by ML Michaels
“I assume there were no issues regarding your transport,” he said, and turned to walk toward the back of the room without waiting for a response. Rachel assumed she was to follow and did so.
“No, not at all. Harry was very nice and…”
“Splendid,” he said, turning agilely on one foot and facing her, this time looking straight into her eyes. She had suspected this would have been his response even if she had said that Harry had hog tied her and thrown her in the trunk.
She glanced around the foyer, which they were now standing in the center of, and gasped audibly at the sheer size and ornateness of the room. Rachel had never been in a palace before, but she had seen pictures, and even those could not compare with the beauty that stood before her at that moment.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice calm but his dark eyes still hard and unrelenting.
“It’s incredible,” Rachel said, her eyes moving toward the rows of oil paintings covering the walls along a massive sweeping staircase that ascended three floors. There were portraits and landscapes, interspersed with wrought-iron light fixtures that seemed incredibly dated but also beautiful.
“I’m afraid that only the foyer retains the original charm. Mr. Hall Senior decided to incorporate more modern finishes when he inherited the house in the 1950s. It has been renovated every year since. However, no one has brought themselves to disturb this room. Not yet, anyway,” he said and began walking across the foyer once more with long sweeping strides.
“I hope they never do,” Rachel said as she followed dutifully behind, but if she was heard, she wasn’t acknowledged.
They passed through a set of large double doors, which opened into a long corridor. Rachel tried to absorb everything she was passing, but the sheer number of doors, paintings, hallways and staircases was overwhelming. The house had seemed large from the outside, but she now believed it was truly impossible to absorb everything she was seeing.
Finally, they reached another set of double doors, which he opened for her and allowed her to step into the most modern kitchen she had ever seen. There was a twelve burner stove, a gleaming glass refrigerator that seemed larger than Rachel’s entire apartment, and slabs of marble on the counter tops she thought must have taken cranes to install.
There were two chefs bustling around, taking no notice of either of them, but one of them immediately brought forward a tray of tea and cakes, setting it just in front of her. Rachel eyed it eagerly, her stomach empty since her mug of instant coffee.
“Please,” he said to her and her face reddened as she picked up a dainty cup. He chose one, and took a small croissant as well. She did the same and he waved the tray away.
“Have a seat there,” he motioned to a large wooden table beyond the vast, white cook space, “I need to see to a few things.”
He disappeared without waiting for her response, and she moved silently to the other end of the room to await his return. She had just finished her croissant, and was wishing she had taken another, when the tray appeared before her again. She added some milk and sugar to her tea and picked up a pink frosted teacake. After a few minutes alone, she was quiet content with her decision to make the journey.
When her host returned, he took a seat opposite her, and in the bright light of the kitchen she realized that he was actually much younger than she had even thought when she arrived. He could not have been much older than she. She swallowed the remainder of her teacake as he began to speak.
“Thank you very much for coming,” he said, “I’ve just sent Harry back to your apartment to gather your things. We’ll need you to start right away. I need to know your dress size and if you have any food allergies. I can show you to your quarters now…”
“What?” Rachel asked. She had many more questions, but lacked the ability to formulate coherent ways to ask them.
The dark grey eyes of the man across from her softened ever so slightly, but then the steeliness returned, harder than ever.
“You speak English, correct?” he asked, his voice a calm, clever mocking tone.
“Yes,” she answered, the word feeling large and stupid in her mouth.
“And you’re looking for a job, correct?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said again, furious that she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Well then, congratulations,” he said with an impatient, sarcastic smile, “You’re hired.”
“I have an audition tomorrow,” Rachel blurted out, and he raised one of his dark, arched brows as if he was humoring a child.
“An audition?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m…” she was flustered and felt her face turning red, “I’m an actress and I…”
“Of course,” he said, “Harry can bring you wherever you need to go. Just be sure you have your phone with you in case of an emergency. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’m very busy, and I’d like to show you to your quarters.”
“I would rather pack my own things,” she said, feeling indignant but also embarrassed about just how little she had.
He sighed impatiently.
“Fine, Harry will bring you home, and you may return this weekend with your things,” he said.
He stood up and began to walk toward the same door they had come in.
“I haven’t even met Mr. Hall. How do you know he will even like me?” Rachel asked, and as she did, both chefs looked at her with looks of mild amusement.
That was when she realized exactly what had happened, and she felt herself blush even redder as he turned on his heel once more and spoke with genuine humor. He wasn’t Bart at all.
“Why,” he said, “I’m Mr. Hall.”
***
“And then he just asked me my dress size! Like it wasn’t even a big deal,” Rachel said irritably. She was sitting in a folding chair in a waiting room with dozens of other women, most of whom were much taller, and much prettier.
“Is he hot?” asked Tara without looking up from the monologue she was trying to memorize.
“Tara, that’s not the point,” Rachel said, though she hoped her friend didn’t press the issue because, yes, Mr. Hall was attractive.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” Tara said, giving Rachel a half-hearted shrug, “It’s not like this is going anywhere for you.” She motioned around the room and Rachel scoffed and looked away. She had met Tara at an audition when she had first moved to New York, and while it was nice to have someone she could call, she wasn’t the most supportive person in the world.
She was about to tell Tara that she had a great feeling about this audition, which wasn’t true at all, when her phone began to ring. The Westchester area code was flashing on the screen when she pulled it from her bag.
“Rachel? Mr. Hall needs you right away,” said Bart’s voice, “Harry will meet you outside your audition in 10 minutes. Please be ready.” He hung up before Rachel could say anything.
“Who was that?” Tara asked.
“My boss, I guess, if that’s what I’m supposed to call him,” Rachel said, “He needs me now.”
“Is this like a sex thing?” Tara asked, not bothering to lower her voice. A few girls sitting nearby overheard and turned to stare.
“No,” Rachel hissed, but in her mind she wasn’t sure. Mr. Hall, or Corbin as she had been asked to call him, was nowhere near old enough to need a full time caretaker. He was in excellent shape and when she had asked about medical conditions, he had given her the same condescending smile and a long drawn out, “no.”
Tara shrugged.
“I think it is,” she said, “Don’t be ashamed. A lot of the girls have done it. I had a sugar daddy when I was seventeen, and let me just tell you how lucky you are that yours is young and hot. It makes it so much easier when they can get it up and…”
“It is not a sex thing,” Rachel said, mostly to cut Tara off as people weren’t being subtle with their stares anymore, “I have to go.”
She picked up her bag and her jacket and left her printed
monologue on the plastic chair, not looking back once as she pushed her way out through the heavy metal doors and on to the street.
Harry arrived a few minutes later and got out to open the door despite the apparent haste in Bart’s tone.
“Do you know what the emergency is?” Rachel asked as Harry turned on to the West Side Highway and accelerated into the left lane.
“I never ask, Miss,” Harry said, but the somberness in his tone told her that this wasn’t the first time he had fetched a caretaker and had this exact conversation, “Oh, by the way. Bart told me to have you sign this.”
He passed back a manila folder that contained a small packet of papers. She read them over quickly.
“A non-disclosure agreement?” she asked.
“It’s standard,” Harry replied, “We all have to sign them.”
Rachel nodded and signed her name.
“That makes me a little nervous,” Rachel said, giggling nervously and hoping that Harry would volunteer more information, but he remained silent.
She checked her phone, half expecting to see a text from Tara, but the screen was blank, so she leaned back into the leather seat and watched the skyline of the city pass her by. She thought about the auditions she had been on, the ones she had bombed, the ones she had been optimistic about, and the very few parts she had earned. It wasn’t at all what she had expected when she had moved to the city, and she certainly hadn’t expected to be sitting in a Town Car traveling 100 miles an hour to a mansion in the suburbs to care for a gorgeous man. As the skyline disappeared from view, she could almost see the future she had planned slipping away as well.
***
It was late afternoon by the time they arrived at the White Plains mansion, and Rachel was feeling anxious. Yes, Corbin was arrogant, condescending and rude, but he was her boss, and if he was ill or in need of assistance, then she should be there. Before Harry could stop the car, she had her door open and was walking quickly up the steps and into the foyer.
“Miss Thomas,” said Bart as she came in. Rachel did a double take, and was pleasantly relived that the actual Bart looked much more like her original impression of his voice. She felt foolish now for mistaking Corbin for his own butler, but that was not her concern at the moment.
“Is everything alright? Is Corbin…” she began, but the butler cut her off.
“Mr. Hall is resting,” he said, “He has requested that I show you to your quarters.”
Rachel was still running on adrenaline from her car ride, and though she was confused, she followed Bart wordlessly up the sweeping staircase. He walked as though he had a yardstick running from the collar of his shirt to the waistband of his finely pressed slacks. His steps were quick and even, but she kept pace with him more easily than she had with Corbin.
“Is he ill? I rushed here and…” Rachel said.
“There was a minor scare, but Mr. Hall will be fine. However, because of this, we will need you to move in immediately. Harry was sent for your belongings before you arrived, and the maid staff has dealt with the unpacking,” Bart said, now stepping onto the carpeted landing of the second floor.
“What type of scare?” Rachel asked.
Bart turned to her slowly and opened his mouth as if to answer, but looked her carefully up and down instead.
“You are awfully small, Miss Thomas,” he said, as if that answered her question and continued on his way.
Rachel didn’t ask anything further and followed Bart down another carpeted corridor to a small cluster of rooms at the back of the mansion.
“This door leads to my quarters,” he said, pointing to a wide wooden door on his left as they passed. “This is where the maid staff lives. Harry and the landscapers live in various guesthouses on the property. And this will be your room.”
He opened a door at the back of the hallway, shadowed in darkness. Bart opened the door, but allowed Rachel to enter first. She fumbled for a light switch and found one after a moment.
The room was richly appointed with a large four-poster bed, wardrobe, dressing table and floor to ceiling windows. The furniture was dark, but the bed linens and curtains were light and airy and the floorboards gleamed in the early evening light. She ran her fingers along the bright white quilt on top of the bed, and took notice of a massive red box, labeled with a designer Rachel had seen plastered on the pages of Vogue and in Fifth Avenue windows.
“I believe Mr. Hall intends for you to wear that to dinner,” Bart said, the tone of his voice remaining constant.
Even if Corbin intended this to be a sexual escapade, she believed Bart would treat her the same as he would a gardener or maid.
“Okay,” she murmured, running her hands across the embossed box and willing Bart to leave so she could look inside.
“Cocktails are in the garden at 6:00pm sharp, which should give you ample time to shower and make yourself presentable,” Bart said, with the same honest and disinterested tone. She didn’t bother to tell him that she had showered and made herself presentable for her audition earlier that morning. Instead, she nodded. He left quietly and she was left alone.
Her phone rang again, it was Tara.
“Hello?” she asked, walking toward the windows and looking over the grounds.
“Have you been sold into sexual slavery?” Tara asked sarcastically.
“Yeah, and they let me keep my cell,” Rachel answered and walked toward the dressing table. The maids had placed her tattered makeup bag on top, but when she looked through the doors, she saw it was stocked with beauty products that she had only dreamed of owning. There was a small tray of expensive looking French perfumes, and heavy glass jars of creams and oils.
“Well the audition was a bust,” you didn’t miss anything. Rachel muttered something to the affirmative but walked toward the bathroom door, now more curious than ever.
The bathroom was white and bright, tiled in large pieces of white and grey marble. There was a bay window, and a giant claw-foot tub placed in the perfect position to watch the sun set over the property. There was a cloud, soft robe draped elegantly over the edge, and a tray of salts, scrubs and soaps across width of the tub. Fresh peonies adorned the vanity, and a mirror rimmed with Hollywood lights showed her a reflection that seemed starkly out of place.
“Hello? Earth to Rachel?” Tara said, her voice distant and unimportant.
“Yeah, sorry,” Rachel said.
“Is it alright there?” she asked, and Rachel looked around and nearly laughed at the absurdity of the question. It was then that she remembered the box on the bed and crossed the bathroom quickly.
“It’s fine,” Rachel answered as she gingerly lifted the red lid with one hand. The tissue paper fell away and revealed a ruby red cocktail dress. It was the finest garment that Rachel had ever seen. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well I hope so, Parker is excited about your date,” Tara said.
“Who?” Rachel asked. She let the dress fall back into the box and looked at her watch. It was quarter to five, and she would need all the time she could to get ready. She crossed the bedroom once more and went into the bathroom to run water into the tub.
“Parker,” Tara said, “my friend from Long Island. He’s coming into the city this weekend and I told him I’d set him up with you. You agreed to this!”
“Oh, right, sorry,” said Rachel and left the tub to fill, “Just not this weekend, okay?”
“Why? You’ve met him once before right?” Tara asked.
Rachel grimaced at the thought. Earlier this summer, Tara had hosted a rooftop barbeque and Parker gotten very drunk and fallen into a cooler of beer. Before then, he’d made sure to tell her that she was cute “for a scrawny girl.”
“I have to work, but next time,” Rachel said and began to strip off her clothes from the day. Her jeans went onto the rug next to the bed, her boots beside them, and her button up shirt she laid across one of the chairs. It was dry clean only.
“Okay, try not to get murdered. And if it
does end up being one of those weird sex things, just don’t tell Parker, okay? I think it would bum him out,” she said, and hung up.
Rachel tossed her phone onto the bed and went back to the bathroom. She turned off the faucet and slipped into the steaming water, now noticing an ice bucket and bottle of champagne beside the tub. Laughing to herself, she popped the cork and took a sip from the bottle. It was sweet and good, but she allowed herself only a few more sips. She was still at work after all. But as she sat there, watching the sun fade down into the deep purple green of the horizon, she wondered what exactly her work was going to be.
***
It was just before 6:00 when Rachel slid into her dress and walked down the back staircase toward the gardens. She only had one pair of nice shoes, and they were high, so she held on to the bannister and vowed to sit for the entire evening. Her hair was blown dry and fell over her left shoulder in a single shiny wave. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked around to get her bearings before deciding to venture down the corridor in front of her, which looked familiar enough.
“Ah, Miss Thomas, I see you’re navigating very well,” said Bart as Rachel reached the end of the hallway and ended up in a small parlor, which opened up into the back yard. Bart seemed less stiff than before, which Rachel attributed to the small glass of brandy she saw beside him.
“I’m managing,” she said and took the glass of champagne he offered her. She wasn’t used to drinking, she couldn’t usually afford it, but today seemed like an acceptable occasion.
“Mr. Hall is waiting for you outside,” he said, and swept his arm toward the open French doors.
Corbin was sitting at a glass patio table, with an ornate umbrella drawn above his head to shield the evening sun. He was wearing khakis and a button down shirt, dark leather loafers and a matching belt. His hair was combed back away from his face, and he sipped his drink with importance as he watched her walk across the patio stones.
