much to her surprise, it came to a stop.
“Great, so they’re not as well off as Nancy said,” Randi sighed, resigning herself to the idea that she would not be riding in a limo today, and picked up her bags.
She paid little mind to the man in the truck as she walked by the open passenger’s window. “Taylor’s limo driver, right?” She made this comment in mock humor. She placed her bags into the back of the truck and heard the door slam.
“Sorry about the limo. I was running late so I brought this beauty.”
“No biggie.” Randi adjusted her bags in the corner of the bed of the pickup and turned to face the driver. “It is a beauty . . . ” she began, but stopped as she turned. She had not been expecting to be facing one of the best-looking men she'd seen in her life. Her mouth dropped open. She was sure it had, though she closed it as fast as she could. “It is a beauty,” she finished.” Is it a 1960?”
“Sixty-five. How did you know that?” he asked.
“My dad had one. How many miles you got on it?”
“Over a million.”
“Oh, it's new, huh?” This won her a laugh and a beautiful smile. Pearly white teeth framed by a nice mustache and beard, she could think all day long about how that would tickle in a good kiss. She moved her eyes and forced a quick smile. “So, limo guy, you're late. I was here thirty minutes early, so the way I see it you owe me lunch.”
“What? How do you get that?” The man crossed his arms and smiled.
“I was early. I missed lunch to be on time, so I didn't hold you up. You were late, keeping me from lunch, so you owe me. I like burgers and fries. I'll even pay. Just take me to some food. Most of these rich people never have anything worth eating, so let's hit a burger joint before we head back.”
He seemed hesitant. “I’m not sure we have time.”
“Is old man Taylor that bad? Oh, come on, you can tell him we got stuck in traffic.” Randi turned to pull on the door handle, but nothing happened. “Don't tell me I have to ride in the back?”
“No. Go around to the other side and slide in.” Randi nodded, took a slight glance at the man's nicely tanned skin sneaking through a missing button on his shirt and did as he said. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. She wasn't supposed to look, or touch, or flirt with Mr. Taylor, but no one said a thing about the gorgeous, scruffy-looking limo driver.
*****
Once they were in the truck and moving, Martin turned towards his companion. He couldn’t help but laugh as he looked at the girl. “Tell me, what’s with the glasses?”
“I forgot I had these on. Do you think they’re too much?” He nodded as she took them off. “I was told to ugly down, that Taylor had a live-in-love that was jealous.”
“Is that so?” Martin pulled up to a red light, waiting his turn. Was she kidding? Could she really not know who he was? It was strange. The last series he’d been on had been canceled, but it was a hit with the fans. “So you’ve never watched any of Mr. Taylor’s shows or movies?”
The girl looked at her glasses, shrugged and pushed them into a large purse she was carrying. “I don’t watch TV or movies. I wouldn’t know the man if I met him on the street. What’s he like? Is he as crabby as most rich men are?”
Martin didn’t know what to say. He looked at the light. He was still thinking when she spoke. “I’m not going to rat on you. I just want to know what to expect. They gave me strict instructions. Stay away from Taylor. I don’t mess with spoken-for men anyway, but I need this job. I don’t want to make waves.”
“He’s not that bad,” Martin found himself saying. What am I doing? He should just tell her that he was Martin Taylor. She would find out soon enough, and then he’d feel like a heel.
“That’s good to know. But he’s to be avoided at all costs. You now, on the other hand . . . ” She gave him a smile and turned to face him. “Are you married?” The light turned green and Martin felt like he was in one of his own movies. He looked forward and spoke. “I’m not married.”
“Good, then you won’t mind stopping over there. I was serious. I’m starved. You have no idea how much stress it brings on working for these uppity-ups. Mind you, I love the money, and the homes are something else, but it’s a lot of stress.”
Again he started to speak, but she went on. “I’m sure you know what I mean. You drive for him, right? Is he really picky? A bear if you’re late five minutes? I bet he drives you crazy at times. And what about the lady of the house? I bet she gives you the eye.”
“She does,” Martin smiled. He was beginning to enjoy this game. “All the time.”
“Women like that are never satisfied. They’re dating some rich man, and sleeping with the . . .” She stopped talking, and as he pulled into the drive-thru, he turned and looked at her. There was a slight smile playing on her lips.
“What?” He asked.
“I’ve been going on and on, and it just hit me. You might be having a thing with her. Here I am talking about her like she’s a dog. I don’t normally do this. I think I’m food-deprived.” She moved to her purse, started digging around, and pulled out a twenty. “I’m buying. What do you want?”
“That’s okay. I’m not hungry.”
“I’m not eating alone, so what do you want? Tell me or I’ll order you something and force you to eat it.”
“Okay, order me a milkshake and a burger.” Martin laughed, but as they pulled into the drive thru and the beauty by his side leaned over, talking to the machine, things started to be . . . not so funny.
He could smell her perfume, and if he wasn’t careful he might look down and see more than she intended. He felt uncomfortable and moved his right arm from the steering wheel, hoping to make things better, but it didn’t.
Now she was leaning over more. Her left hand rested on the doorframe of the truck. Her arm pressed lightly against his chest. She was busy reading the menu and talking to the lady in the window. He wondered if she had any idea she was making him very uncomfortable.
Maybe that was it. Maybe she did know who he was, and was trying to get him into a compromising position. The tabloids would love that. He looked around for someone with a camera but didn’t see anyone.
She straightened, seemed to notice for the first time how close they were, but only smiled and held out the twenty. “Are you?” She said, still staying close.
“Am I what?” He asked.
“Are you sleeping with her? You know, the lady of the house.” Her voice was barely a whisper and a cute smile played at the corner of her lips.
“Do you really want to know?” She was flirting, and he was flirting right back. While they waited for the food neither of them spoke. Electricity crackled between them.
“I don’t guess it matters,” she said.
Why didn’t he just tell her? Yes, I’m sleeping with Celia. Forget the fact he was Martin Taylor. He had every right to be sleeping with Celia. Well, not according to his mother. She would say it was sinful to be living with Celia when the two of them were not married.
Was it the cross at her neckline, or his conversation with his mother, that was reminding him he was a sinner? Maybe he was just feeling guilty that he’d been flirting with this young woman. Either way it would all end as soon as they got to the house, and someone called out . . . "Mr. Taylor".
Chapter 4
Randi Sanders
After eating her lunch Randi couldn’t help but wonder if she’d said too much. She did tend to talk on and on when she was hungry or nervous. Now that she was topping off the meal with a sundae her mind wandered over their conversation.
As she sat, eating and bumping elbows with the man, she knew she’d said too much. It was none of her business if was he sleeping with the "missus" of the house. Should she go back over that again, try to apologize, or just let it go?
Now and then they would glance at each other. The man had deep-blue eyes, and it was moments like this when she wished she had a steady man in her life.
Flirting, also, would need to come to an end with this hottie. She wasn’t about to start acting like a schoolgirl, even if he was that cute. If he was cheating, which he hadn’t denied, she didn’t want anything to do with him.
She glanced toward the man by her side. He was handsome, well-built, more than likely broke. Still, those blue eyes and that dark hair could make a woman forget her good senses.
She put her mind on her ice cream and finished eating. Once done, she stuffed the container into the dinner bag and glanced up as they started to make a right. “Are we there?”
“Just about.”
Randi toyed with the strap on her purse and after a second or two made up her mind and spoke. “I apologize. It’s none of my business what you do. Those of us in the working class have to stick together, so forget I said anything, and we’ll start over.”
As they pulled into the driveway, Randi knew her mind should be on the job, the pool in the backyard, or at the least on the nice-looking Harley sitting inside the garage. However, at the moment none of this seemed as appealing as the man by her side.
Randi watched as the limo driver pulled in front of the two-car garage. He parked the truck, took the keys out of the ignition, and climbed out. She took him in from head to toe, then slid out behind him and held out her hand.
“Can we start over? Randi Sanders at your service.” She waited as he looked at her. He nodded, took her hand, and spoke.
“Nice to meet you, Randi. I’d like to start over too. I’m sorry I was late, sorry I didn’t have the limo so you could ride in style, and I’m sorry I didn’t answer your question . . . It’s just that—”
“I know. It’s none of my business. We’re starting over, remember?” Randi interrupted before he could answer. A part of her didn’t want to know that he was off limits. She smiled and reluctantly let go of his hand.
“It doesn’t matter. We’re both working for the Taylor’s, and it was nice to meet you. Thanks for the ride,” she said, dismissing the handsome driver, doubting she’d see him again. She walked to the other side of the truck, took out her bags, and turned for what she guessed would be a last look at the limo driver.
It was best this way. She didn’t even know his name. He would forever be that hot guy who picked her up in the beat-up Ford. She smiled as he walked around to the truck. His hair was rustling in the wind, his shirtfront still was missing that one button, and the man should never wear anything but white.
Thinking that she was staring, she gave him a fresh smile and turned, going toward the back entrance. The help never walked through the front door of a place like this.
Her mind pushed on, trying to remember why she was here. She was the help. She was the maid, and she wasn’t here to have fun or fall in love. Randi Sanders was here to do what she did best: cook, clean, and organize. The Taylor’s were paying her well, and she would be sure that they got their money’s worth.
*****
Martin didn’t know what to think. He’d wanted to tell Randi Sanders, his new live-in-maid, his real identity. But she wouldn’t let him. “I think she had too much caffeine today.” He shook his head and went inside.
He tried to work out in his mind what he would say to Randi the first time she saw him with Celia. But nothing came. She’d more than likely think he was playing with her, even though he’d never meant to mislead her.
Two hours later as he stepped out of the shower and started drying off, Randi was still on his mind. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stood in front of the full-length mirror. How long had it been since a woman looked at me like that?
It wasn’t the fact that she thought he was hot, but that she had no idea who he was. She wasn’t trying to impress him, or see what she could get. It was just a boy-meets-girl, two people attracted to each other, both are nervous kind of thing. Still, it was great.
Martin dried off, slipped into his pants and walked into the bedroom to find a shirt. Celia stood on the balcony, on the phone again. She turned as he came out but paid him no mind. He glanced down. He was wearing no shirt, no shoes, and his pants weren’t buttoned. He shook his head, and his mind went back to the look Randi had given him.
At least, some women still found him attractive. He tried to think of the last time Celia looked at him as if she wanted to rip his shirt off. Here he was standing right under her nose, and she’d barely looked his way. He guessed he’d done the same thing to her at some point.
He slipped into his shirt, pushed the idea of allowing Randi to do anything to him out of his mind, and sat down, reaching for his shoes. He had his socks on and one shoe by the time Celia walked over and sat down. She turned to look at him, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulders. “I talked to Emma as I came into the kitchen. She said they only sent one maid over.”
“Isn’t that enough for now? The party isn’t for several days, and we have Emma working on getting more help.” Martin slipped on his other shoe.
“I don’t know. We have about six rooms that need decorating. We need at least three trees—”
“Three trees? Why so many?” Martin rose, stuffing his dark blue shirt into his pants. He zipped up and then he slipped on his belt. “You’re turning this party into a nightmare. Christmas is supposed to be fun, not so much work. And, are you coming with me? You’re not getting dressed.”
“No. I have cards to send out and packages I want to get ready. I need to make about five phone calls, starting with the new caterer. Besides, I don’t like your agent, Bill. That’s who you’re meeting, right?”
“Yes. We’re going to talk about that new film. I thought you were coming.”
“I never said that. You know I don’t like him.”
“You know that he can make or break this. I think it would look good if you went. I hate these meetings. I just want to act.”
“And get paid.” Celia said quickly. “And I’m not going. Bill gives me the creeps. You’ll be fine. If you like to act so much, act like this is a role. You’re the one that likes to role-play to keep your skills honed.”
Martin grabbed his jacket and walked toward the door. “You know, I’m getting tired of your attitude. My acting's what pays for all of this. It’s what’s going to pay for those three trees you want, and for this ridiculous nonsense of a party that you’re throwing. Oh, and by the way, I’m inviting Bill.”
Celia crossed her arms, and her dark blue eyes gave him a dirty look. “Why? You don’t like him either. You’re just doing this for spite.”
Martin picked up his jacket, house keys, phone and sunglasses. He started to go but then turned back, looking at her. “I’m doing it because I need this part. If you want to keep spending money like we’re made of gold, then you better put on a smile and act as if you’re happy to see him. Like him or not, he’s coming to the party.”
Chapter 5
Tweety Bird
The room was great. She could stay here for two weeks, easy. Randi sat down on the full-sized bed and looked around the room. The carpet was plush and a nightstand, a dresser, and her own private bathroom now held her items. There was no TV, but she had her iPhone if she needed anything.
Randi looked to the clock on the wall and sat up in bed. It was two a.m. She should be sleeping. She’d been given the security key to the Internet, and since she couldn’t sleep, she began writing out an email to her mother.
She’d learned a long time ago that taking pictures and sending them to family or friends wasn’t allowed, so she hadn’t taken any pictures of the home she was staying in.
She wanted to send a shot of the kitchen to her mom. Nothing would make her mother happier than to have an evening loose in the very clean, very organized, Taylor kitchen.
When done with the email, Randi laid her phone by her bed and picked up the clipboard. She glanced at tomorrow’s duties that Emma had given her. She’d overheard the lady of the house throwing a fit because Maids 101 had only sent over one female. Ms. Taylor had been expecting at least three women, but Maids was shorthanded so Randi was it for now.
Not long after she heard the discussion, she was able to speak with the household manager, Emma. She assured her that she would pull her weight and that the "missus" wouldn’t be disappointed. Emma seemed grateful and said as much.
Emma had given her a rundown of where she was allowed to go and what was expected of her. She would rise at seven and start working on the great room. Everything would need to be dusted and cleaned before they started with the decorations.
Randi had access to the kitchen at any time she needed. There would be no meals prepared for the help, but she was welcome to cold cuts or breakfast sandwiches that were in the kitchen.
Randi glanced at her watch and wondered if she would wake anyone if she slipped into the kitchen. She hoped not. She couldn’t sleep, and she needed something to eat. She rose from the bed, slipped into her house boots, and saw her reflection in the mirror. Tweety Bird stared back at her. The nightshirt was short, about six inches above her knee.
She twisted right and left, looking at her reflection. She had more clothes on than most women in those skimpy ads, and she wasn’t showing any cleavage. Randi shrugged and went to the kitchen. Peeking out into the hallway, she saw no one. The house was quiet. That was a good sign. One more look around and she made her way to the kitchen.
She stood, trying to make up her mind. She didn’t want a sandwich; didn’t want to run the microwave and make any noise. After peeking through all the cold cuts, fresh fruits, and protein drinks, she smiled and reached in, pulling out a vanilla pudding.
She bent over and stretched to the third shelf down. Pudding would hit the spot. Chocolate would be better, but then she’d have the caffeine to deal with. And she would have to get some milk too. That would be best. She could grab a spoon, and a cup of milk and sneak back to her room before anyone spotted her.
*****
Martin slammed the car door shut. He knew he should have insisted Celia go to his meeting. He hated showing up when everyone else had their wife, or live-in, with them. It made the whole evening uncomfortable and made him feel out of place.
He climbed out of the Mercedes and instead of going in the front entrance he went into the garage. He stopped as he walked by his bike. It was almost midnight, and he was in no mood to talk to Celia.
He glanced down at his shirt and dress slacks and walked to the garage bathroom. There he found what he needed hanging on the wall. Coveralls. They belonged to his good friend Mike and were one size too big. He put them on just the same.
After Martin slipped out of his clothes and into the clean but dirty-looking oilskins, he zipped up and walked toward the Harley. He didn’t do anything major when it came to the bike, but he liked to tinker around, changing the oil, plugs, and filters.
Martin turned on the radio and began to unwind as he got out the tools he’d need. Music always calmed his nerves and so did tinkering in the garage. He killed an hour re-arranging tools, cleaning off his work area, and then started working on the bike.
It’d been two weeks since he’d taken the bike out for a spin. He loved to ride. Out on the bike no one knew he was Martin Taylor. The full-face helmet kept his identity hidden. There was no mob of teens wanting his autograph and no wild women running up to him offering anything, and everything that one could imagine.
Still, the women would stare. Most women seemed to love a man on a Harley. He smiled as he thought of Randi. She’d been attracted to him. That was obvious. What would she do if she saw him on the bike? His mind drifted to the dark hair she’d pulled back in a bun and the smile that played on her lips almost every time she looked at him. It was if she had some secret, and she just couldn’t wait to share it.
Celia and he had been dating for close to nine months, and he was beginning to see that they weren’t as compatible as he’d hoped. He wasn’t ready to get married, like his mother thought, but he was getting tired of the differences that kept cropping up. They were becoming more and more evident in their daily life.
He was getting mad again just thinking about it. It was affecting his concentration. He picked up a bottle of oil and set it down by the bike. The bottle fell over, the lid popped off, and oil went everywhere. Martin cursed, quickly setting the bottle back up. He let out a frustrated breath and went on with his work.
As he began, what Bill had said as they had left the restaurant came to his mind. His agent was very vocal about Celia and her distaste for the movie industry. In Bill's words, "If Celia isn’t supporting you, she will only hold you back."
Those words kept playing through Martin’s mind, so much so, that it broke his focus. As he was taking the oil plug out to drain the oil, the wrench slipped, and he cut his right hand. It didn’t look deep, but it was bleeding so he rose from his position on the floor and went into the kitchen.
If memory served him right, there was a first-aid kit under the sink. He walked up four steps that led to a short entryway opening into the kitchen. Using his good hand, he opened the door and entered the dark hallway.
There was a light on in the kitchen, so he didn’t bother to turn on the hall light. As he took the few steps into the kitchen, he stopped. The cut on his hand left his thoughts, and a smile crossed his lips.
There, rummaging through his refrigerator was a black-haired beauty wearing a Tweety Bird nightshirt. A single brow shot up as he wondered who the girl was. It wasn’t Sue, Celia’s friend. Her legs weren't that nice. He stepped up to the sink, grabbed a napkin from the counter, and spoke. “Do you mind telling me who you are, and what you’re doing in my refrigerator just past two in the morning?”
Chapter 6
Nurse Maid
Randi was just reaching inside the refrigerator as someone behind her spoke. She jumped when she heard a man’s voice. She dropped her pudding. It went bouncing out the door and to the floor. Her brow furrowed, and she straightened. Of course, someone would catch her scrounging for a snack.
With her luck, it would be the man of the house, awake also looking for a late night, something to hold him over until breakfast. As she closed the door and turned, she reached down with one hand to tug on the bottom of her nightshirt.
When she met those blue eyes again she smiled, but the smile vanished at the sight of blood on the man’s hand. “What did you do to yourself?” Randi bent down, scooped up her pudding, set it on the table, and went to the sink.
“I think I cut myself.”
“Ok, Smarty-pants,” Randi added, “I can see that. Was it something dirty, old or rusty?”
“No, something pretty new and pretty clean.”
“Good.” Not asking, and trying to forget about her short gown, she took the limo driver's hand and turned the water on. “How long ago did you do this? You should always clean a cut, and wash it good.” She turned on the cold water and tugged his hand until it was under the water.
“Are you a nurse?” He asked.
Randi glanced at the man’s handsome face, then down to the name on his shirt. “No, Mike, but cold reduces swelling. You didn’t drip your blood all over my clean floor did you?”
“Maybe, maybe not. The floor wasn’t my biggest concern at the time.”
“I suppose it wasn’t.” Randi had a hard time not staring at the man. He was so good-looking. Even in those old oily-looking clothes. Man, I need a date, bad. Finally, after trying to recall the last time she had a night out, she spoke. “This might burn a bit.”
“If it does, I promise not to cry.”
Randi laughed at his attempt at humor, reached for the soap, squirted some on the palm of her hand, and began to wash the cut. She glanced up at the man and began to feel just a bit intimidated. She always chatted when she was nervous. She just hoped it didn’t show. “Tell me, Mike, are you the limo driver and the mechanic?”
“You could say that.” He said, leaning on the kitchen cabinet, which brought them even closer. This time when she turned, those eyes, and that body, were only inches away.
“Do you normally work this late?” Randi managed, trying to keep her mind on the man’s hand and not keep glancing back into those deep blue eyes, but it wasn’t easy.
“No, I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d change the oil in the Harley. Then I did this, instead.”
“You should be more careful.” Randi reached up, turning on the overhead light. She leaned over the sink, using both hands to wash away the blood and look at the cut. She knew this would make the gown shorter, but it couldn’t be helped.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him as he tilted his view. She wanted to comment on his being a Peeping Tom, but was too nervous to do so.
“What are you looking for?" He asked, leaning over the sink, confirming to her that he’d stopped peeking. It didn’t help though. She felt even more tension as his shoulder brushed hers.
Trying not to seem chatty or nervous, she spoke. “I had a coworker cut her hand a few weeks ago, and you could see white in the cut. It was her tendons. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t deep, and it’s not. You just managed to slice the surface.” When she straightened thankfully so did he, but they were still close. “Just the first layer. I forget what it’s called. Something 'dermis'.”
“I have no clue.” He watched her closely, and it made her nervous and energized at the same time.
Mike seemed amused that she was on edge. She guessed he knew his proximity was causing her to feel like a kid with a crush. He didn’t bother to help out by stepping back.
There was even a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. The word at last came out of the mist of her thoughts. “'Epidermis.' That’s it. The first layer of the skin. I read that not too long ago, at the same time Nancy cut her hand.”
The awkward silence came again and she put her attention back to rinsing off the soap. “Do you think I’ll live?” He asked, and she could hear a flirtatious tone in his voice. When she looked up he was smiling. She knew he’d been stealing a few looks at her legs. She was thankful she’d gotten some sun over the last few weeks, not to mention the Nair she’d used a few days ago.
“I think you’ll survive without stitches.”
“If you’re not a doctor or nurse how can I trust your prognosis? Maybe I should seek a second opinion.” He tugged lightly to get away from her grip, but she only gave him a dirty look, and he stopped.
“Get one if you want, but mine is free and there'll be no charge for a house call. After hours will really hit you in the wallet.”
“I do hate doctors, so it’s just as well. Patch me up and I’ll be good as new.”
“I’m trying. Is there a first-aid kit around?” Randi asked, turning the water off and letting go of Mike’s hand. He stepped back, reaching for a paper towel.
“Sure, under the sink.”
Randi opened the door, started to bend over and look for the kit, but instead she motioned toward the table. “Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
*****
Martin could have said no, but he didn’t want to. He was enjoying the attention. He doubted if Celia would walk, in, catching him in the act of nothing really, so he sat down at the table. He waited and kept his eyes on Randi as she sat down.
He thought it refreshing that she seemed modest about her short gown. She pulled it down as best she could and sat in the chair next to him. After she opened the kit, he stretched his hand out. “You asked me what I was doing up so late. Other than stealing pudding, why are you up at this hour?”
She pushed her hair back, scooted to the edge of her chair, and opened up the antibiotic cream. “I’m not stealing, and I couldn’t sleep. New job. Nerves are at a high, I guess.”
“What’s there to be nervous about? You’ll be cleaning house and putting up decorations. Are you afraid you’ll meet a scary dust bunny?” This won him a laugh and a smile.
“No, silly.” She took his hand in hers and they both grew quiet. It was as if touching him took all of her attention. His eyes studied her as she worked. She put some of the cream on her finger, turned his hand over, and spread the cream on the cut.
She must have known he was watching, for now and then she’d glance up to meet his gaze. Martin relaxed in the chair, enjoying the feather touch of her hand on his. “So why are you nervous about the job?”
“Oh yeah, I didn’t answer, did I?” She stopped talking for a second as she rummaged through the kit for something. She found a bandage and some gauze and finished her thought. “I’m always worried I’ll do something stupid. I’ll probably drop Mr. Taylor’s favorite Christmas ornament and break it into a thousand pieces.”
“Is it the fact that the Taylors are wealthy, or the fact that he’s a movie star?” Martin just couldn’t figure out if she was scamming him, or if she really didn’t have a clue who he was.
“The star quality doesn’t bother me because I’ve not seen any of his movies. It’s just the fact that people with money have power, and if you make a mistake, you could lose your job.”
“You haven’t seen any of his movies? None of them?” Martin found this hard to believe.
“I don’t watch much TV. It works well with this job. When I’m working for someone famous I have no clue, and I can treat them normally.”
“I see.” Well, if she was telling the truth that answered his question. But still, not watch TV in this day and age? “If you don’t watch TV, what do you do?”
“Read, go outside, swim, bike. I watch some TV, but I mostly stick to the older movies. I’m not likely to run into anyone that I would be working for.”
“I guess that would work. So you wouldn’t know Mr. Taylor if you met him on the street.” He wanted to see her reaction, look into her eyes, and try to see if she was lying.
“No, I wouldn’t. I work hard at ignoring those in the limelight. I know a few of the really huge stars, Pitt, Gere, Cruise, but I can manage to stay away from this newer crowd and the kind-of-famous, but not-so-famous group.”
“Ah, so you’re saying Taylor is a nobody.”
“That’s not what I said. Then again, I don’t really know.”
Martin leaned back, satisfied she was telling the truth. It was strange and fun that she had no idea who he was. It felt good and real, and as he watched her, he realized it was the most at ease he’d felt in a long time, maybe even years. When she glanced up from her work, he smiled, and she went on talking.
“Maids 101 always warns us girls to be careful, but this time, they just couldn’t say enough about how I needed to avoid Mr. Taylor. How I needed to stay away from him . . . well . . . we’ve been over this already.”
Randi grew quiet, and Martin knew she was recalling their conversation, about the fact that he was, or was not, sleeping with Celia. For the first time in months Martin wished he wasn’t sleeping with anyone.
He wished he could look this young woman in the eye and say, no, he wasn’t doing anything with the lady of the house. Nevertheless, he couldn’t, and since this couldn’t go anywhere, he didn’t question her further. He just sat watching and enjoying the attention as she bandaged and wrapped gauze around his hand.
A few minutes later she was finished. She looked at his hand and met his gaze. He could see regret in those pretty eyes, and as she stood she let her fingers slide over the back of his hand.
He wasn’t sure if it was reflex, or the feeling that something special was slipping through his fingers. No matter what it was, he reached up and held onto her hand.
What could he say? Was he about to leave Celia for a woman he’d just met? Was he thinking about cheating? “Thanks, for the help.” As his good sense came back he let go of her hand.
“You’re welcome.” She all but whispered as she walked past. Martin let out a deep breath, pressed his fingers against his forehead, and tried to work this out in his head. As he rose he noticed the pudding.
He picked it up and turned, but she was gone. A bit of his heart sank as the events of the day played through his mind. This beauty entered his life at a strange time. If he and Celia weren’t having troubles would he even be looking at Randi, or thinking about her?
Martin kept the pudding and took a spoon from the drawer. He turned out the lights and walked to the foot of the stairs. He looked to his left where Randi slept, and looked up the steps to where Celia lay. He felt he was at some kind of crossroads. He opened the pudding and took a spoonful.
Celia and he had been drifting apart, and their schedules at times were conflicting. As he took another bite of pudding, he tried to recall the last time they’d been intimated, and he couldn’t. Strange he hadn’t noticed until now.
He glanced back toward Randi’s room. The phrase 'out with the old and in with the new' came to mind. Things were going downhill with Celia, but that wasn’t an excuse to cheat.
He didn’t want Celia, and it would be easy at this moment to want Randi. This was one reason why he turned from the stairs and made his way across the living room and down a set of steps to the spare bedroom. It would be the first time he’d slept alone in months, but he had a feeling it would not be the last.
Maid For Martin
Chapter 1
Maids 101
Randi Sanders stood by her smoking pile of junk, tapping her foot, trying to clean the oil from her hands. When the cabby slowed and stopped she got in.
“You can’t just leave your car here, they’ll tow it,” The man chimed as she closed the door.
“That’s fine with me. I need to get to 5th and Washington ASAP. If you get a speeding ticket on the way I’ll pay it.”
“Sure you will, and my name’s Elvis.”
Randy reached into her pocket, pulled out her last hundred dollar bill, and held it out where the cabby could see it. “You get me there before two and this is yours, Elvis.”
The man didn’t bother looking at the clock. He did a u-turn on the four-way street and gave the old cab the gas. "Elvis" didn’t bother with the usual chitchat, but while they sat at a light he held up his card. “You ever get in another jam, call me. I’ll go just about anywhere for the right price.”
Randi took the card, pushing it into her pocket. “Good to know, since old Betsy just died.” Neither of them said another word until the cabby double-parked long enough for her to slide out in front of 5th and Washington.
He was about to say something about his being late. It was two after two, but she cut him off. “Close enough, Elvis, thanks for trying.” She dropped the bill in the seat and took off, barely hearing the cabby thank her as she slammed the car door shut.
She ran across the street to the Maids 101 entrance. The bell rang as she entered and Nancy Dials spoke without looking up. “You’re late.”
“I know. Couldn’t be helped.”
Nancy finally looked up and leaned back in her chair. “What happened? You’re a mess.”
“The car finally died. When something like that goes wrong, dad always just raises the hood, wiggles a few wires, and it comes back to life. All I did was get dirty.”
“Dirty isn’t the word. You have oil on your pants, your shirt, and a bit on your face.”
“I didn’t have time to clean up. I’m late as it is.”
“Not too late. You’re my only hope today. Take this application and go on in. I’ll excuse the tardiness, but you have to get some dependable transportation.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Randi held out her right hand - it was mostly clean - and took the paper.
“Don’t take time to wash. I need someone this evening.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Randi took the application to work for the Martin Taylor household and walked into the testing room.
The seats reminded her of going back to school. Maids 101 didn’t want their applicants looking over their neighbors’ shoulder during the testing, so they’d picked up some chair-and-desk sets from the local flea market.
Five maids had shown up for the positions that were to be filled. Randi moved to a desk and sat down. As she glanced around the room, some of the girls gave her dirty looks. Most of them knew her, and knew she almost always got the best jobs.
Every time the option to clean a new house came available the maids would be asked to fill out an application. It would have random questions about the applicant. 101 wanted to know if you knew the actor personally, if you were a fan, or if you’d heard about the person in question.
The point was to see if the maid hired for the job could and would be able to act in a normal manner around the actor. As Randi looked at the other applicants, she thought back to the girl that was fired last week.
She'd been placed in Pitt's house, knowing very well who he was. When Brad came walking in she freaked and started asking for his autograph. She was asked to leave and taken to the Maids 101 office. They reviewed her application, realized she lied, and canned her butt.
This job paid way too much for Randi to think about doing something like that. She hadn’t watched TV or read any entertainment magazines in the last five years. She enjoyed her job and was planning on keeping it as long as possible.
Whenever anyone started talking about his or her favorite TV show or some new Hollywood actor, she would leave or ask them to change the subject. It wasn’t the easiest thing, but if you didn’t know someone as an actor, it was easier to treat him or her as someone who was not famous.
Fortunately, she’d been raised in a strict home, and she hadn’t watched a lot of TV over the years. She was perfect for this job and thanked her lucky stars that she'd found it.
As she looked over the list, she studied the shows and movies the actor Martin Taylor had starred in. She tapped the pen on her chin. None of them rang any bells. She filled out the paperwork and rose from her chair. One of the other candidates, a new hire, spoke up.
“You’re done already? Is there some part we can skip? I’m Brandy, by the way.”
Lori Jensen spoke before Randi could answer. The two of them didn’t get along at all. You could hear the sneer in her tone. “She’s one of Nancy’s pets. She’s a religious zealot. She never watches TV or anything . . . boring.”
Randi looked at Brandy. “I don’t go to church, nor do I consider my family advocates against TV in general. Mom and dad just thought it was unhealthy to sit in front of a box for hours on end. I’ve also filled out several of these. I don’t watch TV or keep up with the glamor of Hollyweird, so I can skip through most of the form.”
“Whatever,” Lori said, going back to her paper.
Randi ignored Lori and smiled at Brandy. “Also, I advise you not to lie. Nancy has been known to pull out the old lie detector now and then.” Randi ignored the dirty look Lori had given her, turned, and walked into Nancy’s office.
She knew if they did a random test on her that she'd pass. This Martin dude was no one to her. She stood waiting for Nancy to look over the papers, thinking that this money would have to go toward new transportation.
It would be a weekend stay-over situation for a family gathering, and if she played her cards right, she could end up with a permanent position.
The gig would pay well, and she could use the money she’d make on a bike. She loved to ride, and it would be cheaper than a car. A Harley would be nice. An image of sitting on the back of a newly-shined baby-blue Harley formed in her mind as Nancy spoke.
“Everything looks in order. It's been a while since we tested you.” Nancy looked up, her red hair pulled into a tight bun. Nancy also had the bad habit of tapping her pen on her chin. She looked from the paper back to Randi. “I'm not going to waste our time. You've never caused us any issues in the past five years . . . don't start now.”
“I won't. When do I leave?” Randi asked. “I need to go home and get cleaned up.”
“Not so fast. I need to know a few things first.”
“What don't you know about me already?”
“Are you dating anyone? This Martin is a handsome fellow, and one of the requests was that the girl be homely, or dating, and you're not. In your file, there's nothing about you having issues with being harassed. Mr. Taylor has a 'woman friend', and she's been known to be the jealous type.
“If she starts cursing or yelling – I need to know that you'll take it, that you won't fly off the handle.”
“No problems there, she can call me any name in the book. I won't care. I'll pull my hair up and find some ugly glasses. I can ugly down if the need arises.”
Nancy laughed. “You do that, and if there are no issues over the next few weeks—”
“Weeks? I thought this was a weekend deal.”
“It was,” Nancy began, “but we got the request an hour ago. The get-together will start Friday and go until New Year's Day. The Taylors are planning for family to stay over, and decided they could use the extra help. Are you still in? I really need you to do this.”
“Would I get off Christmas?” Randi crossed her arms, thinking it really didn’t matter.
“I doubt it. I can try to get holiday pay. Would that keep you on board?”
“Sure. Has there been any change in the payment arrangements? Same pay, per day?” Randi smiled. That blue Harley was getting even closer.
“You bet, and this looks like it could become a regular job so show them what you’re made of. The usual rules come into play here, too. You treat Mr. Taylor like a king but don't show any attraction to the man. No staring, touching, nothing. Pretend you’re gay if you must.”
“You got it. Is there only one position?” Randi recalled the dirty look Lori gave her.
“No, I need at least one more girl, but I doubt any of those will pass muster. This one can’t have any mistakes so if no one else shows up, work hard enough for two.”
“I can do that. When do I leave?”
“Be here at five. The mistress of the house is a bear. No, make that four-thirty. Be packed, look the part, and don't be late. The limo will be here at five sharp.”
“Limo?”
“Yes, Limo. I talked to Celia Carson, the mistress of the house, and she said she’d be sure to have you girls picked up in the limo. Don’t forget, go to the side entrance. Last week, we had a couple of girls show up at the front door.”
“That’s not good.”
“No it wasn’t. It’s hard to find good help these days." Nancy smiled, “Present company excluded.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime. Now go make me proud. This is an important gig.”
“I will.”
“And don’t forget to clean up.” Nancy smiled and went back to work.
Randi looked down at her messy clothes, took out the card Elvis had given her, and called him. She might be in a cab now, but later she’d be riding in style.”
Chapter 2
Martin Taylor
Martin Taylor ran his fingers through his brown hair. He turned to look at his own reflection in the mirror. His mother would be here in a few days, and she would tell him he needed to get a haircut. You’re starting to look like a girl, she would say.
He would kiss her on the cheek and ignore her comments. His hair wasn’t long enough to make a girly ponytail, and unless it was for a movie, it never would be. A shave might be in order before she arrived. Surprisingly, his dad never mentioned the hair, or the crazy things that got reported in the papers.
His mother, on the other hand, always hated anything that put him in a bad light. Time and time again he told her it was a part of the job, and that he paid it no mind. However, mothers were mothers, and they forever would want to protect their children. He finally learned to adjust to that fact.
Seeing his family would be great. Getting the house ready wouldn’t be. Martin looked over the list. He hated ‘to do’ lists, and Celia Carson, his girlfriend, loved making them. At least, there was no ‘take out the trash’ on her 'honey do' list. He mentally started down the inventory of chores, but his heart wasn’t in it.
The sun and beautiful day were calling to him. He wanted to be in the pool, on the veranda, or on the bike, anywhere but here, looking at this list. Women loved to make lists, and loved to put the things they should be doing off on the men in their lives.
Martin glanced at his phone lying on the desk as it rang. His Mother's smiling face flashed on the screen. He let it ring two more times as he looked over the list. He didn’t like planning things. He liked spontaneity.
He understood they needed to plan for Christmas dinner, but Celia wanted to plan every meal from Christmas day to New Year's Eve, and she wanted him to help.
How was he going to stand this many people in his new home over the holidays? He reached for the phone, looking out at the setting sun. He’d wanted to take his family to Colorado for Christmas, but no, Celia had talked him into throwing the party of his life at his new home.
The house wasn’t decorated. Some rooms needed curtains or linens. They would need the three maids Celia kept ranting about because in three days guests would begin to arrive.
Martin picked up his Bluetooth. From a few days before Christmas to New Year's Day, his house would be full and running over with his family and Celia’s. He wanted to fast-forward to New Year's Day, when everyone would be leaving. After slipping on his Bluetooth, he spoke. “Hi, mom.”
“Hi yourself. How are you? Is Celia driving you crazy about the party yet? I know this was not your idea.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t,” Martin laughed, “and, yes. She’s driving me nuts. Today it’s the menu. You know she can’t cook, and she’s falling apart thinking the party will be a disappointment to everyone.”
“Martin. You know I love you, but I just don’t understand. Why Celia? The two of you are so different.”
“Maybe your opinion will change when you meet her.” Inwardly, Martin groaned. He could see it now: women arguing, children crying, and the men going hungry.
“Unless you’ve given me a drastically incorrect image of this woman, I don’t see my opinion changing. She can’t cook. She won’t clean or do the laundry. I don’t dare even dream of grandchildren. Sorry, but I just don’t understand.”
Martin sighed. His mother didn’t pull any punches, and he hated to admit it, but hearing the description of Celia didn’t make her sound like a promising bride. “It’s not that bad,” he lied. “Things have changed. People don’t cook. They eat out.”
“Are you saying you want to spend the rest of your life eating out? Wasting money? Has she ever cooked you breakfast or anything? Can you see her changing and wanting children a few years from now? I know you love kids.”
“I don’t plan things out. You know I hate that.”
“I know, and that’s always irritated me. You don’t get that from my side of the family. You should be dating someone like Patricia or Julia from our hometown, Church Lane girls. They would cook for you, clean your house -- not curse you or call your family names.”
Martin’s brows shot up, so she did hear Celia’s comments last week. He’d tried to take his mother off speaker phone but wasn’t quick enough. “Mom, I don’t live in Canada now, and you just caught Celia at a bad time. She doesn’t think you’re narrow-minded or old-fashioned.”
Lillian laughed. “Don’t lie to me. I heard her, and you know good and well I’m old-fashioned. And maybe I am narrow-minded, but she’s lazy and a bit about herself.”
“What does that mean?" Martin chuckled. “Celia’s confident, business-minded, and attractive.”
“It means pretty is as pretty does. It’s not about your looks. It's about how you treat people, and how you look inside that counts. I’m trying not to judge by what I’ve heard, but you haven’t made it easy.”
“Me? What have I done?”
“It’s not what you’ve done, it’s what you’ve said and not said. I never hear you mention what you’ve done for your friends or neighbors. Since you started dating Celia, you’ve stopped donating your time to charity. I never hear you mention doing much of anything. When was the last time you went riding, or camping? She’s changing you, Martin, and I don’t like it.”
Martin rose, walking barefoot to the balcony, looking over the grounds. The sun was going down, and a slight breeze rustled the tips of his hair. Talking to his mother was making him homesick for cold weather, snow, fishing, and ice-surfing.
Her voice, too, was making him homesick. He didn’t dare mention it. She often complained that he could turn accents on and off at will. She always thought he was ashamed of his homeland, but it wasn’t that at all. It was just that in his line of work, most jobs called for an American accent.
He got his mind back on the conversation and answered her. “I haven’t changed. I give plenty of money to charity. Celia does too. I know we’re opposites, but it works.”
“Does it? Martin, opposites attract, but the question is can they or should they co-exist? While we’re on the topic, I want you to know I will not stay under your roof if you, and Celia are sharing a room.”
Martin returned inside and ran his fingers through his hair. “Do we have to go there?”
“Yes. We do. I know it’s old-fashioned, but if you want me to be a guest at your home—”
“I understand and I’ll comply.” Martin had never told his mother that he and Celia were living together, but, along with other things, she’d figured it out.
“Good,” She added. “I apologize if you think I’m over-stepping some boundary, but I will not apologize for my beliefs.”
“I understand. I don’t have a problem with it.” He knew Celia would, but he would cross that bridge when he had to.
“I know you’re a grown man, but you will always be my child. I didn’t call to pick. Sorry about that. I called to let you know our reservations are ready. We should be there Friday.”
“Good. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Same here. Now I should go finish packing. I love you, Martin, and I don’t mean to criticize. Marriage is a huge step. I want you to think this through. I assume we’re coming together for more than a dinner. It just worries me if she’s not the one.”
Martin said his good-byes and ended the call. Was everyone expecting an engagement announcement? He hoped not. He wasn’t planning on one. His brow furrowed. Was Celia thinking the same thing?
He shook his head and picked up the list. He needed to get busy. There was paperwork to do, a script he needed to finish reading, and as he glanced toward the clock, trying to remember the last time he ate . . . it hit him . . . the help. He had to make sure someone went to pick up the maids.
Where in the world had the time gone? He should have called the limo service an hour ago and arranged for the maids to be picked up. He'd promised Celia he'd do that before she went to get her hair done.
He picked up his phone but shook his head, pushing it into his pocket. There was no time. He buttoned up the white shirt he was wearing, slipped on a pair of socks and tennis shoes, and took the steps two at a time.
He went into the kitchen, grabbed the keys to the old Ford, and went out through the garage door. He pulled out the address from his pocket, read it, memorized it, and was on his way.
Chapter 3
Limo Driver
Randi stood looking down the lane. Good thing she was wearing her working shoes. The limo driver was late, and she was getting hungry. Instead of taking time to eat, she'd gone home and as Nancy suggested, uglied down.
She was wearing her Maids 101 uniform. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun. She had on only a little makeup, and had found an ugly pair of glasses she'd used at Halloween. The pants were not tight, and the smock did nothing to flatter her close-to-perfect figure.
She had everything she would need in the two bags that sat at her feet. This was the perfect job. She loved overnight stays in a fancy home. The work would be hard, but the pay would be the best.
There was supposed to be at least one more maid, but Nancy hadn't found anyone she thought suitable. She never sent a maid whom she couldn’t trust to a job. Three of her other regular, most dependable maids were off for vacation. One of them, Sandy, was having a baby. Not much of a vacation, Randi mused.
This job wouldn’t have worked for Sandy anyway, because the maids had to be away from home Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day. Randi didn’t have kids so this wasn’t a problem. The money would be good, and she could find plenty of things to spend it on. Her mother wouldn’t like it, but her dad would understand.
She tapped her foot, hoping the limo would come soon. She was starving. Most of the time these fancy mansions had plenty of food, but she didn’t want to show up and hit the refrigerator first thing. She was going to ask the driver if they could stop by a fast food joint and pick something up.
If he didn’t want her eating in the limo, she would understand. Unless he was on a time limit, there would be no rush in getting to the estate. She wasn’t due in until the next morning. She was even willing to buy his supper.
She kicked at a rock and glanced at her watch. Why wasn’t anyone on time? She took out her iPhone and was about to play a game of Crazy Birds when she heard something coming.
She furrowed her brow and looked over the top of the old glasses at the approaching vehicle. It was definitely not a limo. It wasn’t even a current model. She tilted her head, trying to guess what year the old truck was, and pushed her glasses back into place, ready to dismiss the truck, when much to her surprise, it came to a stop.
“Great, so they’re not as well off as Nancy said,” Randi sighed, resigning herself to the idea that she would not be riding in a limo today, and picked up her bags.
She paid little mind to the man in the truck as she walked by the open passenger’s window. “Taylor’s limo driver, right?” She made this comment in mock humor. She placed her bags into the back of the truck and heard the door slam.
“Sorry about the limo. I was running late so I brought this beauty.”
“No biggie.” Randi adjusted her bags in the corner of the bed of the pickup and turned to face the driver. “It is a beauty . . . ” she began, but stopped as she turned. She had not been expecting to be facing one of the best-looking men she'd seen in her life. Her mouth dropped open. She was sure it had, though she closed it as fast as she could. “It is a beauty,” she finished.” Is it a 1960?”
“Sixty-five. How did you know that?” he asked.
“My dad had one. How many miles you got on it?”
“Over a million.”
“Oh, it's new, huh?” This won her a laugh and a beautiful smile. Pearly white teeth framed by a nice mustache and beard, she could think all day long about how that would tickle in a good kiss. She moved her eyes and forced a quick smile. “So, limo guy, you're late. I was here thirty minutes early, so the way I see it you owe me lunch.”
“What? How do you get that?” The man crossed his arms and smiled.
“I was early. I missed lunch to be on time, so I didn't hold you up. You were late, keeping me from lunch, so you owe me. I like burgers and fries. I'll even pay. Just take me to some food. Most of these rich people never have anything worth eating, so let's hit a burger joint before we head back.”
He seemed hesitant. “I’m not sure we have time.”
“Is old man Taylor that bad? Oh, come on, you can tell him we got stuck in traffic.” Randi turned to pull on the door handle, but nothing happened. “Don't tell me I have to ride in the back?”
“No. Go around to the other side and slide in.” Randi nodded, took a slight glance at the man's nicely tanned skin sneaking through a missing button on his shirt and did as he said. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. She wasn't supposed to look, or touch, or flirt with Mr. Taylor, but no one said a thing about the gorgeous, scruffy-looking limo driver.
*****
Once they were in the truck and moving, Martin turned towards his companion. He couldn’t help but laugh as he looked at the girl. “Tell me, what’s with the glasses?”
“I forgot I had these on. Do you think they’re too much?” He nodded as she took them off. “I was told to ugly down, that Taylor had a live-in-love that was jealous.”
“Is that so?” Martin pulled up to a red light, waiting his turn. Was she kidding? Could she really not know who he was? It was strange. The last series he’d been on had been canceled, but it was a hit with the fans. “So you’ve never watched any of Mr. Taylor’s shows or movies?”
The girl looked at her glasses, shrugged and pushed them into a large purse she was carrying. “I don’t watch TV or movies. I wouldn’t know the man if I met him on the street. What’s he like? Is he as crabby as most rich men are?”
Martin didn’t know what to say. He looked at the light. He was still thinking when she spoke. “I’m not going to rat on you. I just want to know what to expect. They gave me strict instructions. Stay away from Taylor. I don’t mess with spoken-for men anyway, but I need this job. I don’t want to make waves.”
“He’s not that bad,” Martin found himself saying. What am I doing? He should just tell her that he was Martin Taylor. She would find out soon enough, and then he’d feel like a heel.
“That’s good to know. But he’s to be avoided at all costs. You now, on the other hand . . . ” She gave him a smile and turned to face him. “Are you married?” The light turned green and Martin felt like he was in one of his own movies. He looked forward and spoke. “I’m not married.”
“Good, then you won’t mind stopping over there. I was serious. I’m starved. You have no idea how much stress it brings on working for these uppity-ups. Mind you, I love the money, and the homes are something else, but it’s a lot of stress.”
Again he started to speak, but she went on. “I’m sure you know what I mean. You drive for him, right? Is he really picky? A bear if you’re late five minutes? I bet he drives you crazy at times. And what about the lady of the house? I bet she gives you the eye.”
“She does,” Martin smiled. He was beginning to enjoy this game. “All the time.”
“Women like that are never satisfied. They’re dating some rich man, and sleeping with the . . .” She stopped talking, and as he pulled into the drive-thru, he turned and looked at her. There was a slight smile playing on her lips.
“What?” He asked.
“I’ve been going on and on, and it just hit me. You might be having a thing with her. Here I am talking about her like she’s a dog. I don’t normally do this. I think I’m food-deprived.” She moved to her purse, started digging around, and pulled out a twenty. “I’m buying. What do you want?”
“That’s okay. I’m not hungry.”
“I’m not eating alone, so what do you want? Tell me or I’ll order you something and force you to eat it.”
“Okay, order me a milkshake and a burger.” Martin laughed, but as they pulled into the drive thru and the beauty by his side leaned over, talking to the machine, things started to be . . . not so funny.
He could smell her perfume, and if he wasn’t careful he might look down and see more than she intended. He felt uncomfortable and moved his right arm from the steering wheel, hoping to make things better, but it didn’t.
Now she was leaning over more. Her left hand rested on the doorframe of the truck. Her arm pressed lightly against his chest. She was busy reading the menu and talking to the lady in the window. He wondered if she had any idea she was making him very uncomfortable.
Maybe that was it. Maybe she did know who he was, and was trying to get him into a compromising position. The tabloids would love that. He looked around for someone with a camera but didn’t see anyone.
She straightened, seemed to notice for the first time how close they were, but only smiled and held out the twenty. “Are you?” She said, still staying close.
“Am I what?” He asked.
“Are you sleeping with her? You know, the lady of the house.” Her voice was barely a whisper and a cute smile played at the corner of her lips.
“Do you really want to know?” She was flirting, and he was flirting right back. While they waited for the food neither of them spoke. Electricity crackled between them.
“I don’t guess it matters,” she said.
Why didn’t he just tell her? Yes, I’m sleeping with Celia. Forget the fact he was Martin Taylor. He had every right to be sleeping with Celia. Well, not according to his mother. She would say it was sinful to be living with Celia when the two of them were not married.
Was it the cross at her neckline, or his conversation with his mother, that was reminding him he was a sinner? Maybe he was just feeling guilty that he’d been flirting with this young woman. Either way it would all end as soon as they got to the house, and someone called out . . . "Mr. Taylor".
Chapter 4
Randi Sanders
After eating her lunch Randi couldn’t help but wonder if she’d said too much. She did tend to talk on and on when she was hungry or nervous. Now that she was topping off the meal with a sundae her mind wandered over their conversation.
As she sat, eating and bumping elbows with the man, she knew she’d said too much. It was none of her business if was he sleeping with the "missus" of the house. Should she go back over that again, try to apologize, or just let it go?
Now and then they would glance at each other. The man had deep-blue eyes, and it was moments like this when she wished she had a steady man in her life.
Flirting, also, would need to come to an end with this hottie. She wasn’t about to start acting like a schoolgirl, even if he was that cute. If he was cheating, which he hadn’t denied, she didn’t want anything to do with him.
She glanced toward the man by her side. He was handsome, well-built, more than likely broke. Still, those blue eyes and that dark hair could make a woman forget her good senses.
She put her mind on her ice cream and finished eating. Once done, she stuffed the container into the dinner bag and glanced up as they started to make a right. “Are we there?”
“Just about.”
Randi toyed with the strap on her purse and after a second or two made up her mind and spoke. “I apologize. It’s none of my business what you do. Those of us in the working class have to stick together, so forget I said anything, and we’ll start over.”
As they pulled into the driveway, Randi knew her mind should be on the job, the pool in the backyard, or at the least on the nice-looking Harley sitting inside the garage. However, at the moment none of this seemed as appealing as the man by her side.
Randi watched as the limo driver pulled in front of the two-car garage. He parked the truck, took the keys out of the ignition, and climbed out. She took him in from head to toe, then slid out behind him and held out her hand.
“Can we start over? Randi Sanders at your service.” She waited as he looked at her. He nodded, took her hand, and spoke.
“Nice to meet you, Randi. I’d like to start over too. I’m sorry I was late, sorry I didn’t have the limo so you could ride in style, and I’m sorry I didn’t answer your question . . . It’s just that—”
“I know. It’s none of my business. We’re starting over, remember?” Randi interrupted before he could answer. A part of her didn’t want to know that he was off limits. She smiled and reluctantly let go of his hand.
“It doesn’t matter. We’re both working for the Taylor’s, and it was nice to meet you. Thanks for the ride,” she said, dismissing the handsome driver, doubting she’d see him again. She walked to the other side of the truck, took out her bags, and turned for what she guessed would be a last look at the limo driver.
It was best this way. She didn’t even know his name. He would forever be that hot guy who picked her up in the beat-up Ford. She smiled as he walked around to the truck. His hair was rustling in the wind, his shirtfront still was missing that one button, and the man should never wear anything but white.
Thinking that she was staring, she gave him a fresh smile and turned, going toward the back entrance. The help never walked through the front door of a place like this.
Her mind pushed on, trying to remember why she was here. She was the help. She was the maid, and she wasn’t here to have fun or fall in love. Randi Sanders was here to do what she did best: cook, clean, and organize. The Taylor’s were paying her well, and she would be sure that they got their money’s worth.
*****
Martin didn’t know what to think. He’d wanted to tell Randi Sanders, his new live-in-maid, his real identity. But she wouldn’t let him. “I think she had too much caffeine today.” He shook his head and went inside.
He tried to work out in his mind what he would say to Randi the first time she saw him with Celia. But nothing came. She’d more than likely think he was playing with her, even though he’d never meant to mislead her.
Two hours later as he stepped out of the shower and started drying off, Randi was still on his mind. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stood in front of the full-length mirror. How long had it been since a woman looked at me like that?
It wasn’t the fact that she thought he was hot, but that she had no idea who he was. She wasn’t trying to impress him, or see what she could get. It was just a boy-meets-girl, two people attracted to each other, both are nervous kind of thing. Still, it was great.
Martin dried off, slipped into his pants and walked into the bedroom to find a shirt. Celia stood on the balcony, on the phone again. She turned as he came out but paid him no mind. He glanced down. He was wearing no shirt, no shoes, and his pants weren’t buttoned. He shook his head, and his mind went back to the look Randi had given him.
At least, some women still found him attractive. He tried to think of the last time Celia looked at him as if she wanted to rip his shirt off. Here he was standing right under her nose, and she’d barely looked his way. He guessed he’d done the same thing to her at some point.
He slipped into his shirt, pushed the idea of allowing Randi to do anything to him out of his mind, and sat down, reaching for his shoes. He had his socks on and one shoe by the time Celia walked over and sat down. She turned to look at him, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulders. “I talked to Emma as I came into the kitchen. She said they only sent one maid over.”
“Isn’t that enough for now? The party isn’t for several days, and we have Emma working on getting more help.” Martin slipped on his other shoe.
“I don’t know. We have about six rooms that need decorating. We need at least three trees—”
“Three trees? Why so many?” Martin rose, stuffing his dark blue shirt into his pants. He zipped up and then he slipped on his belt. “You’re turning this party into a nightmare. Christmas is supposed to be fun, not so much work. And, are you coming with me? You’re not getting dressed.”
“No. I have cards to send out and packages I want to get ready. I need to make about five phone calls, starting with the new caterer. Besides, I don’t like your agent, Bill. That’s who you’re meeting, right?”
“Yes. We’re going to talk about that new film. I thought you were coming.”
“I never said that. You know I don’t like him.”
“You know that he can make or break this. I think it would look good if you went. I hate these meetings. I just want to act.”
“And get paid.” Celia said quickly. “And I’m not going. Bill gives me the creeps. You’ll be fine. If you like to act so much, act like this is a role. You’re the one that likes to role-play to keep your skills honed.”
Martin grabbed his jacket and walked toward the door. “You know, I’m getting tired of your attitude. My acting's what pays for all of this. It’s what’s going to pay for those three trees you want, and for this ridiculous nonsense of a party that you’re throwing. Oh, and by the way, I’m inviting Bill.”
Celia crossed her arms, and her dark blue eyes gave him a dirty look. “Why? You don’t like him either. You’re just doing this for spite.”
Martin picked up his jacket, house keys, phone and sunglasses. He started to go but then turned back, looking at her. “I’m doing it because I need this part. If you want to keep spending money like we’re made of gold, then you better put on a smile and act as if you’re happy to see him. Like him or not, he’s coming to the party.”
Chapter 5
Tweety Bird
The room was great. She could stay here for two weeks, easy. Randi sat down on the full-sized bed and looked around the room. The carpet was plush and a nightstand, a dresser, and her own private bathroom now held her items. There was no TV, but she had her iPhone if she needed anything.
Randi looked to the clock on the wall and sat up in bed. It was two a.m. She should be sleeping. She’d been given the security key to the Internet, and since she couldn’t sleep, she began writing out an email to her mother.
She’d learned a long time ago that taking pictures and sending them to family or friends wasn’t allowed, so she hadn’t taken any pictures of the home she was staying in.
She wanted to send a shot of the kitchen to her mom. Nothing would make her mother happier than to have an evening loose in the very clean, very organized, Taylor kitchen.
When done with the email, Randi laid her phone by her bed and picked up the clipboard. She glanced at tomorrow’s duties that Emma had given her. She’d overheard the lady of the house throwing a fit because Maids 101 had only sent over one female. Ms. Taylor had been expecting at least three women, but Maids was shorthanded so Randi was it for now.
Not long after she heard the discussion, she was able to speak with the household manager, Emma. She assured her that she would pull her weight and that the "missus" wouldn’t be disappointed. Emma seemed grateful and said as much.
Emma had given her a rundown of where she was allowed to go and what was expected of her. She would rise at seven and start working on the great room. Everything would need to be dusted and cleaned before they started with the decorations.
Randi had access to the kitchen at any time she needed. There would be no meals prepared for the help, but she was welcome to cold cuts or breakfast sandwiches that were in the kitchen.
Randi glanced at her watch and wondered if she would wake anyone if she slipped into the kitchen. She hoped not. She couldn’t sleep, and she needed something to eat. She rose from the bed, slipped into her house boots, and saw her reflection in the mirror. Tweety Bird stared back at her. The nightshirt was short, about six inches above her knee.
She twisted right and left, looking at her reflection. She had more clothes on than most women in those skimpy ads, and she wasn’t showing any cleavage. Randi shrugged and went to the kitchen. Peeking out into the hallway, she saw no one. The house was quiet. That was a good sign. One more look around and she made her way to the kitchen.
She stood, trying to make up her mind. She didn’t want a sandwich; didn’t want to run the microwave and make any noise. After peeking through all the cold cuts, fresh fruits, and protein drinks, she smiled and reached in, pulling out a vanilla pudding.
She bent over and stretched to the third shelf down. Pudding would hit the spot. Chocolate would be better, but then she’d have the caffeine to deal with. And she would have to get some milk too. That would be best. She could grab a spoon, and a cup of milk and sneak back to her room before anyone spotted her.
*****
Martin slammed the car door shut. He knew he should have insisted Celia go to his meeting. He hated showing up when everyone else had their wife, or live-in, with them. It made the whole evening uncomfortable and made him feel out of place.
He climbed out of the Mercedes and instead of going in the front entrance he went into the garage. He stopped as he walked by his bike. It was almost midnight, and he was in no mood to talk to Celia.
He glanced down at his shirt and dress slacks and walked to the garage bathroom. There he found what he needed hanging on the wall. Coveralls. They belonged to his good friend Mike and were one size too big. He put them on just the same.
After Martin slipped out of his clothes and into the clean but dirty-looking oilskins, he zipped up and walked toward the Harley. He didn’t do anything major when it came to the bike, but he liked to tinker around, changing the oil, plugs, and filters.
Martin turned on the radio and began to unwind as he got out the tools he’d need. Music always calmed his nerves and so did tinkering in the garage. He killed an hour re-arranging tools, cleaning off his work area, and then started working on the bike.
It’d been two weeks since he’d taken the bike out for a spin. He loved to ride. Out on the bike no one knew he was Martin Taylor. The full-face helmet kept his identity hidden. There was no mob of teens wanting his autograph and no wild women running up to him offering anything, and everything that one could imagine.
Still, the women would stare. Most women seemed to love a man on a Harley. He smiled as he thought of Randi. She’d been attracted to him. That was obvious. What would she do if she saw him on the bike? His mind drifted to the dark hair she’d pulled back in a bun and the smile that played on her lips almost every time she looked at him. It was if she had some secret, and she just couldn’t wait to share it.
Celia and he had been dating for close to nine months, and he was beginning to see that they weren’t as compatible as he’d hoped. He wasn’t ready to get married, like his mother thought, but he was getting tired of the differences that kept cropping up. They were becoming more and more evident in their daily life.
He was getting mad again just thinking about it. It was affecting his concentration. He picked up a bottle of oil and set it down by the bike. The bottle fell over, the lid popped off, and oil went everywhere. Martin cursed, quickly setting the bottle back up. He let out a frustrated breath and went on with his work.
As he began, what Bill had said as they had left the restaurant came to his mind. His agent was very vocal about Celia and her distaste for the movie industry. In Bill's words, "If Celia isn’t supporting you, she will only hold you back."
Those words kept playing through Martin’s mind, so much so, that it broke his focus. As he was taking the oil plug out to drain the oil, the wrench slipped, and he cut his right hand. It didn’t look deep, but it was bleeding so he rose from his position on the floor and went into the kitchen.
If memory served him right, there was a first-aid kit under the sink. He walked up four steps that led to a short entryway opening into the kitchen. Using his good hand, he opened the door and entered the dark hallway.
There was a light on in the kitchen, so he didn’t bother to turn on the hall light. As he took the few steps into the kitchen, he stopped. The cut on his hand left his thoughts, and a smile crossed his lips.
There, rummaging through his refrigerator was a black-haired beauty wearing a Tweety Bird nightshirt. A single brow shot up as he wondered who the girl was. It wasn’t Sue, Celia’s friend. Her legs weren't that nice. He stepped up to the sink, grabbed a napkin from the counter, and spoke. “Do you mind telling me who you are, and what you’re doing in my refrigerator just past two in the morning?”
Chapter 6
Nurse Maid
Randi was just reaching inside the refrigerator as someone behind her spoke. She jumped when she heard a man’s voice. She dropped her pudding. It went bouncing out the door and to the floor. Her brow furrowed, and she straightened. Of course, someone would catch her scrounging for a snack.
With her luck, it would be the man of the house, awake also looking for a late night, something to hold him over until breakfast. As she closed the door and turned, she reached down with one hand to tug on the bottom of her nightshirt.
When she met those blue eyes again she smiled, but the smile vanished at the sight of blood on the man’s hand. “What did you do to yourself?” Randi bent down, scooped up her pudding, set it on the table, and went to the sink.
“I think I cut myself.”
“Ok, Smarty-pants,” Randi added, “I can see that. Was it something dirty, old or rusty?”
“No, something pretty new and pretty clean.”
“Good.” Not asking, and trying to forget about her short gown, she took the limo driver's hand and turned the water on. “How long ago did you do this? You should always clean a cut, and wash it good.” She turned on the cold water and tugged his hand until it was under the water.
“Are you a nurse?” He asked.
Randi glanced at the man’s handsome face, then down to the name on his shirt. “No, Mike, but cold reduces swelling. You didn’t drip your blood all over my clean floor did you?”
“Maybe, maybe not. The floor wasn’t my biggest concern at the time.”
“I suppose it wasn’t.” Randi had a hard time not staring at the man. He was so good-looking. Even in those old oily-looking clothes. Man, I need a date, bad. Finally, after trying to recall the last time she had a night out, she spoke. “This might burn a bit.”
“If it does, I promise not to cry.”
Randi laughed at his attempt at humor, reached for the soap, squirted some on the palm of her hand, and began to wash the cut. She glanced up at the man and began to feel just a bit intimidated. She always chatted when she was nervous. She just hoped it didn’t show. “Tell me, Mike, are you the limo driver and the mechanic?”
“You could say that.” He said, leaning on the kitchen cabinet, which brought them even closer. This time when she turned, those eyes, and that body, were only inches away.
“Do you normally work this late?” Randi managed, trying to keep her mind on the man’s hand and not keep glancing back into those deep blue eyes, but it wasn’t easy.
“No, I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d change the oil in the Harley. Then I did this, instead.”
“You should be more careful.” Randi reached up, turning on the overhead light. She leaned over the sink, using both hands to wash away the blood and look at the cut. She knew this would make the gown shorter, but it couldn’t be helped.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him as he tilted his view. She wanted to comment on his being a Peeping Tom, but was too nervous to do so.
“What are you looking for?" He asked, leaning over the sink, confirming to her that he’d stopped peeking. It didn’t help though. She felt even more tension as his shoulder brushed hers.
Trying not to seem chatty or nervous, she spoke. “I had a coworker cut her hand a few weeks ago, and you could see white in the cut. It was her tendons. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t deep, and it’s not. You just managed to slice the surface.” When she straightened thankfully so did he, but they were still close. “Just the first layer. I forget what it’s called. Something 'dermis'.”
“I have no clue.” He watched her closely, and it made her nervous and energized at the same time.
Mike seemed amused that she was on edge. She guessed he knew his proximity was causing her to feel like a kid with a crush. He didn’t bother to help out by stepping back.
There was even a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. The word at last came out of the mist of her thoughts. “'Epidermis.' That’s it. The first layer of the skin. I read that not too long ago, at the same time Nancy cut her hand.”
The awkward silence came again and she put her attention back to rinsing off the soap. “Do you think I’ll live?” He asked, and she could hear a flirtatious tone in his voice. When she looked up he was smiling. She knew he’d been stealing a few looks at her legs. She was thankful she’d gotten some sun over the last few weeks, not to mention the Nair she’d used a few days ago.
“I think you’ll survive without stitches.”
“If you’re not a doctor or nurse how can I trust your prognosis? Maybe I should seek a second opinion.” He tugged lightly to get away from her grip, but she only gave him a dirty look, and he stopped.
“Get one if you want, but mine is free and there'll be no charge for a house call. After hours will really hit you in the wallet.”
“I do hate doctors, so it’s just as well. Patch me up and I’ll be good as new.”
“I’m trying. Is there a first-aid kit around?” Randi asked, turning the water off and letting go of Mike’s hand. He stepped back, reaching for a paper towel.
“Sure, under the sink.”
Randi opened the door, started to bend over and look for the kit, but instead she motioned toward the table. “Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
*****
Martin could have said no, but he didn’t want to. He was enjoying the attention. He doubted if Celia would walk, in, catching him in the act of nothing really, so he sat down at the table. He waited and kept his eyes on Randi as she sat down.
He thought it refreshing that she seemed modest about her short gown. She pulled it down as best she could and sat in the chair next to him. After she opened the kit, he stretched his hand out. “You asked me what I was doing up so late. Other than stealing pudding, why are you up at this hour?”
She pushed her hair back, scooted to the edge of her chair, and opened up the antibiotic cream. “I’m not stealing, and I couldn’t sleep. New job. Nerves are at a high, I guess.”
“What’s there to be nervous about? You’ll be cleaning house and putting up decorations. Are you afraid you’ll meet a scary dust bunny?” This won him a laugh and a smile.
“No, silly.” She took his hand in hers and they both grew quiet. It was as if touching him took all of her attention. His eyes studied her as she worked. She put some of the cream on her finger, turned his hand over, and spread the cream on the cut.
She must have known he was watching, for now and then she’d glance up to meet his gaze. Martin relaxed in the chair, enjoying the feather touch of her hand on his. “So why are you nervous about the job?”
“Oh yeah, I didn’t answer, did I?” She stopped talking for a second as she rummaged through the kit for something. She found a bandage and some gauze and finished her thought. “I’m always worried I’ll do something stupid. I’ll probably drop Mr. Taylor’s favorite Christmas ornament and break it into a thousand pieces.”
“Is it the fact that the Taylors are wealthy, or the fact that he’s a movie star?” Martin just couldn’t figure out if she was scamming him, or if she really didn’t have a clue who he was.
“The star quality doesn’t bother me because I’ve not seen any of his movies. It’s just the fact that people with money have power, and if you make a mistake, you could lose your job.”
“You haven’t seen any of his movies? None of them?” Martin found this hard to believe.
“I don’t watch much TV. It works well with this job. When I’m working for someone famous I have no clue, and I can treat them normally.”
“I see.” Well, if she was telling the truth that answered his question. But still, not watch TV in this day and age? “If you don’t watch TV, what do you do?”
“Read, go outside, swim, bike. I watch some TV, but I mostly stick to the older movies. I’m not likely to run into anyone that I would be working for.”
“I guess that would work. So you wouldn’t know Mr. Taylor if you met him on the street.” He wanted to see her reaction, look into her eyes, and try to see if she was lying.
“No, I wouldn’t. I work hard at ignoring those in the limelight. I know a few of the really huge stars, Pitt, Gere, Cruise, but I can manage to stay away from this newer crowd and the kind-of-famous, but not-so-famous group.”
“Ah, so you’re saying Taylor is a nobody.”
“That’s not what I said. Then again, I don’t really know.”
Martin leaned back, satisfied she was telling the truth. It was strange and fun that she had no idea who he was. It felt good and real, and as he watched her, he realized it was the most at ease he’d felt in a long time, maybe even years. When she glanced up from her work, he smiled, and she went on talking.
“Maids 101 always warns us girls to be careful, but this time, they just couldn’t say enough about how I needed to avoid Mr. Taylor. How I needed to stay away from him . . . well . . . we’ve been over this already.”
Randi grew quiet, and Martin knew she was recalling their conversation, about the fact that he was, or was not, sleeping with Celia. For the first time in months Martin wished he wasn’t sleeping with anyone.
He wished he could look this young woman in the eye and say, no, he wasn’t doing anything with the lady of the house. Nevertheless, he couldn’t, and since this couldn’t go anywhere, he didn’t question her further. He just sat watching and enjoying the attention as she bandaged and wrapped gauze around his hand.
A few minutes later she was finished. She looked at his hand and met his gaze. He could see regret in those pretty eyes, and as she stood she let her fingers slide over the back of his hand.
He wasn’t sure if it was reflex, or the feeling that something special was slipping through his fingers. No matter what it was, he reached up and held onto her hand.
What could he say? Was he about to leave Celia for a woman he’d just met? Was he thinking about cheating? “Thanks, for the help.” As his good sense came back he let go of her hand.
“You’re welcome.” She all but whispered as she walked past. Martin let out a deep breath, pressed his fingers against his forehead, and tried to work this out in his head. As he rose he noticed the pudding.
He picked it up and turned, but she was gone. A bit of his heart sank as the events of the day played through his mind. This beauty entered his life at a strange time. If he and Celia weren’t having troubles would he even be looking at Randi, or thinking about her?
Martin kept the pudding and took a spoon from the drawer. He turned out the lights and walked to the foot of the stairs. He looked to his left where Randi slept, and looked up the steps to where Celia lay. He felt he was at some kind of crossroads. He opened the pudding and took a spoonful.
Celia and he had been drifting apart, and their schedules at times were conflicting. As he took another bite of pudding, he tried to recall the last time they’d been intimated, and he couldn’t. Strange he hadn’t noticed until now.
He glanced back toward Randi’s room. The phrase 'out with the old and in with the new' came to mind. Things were going downhill with Celia, but that wasn’t an excuse to cheat.
He didn’t want Celia, and it would be easy at this moment to want Randi. This was one reason why he turned from the stairs and made his way across the living room and down a set of steps to the spare bedroom. It would be the first time he’d slept alone in months, but he had a feeling it would not be the last.
