“You do,” he gently placed his hand on my stomach. My heart skipped a beat.
“How do you know?” I croaked.
“Magic.”
We drove on in silence for a few more miles, neither of us able to keep the smiles from our faces.
“What about your painting?” I remembered suddenly, not wanting to leave it behind.
“We don’t need it right now,” he smiled, “and don’t worry, when the time comes, it’ll find us both again.
THE END
DRAGON KEEPER
STORY DESCRIPTION
Kaitlyn is a small-town girl with big dreams of making it in Hollywood. But, it seems her voluptuous body and soft curves don't mesh with the bleach-blonde, plastic-boobed, stick-figure girls at auditions.
Brett is one of the hottest producers in the movie industry. His success is not at all harmed by the fact that he’s also a mysterious and enigmatic recluse. Everything he touches turns to gold.
The truth is that as successful as he is as a man, as a dragon he’s failed. He is losing control and it’s only a matter of time before he must be “put down.” When Kaitlyn is hired as a caretaker, Brett’s instantly drawn to her full body and luscious curves, but he knows it's not safe to get close to her.
Kaitlyn soon learns that her employer’s chiseled jawline, dark hair and bedroom eyes don't make up for his mood swings and outlandish behavior. She's not sure what the wants from her, but when she sees whips, chains and shackles, she knows that it can't be good.
Chapter 1
I was dreaming. I knew it was a dream because I was on stage holding the Oscar I'd just won close to me as I smiled graciously for the cameras snapping pictures. One of the camera men threw a rose towards me, and I grabbed for it, but missed. It hit my arm and stung me. "Ow," I complained. Then another rose was flying towards me, pelting my arm. "Hey!" I shouted. Suddenly, I was bombarded with roses. They hit my skin and scraped me with their thorns.
I opened my eyes.
Colin sat in the chair opposite me, a dinner mint in his hand. He threw it at me and missed, picked another one out of his bowl, and this time struck me square in the shoulder.
"Hey! What are you doing?" I hissed.
"Throwing mints at you," he said, aiming for my eye. I ducked.
"Yeah, I got that, but why?"
"It's entertaining. I can't go out for entertainment since I had to throw in extra to cover your rent this month, so this way, you're making it up to me."
A mint hit my head, made a soft thud, and bounced off, landing on the floor. "Colin, I'm sorry." A ducked away as another mint hit me square in the jaw. "Stop it! I'm looking for somewhere else to go. Believe me, ow! I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here."
He scowled at me then grabbed the bag of candies off the coffee table and refilled his bowl. "I find that hard to believe, Kaitlyn."
It had been two weeks since our breakup, and I wasn't any closer to finding a place now than I had been the night he'd dumped me.
"You could try harder I think. You haven't had a job since we got here. No wonder you're so fat. You're just lazy." A fresh round of mints flew through the air at me. Apparently Colin wasn't going to stop till I was black and blue. "It's not so hard to be an actor," he said. A mint hit my eyeball and fell into my lap. I rubbed at my eyes, which were starting to sting with tears from the peppermint. "How many jobs have I gotten since we landed here?" he asked.
"I don’t know. Several." It hurt to admit how much better he was doing than me.
"That's right." This time he popped a mint into his mouth and sucked on it. "You have as many auditions as I do, I'll give you that, but you're never gonna get anything when you're so fat. Get to the gym. That'll help a little at least. You can't do much about that nose though. I can put you in touch with a good plastic surgeon if you ever decide to take the chance." He stopped talking and squinted his eyes at me, scrunching his lips together. He looked like a toad. "God you're pathetic. What did I ever see in you?"
I was wondering that myself. Colin had never seemed to care for me very much. Ever since our first date back home in Bliss, Idaho, he'd treated me like garbage. But, when the population of your town never rose above 3,000, you didn't have a lot of choices. Besides, at least we'd both shared the same dreams of moving to Los Angeles and becoming an actor. I figured that no matter what happened, at least we'd always have that in common.
The joke was on me.
Of course, moving to L.A. had worked out for him. He'd gotten cast in some plays and bit parts in a few TV shows. He even had an agent. A real agent, not one who worked out of the trunk of his car like mine. Who would've thought six months ago we'd end up like this? Me on the couch, penniless, Colin's star on the rise.
Another mint sailed passed my ear. "Stop that," I said. "If you're so bored why don't you go fuck another one of those plastic floozies you've gotten so fond of since we moved here?"
He paused, his expression flickered a fraction of an inch before resuming its normal visage of disgust when looking at me. "You knew about that, huh?" he asked.
"Of course I did." He had started cheating on me our first week here.
"Why didn't you ever say anything?"
My bottom lip trembled. I held it back. No way was I gonna let him see me cry. "I thought it would pass."
He laughed. "You're pathetic. Anyways, I got a date. So, here." He handed me the bowl of mints. "Go ahead and fatten yourself up some more why don't you? It'll probably make your mom happy."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the fatter you get, the sooner you'll run back home with your tail between your legs. Your mom never wanted you to leave in the first place. She knows you're a loser." He got up and winked at me before going into what used to be our bedroom. I heard the shower start and knew it was safe to let the tears fall. I popped a mint in my mouth and pulled the newspaper towards me.
The want ads were a joke. A couple waitressing jobs I'd already applied for—the competition here was fierce, hotel clerk positions that wouldn't give you the time of day unless you were a model, and things that I would never consider in a million years, no matter how bad things got, like escorting. Everyone knew that escort was code for prostitute. I'd never stoop to something like that, no matter what.
I scanned the last page quickly, just to see if there was anything I might've missed. One ad caught my eye. CARETAKER: LIVE IN POSITION. No other qualifications were listed, and no other details.
"Hmm... caretaker of what?" I mumbled to myself. It was probably a trick. I'd learned one thing living in this town for the last six months—people spoke in veiled euphemisms. "Athletic" meant flat chested. "Writer" meant out of work. I assumed "Caretaker" meant sex slave, or something to that effect. I tossed the paper aside and pulled out my phone. Soon I wouldn't even have this anymore. I had enough left on my credit card for one more month of service, and then I was finished. Colin was right. I'd have to go back home with my tail between my legs.
The doorbell rang and Colin yelled, "Can you get it?"
I pushed myself up and opened the door to find a beautiful blonde with fake boobs and lips pumped full of something synthetic.
"Hi," she breathed. "I'm Leah." She was clearly trying to sound like Marilyn Monroe. I thought Marilyn would turn over in her grave is she saw this girl. Fake hair, fake lashes, fake everything. Her dress accentuated the over-plasticized nature of her body.
I might be big, but at least my body was real—and real men liked real curves. They liked women whose breasts didn't feel like rubber and whose walk had a little oomph to it when she moved. Some men did. Other men, like Colin, liked plastic Leah.
"Hey babe," Colin came into the room dressed in a towel and pushed me aside. He grabbed hold of her, pulled her to him, and licked her face like she was a lollipop. She giggled. My stomach churned. I brushed my bronzed hair over my eyes, trying to hide the disgusting sight before me.
"Come on," he said, pulling her into the
bedroom. I watched in shock as he closed the door behind them.
"He's not..." I muttered to myself. No, not even Colin would do that. There are some lines you just don't cross. When your recent ex-girlfriend is still living with you and sitting outside your door, you don't bang the milkmaid.
But I had overestimated Colin again. I heard the squeak of our—his—mattress begin to pulse in a certain rhythm I knew only too well. Colin rarely varied anything in bed. I searched frantically for my headphones, but it was too late. Leah started screaming his name and moaning like she was making a porno. I assumed she'd had a lot of practice.
I grabbed the paper I'd been looking at and flipped back to the caretaker ad. I dialed the number before the squeaking began to make my ears bleed. I don't care what it is. Anything is better than this.
Chapter 2
I made my way into the Hollywood Hills. There was a great lookout spot not too far down the road. You could see all of Los Angeles and its surrounding cities. The house I was looking for must've been way at the top. I bet their view of the Hollywood sign was amazing. I crept along and turned onto a side road, then another side road, until finally I couldn't see anything except trees and the road right in front of me. I was just starting to think I'd gotten the address wrong when the trees cleared and a magnificent house stood before me.
It looked like it was three floors with a domed roof and yard so large and manicured a professional football team could have played on it. I was shocked that there were no gates or fences of any kind. I parked my car in the driveway and went right up to the door, looking around as if someone was going to jump out and arrest me for trespassing. The house was too rich for someone like me. I don't belong here.
I rang the bell and a great gong sounded inside. A minute later, the door opened and a stout, severe looking man with dark eyes and graying hair opened the door.
"H-hi," I stammered. "I'm Kaitlyn McGrath. I'm here for the interview." My voice barely squeaked out of my throat. This man was intense. If this was who I was interviewing with, I might as well leave now. I couldn't work with his critical eyes and cold presence.
"Come in," he said. "I am the butler."
I smiled and said, "Is that your name?" I thought maybe he didn't get the joke from the way he was looking at me. "You know, The Butler?" I was trying to be funny, but he didn't even crack a smile.
"No. Jeremy. O'Donnell."
"Oh." I said, feeling uncomfortable. "Okay. Jeremy O'Donnell."
His voice was warmer than his appearance, but that wasn’t saying much. I thought I detected a hint of an Irish accent, but didn't dare ask about it. He didn't offer to shake my hand, he just led me down a long hallway that felt like it might never end. He looked a bit like a zombie, standing with his back stiff and his legs unnaturally straight. Even when he walked, he moved funny.
I followed him into a great room, richly furnished and decorated with what I could only assume were priceless works of art. A giant window spanned the entire back wall of this room, letting in lots of natural light that seemed to contrast with the museum feel of the house. There was a giant pool in the backyard that could've been used to train Olympic athletes. I started to ask if it actually was used for that purpose, when another man entered the room.
This man was younger and incredibly good looking. Thirty-one or thirty-two, with deep blue-green eyes that shined like gemstones.
"Ms. McGrath?" he asked. His voice caught me off guard. It was deep and filled with rich, melodic undertones that reminded me of saxophone music. Listening to him talk was like listening to a fine instrument being played by a seasoned musician.
"Hello," I said. "You can call me Kaitlyn."
"I'm Brett Elliot. You may call me Mr. Elliot, or Sir." Then he shot Jeremy a look that made it plain he didn't want me here.
I tried to stop my hands from shaking as I pulled my resume from my bag. I held it out and took a step towards Brett—Mr. Elliot.
"What's that?" he asked, taking a step back and looking like I'd tried to hand him rat poison.
"Er, my resume?"
He signaled to Jeremy who took it from me and slid it in a drawer. I figured it was probably a bad sign when the boss didn't even want to glance at your resume.
"What is your middle name?" Brett asked.
"Um... Mary."
"Where is your family from?"
"What? Idaho." Was this the interview?
He shook his head like I'd just told him the square root of nine is five. "No, no, no, where are they from originally? Your heritage Ms. McGrath, your heritage!" His face turned red and Jeremy stepped from the corner of the room. I'd almost forgotten he was there. He cleared his throat and Mr. Elliot shot him an angry look.
"You do this," Mr. Elliot snarled and walked towards the door.
"I don't think that's advisable, Mr. Elliot," said Jeremy, stepping towards him. There was something implied in Jeremy's statement—a veiled threat that I didn't understand, but could pick up on easily enough. The man paused and, to my surprise, returned to his spot.
"Fine, continue," Mr. Elliot waved his hand in the air, cutting through it like a knife. I stood watching, uncertain whether I should leave or simply remain quiet.
"I said continue," he yelled, looking at me with a mixture of exasperation and curiosity.
I jumped. "Are you talking to me?" I asked, startled. I'd assumed he'd been speaking to Jeremy.
"Yes you, of course you. Continue."
"Continue with what? Er… sir."
"Your story," he said, as if were obvious. "Where are your people from?"
"Oh, um, my mom's family is mostly Irish. My dad's English, Scottish, and Native American. Kind of a mutt, really, huh?"
I tried using a friendly smile to cut through the ice, but he just looked at the floor. I could feel his anger flowing towards me. This was a bad environment to be in. Even if I was offered the job, I wasn't sure I wanted to accept it. As I pondered that, the memories of Colin and Leah played back in my head. One particular highlight, which I was certain to carry with me all the days of my life, was when Leah had come out of the bedroom stark naked to get a glass of water. I could smell Colin on her; it made me gag.
"How much do you weigh? he asked.
"Excuse me?" Jeremy shot me a worried glance but I checked my rising temper. "None of your business," I said.
Brett glared at me from across the room. "Tell me your height."
"My height?"
"Yes, your height. Surely you can't object to that."
"Well... 5' 5".
He smirked, "Was that so difficult?"
I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. "Do you want to ask me about previous work experience?"
"That won't be necessary," he said. "The interview is over."
Great. Another job down the drain. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door, anxious to get away from this rich asshole.
"Do you have any questions for me, Ms. McGrath?" I paused mid-stride.
"What’s the point?"
"Well," that seemed to catch him off guard. "Wouldn't you like to inquire about salary or see the living quarters?"
Was this guy fucking with me or what? "Not sure I see the point," I snapped.
"I don't understand."
"I didn't get the job, right? Why would I have any interest in any of that stuff?"
"What makes you think you didn't get it?" he asked. His eyes began to glow. I’m sure it was a trick of the lighting, but the effect was mesmerizing, like staring into the deepest parts of the ocean.
"You mean..." I suddenly felt my cheeks growing red. "You mean I got it?"
"I haven't decided yet."
"Oh, I thought..."
He waited in silence. I could sense his irritation. "Fine then. If there is nothing more, you may leave."
I hesitated. "Well I do have one question."
"Yes, what?"
"The job is listed as 'caretaker.' What exactly would I be taking care of?"
Mr. Eliott’s eyes flashed to Jeremy. I didn't quite catch the look, but I didn't need to. He thought it was a stupid question. He turned his glowing eyes back to mine, and I felt them latch on to me. I was repulsed by his attitude, but at the same time, felt drawn to him.
"You'd be caring for me, of course." He said sharply, then exited the room before I could ask anything else.
Chapter 3
I was sitting in the waiting room of Ritz casting, squished between a loud, snobby blonde with breast implants, and a stick figure brunette with breast implants. They kept leaning across my lap to talk to each other, and I wondered why they didn't just move. When the brunette with too much makeup spritzed perfume all over me, I wondered why I didn't just move.
"Thank God," the blonde said when I got up. "I thought dumbo would never leave." She took my seat and I looked up to see them both staring in my direction and laughing. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and turned away from them.
They were the cookie-cutter over-processed girls I saw everywhere out here. I recognized these two in particular. We all seemed to make the same rounds of casting calls and auditions, although I wasn't exactly sure of their names. I thought the blonde was maybe Melissa something and the brunette... well, didn't know and didn't care. They both had the personality of a wet rag, which was really an insult to wet rags.
"I mean, gawd, did you see her makeup? What was she thinking? Doesn't she know that peach blush went out with the eighties?"
My shoulders stiffened. Are they talking about me? I wanted to turn around and tell them both where they could shove their opinions, but I was afraid of getting thrown out of the audition. "Oh my gawd, Carri, I know, and that shirt. I didn't think you could fit a Twinkie into a crop top—and green?" She said it like I was wearing baby puke.
"I think she thought the audition was for a leprechaun role." They doubled over laughing.
I realized what they were doing. Competition was fierce out here, and some personality types (ahem… skanky bitches) liked to use bullying and intimidation tactics. Nevertheless, I looked down at my shirt. I thought it was pretty, albeit second-hand from the thrift store, but times were tough. It wasn't a crop top, either, it was just a simple blouse that showed off my cleavage and highlighted the green in my hazel eyes.
Bears of Burden: THORN Page 100
