His Dark Secret - Part 1 (Erotic Romance Serial Novel)

by Lovelace, Harriet

  His Dark Secret

  Part 1

  by

  Harriet Lovelace

  Copyright © 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Copyright © 2013

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Warning: This work contains scenes of graphic sexual nature and it is written for adults only(18+). All characters depicted in this story are over 18 years of age.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter One

  I had spent much of my trip from Des Moines to LAX sleeping uncomfortably in my seat. It wasn’t until the plane hit a pocket of turbulence while descending towards the coast that I was jolted up, the plastic buckle of the seat belt pressing hard against my waist. The P.A. system crackled overhead, punctuated by the pinging of the seatbelt sign.

  “Sorry for the disturbance folks. We’ve run into some headwinds. A little bumpy for our descent, but we’re on course to land at 7:30 pm, Pacific Standard. At this time, I would ask that you put on your seat belts, secure your flight trays and return your seats to the upright position.”

  My stomach rose up into my chest as the plane angled down, heightening my nerves. It wasn’t so much the flying that had me nervous, even though this was my first time. No, it was where I was headed that had my insides writhing over each other. Since leaving Elgin, a small town if there ever was one, I’d only ever seen towns just as small. The idea of a big, sprawling city like Los Angeles was strange and, I’ll admit, terrifying.

  Before the trip, I had done some research of my new home, and what struck me was the ugliness of the city, taken in as a whole. Compared to pictures of New York City, Los Angeles seemed like a mass of concrete poured out over the desert.

  The intercom crackling interrupted my thoughts.

  “If you look out the left side of the aircraft, you’ll get an excellent view of the City of Angels as we make our descent.”

  I lifted the shade, left down while I slept, to take a peek. My heart jumped to my throat. None of the pictures I’d seen had been by night. It was like the stars had been stolen from the sky, scattered in new constellations that blinked whites, greens, and reds. It was gorgeous, and I forgot my anxiety for a bit.

  I found it again while waiting in baggage claim, suitcase in hand, looking out for Jenny. She hadn’t picked up when I called, and my imagination was running away with worry. It had been six years since I’d seen her, I was afraid I wouldn’t recognize her. Or she wouldn’t recognize me. Or worse, somehow she’d forgotten when I got in, or got held up, and I’d have to find my way through the city all alone.

  I was just about to head outside, wait there or catch a cab, when my phone rang.

  “Samantha, sorry, my phone’s been dying, I just stepped into the terminal. Where are you?”

  “I’m standing outside baggage claim.”

  “That’s where I’m at. Hold on, you over there in the brown coat? Blue bags?”

  “That sounds right.”

  A second later I caught sight of her blonde curls bobbing through the crowd, waving her hand at me. Her blue eyes crinkled in a smile as we hugged.

  “Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  “It was no trouble.”

  “Was the flight okay?”

  “No trouble at all.”

  There was a drawn out pause as we tried to think of something to say, the years standing between us. Finally, as if struck, I blurted, “I don’t know how to thank you, letting me stay here after all this time.”

  Jenny shook her head. “Anything for you Sammy.” She took me by the arm. “We’ll get you settled in, then catch up some, ‘kay?”

  The drive to the apartment took time, the traffic on the highway moving at a snail’s pace, but I didn’t care. I spent the time looking at the city, the lights as beautiful down on the ground as they had been in the plane. Eventually we were nestled in the tan embrace of Jenny’s Santa Monica condo, my bags stacked in the spare bedroom.

  “Sure you don’t want anything to drink? Haven’t got much, but there’s a decent red in here.”

  “No thanks,” I replied. “Just some water. Wine goes to my head.”

  Jenny sat down on the sofa, handing me a glass of water, sipping her wine out of a mug. The same awkward silence from the airport rose up between us.

  “Really, anything will go to my head,” I joked, smiling.

  “A real cheap date then,” Jenny offered. Things weren’t exactly like old times, but the tension eased up.

  “So what have you been doing since college?”

  Jenny rolled her eyes. “Nothing worthwhile, really. I play with a few bands when I get a chance, but that’s more for fun than work.” She took a sip. “Doesn’t really pay the bills. Luckily, some friends from USC turned me on to a gig writing commercial jingles about three years ago, and I’ve been making my way doing that.”

  “Sounds kind of fun.”

  “Its mind numbing. But I get into contact with some creative people.”

  “Well that’s good.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jenny sipped on her wine, mulling something over. Or building up her resolve was more like it. She sipped again before asking, “So how is Elgin?”

  It was my turn to think things over. I had left out a lot of details in my talks these past few months with Jenny, not wanting to tell her everything that had been going on. I had told her I was having trouble paying for an apartment on my own, and she had extended the invitation to stay here. No explanation for leaving Elgin, why I was on my own. Why I no longer talked about Jamison.

  “Actually, I haven’t been in Elgin for a while. Almost two years.”

  “My goodness, Sammy, what happened?”

  “Honestly, things kind of fell apart. After college, it made sense to go back home. I wanted to be near mom and dad, and I wanted to be with Jamison. He had the farm, could support me, he said. And I loved him, still do.” That part hit home. In my time alone, I hadn’t ever said out loud about how I still loved Jamison. I sighed. “Things looked good. The farm had been doing well, I didn’t need to work, and Jamison provided. We were talking about getting married even. But a number of things changed that. It was the crops at first, something got into them, a bacteria or virus. When it came time to harvest, there was barely anything worth selling. I still remember that sickly sweet smell the rotted stalks gave off. Jamison changed. Started drinking.”

  I broke off, not sure how to continue. Jenny put her mug down, placed a hand on my leg.

  “How was he different?”

  “The life seemed out of him. His whole body, his attitude, was defeated. He was mishandling things at that point. Repairs on the machinery were never done, missed payments on the property. Just kept sinking further into himself. I kept telling him things were going to work out, that one bad season wouldn’t pull down the farm. At these times he’d look at me, say something like ‘Well, since you’re such a smart, college educated bitch now, why don’t you figure it out?’”

  Jenny’s eyes grew wide an
d angry. “He didn’t.”

  I nodded my head. “That became my name, the ‘college educated bitch.’ No matter what I told him, or how smart he thought I was, I couldn’t come up with a solution for the farm. And some small part of him enjoyed that. Like it was something he could hold over me, or tear me down with. Next season, we were working at a loss again. Jamison became unbearable. He was cursing me out, day and night, and I just wanted to help.”

  At this point, I realized I was crying. I was talking, but these two little rivers of tears were running down my face. I watched again as Jamison transformed before me: broad shoulders, broad smile, dirty blonde hair waving as he kissed me on my return from college; Jamison, slumped in the kitchen, a mostly empty clear bottle in his hand, muttering under his breath. Jenny squeezed my knee, and I continued.

  “One day, a few of his workers up and quit. No notice, just left, saying it wasn’t worth it working for Jamison. That night, he was a terror. Screaming at the top of his lungs, smashing up the kitchen. Sent a chair out the window above the sink. Gutted the fridge all across the room. His eyes. I didn’t want to see them that way again. Cold, dark-blue anger. So I left. Packed up while he was out working the next day and caught a bus. I wanted to tell my parents goodbye, but I couldn’t face the shame of leaving.”

  I was bawling at this point and could barely get a word out. I hadn’t told a word of this to anyone in the last two years. It was always just one town after another, working in greasy spoons and coffee shops, barely making rent. And just at the mention that things were getting tight for me, Jenny offered to put me up. It was too much. Jenny sensed I had crossed a line in myself. She was holding me now, petting my hair.

  “It’s going to be okay.”

  “I just, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t have a job, I feel like I’m intruding on you here after all this time. I mean look at me! I could barely keep things together in the middle of nowhere, Iowa how am I supposed to get by in L.A.?”

  Jenny was rocking me now, shoo-shooing away my fears.

  “None of that matters. You’re here, and you can stay as long as you need. And as far as work, well this isn’t small town Iowa anymore. You’re in the City of Angels. Not only will we find you work there’s a better chance we’ll find you something you like to do. I read somewhere recently that ten percent of the jobs in L.A. are in a creative field. You could paint again, or even work on movies! How does that sound?”

  No one had been so kind to me in a long while. Not the way that Jenny was that night. I was still sad and afraid, but Jenny knew how to lift me up and push me in the right direction. That was what she was best at.

  “That sounds amazing. You’re being too kind.”

  “Oh hush now. After all this time, you’re still the best friend I’ve got. Get some rest, and we can start lining something up for you tomorrow.”

  I went to bed that night feeling a whole lot better, less afraid of and more open to the possibilities the future would hold for me.

  The next couple of days, I got a good sense of L.A. as I commuted across town for interviews. A number of good opportunities came up. I was especially keen on an opening helping out at an art studio, but nothing seemed to fit quite right. I was walking out of a café, trying to clear my head when I caught sight of a green flier posted on the wall. There were a lot of fliers, advertising shows, art exhibits, restaurants, but that lime green stuck out from all the rest. The flier read: “Wanted: Extra’s for upcoming sci-fi feature film, Chimera, directed by Scott Rushmand. All ages and experience levels welcome. Union and Non-Union welcome. $150 a day plus lunch. Shooting this Saturday at Mythic Studios.”

  Maybe it was just the money, maybe the idea of being in a movie, but I wanted to take the chance. Saturday found me wandering around the lots of Mythic Studios, overwhelmed.

  Between the sand colored warehouses, I realized I had fallen into a strange new world. One of the first things I came across were a pair of zombies, one with a dangling eye, drinking coffee and talking about a weekend surfing excursion. I almost screamed when I saw that eye, but held it together.

  Moments later I came across the set of an action film where the shooting had stopped, the director yelling at one of the stunt doubles for missing his cue. Turning a corner, I almost got run down by a speeding golf cart, the driver cursing at me from down the way. Startled and almost regretting my decision to come here, I was relieved to find an information desk in one of the buildings and got directions to Studio 32, where they were shooting Chimera.

  A young man with a headset and a clipboard was standing outside the studio, jotting something down, when I arrived.

  “I’m here for Mr. Rushmand's film,” I said, holding out the flyer.

  The man barely looked up, giving me a quick once over. He spoke into his headset, “Have we got room for another slave girl?” He nodded as he got a response from the other end, speaking to me now. “Do you have all your paperwork?” I nodded, pulling out the documents from my bag, which he slipped into his clipboard. “Head in, costumes and makeup will be on the left, don’t walk through the set, fixing up the lights right now. They’ll run you through what you need.”

  My first impression of the studio was how hot it was. The bright lights overhead sent out waves of heat that had the crew sweating. I caught a quick glance of the set, a gorgeous banquet hall with a distinct Arabic feel to it: a low table surrounded by plush cushions; gold amorphous statues that looked vaguely human. It was funny to see the crew in their street clothes in the midst of all the sumptuous decorum. In the middle of it all was a dark haired, green-eyed man in jeans and a black t-shirt. His hair was coiffed into a wave. His face was defined, his cheekbones accentuating a sharp nose. He yelled up into the dark behind the lights.

  “Grip, I need you to raise light two. And refocus twelve while you’re at it. The edges are too sharp, it needs to bleed out more.”

  I took him to be an electrician or the crew lead. He was gorgeous, but I didn’t have time to gawk as I headed to the costuming area. It was set up like a corral, partitioned stalls for private dressing, and a big area where most everyone was milling about. Rows of lights and mirrors reflected the images of the actors and extras. Most of the men seemed to be dressed in leather, looking like gladiators, or in long blue robes. The women were all in diaphanous silks, blue green, and gold. A frazzled looking costumer took a hold of me, directing me to stand still and raise out my arms as she wrapped a measuring tape around different parts of my body, jotting down my measurements. After this she disappeared between the racks of clothing, returning with what was to be my costume, which I was taken aback to find didn’t amount to much. A long burgundy strand of cloth and a skirt made to look like metal strands of coins.

  I held up the almost translucent scarf and asked, “What do I do with this?”

  The costumer shot me a stern look, which melted when she realized I really had no idea what I was doing.

  “This is your first time, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I just thought I’d try this out.”

  “I’ll help you into that. Come over here.”

  She shepherded me over to a corner stall and told me to undress. I felt embarrassed undressing in full view of the rest of the cast, but she reassured me by closing the curtains of the stall. I quickly got down to my underwear and slipped into the skirt. The cool touch of the plastic on my thighs was a relief. I was about to wrap the cloth sideways around my chest when the costumer shook her head.

  “You need to take off your bra, dear. I’ll get that on you. Oh, and you’ll want these.” She handed me two strips of black plastic.

  “What are these?”

  “Double backed tape. So you don’t slip out. Just put them on your nipples,” she said brusquely.

  I complied, taking my bra off, feeling uncomfortable being handled by a stranger. Now half-naked, I applied the tape, and instantly felt my breasts begin to itch.

  “It’ll pass,” the costumer said,
as she looped the cloth around my neck from behind, crossing it in front so each end passed over my breasts, and tied it in back.

  “Just make sure the tape sticks to the cloth.”

  “It’s kind of uncomfortable.”

  “The important part is you look great dear. Now get over to makeup.”

  As she left, she turned back around. “Break a leg, dear. You’ll have fun.”

  Barefoot, I walked over to the makeup area. I was relieved to see I wasn’t the only one in the ridiculous get-up. A few of the “slave girls” even looked as uncomfortable as myself. I took a seat in front of the mirrors, and a makeup assistant began to work on me. During this a production intern began running us through the shoot.

  “In this scene, Captain Malcolm and the crew of the Chimera are meeting with the Yusian leader, King Gothas. Guards, you stand around, look stoic, menacing. Yusian aristocrats, we want you to make small talk, look interested in the Earth party. Think regal and disinterested. Slave men and women, you’re the servants, go around serving food to everyone at the table; carry yourselves in an alluring manner. Meek but alluring. Everyone understand? Good, let’s get going.”