by Raina Wilde
Holy shit.
The door opened before her fist could reach to knock at it. On the other side was an elderly man, perhaps the owner of the silky-smooth voice that she'd recognized from the phone. If so, then she hadn't spoken to the employer after all. There was no mistaking this man's clothing. Undoubtedly, he was some kind of butler. Nobody dressed like a butler in their own home. Right?
“Ms. Baker, ” said the man, confirming Marla's suspicion. This was definitely the same guy. “Come in. Mr. Wills is expecting you this way. ”
“Yes, sir. ”
She stepped in through the door. The place was incredible. Stark white walls had Jackson Pollock-esque paint splatters across them, stretching all the way down the length of the building until the corridor ended with a huge floor-to-ceiling glass window. Marla couldn't see from here, but presumably the view it gave of the city was incredible. The carpet beneath her feet was thick and plush, and by instinct she began to take off her shoes. Call it a southern mother's upbringing.
The butler turned as he realized Marla wasn't right behind him, and fixed her with the kind of expression you might give a woman who'd just suggested the earth was flat.
“What are you doing? ”
“Taking my shoes off, ” said Marla, as if asking a question. “Shouldn’t I? ”
The butler's look answered the question for her, and she re-tied her right shoelace before standing back upright. Okay, then. Clearly rich people had a different set of manners. She felt slightly stupid for not knowing that, but then supposed there was no reason she should.
She felt distinctly that she was in the wrong place, and she should excuse herself now – but the butler had already turned around to lead her down the corridor, and she had lost her chance to protest. Instead, all she could do was follow, and hope this was eventually worth the humiliation of putting herself into such an alien environment.
Granted, it was Marla who felt like the alien. After all, she was the odd one out.
Unfortunately for Marla, that feeling was about to get a lot, lot worse. When the butler opened a door on the right, seemingly at random, and showed her into another clear, modernist room, Marla immediately locked eyes with a man so imposing that she'd happily have turned on her heel and left. He looked to be about 30 years old, give or take a few years, and was painfully handsome; the intensity in his stormy gray gaze was so piercing it left Marla feeling pinned to the wall under his attention.
“Mr. Wills, ” said the butler. “May I introduce your interviewee, Ms. Baker? ”
Mr. Wills gave a short, slow nod, and with that the butler backed away – closing the heavy wooden door behind him. The room felt so much smaller when there was only the two of them inside it, and Marla couldn't help but feel abominably alone.
She had no idea what to say. The silence stretched between them, awkward and long, as Mr. Wills surveyed his guest. That being said, that awkwardness seemed to be confined to Marla alone. The handsome man in front of her appeared to be the kind of person who could not feel out of place if he were shoved into an ill-fitting gap in a jigsaw puzzle. The way he had arranged himself over the expensive leather armchair he occupied was as though it was a natural extension of himself, long legs crossed over one another and in slight recline.
“You're quite uncomfortable, ” said Mr. Wills, at long last. “Aren’t you? ”
“It feels a little strange to be stared at, ” Marla admitted, though she could have kicked herself for phrasing it that way. ” I mean – not that you're staring, and of course it's your own home, so. . . ”
“You're here for the caretaker's job, ” said the host, unwavering and unfazed by Marla's lack of certainty. “Is that correct? ”
“I – yeah. I saw the ad in the Times. . . ”
“Good. ”
The silence fell again. Marla swallowed, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and the intense desire to leave slowly working its way back up inside her. She couldn't quit now, though. She only had to imagine walking back into AJ's place to motivate herself. “Is there anything you needed to ask me, sir? ”
She could feel the heat rising at the base of her neck simply from calling him sir. There was a glint in the older man's eye, and Marla couldn't tell if she liked it or not. She just knew she didn't trust it.
“Your name is Marla Baker. Correct? ”
“Yes. ”
“And you are… how old? ”
“I'm 22. ”
“From a small town, I expect. ”
Marla didn't say anything, quietly pondering what it was about herself that made it so obvious. She didn't feel she had a strong enough accent to have given it away like that.
“What clothing size do you take, Marla? ” he asked. “If you were to buy a dress. Something formal; something fitted. ”
The last time she had worn a formal dress had been for prom at high school, and that had only been a rental. It seemed childish to admit that. ” I don't know, I-”
“Shoulder? Waist? Bust? ”
“Uh… medium? ”
“There's no such thing. Any family? ”
The barrage of questions was disorienting. What was all this supposed to uncover? What could any of it possibly have to do with taking care of… whatever it was? “Back home. Not here. ”
“You really don't know what your waist measurements are? ”
“No, ” said Marla, more tersely than she'd been intending. Irritatingly, however, Mr. Willis seemed to like it. That glint was back in his eyes. It was this frustrating pleasure alone that motivated Marla to soften herself up and be more polite. She wanted this job to get away from AJ, but she sure as shit didn't want this asshole to gain any undue amusement from it. “I don't know. ”
“You're an aspiring actor or singer, I suppose. Which is it? ”
Marla tried to keep calm. Everybody in this city was an aspiring actor or a singer at some stage, it seemed like. This wasn't something Mr. Wills could read on her face. “Either, ” she said. “I’m an actor, but I can sing. ”
“And what parts have you played? ”
“I'm a beginner, ” said Marla. She’d never felt so much shame in admitting that. Nothing would have given her greater pleasure than to wipe the smirk off Mr. Willis's face and give him the answer he had not been expecting – to launch an impressive catalogue of past roles at him that he couldn't stick his nose up at. Unfortunately, she couldn't do that without lying, and she had a faint suspicion that Mr. Willis would know fine well whenever she did that. “Is this relevant to the job, sir? ”
“What job? ”
Marla's eyes narrowed slightly, though she fought against the instinct. “You advertised for a caretaker. ”
“Oh, that, ” said Mr. Willis, sitting up in his chair. “Well, it's not a job. It’s more of a… role. I suppose that suits you well enough, being an actor. ”
She ignored the teasing implied in that. ” I see. And what would I be taking care of, sir? ”
“Why – me, of course. ”
Marla swallowed, trying to keep on an even keel. Was this just another prostitution job after all? She should probably have known that from the advertisement's insistence that it was a live-in position. Could she live with that – having sex with this man for money? She cast her eyes over him again, hating the prickle of heat that it left in her stomach. Undoubtedly, Mr. Willis was attractive. Despite his infuriating personality, he had a roguish charm and a bone structure to die for. Beneath his well-tailored clothes, Marla imagined there was quite a testament to the human physique's aesthetic potential.
“What does that mean, exactly? ”
Mr. Willis's eyes twinkled at her again, dark and delighted. “Thank you for coming to see me, Marla, ” he said, standing from his chair. ” I think I've learned everything I needed to. Benson will see you out. ”
He gestured towards the door with one long-fingered hand, and Marla bowed her head, backing towards it like some kind of indentured servant. Honestly,
she just didn't want to turn away. There was something hypnotic about this man, and something dangerous. His eccentricity and his playfulness were enticing to watch, even when they strayed into irritating territory. It was only when she reached the door, close enough to take the handle, that she turned – and then?
“Marla? ”
Hand in contact with the doorknob, she turned back over her shoulder. Mr. Willis was sitting in his armchair again. Marla hadn't even heard him move.
“You can call me Isaac, ” he said, after a long pause. “That is my name. I’ll be in touch. ”
Marla's heartbeat got faster and louder as she made her way down in the elevator, finger hammering at the button to take her back down to the lobby. For all the reverence she'd felt for the opulence on display on the way in, she was now too desperate to leave to notice it. She barely had chance to nod at the doormen – and there were three of them, now – before she was back out in the sunlight of the street, heart thumping and breath heavy in her chest.
Though Mr. Willis – Isaac – had been in a room facing the other direction, Marla couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The feeling didn't leave her until she was far away on the subway, gone like a sewer rat back into the grimier depths of the city.
No. She didn't know much about Isaac, but one thing was for sure. He wouldn't care to follow her here.
Chapter Three
“So… what? He wants you to suck his dick for rent? ”
This was not exactly the kind of conversation Marla wanted to have so blatantly at an off-Broadway audition, but there was no stopping Charles once he'd started. She should have known better than to tell her friend anything about this on the way here, knowing that he wouldn't stop talking about it until long after they'd both screwed their shot at the play. It hadn't really been a conscious decision on Marla's part, though. Her experience with Isaac Willis had been so surreal that she'd had to share it with somebody.
The somebody just happened not to be the best possible choice in the current circumstances – that was all. They’d arrived early to get a good handle on their scripts before everybody else got there, and they hadn't even really familiarized themselves with it yet.
Charles shrugged, still following on from the same thought. “Tribeca penthouse prices? I'd do it. ”
“You didn't meet him, ” Marla insisted. “The guy's weird; he's… I don't know. He's arrogant. He's so frustrating. ”
“Tribeca rent, ” Charles repeated. “Seriously, country girl. Look it up. You have no idea how good of a deal that is. I mean. . . as long as he's not hideous, I don't think I'd ever turn that down. No matter how much of an asshole he is. ”
Marla resisted the urge to point out that Charles was enough of an asshole himself that it wouldn't matter. It got hard to endure him sometimes, but sadly, Charles was kind of the closest thing Marla had to a best friend here in the city. They didn't know each other very well, and she doubted they'd like each other in five years, but right now? Charles was all Marla had.
“I don't know. It might be something else, anyway. He never even said it was a sex thing. ”
“Of course it's a sex thing, ” said Charles, straight-faced as if Marla were some kind of idiot. “Don't be naive. Nobody needs a janitor that badly. ”
“Maybe he has kids. Pets. ”
“So he'd hire a babysitter, ” said Charles. “A dog-walker. Both. ”
“Quiet in the corridor, please, ” said one of the assistants, sticking her head out of the studio window. The crowd collectively nodded, and the voices of all the other jobbing actors around them lowered back down to a simmering bubble.
“I'm just saying, ” Charles told her, hands raised to emphasize his point. “Don't be surprised when he asks you for something weird and kinky. That's all I'm saying. I worry about your innocence. ”
“I'm not innocent. ”
Charles scoffed, and picked his script back up. Marla had lost him now, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. She was starting to get irritated at the implication that she was some kind of small-minded, childlike hick, and it wouldn't serve her as she tried out for this part. She pulled out her own script, and tried to get into the necessary head-space. No worrying about AJ – no worrying about Isaac Wills.
This lasted all of 30 seconds before her cell started ringing.
Shrouded in filthy looks from her fellow auditioning actors, she winced and headed quickly out of the corridor to answer the call. The number was withheld, but she couldn't afford to miss any calls these days. You never knew when a director or a talent scout would call you back, or offer you a part.
“Hello? ”
“Ms. Baker, ” said the butler from the penthouse, quickly killing all of Marla's hopes of surprise roles in Broadway productions. What was his name? Benson? “Mr. Wills is happy to have me inform you that your application has been successful. He requests your presence at the penthouse immediately. ”
“Right now? ” said Marla uselessly, frantic at the thought of having to leave – and at the thought she'd gotten this position in the first place. How could Isaac possibly know that Marla was what he was looking for from those brief few moments they'd spent together? “I don't know. I'm at an audition; I can't-”
“Mr. Willis insists, ” said Benson. Evidently Marla had no change to insist right back, because at that, the line went dead.
She hung up the line, sliding the phone back into her pocket, and sighed. “Well, then. ”
“Hey, Baker. Talking to yourself again? ”
Marla looked up at this familiar voice, catching sight of a face equally familiar. This was Charles's friend Jack, who showed up in the same circles every now and again. Charles had been in love with him for a while, but as far as she knew, Jack was totally straight. Marla hadn't been expecting to see him today. He tended to aim for more musical parts, and this audition was for a play. She didn't doubt that Jack would pose strong competition for the other male actors here regardless. He was traditionally handsome with his golden hair and glowing tan and tidy, chiseledfeatures. He wouldn't be out of place on stage, whenever he inevitably made it there.
She grinned, trying to play it off like nothing seriously weird had just happened. The last thing she needed was even more conversation about Isaac Willis. “Got to get in the zone somehow. ”
“Hey; whatever works. ”
Jack clapped her on the shoulder as he walked past, letting the hand linger there for a little longer than it should. It wasn't the first time Marla had harbored suspicions about Jack's intentions with her – and ordinarily, she couldn't say she minded. Charles's feelings for him aside, Jack was hot, and New York was lonely. Right now, though, she had other things to focus on.
Right now, apparently, Isaac Wills was expecting her.
“Number 12 – Marla Baker? ”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding. ”
She picked up her script, fist tightening and loosening around it with nerves. She had probably read it twice in total, and now it was her turn to audition. Making sure her cell was at least on silent, she headed out into the studio with as natural a smile as she could force on.
There was nothing she could do now. In this state of mind, she was almost guaranteed to bomb it.
Chapter Four
It had been a long time since she'd screwed an audition up that badly, and she could already feel the cold sweat gathering on the back of her neck from the sheer humiliation of it. That casting director would probably see a whole host of first-timers who performed better than she had today, and she'd never get another chance to make that first impression.
The frustration of receiving such a demanding phone call right before she was called in had not helped – but she couldn't entirely blame Isaac or Benson, and she knew that. After all, it had been her fault for spending the whole prep period trying to convince Charles that she wasn't going to be a hooker.
Actually, she still wasn't absolutely sure whether or not she was going to be a hooker
, but that was another matter.
Marla ran her hands through her hair as she approached the apartment building. This time, the doorman let her straight through. Despite herself, she couldn't help but feel slightly powerful about that. A small and obnoxious part of her hoped that somebody else off the street would try to walk in straight after her, and be obstructed by the security staff. Of course, that wasn't going to happen, as nobody walked into random apartment buildings just out of interest – but still, it felt strangely good to be part of that elite.
Knowing what she was letting herself in for this time made the approach a hell of a lot easier. She had already forgotten how badly Isaac Wills gave her the creeps; all she could think about right now was that shitty old couch of AJ's, and how she might never have to sleep on it again. She hadn't liked Charles's tone or his condescension, but maybe he was right. Maybe living in a place like this would be worth any price.
At least it'd be one thing she had going right for her.
However, it wasn't Benson that opened the door today. Isaac stood there himself, long-legged and handsome, and stepped aside to let her through. “So kind of you to come – though we may need to reaffirm the meaning of 'immediately'. ”
“I had an audition I was about to walk into, ” Marla said. “I tried to explain, but. . . ”
“Come right this way. ”
Marla hated being interrupted, but it seemed like that was pretty much Isaac's modus operandi. She was just going to have to get used to taking deep breaths and pacing herself if this was going to work out.
“You of course have full use of the kitchen, which is through here, ” said Isaac, pointing down a corridor. “It's always fully stocked. All the facilities I have here are open to you. We have a gym with a small pool. A library. The only places you're not permitted to go uninvited are my office, which you've seen, and – one other place, which I'll show you in due course. ”
Ominous, thought Marla, but she said nothing.