by E. A. James
And that was not Margaret. She couldn’t be confident with who she was when she found herself so boring and plain. While she didn’t think she was unattractive, she didn’t think she was attractive either. She was just average. Her hair was medium length and a very dull color of brown. Her eyes matched her hair—dull brown. She was curvy, something that she never seemed to care about or notice before. But now, going to compete with other girls, all skinny and slender, she suddenly felt out of place.
Maggie got to her feet to begin folding up the sheet she used the night before, when she saw the newspaper on the coffee table. This was Liz’s newest way of dropping hints that she wanted her out. Every morning for the last week she had left the paper out and opened to the classifieds.
After putting the sheet away, Margaret returned to the couch and began scanning the columns for potential jobs. Most required some level of experience, all in areas that she had none. There was nothing—literally nothing—that fit into Margaret’s limited frame of abilities.
Moving past the jobs section, she decided to look at other sections of the classifieds. “There has to be something I can do,” she said under her breath as she continued to scan the black print. When she came across the “Situations Wanted” section she paused momentarily. The only things she saw were for escorts. “Right,” she scoffed, “’escorts’.” She knew what that meant—prostitutes. Her mother had worried that her moving to the big city would end in her selling her body for money. “I’ll move home before I do that,” she said to herself determinedly.
As she continued reading one ad caught her eye: “CARETAKER. No experience necessary. Must live in.” She sat back and stared at the wall in front of her. No experience necessary; must live in. It seemed perfect. If anything it was a way to get out of her current living situation.
“This might just work,” she said to herself, looking back down at the paper in her hand.
CHAPTER TWO
“Are you going to call?” Liz questioned her eagerly when she told her about the ad she had seen.
“I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “They want a caretaker.”
“So?” Liz asked, grabbing the paper off the coffee table and looking down at the listing Maggie had circled.
“Caretaker for who? Or what?”
“Kids, probably,” Liz shrugged.
“I haven’t taken care of kids since high school!” Maggie exclaimed. “Not since the kids I babysat got too old for needing someone to look after them.”
“It says ‘no experience necessary’,” Liz pointed out. “So it can’t be that hard. I’m sure even you could do it.”
Of course she had to say it that way. Of course she had to find some way to put her down while trying to encourage her at the same time. “Thanks,” Maggie said rolling her eyes as she reached for the phone.
Her hands shaking, she dialed the number. She didn’t push call, though. She just sat staring at the screen. “What are you waiting for?” Liz asked, grabbing the phone from her hand and pushing the green “call” button. Maggie heard it begin to ring when Liz handed it back to her. “Good luck!” she smiled at her innocently.
Flustered, she quickly lifted the phone to her ear just as a gruff man’s voice came over the line. “Hello?” the voice asked.
“Yes,” she started, her voice shaking. “Hello. I’m calling about the… Well, I saw an ad in the paper for a…”
“Caretaker,” the man replied. He sounded annoyed.
“Yes,” she said quickly. “I was hoping to set up an interview.”
“What time are you free?” the voice demanded more than asked.
“When? Today?” she was taken aback.
“Yes.” The voice still had the annoyed tone to it.
She looked quickly at the clock on the cable box—9:36. “I can be available any time after 11:00,” she said. She immediately regretted that, though. Maybe she should have made it seem like she had an actual life—like she had other responsibilities?
“That will be fine,” the voice replied. Quickly, he gave her the address and hung up without waiting for her to verify that she had the right place, or even ask for the name of who she would be meeting with.
“Get an interview?” Liz asked her as she lowered the phone.
“Yea,” she answered, quickly looking around the room for a piece of paper and a pen. “I need to write down the address,” she said getting to her feet.
“When is it for?” Liz asked, handing her a slip of paper from the table.
Maggie grabbed a pen and scribbled down what she hoped to be the correct address. “Today,” she said not looking over at her roommate. “At 11:00—I think.”
When she walked up to the large, glass-covered building, she was sure that she had written down the wrong address. This was a very expensive area, and the apartment complex in front of her was easily the nicest on the entire street. It was the nicest she had ever seen!
She peered down at the little slip of paper again, checking the number. Letting out a nervous sigh, she forced herself forward. When she reached the glass door, she stared at the rows of illuminated buttons. It appeared that there were 15 floors, with 10 apartments on each—except for the last. She looked down at her paper again. “Apartment 1500,” she said looking back up at the glowing numbers.
Her hand shaking, she pressed the button quickly, not even sure she had held it down long enough for it to actually ring. It must have, though, because just a few second later the front door let out a loud buzz, letting her know it was opened. As she pulled the door open slowly she felt her heart begin to beat harder in her chest.
When she got in the elevator, she tried to push the button for the 15th floor, but nothing happened. Leaning in closer she noticed that there was a keyhole next to the number. She tried to push the button again, but nothing happened. Just as she was about to give up and leave, the doors slid closed in front of her, and the small metal box began to move upwards.
When the doors slid opened again, her jaw dropped. The elevator opened up directly into the middle of a penthouse—a very elegant and sleek looking penthouse. The wall directly in front of her was made entirely of windows, providing an awe-inspiring view of the city. All of the furniture was high-end leather. She guessed from the smell that it was real leather as well. The walls were all a crisp white color, and the curtains black, giving a very sharp look to the room. She walked into the room slowly. There was no one around. She heard the doors of the elevator close behind her. She spun around quickly, trying to stop them. She was sure she had messed up somewhere along the way. This couldn’t be the place!
“Hello,” a voice said from behind her. When she turned she saw an older man, probably in his late 50s or early 60s, wearing a black suit and white shirt standing in the far left corner of the room.
“I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I think I made a mistake.”
“You’re here for the interview?” the man asked slowly.
“Yes,” she squeaked.
“This way,” he said motioning for her to follow him as he disappeared around the corner.
She quickened her step to catch up with him. He led her down a long hallway with gray and white marble tile floors, and imposing black doors running along the walls. He stopped at the third door on the left, turning to face her before pushing it open. “Mr. McGuire will see you in here,” he said as walked in. She followed him slowly. “He will be in momentarily.”
He waited for her to take a seat on the couch before turning to leave. The room he had taken her to was a study of some sort. Three of the walls were lined with bookcases, all filled. There was an over-sized oak desk in front of the fourth wall which was made up of windows, like the one in the room the elevator left her in. Despite the light pouring in, the room still had a dark feel to it.
When the door opened to her left, she stood to her feet quickly, trying to straighten out her shirt and make herself look presentable. The man who walked in the room was tall, with ver
y broad shoulders and a head full of luscious black hair. His eyes were deep blue, and his jaw line rigid. He had a stern look about him, but despite that he was very handsome.
Margaret suddenly became very self-conscious. Her short brown hair hung messily around her face, and she had smeared her make-up on quickly, afraid she would be late for the interview. She was under-dressed, apparently, in her jeans and purple ruffled top.
“Sit,” the man ordered her firmly. She did as she was told, looking down to the ground to keep from staring too intently at him. “My name is Joshua McGuire. And you are?”
“Maggie… I mean, Margaret—Margaret Johnson,” she replied quickly.
“Which is it? Maggie or Margaret?”
“My friends call me Maggie…” she said meekly.
“Are we friends?” he shot back at her. She could feel her face begin to turn red, and her hands shook in her lap.
“No, sir. I wouldn’t say that we were.”
“So Margaret it is,” he said taking a seat at the desk. “Come sit here,” he said motioning to the chair across from him. As she stood to move she could feel his eyes burning into her. “Where are you from, Margaret?”
“Upstate,” she answered quietly as she took her seat.
“I see,” he leaned back in his chair. “What do your parents do for a living?”
“I’m sorry?” She looked up at him, taken aback by the question.
“What do they do? What job do they have?” he repeated himself slowly as if he were talking to a child.
“My mom is a teacher and my dad is an accountant,” she said, not sure what that mattered.
“Did you have a good childhood?”
“I guess,” she shrugged. She didn’t understand why he was asking her these questions, but she was too intimidated not to answer.
“Do you have siblings?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Do they live close by?” he asked her leaning forward.
“No. One still lives at home, the other is in Virginia,” she explained.
“Good.” He leaned back in his chair. “What size do you wear?”
“Excuse me?” she looked at him, her eyes large.
“What size clothes do you wear, Margaret?”
“That’s really none of your business,” she said defensively.
“Well, I’m making it my business.”
“Mr. McGuire, you’re making me uncomfortable,” she said, biting her bottom lip.
“Interesting,” he said standing to his feet and walking around the desk. Once he was directly in front of her he sat on the edge and leaned down to look at her. “You see, Margaret,” he began. “I’m very selective of the people I choose to have around me. If you want to be one of those people, you’re going to have to get used to being uncomfortable.”
His statement surprised her. She wasn’t sure what exactly he meant. She wanted to ask, but she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know the answer. She looked around the room, not letting his persistent stare overwhelm her completely, like it threatened to. “May I ask, Mr. McGuire, who will I be caring for? Provided I get the job?”
“I thought that was obvious,” he said standing up quickly. “Me.”
“You?” she asked. What did he mean? How was she supposed to take care of him? She had the sinking feeling that it meant a lot more than she was willing to do. Did he expect to hire someone to take care of him sexually?
“I’ll be in touch,” he said walking across the room and opening the door. “Thank you, Margaret.”
As she exited the building, her thoughts were filled with one question after the next. While Joshua McGuire was an attractive, obviously wealthy man, if she was right about her assumption of what he wanted from her, she was sure she didn’t want to be a part of it.
CHAPTER THREE
“Are you nervous?” Carrie asked Maggie backstage.
“Of course! Are you?” Maggie asked her in return.
“A little,” Carrie shrugged. She was the only close friend that Maggie had in the city, or at least, the only semblance of a close friend she had. They met at a casting call a few months back, and kept in touch, meeting up from time to time.
Carrie was similar to Liz, however. She had been living in New York City for a while now, and she always seemed to carry herself with a sense of superiority when she was around Margaret. She was as skinny as the hundreds of other girls who Margaret had to compete with for parts. On top of that, she kept her hair dyed blond—a very fake bleached blond—and had big, blue eyes, and a small, adorable little button nose. Her favorite topic of conversation was Maggie’s diet. She thought that through subtly giving her eating tips, she was somehow addressing the question of weight politely. This morning was no different.
“I mean, I was nervous enough that I could barely finish my breakfast this morning,” she added, eying Margaret carefully. “What about you?”
Margaret shrugged, “I guess.” She didn’t want to have this conversation again, especially right before an audition.
“You should really try eating some fresh fruit for breakfast, Maggie. It really gives you an energy boost!”
“Thanks,” Margaret smiled at her meekly, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I mean, I’m sure they don’t really teach you all those things back home. But here in the city, we’re very health conscious.” Margaret decided not to answer. There was no stopping Carrie when she got on her rants, so it was just better to shut up and wait for it to be over. “Really, Maggie. You should maybe take a class or something on nutrition. If you want to get the good roles, you’re going to want to…”
Maggie was interested to see what she would say. She always found interesting ways to phrase “lose weight”.
“You’re going to want to tighten it up a little,” Carrie finished. “And you need to let me take you out shopping.” As she spoke, Margaret wondered why it’s so hard to find real friends in the city. Her friends back home were never so superficial. They never criticized her. She didn’t have a problem with the way she looked, and they didn’t either. Why can’t people here seem to get that?
“Your outfits!” Carrie continued. “I’ve always told you; they make you look like you’re going to the local flea market—not like you’re hoping to be the next big thing on Broadway. I mean, you can always be a supporting…”
Thankfully, her speech was cut short. A man, probably in his mid-twenties, came up and tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to pause in the middle of what she was saying. “Carrie,” he said in a friendly tone.
She turned and let out a quiet squeal of excitement. “Mike!” she exclaimed as she threw her arms around his neck. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” he said smiling down at her. He was attractive enough—tall, dark blond hair, green eyes. “Are you trying for the female lead?” he asked his friend.
“Yes. Oh my God! Are you going for the male lead? Ah!” she screamed a little louder than before. “What if we both got the leads? Wouldn’t that be great? We could work together!”
“That would be great,” he said, taking his eyes from Carrie and turning his attention to Margaret. “And who are you?” he asked extending his hand.
“Maggie,” she blushed slightly.
“Nice to meet you, Maggie. I’m Michael. Are you trying out for the lead as well?” He looked her over as he spoke, but not in the judgmental way that everyone else at the casting calls always did.
“Yes,” she answered softly.
“Well, playing the lead opposite you wouldn’t be half bad either.” He winked at her, causing her cheeks to turn a bright color of red.
She wanted to continue talking to him, but suddenly she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. “Excuse me,” she said apologetically as she pulled it out and turned away from Carrie and Mike. “Hello?” she said as she held the phone up to her face.
“Ms. Johnson?” She recognized the voice im
mediately. It was Mr. McGuire’s butler. Why was he calling? It had been two days since her interview, and she was sure that she didn’t get the job.
“Yes?” she asked, nervous.
“I’m pleased to tell you that you’ve been selected for the caretaker position.” His voice didn’t sound pleased; it had the same dry, almost monotonous tone it did the last few times she spoke to him.
“Oh,” she said, flustered. “I didn’t expect to…”