Shape Of My Heart

by Khardine Gray

  It took Amy the whole day just to clean the living room. She drove to the supermarket and got some cleaning sprays and cloths. She also got some super-thick rubber gloves to lessen the chance of contamination. She’d never been in a house so dirty. It was like one of those homes from hell shows that showed how dirty people could be.

  Just from the living room alone she’d bagged up eight extra-large disposal bags. It was atrocious.

  Kathy, her good friend from New York, and Tristan had sent her the standard “good luck on your first day” messages, to which she hadn’t replied. What could she say? This was hell.

  Her, Amy Rose, the aspiring designer who wanted to work for Dior, was scrubbing floors and picking up underwear amongst garbage. It was a cruel joke and she didn’t know what stroke of bad luck had crossed her path to allow this to happen.

  Even her clothes were ruined. Earlier she’d reached for a beer bottle on the shelf believing it was empty. It slipped out of her grasp and landed on her, spilling moldy beer with fermented bits all over her beautiful clothes. It stank to high heaven and she did too. She’d had to have a mini wash in the kitchen, which was surprisingly not as bad as the living room. Probably because it seemed like Mr. Mancini preferred fast food and beer to home cooked meals that would require the use of pots, pans, and dinnerware.

  By the time she was done the living room looked livable and she could see her way into the sitting room. It hosted another mess, which she had managed to clear away but hadn’t cleaned.

  At the end of her work day the bad smell had gone and at least the place looked like a person lived there and not like he was keeping animals. She didn’t know how he managed to do anything or eat in such a mess.

  He hadn’t returned when she was leaving, which was fine, she didn’t particularly want to see him again for the day. At least she’d survived day one.

  Barely.

  Now on to her little room in downtown. She couldn’t even class it as an apartment. It wasn’t big enough. There was a single bed that looked like something you’d see in a jail cell, a unit with a stove top, and a sink. Next to that was a mini-fridge, the toilet, and shower.

  There was just enough space beside the bed to keep her sewing machine and her mannequin that helped her to make her dress for the designer showcase.

  She hid the dress underneath the bed in multiple plastic bags. With the rhinestones that covered it, and the fine red silk and taffeta mix, that dress was easily valued at between ten and fifteen thousand dollars. It would be a small fortune for anyone who stole it. She’d spent five thousand on putting it together, which she was luckily able to do before she’d had news of her mother’s condition.

  Her room was part of a multi-complex of other rooms and in a worse part of town. The locks didn’t work properly and she couldn’t take the chance of getting burgled. If that happened, that would be it for her. Right now she was living on an incredibly tight budget to enable her to fulfill her mission to help her mother and secure her spot as a Dior designer.

  This was the third time that she’d applied to work for Dior. Their new designer recruitment process ran over the course of a year, starting with the standard application and portfolio, then on to an interview and presentation to pitch a design for any season of her choice. The designer showcase was the final stage. It was a massive event with a fashion show that allowed you the chance to display your main design. Passing that meant being accepted as one of their entry-level designers. It was onwards and upwards from there.

  Every year Dior accepted two to five new designers. It went without saying that they were extremely selective. Hundreds would apply, and in most years only a handful were accepted. Last year it was two people. The year before three.

  In the first two attempts Amy got through to the second stage but went no further. It was quite disappointing and heart rending, especially since each time she was up against fresh graduates with new ideas. Now she was thirty-three, five years older than when she applied the second time around, but with more experience and names under her belt. It was her PA role that helped to boost her application on her latest attempt. She’d been able to talk a lot more about working with magazines and future prospects in the fashion world than on her first two attempts. She couldn’t have been more ecstatic to be invited to take part in the designer showcase in Beverly Hills in four months.

  This was her dress, and she had to say it was truly beautiful. She’d gone for an elegant slim line.

  Amy planned to go in with fire, guns blazing, and a no-failure attitude. She hadn’t allowed herself to think past the what if of failure. It simply wasn’t an option even with her mother being sick.

  All she had to do was get through this job and hope that she wouldn’t lose her sanity. Tomorrow she would speak to Mr. Mancini when he was sober. Speaking to drunk people was a complete waste of time and energy because they wouldn’t remember half of what you said when next you saw them. She just hoped that tomorrow would be better.

  Grabbing a microwave dinner of vegetable lasagna, she shoved it in the small microwave oven. Just like yesterday it sparked up a few times, stalled, sparked again, and then continued until it pinged minutes later when it was ready.

  A knock sounded at her door and she wondered who it could be. She wasn’t comfortable in this place at all and, in all honesty, preferred to let whoever was knocking stay outside. She was also tired from the day she’d had.

  She tiptoed towards the door, peered through the little peephole, and frowned when she saw it was the landlord. He was a big, butch, Eastern European guy with a creepy attitude and an accent that made you feel like you were in a bond film, but not in a good way. He also had a twin brother who lived on the next floor up. She paid her rent for the month already and a deposit, so she really wasn’t sure why he was here. But, since it was him she decided she’d better open the door.

  “Hi Mr. Krutz. Is there something I can help you with?”

  He gave her that once over look most guys did, but on him with his thick masculinity and shaved head it made him look even more creepy.

  “Call me Dom. I’m just checking to see how you are, blondie.” He smiled and ran his hand across his stubbly chin. That was the second time today that her hair had been referenced. Maybe she should dye it. If it meant she was safer, she could die it orange or something.

  “I’m fine. Thanks so much for checking. I am tired, though, so I’m going to turn in for the night.” She was hoping that would give him the hint that she wasn’t in the mood for company, but it didn’t.

  “Turn in? But it’s just seven. Come out for a drink with me.” He turned his smile up a notch.

  “Oh no, I’m really tired and I have to be up early. Thanks though.”

  She could tell he was the kind of man who didn’t like to be told no. Amy was also doing her best not to piss him off because the place came really cheap at a hundred bucks a week. It was perfect for her budget, and since she wouldn’t be using her pay to replenish what she spent then that worked out even better too.

  “You won’t come out for one drink?”

  “Hey, if I can’t do my job then I can’t pay you. It’s the kind of job where you need to be sharp and on the ball.” She was hoping that his love for money would overpower whatever he wanted from her, and it seemed to have worked. He changed his stance and shifted his weight from one side to the other.

  “Well I wouldn’t want that to be a problem.”

  She offered a friendly smile. “Maybe with my busy schedule we could share a Kit Kat.” With men like him it was best to keep things sweet. Not let him know there was no way on God’s green Earth she’d consider him and his drink requests, or that if he were the last man alive she’d run as far away from him as she could.

  He laughed. “Kit Kat, that’s original. Okay blondie, you let me know when you’d like to do that.”

  How about never, she wanted to say but instead smiled and replied, “Absolutely.”

  She felt relieved when
he tipped his head and moved away. As he did, she caught a glimpse of his twin brother and some other guys across the corridor looking on at her quite keenly. She hadn’t seen them before. It was just that they looked like they were up to something. If she had gone for this drink with Dom would the others have been there too?

  A chill ran down her spine, along with nervous tingles. Perhaps she should consider moving. It was one thing to get a cheap deal, but what was the point if she didn’t feel safe? She closed the door and went back inside, steadying her nerves and worries with deep breaths.

  She’d eat, call her mom before it got too late, then go to bed. Tristan and his wife were looking after her at the moment. They were living at the family home with her two-year-old niece. She’d call as soon as she finished eating so it wouldn’t be too late. Then she’d catch some beauty sleep. She did indeed want to leave here early and maybe hang out on the beach by Mr. Mancini’s house so she could go over the details in the job spec that Zelda gave her. With the busyness of today she didn’t get the chance to look at it.

  She just hoped that tomorrow would be a better day than today.

  Chapter 3

  It wasn’t.

  Amy woke up with a headache but she still had a positive attitude. Her mother sounded good on the phone and that gave her some added energy, but when she got to work she saw that Mr. Mancini had trashed the living room again.

  Mr. Mancini.

  Addressing him like that in her mind, or just by thinking about him, didn’t seem right at all. It seemed too formal for someone like him who’d come home, saw that the place was clean, then thought to trash it all again. Like an animal would.

  And when she said trash, she meant it. The place looked like he must have had some wild party. Again, there were pizza boxes, bottles of beer and drinks, and bits of potato chips and Cheetos wedged into the cream carpet. And, that nasty smell she managed to tone down yesterday was back again.

  What the hell was she going to do? She hadn’t even touched her actual work yet. She’d managed to go over the list of her duties and she could see that there was a lot. The first and foremost thing being that she needed to make sure he was at the ESPN show. Since the show was early, like ten o’clock early, Zelda suggested trying to get him into a routine of waking up early. She cautioned that he liked to sleep in till all hours of the day because of his party lifestyle.

  He was upstairs now and Amy knew those women were with him. She highly doubted that they’d played whose shoe is this all night.

  There was no way that she was even going near that room. There had to be another way, and as for this mess she didn’t think she could stand it. Particularly if it was going to be an everyday thing. The last PA left over a month ago so Amy was expecting a lot of administrative work. She always liked to sort that out first before dealing with events or other activities.

  Deciding to leave the living room for later, she made her way through the sitting room in search of the office. She wanted to see what she was up against and maybe make a list so she could prioritize.

  As she walked through the room the mess grieved her even more as it seriously damaged the appearance of the house. This was such a beautiful home with its floor-to-ceiling windows, which provided an abundance of natural light and a fantastic view of the beach. The vaulted ceilings and wide-open spaces were refreshing and attractive. She could imagine having dinner parties and opening the sliding doors to let in the sea breeze and gorgeous sunshine.

  She marveled at the antique-looking fireplace in the corner with logs set neatly inside. If this was her house she’d sit there at sunset with the fire on, even though it was always warm in Malibu. She’d sit there and get cozy with a good book and her special blend of hot cocoa and cinnamon, watching the sun go down.

  It was a nice thought. Perhaps one day she could have a nice place of her own. She’d never be able to afford somewhere like this even if she got the position at Dior, but she’d get a nice place.

  She moved on to the study and immediately felt like she’d invaded his privacy. The room was filled with family photos. There were lots of pictures of who she guessed were his mother and sister. They looked very similar, but he looked exactly like his father. She walked out of the room, resisting the temptation to snoop around. It didn’t feel right.

  The room next to it had to be the office. The door was closed but the giveaway was that he’d thrown all his mail at the entrance of the door. It looked to Amy like there was at least a year’s worth of mail there and she wasn’t looking forward to sorting through it. She gathered up what she could and moved it to one side so she could open the door, which only exposed more filth.

  The wooden floor was covered in bits of paper, as if someone had chewed on it then spat it out. It was weird. This was how the whole floor looked. There was also dust and cobwebs all over the desk. This didn’t look like it hadn’t been used in over a month. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

  She walked in and switched on the lights. As she did that she was certain she heard something scuttle past her, but there was nothing there when she looked.

  Amy grimaced at the sight of open files all over the place, in disorder just like the rest of the house, but since this was within her job description she thought she’d keep herself in here today.

  Then maybe she’d brave the task of getting him up early tomorrow. He was an athlete and looked in great shape, so she was sure he wouldn’t be averse to a morning jog or stroll, especially if that was on the beach.

  Right now she’d clean up the floor a little and then get on to sorting through the documents, files, and mail. After that she’d deal with the emails.

  She went to get the vacuum cleaner from the cupboard where she left it yesterday and wheeled it into the office. She then plugged it in and started going over the floors, sucking up the bits of paper. Within five minutes she had to empty the holder because it was so full, and she wasn’t even a quarter way across the room.

  She honestly needed to speak to Zelda about a maid. This was completely ridiculous. Sure, she was getting paid for doing something a tad easier than her job, but by doing so she wasn’t getting to do what she was required to do.

  “Hey, what the hell is this damn noise in the house!”

  Amy whirled around so fast she nearly tripped over the vacuum’s cord. Joshua Mancini stood in the doorway looking like he would incinerate her with his fiery gaze. Even though he’d just gotten out of bed he still miraculously managed to look good, with his hair ruffled, a white jersey top showing off his defined muscles, and loose sweatpants that hung low on his hips.

  The vacuum was still going so he moved over to the plug and yanked it out of the socket.

  “What the hell are you doing here again?” he yelled, returning his gaze to her.

  “Work,” she replied, trying her best to keep her tone under control.

  “No, you damn well aren’t, get out of my house and don’t come back,” he bellowed.

  Amy’s cheeks burned from the embarrassment. She’d had a rough upbringing but in all her adult years no one had ever spoken to her like that, and she felt it even more because she really needed this job.

  What was she to do, though? Insist that she was staying?

  She couldn’t do that, but she couldn’t leave, either. Her mother needed her, and as bad as the place was she had to put up with whatever crap he threw at her.

  “I was hired to be your PA. I’m just trying to clean the office.” She thought she could reason with him by explaining.

  “I don’t need a PA, and the office doesn’t need cleaning.” His eyes bored into her with darkness and anger.

  She was trying to focus on what he was saying but she swore something scurried past again. The dirt was one thing, but there was one thing Amy hated more than anything and that was…

  She screamed from the depths of her soul as she saw the long thick tail of a rat disappearing behind the desk. And again when said rat diverted and scrambled
back towards her in a frantic pursuit with its thick brown furry body and beady eyes. She stumbled, not knowing which direction to run, and tried to gather herself.

  Higher ground. She needed higher ground, so she turned to make a run for the desk, trying to avoid the filthy creature.

  However, she didn’t see the second rat that charged towards her in blind panic and ran straight over her foot. All Amy knew was she could feel its nasty claws over the exposed skin of her feet in her sandals, and its body was wet and slimy. The cherry on top of the horror was its disgusting long, pink tail whipping out at her ankles as it went by.

  That was all her brain was able to establish before the air left her lungs and she fainted.

  Josh didn’t know what the hell to do with her.

  Was it so much to ask to be left alone? He just wanted everyone to leave him to do what he wanted, but people kept forcing themselves on him. That damn Zelda. And his whole damn team, for that matter.

  They all needed to back the hell off and leave him be. Now look. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate, he had this woman to deal with. She’d fainted before him and crumpled into a delicate heap with her mass of golden hair sprawled out on the floor.

  Shit. Who fainted at the sight of an animal? Sure, it was a rat, but fainting was a little dramatic. He looked at her wondering if he should just leave her there, but saw the creatures running around the room and felt a bit bad.

  From somewhere inside him, he couldn’t tell where, he felt bad to leave her there in the midst of something she was clearly afraid of.

  So, with deep annoyance, he picked her up and carried her to the sitting room so he could lay her on the sofa.

  “Hey, wake up.” He nudged her, poking her arms. “Wake the hell up.”

  Nothing, she was out cold and completely unresponsive. Panic made him check her breathing as the thought occurred to him that she may have hit her head.