"Well, the fatter you get, the sooner you'll run back home with your tail between your legs. Your mom never wanted you to leave in the first place. She knows you're a loser." He got up and winked at me before going into what used to be our bedroom. I heard the shower start and knew it was safe to let the tears fall. I popped a mint in my mouth and pulled the newspaper towards me.
The want ads were a joke. A couple waitressing jobs I'd already applied for—the competition here was fierce, hotel clerk positions that wouldn't give you the time of day unless you were a model, and things that I would never consider in a million years, no matter how bad things got, like escorting. Everyone knew that escort was code for prostitute. I'd never stoop to something like that, no matter what.
I scanned the last page quickly, just to see if there was anything I might've missed. One ad caught my eye. CARETAKER: LIVE IN POSITION. No other qualifications were listed, and no other details.
"Hmm... caretaker of what?" I mumbled to myself. It was probably a trick. I'd learned one thing living in this town for the last six months—people spoke in veiled euphemisms. "Athletic" meant flat chested. "Writer" meant out of work. I assumed "Caretaker" meant sex slave, or something to that effect. I tossed the paper aside and pulled out my phone. Soon I wouldn't even have this anymore. I had enough left on my credit card for one more month of service, and then I was finished. Colin was right. I'd have to go back home with my tail between my legs.
The doorbell rang and Colin yelled, "Can you get it?"
I pushed myself up and opened the door to find a beautiful blonde with fake boobs and lips pumped full of something synthetic.
"Hi," she breathed. "I'm Leah." She was clearly trying to sound like Marilyn Monroe. I thought Marilyn would turn over in her grave is she saw this girl. Fake hair, fake lashes, fake everything. Her dress accentuated the over-plasticized nature of her body.
I might be big, but at least my body was real—and real men liked real curves. They liked women whose breasts didn't feel like rubber and whose walk had a little oomph to it when she moved. Some men did. Other men, like Colin, liked plastic Leah.
"Hey babe," Colin came into the room dressed in a towel and pushed me aside. He grabbed hold of her, pulled her to him, and licked her face like she was a lollipop. She giggled. My stomach churned. I brushed my bronzed hair over my eyes, trying to hide the disgusting sight before me.
"Come on," he said, pulling her into the bedroom. I watched in shock as he closed the door behind them.
"He's not..." I muttered to myself. No, not even Colin would do that. There are some lines you just don't cross. When your recent ex-girlfriend is still living with you and sitting outside your door, you don't bang the milkmaid.
But I had overestimated Colin again. I heard the squeak of our—his—mattress begin to pulse in a certain rhythm I knew only too well. Colin rarely varied anything in bed. I searched frantically for my headphones, but it was too late. Leah started screaming his name and moaning like she was making a porno. I assumed she'd had a lot of practice.
I grabbed the paper I'd been looking at and flipped back to the caretaker ad. I dialed the number before the squeaking began to make my ears bleed. I don't care what it is. Anything is better than this.
Chapter 2
I made my way into the Hollywood Hills. There was a great lookout spot not too far down the road. You could see all of Los Angeles and its surrounding cities. The house I was looking for must've been way at the top. I bet their view of the Hollywood sign was amazing. I crept along and turned onto a side road, then another side road, until finally I couldn't see anything except trees and the road right in front of me. I was just starting to think I'd gotten the address wrong when the trees cleared and a magnificent house stood before me.
It looked like it was three floors with a domed roof and yard so large and manicured a professional football team could have played on it. I was shocked that there were no gates or fences of any kind. I parked my car in the driveway and went right up to the door, looking around as if someone was going to jump out and arrest me for trespassing. The house was too rich for someone like me. I don't belong here.
I rang the bell and a great gong sounded inside. A minute later, the door opened and a stout, severe looking man with dark eyes and graying hair opened the door.
"H-hi," I stammered. "I'm Kaitlyn McGrath. I'm here for the interview." My voice barely squeaked out of my throat. This man was intense. If this was who I was interviewing with, I might as well leave now. I couldn't work with his critical eyes and cold presence.
"Come in," he said. "I am the butler."
I smiled and said, "Is that your name?" I thought maybe he didn't get the joke from the way he was looking at me. "You know, The Butler?" I was trying to be funny, but he didn't even crack a smile.
"No. Jeremy. O'Donnell."
"Oh." I said, feeling uncomfortable. "Okay. Jeremy O'Donnell."
His voice was warmer than his appearance, but that wasn’t saying much. I thought I detected a hint of an Irish accent, but didn't dare ask about it. He didn't offer to shake my hand, he just led me down a long hallway that felt like it might never end. He looked a bit like a zombie, standing with his back stiff and his legs unnaturally straight. Even when he walked, he moved funny.
I followed him into a great room, richly furnished and decorated with what I could only assume were priceless works of art. A giant window spanned the entire back wall of this room, letting in lots of natural light that seemed to contrast with the museum feel of the house. There was a giant pool in the backyard that could've been used to train Olympic athletes. I started to ask if it actually was used for that purpose, when another man entered the room.
This man was younger and incredibly good looking. Thirty-one or thirty-two, with deep blue-green eyes that shined like gemstones.
"Ms. McGrath?" he asked. His voice caught me off guard. It was deep and filled with rich, melodic undertones that reminded me of saxophone music. Listening to him talk was like listening to a fine instrument being played by a seasoned musician.
"Hello," I said. "You can call me Kaitlyn."
"I'm Brett Elliot. You may call me Mr. Elliot, or Sir." Then he shot Jeremy a look that made it plain he didn't want me here.
I tried to stop my hands from shaking as I pulled my resume from my bag. I held it out and took a step towards Brett—Mr. Elliot.
"What's that?" he asked, taking a step back and looking like I'd tried to hand him rat poison.
"Er, my resume?"
He signaled to Jeremy who took it from me and slid it in a drawer. I figured it was probably a bad sign when the boss didn't even want to glance at your resume.
"What is your middle name?" Brett asked.
"Um... Mary."
"Where is your family from?"
"What? Idaho." Was this the interview?
He shook his head like I'd just told him the square root of nine is five. "No, no, no, where are they from originally? Your heritage Ms. McGrath, your heritage!" His face turned red and Jeremy stepped from the corner of the room. I'd almost forgotten he was there. He cleared his throat and Mr. Elliot shot him an angry look.
"You do this," Mr. Elliot snarled and walked towards the door.
"I don't think that's advisable, Mr. Elliot," said Jeremy, stepping towards him. There was something implied in Jeremy's statement—a veiled threat that I didn't understand, but could pick up on easily enough. The man paused and, to my surprise, returned to his spot.
"Fine, continue," Mr. Elliot waved his hand in the air, cutting through it like a knife. I stood watching, uncertain whether I should leave or simply remain quiet.
"I said continue," he yelled, looking at me with a mixture of exasperation and curiosity.
I jumped. "Are you talking to me?" I asked, startled. I'd assumed he'd been speaking to Jeremy.
"Yes you, of course you. Continue."
"Continue with what? Er… sir."
"Your story," he said, as if were obvious. "Where are
your people from?"
"Oh, um, my mom's family is mostly Irish. My dad's English, Scottish, and Native American. Kind of a mutt, really, huh?"
I tried using a friendly smile to cut through the ice, but he just looked at the floor. I could feel his anger flowing towards me. This was a bad environment to be in. Even if I was offered the job, I wasn't sure I wanted to accept it. As I pondered that, the memories of Colin and Leah played back in my head. One particular highlight, which I was certain to carry with me all the days of my life, was when Leah had come out of the bedroom stark naked to get a glass of water. I could smell Colin on her; it made me gag.
"How much do you weigh? he asked.
"Excuse me?" Jeremy shot me a worried glance but I checked my rising temper. "None of your business," I said.
Brett glared at me from across the room. "Tell me your height."
"My height?"
"Yes, your height. Surely you can't object to that."
"Well... 5' 5".
He smirked, "Was that so difficult?"
I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. "Do you want to ask me about previous work experience?"
"That won't be necessary," he said. "The interview is over."
Great. Another job down the drain. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door, anxious to get away from this rich asshole.
"Do you have any questions for me, Ms. McGrath?" I paused mid-stride.
"What’s the point?"
"Well," that seemed to catch him off guard. "Wouldn't you like to inquire about salary or see the living quarters?"
Was this guy fucking with me or what? "Not sure I see the point," I snapped.
"I don't understand."
"I didn't get the job, right? Why would I have any interest in any of that stuff?"
"What makes you think you didn't get it?" he asked. His eyes began to glow. I’m sure it was a trick of the lighting, but the effect was mesmerizing, like staring into the deepest parts of the ocean.
"You mean..." I suddenly felt my cheeks growing red. "You mean I got it?"
"I haven't decided yet."
"Oh, I thought..."
He waited in silence. I could sense his irritation. "Fine then. If there is nothing more, you may leave."
I hesitated. "Well I do have one question."
"Yes, what?"
"The job is listed as 'caretaker.' What exactly would I be taking care of?"
Mr. Eliott’s eyes flashed to Jeremy. I didn't quite catch the look, but I didn't need to. He thought it was a stupid question. He turned his glowing eyes back to mine, and I felt them latch on to me. I was repulsed by his attitude, but at the same time, felt drawn to him.
"You'd be caring for me, of course." He said sharply, then exited the room before I could ask anything else.
Chapter 3
I was sitting in the waiting room of Ritz casting, squished between a loud, snobby blonde with breast implants, and a stick figure brunette with breast implants. They kept leaning across my lap to talk to each other, and I wondered why they didn't just move. When the brunette with too much makeup spritzed perfume all over me, I wondered why I didn't just move.
"Thank God," the blonde said when I got up. "I thought dumbo would never leave." She took my seat and I looked up to see them both staring in my direction and laughing. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and turned away from them.
They were the cookie-cutter over-processed girls I saw everywhere out here. I recognized these two in particular. We all seemed to make the same rounds of casting calls and auditions, although I wasn't exactly sure of their names. I thought the blonde was maybe Melissa something and the brunette... well, didn't know and didn't care. They both had the personality of a wet rag, which was really an insult to wet rags.
"I mean, gawd, did you see her makeup? What was she thinking? Doesn't she know that peach blush went out with the eighties?"
My shoulders stiffened. Are they talking about me? I wanted to turn around and tell them both where they could shove their opinions, but I was afraid of getting thrown out of the audition. "Oh my gawd, Carri, I know, and that shirt. I didn't think you could fit a Twinkie into a crop top—and green?" She said it like I was wearing baby puke.
"I think she thought the audition was for a leprechaun role." They doubled over laughing.
I realized what they were doing. Competition was fierce out here, and some personality types (ahem… skanky bitches) liked to use bullying and intimidation tactics. Nevertheless, I looked down at my shirt. I thought it was pretty, albeit second-hand from the thrift store, but times were tough. It wasn't a crop top, either, it was just a simple blouse that showed off my cleavage and highlighted the green in my hazel eyes.
"Well, now to be fair, what can you wear when you're an ugly-ass Goodyear blimp? I mean, the only improvement would be a paper bag, right?" They burst into a fresh round of giggles and I felt my eyes well with tears. Do. Not. Cry. Usually, I had a thicker skin, but lately, it seemed like I was crying at the drop of a hat. Things weren’t going well for me, and I was quickly running out of steely resolve.
My eyes were puffier than usual from the crying and it didn't help that Colin had made it his mission to keep me up nights. His casual romps with easy women indicated an express desire to set some sort of word record for sexual conquests. I honestly thought he was doing it just to be a dick to me. Last night, the noises in his room had been so bad I'd finally left in the middle of the night and gone to Griffith Park. Sleeping on a park bench was about as uncomfortable as it sounds.
When Melissa threw a rolled up gum wrapper at me I finally lost my temper and spun around. "What the hell is your problem with me?" I snapped.
Instead of looking embarrassed, they roared with laughter. "Oh my gawd, it talks."
"Yeah, we're sorry, we thought you were, you know, 'special,' " said Melissa, making finger air quotes. "Didn't think you had a clue what we were saying."
Fresh tears gathered in the corners of my eyes, fed by fatigue and stress. I whipped my head back around to face the wall, not wanting them to see the tears spill over my cheeks. "Oh my gawd," said Melissa. "She’s crying!"
Dammit! I cursed myself for not having better control.
"It's too easy to make babies cry. Hey, honey, " Carri said leaning forward. "You're too soft for this town."
"And too big," said Melissa. Their cackles rang across the room. There were at least forty others in there with us, and they were all watching. Not one person came to my defense. Assholes. I didn't even have a friend that I could call and commiserate with. It was at that moment that I realized for the first time how truly alone I was in the world.
I hid my face in my hands and walked quietly yet quickly to the bathroom. I wanted to leave the audition, but I didn't dare. My agent might work out of the trunk of his car, but he'd gone to a lot of trouble to get me here. If I left now, there'd be no coming back. Besides, I was too strong to let two dime-a-dozen floozie-wanna-be’s run me out of an audition.
I cleaned my face up as best I could and went back into the waiting room, finding a seat as far away from Melissa and Carri as possible. They seemed to have lost interest in me while I was in the bathroom. I took a chair and pretended to be incredibly engrossed in my phone. My message screen popped up and I clicked on a new email from my mom.
Katie, when are you coming home? I talked to Colin and he says you're broke and not working. I told you moving to Hollywood was a bad idea. You never listen to me. Colin was the one good thing in your life and look how you messed that up.
Just come home already and put this silly dream of yours away. If acting is that important to you, I can talk to Minister Cromwell. Maybe you can participate in the Christmas pageant this year. Doesn't that sound nice?
You're twenty-three. It's time to grow up. Some people just aren't meant to shine. There’s nothing wrong with ordinary. Please stop running after foolish pipedreams and accept who you are.
Love, Mom
I tho
ught that was possibly the worst, most depressing email she'd ever sent me. My mom was a master manipulator, and now she was trying to get me to move back to the town I couldn't wait to get out of in the first place. What would I do if I moved back there? Work at the library for the rest of my life? Bliss, Idaho's library had no more than five hundred books and closed at three o'clock every day. The best I could hope for in Bliss was that I'd die young and be put out of my misery.
I was still staring at my mom's email when my phone buzzed startling me so hard I nearly dropped it. The caller I.D. was blocked but I had a strange feeling I knew who it was.
Jeremy's voice rang out from the other end. "Ms. McGrath?"
I nodded, too frightened to speak, then realized he couldn't actually see me nod. "Yes?"
"This is Jeremy, Mr. Elliot's butler. He has asked me to phone you to tell you that he requires you immediately."
"Excuse me?"
"The job is yours, should you choose to accept, but you must come immediately."
I eyed the dwindling number of people in the waiting room. I was going to be called upon soon. "Er, well, I can't make it right this minute. How about five-ish? I could be there by five."
It was three now. If they called me within the next twenty minutes, I'd be able to finish the audition and make it to the Elliot estate in plenty of time.
"I'm sorry, Ms. McGrath," Jeremy said. "Five is unacceptable. Mr. Elliot requires you now." There was that undercurrent of a threat that I'd recognized in Jeremy's voice the other day.
I started to hyperventilate. I needed time to think. "Well, but, I'm not available right now."
Jeremy's voice came back cool and crisp. "It's now or never, Ms. McGrath."
A myriad of thoughts rushed through my brain simultaneously culminating in a quick but complete vision of my future. I saw Melissa and her friend whispering to each other, pointing at me and laughing. I saw my bank balance, which was currently twenty-three cents. I saw my car, on its last legs and due for an oil change, which was packed with everything I owned. The few possessions I had—some clothes and a few books—I refused to leave at Colin's anymore because I was afraid they wouldn't be there when I got back. I saw Colin, whom I knew had another date tonight. I saw myself with no sleep, no food, leaving L.A. and running back home with my tail between my legs. I saw my mom reminding me for the rest of my life what a complete failure I was.
Claimed by the New Alpha Page 18