by Lexi Ward
“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 immediately. 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…”
“You start immediately.”
“Immediately?”
“Yes. Mr. McGuire says that you’re to come as soon as possible.”
“I can be there in a few hours…”
“Sooner,” the man said firmly before hanging up the phone.
“Wait. I can’t…” she tried to object, but it was too late.
She walked back over to where she left Carrie and Mike. “Who was it?” Carrie asked, being nosy as always.
“It was this job I applied for. I got the position,” Margaret said, staring down at the phone in her hand.
“That’s good, right?” Carrie asked, trying to read the expression on her face.
“I have to start now—like right now.”
“Margaret Johnson!” a voice called out from the side of the stage. “The next reading will be from Margaret Johnson!”
“That’s you!” Carrie said, pushing her in the direction of the woman with the clipboard.
“No!” Margaret said quickly. “I can’t! Not now! I’m…” It didn’t matter, though. Carrie kept shoving her, and somehow she found herself standing next to the woman.
“Ready?” the woman asked smiling at her.
“No,” she said, her voice shaking.
The woman just laughed and gestured for her to make her way onto the stage and into the spotlight. “They’re waiting.”
The reading was the worst Margaret had ever done in her entire life. Throu
ghout the entire process, her voice shook as much as her hands. She wasn’t worried about the part, though. All she could think about was going back to the penthouse and facing Joshua McGuire again. He was beyond intimidating. Not only was he straightforward and blunt, but he was attractive and confident. He made her feel both excited and completely frightened at the same time.
“Next!” the voice of the director called out from one of the seats in the second row of the large auditorium.
Margaret didn’t even get through four lines. She had completely tanked the audition and all because she couldn’t get her mind off of Mr. Joshua McGuire for even five minutes. She sighed deeply as she quickly gathered her things to rush off to the penthouse.
CHAPTER FOUR
When she got to the penthouse, she had already set her mind on trying to make the most out of the new experience. It couldn’t be worse than her currently situation, anyways. Liz was a little too eager to get her out of the apartment. Margaret had called her when she left the audition, telling her about her new job and living arrangement. When she got back to the small apartment to collect her things, she found that Liz had already taken the liberty to pack her suitcase for her. She had set it outside the door, with a note reading: “Good luck!”
“Ms. Johnson,” the butler greeted her as soon as the elevator doors slid open. “I’ll take that,” he said reaching out his hand for her bag.
“Oh, thank you,” she said handing over the suitcase containing the only things she possessed in the whole world.
“Thank you, Henry,” she heard Joshua’s calm voice say. She hadn’t noticed him sitting on the large leather couch before. He was dressed in a pair of black slacks and what she could only assume to be an expensive dress shirt. He stood to greet her as she walked towards him. “Take her things to her room,” he continued speaking to the butler. “I’ll show her there momentarily.”
As the small, white-haired man hurried away down the long hall on the far end of the room, Joshua motioned for Margaret to take a seat next to him on the couch. She moved across the room slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor in front of her. Whenever she looked at him, she felt her stomach begin to turn nervously, so the best option was to avoid it as much as possible.
“Margaret,” he began once she was seated. “I’m glad you could come.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said weakly.
“Please, call me Joshua.” His tone didn’t have the same authoritative, almost demeaning ring to it that it had had during the interview.
“Joshua,” she corrected herself.
“I can see that you’re very nervous, Margaret.”
“I am, sir… I mean, Joshua.”
“I don’t want you to be nervous around me,” he said kindly.
“I thought,” she finally looked up at him. His eyes seemed to be an even darker shade of blue than she remembered. Maybe it was the shirt he was wearing—but they were intense and deep, and fixed on her. “I thought you wanted me to be uncomfortable,” she said, recalling his comment from the interview. “That being uncomfortable was part of the job.”
“Being uncomfortable and nervous are two different things,” he said.
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
He sighed softly. “You see,” he started to explain, “being nervous means that you’re afraid; that something around you is making you feel vulnerable.”
“And being uncomfortable?” she asked for clarification.
“Being uncomfortable means that something around you is out of the norm, but not necessarily that that something scares you.” As he spoke he took his eyes from hers and looked around the room, almost as if her gaze was making him as flustered as his was making her. “You see, Margaret, when something makes you uncomfortable it just means that you need to somehow become familiar with it—accept it, or reject it, and move on.”
“So, why is it that if I’m going to be working for you, I need to be okay with being uncomfortable?”
He looked over at her, his eyes seemed to be filled with a sense of sadness and hurt. “All of that in due time, Margaret,” he said standing to his feet. “Let me show you to your room.”
He began making his way for the hallway, pausing to turn back to her, making sure she was following. She got to her feet quickly and rushed over to where he was waiting for her. He led her down the same hall Henry had taken her down just three days before. They passed three doors on the right before he stopped. “This will be your room. I hope it’s to your liking,” he said as he pushed the door open.
When she walked in, she was left completely speechless. The room was easily four times as large as the room she once had at Liz’s apartment. The bed in the center of the room was king-size and hidden behind drapes of sheer, pink fabric that hung down from the four posts that rose up from each corner. There was a large area rug that covered the cold marble floor, and two enormous dressers pushed up against the wall in front of the bed. Between them was a three-sided mirror, with a string of lights hanging down over it. The most impressive aspect of the room, however, was the far wall. It was made up of giant windows, which reached from the floor all the way up to the ceiling, providing a view of the city, and letting light come pouring into the room.
“This is too much,” she said breathlessly as she walked further into the room. She turned around to look at Joshua again, who was leaning against the door frame, smiling at her amazement.
“It’s all for you,” he explained as he pushed himself up and walked towards her. “I hope you can make yourself comfortable here.”
“Are you kidding?” she asked laughing. “I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave!”
“Good,” he nodded happily.
“Where is my suitcase?” she asked scanning the room and not finding it.
“In the closet,” he said motioning to a door in the corner of the room.
She smiled at him excitedly as she walked over to the door and pulled it open. The closet was more like another room. There was a plush bench in the center of it. Sitting on top of it was her old, beat up suitcase that looked very out of place compared to the elegant, fine-finished room. The walls were filled with hanging rods and shelves, drawers and hooks. The most amazing part was that they were all filled with different articles of clothing and accessories—everything from dresses to shirts, jewelry to shoes; it was all already there waiting for her.
“Since you wouldn’t tell me your size I had to guess,” he explained walking into the room after her.
“Oh,” she said, realizing that his question might not have been as offensive as she took it to me.
“You can try on everything later,” he said reaching out his hand for her to take.
She placed her hand in his nervously. When he wrapped his strong fingers around hers, her heart began to race. He led her back into the bedroom and towards the bed. He reached up with his free hand and pulled back one of the drapes surrounding it. Lying across the bed was a beautiful red dress. It looked simple but elegant. “I would like you to wear this to dinner tonight,” he said dropping her hand and lifting the dress up.
“Tonight?” she asked taking the dress from his hands and holding it up against her. She walked to the mirrors and observed her reflection.
“Yes. You’ll need to be in the dining room in an hour,” he said as he followed her, also looking at her in the mirror.
“An hour?” she turned to him, her eyes wide. “I don’t know if I can be ready…”
“You need to be, Margaret.”
“But…”
“I need to know that you’ll be available to me whenever I ask you to be,” he explained calmly.
“Mr. McGuire,” she began nervously, “what are my hours exactly?”
“It’s a live-in position. I thought that was clear.”
“Yes, but, I do have some off time, right? I have time to do my own things?” She felt a sinking sensation in her chest. What had she gotten herself in to?
“I
need you to be here whenever I need you. I need you to be ready and available at a moment’s notice,” he replied.
When he left her to get ready for dinner, the excitement that had filled her upon seeing the room had all but gone. Would she have time to pursue her dream? Would she be able to go to auditions and try-outs? What could he possibly need her for 24/7?
As she held up the dress and looked at herself in the mirror again, she thought of the alternative—sleeping on Liz’s couch, or going back to live with her parents. “Well,” she said to herself, “if this gets too out of hand, I’ll just leave. He can’t force me to stay here forever. It’s worth a shot, I guess.”
