Authors: Samantha Lovern
“Would I get off Christmas?” Randi crossed her arms, thinking it really didn’t matter.
“I doubt it. I can try to get holiday pay. Would that keep you on board?”
“Sure. Has there been any change in the payment arrangements? Same pay, per day?” Randi smiled. That blue Harley was getting even closer.
“You bet, and this looks like it could become a regular job so show them what you’re made of. The usual rules come into play here, too. You treat Mr. Taylor like a king but don't show any attraction to the man. No staring, touching, nothing. Pretend you’re gay if you must.”
“You got it. Is there only one position?” Randi recalled the dirty look Lori gave her.
“No, I need at least one more girl, but I doubt any of those will pass muster. This one can’t have any mistakes so if no one else shows up, work hard enough for two.”
“I can do that. When do I leave?”
“Be here at five. The mistress of the house is a bear. No, make that four-thirty. Be packed, look the part, and don't be late. The limo will be here at five sharp.”
“Limo?”
“Yes, Limo. I talked to Celia Carson, the mistress of the house, and she said she’d be sure and have you girls picked up in the limo. Don’t forget, go in the side entrance. Last week we had a couple of girls show up at the front door.”
“That’s not good.”
“No it wasn’t. It’s hard to find good help these days." Nancy smiled. “Present company excluded.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime. Now go make me proud. This is an important gig.”
“I will.”
“And don’t forget to clean up.” Nancy smiled and went back to work.
Randi looked down at her messy clothes, took out the card Elvis had given her, and called him. She might be in a cab now but later she’d be riding in style.”
Chapter 2
Martin Taylor
Martin Taylor ran his fingers through his brown hair. He turned to look at his own reflection in the mirror. His mother would be here in a few weeks, and she would tell him he needed to get a haircut. You’re starting to look like a girl, she would say.
He would kiss her on the cheek and ignore her comments. His hair wasn’t long enough to make a girly ponytail, and unless it was for a movie, it never would be. A shave might be in order before she arrived. Surprisingly, his dad never mentioned the hair, or the crazy things that got reported in the papers.
His mother, on the other hand, always hated anything that put him in a bad light. Time and time again he told her it was a part of the job, and that he paid it no mind. But mothers were mothers, and they forever would want to protect their children. He finally had learned to adjust to that fact.
Seeing his family would be great. Getting the house ready wouldn’t be. Martin looked at the list. He hated ‘to do’ lists, and Celia Carson, his girlfriend, loved making them. At least there was no take out the trash on her 'honey do' list. He mentally started down the inventory of chores but his heart wasn’t in it.
The sun and beautiful day were calling to him. He wanted to be in the pool, on the veranda, or on the bike, anywhere but here, looking at this list. Women loved to make lists, and loved to put the things they should be doing off on the men in their lives.
Martin glanced at his phone lying on the desk as it rang. His Mother's smiling face flashed onto the screen. He let it ring two more times as he looked at the list. He didn’t like planning things. He liked spontaneity.
He understood they needed to plan for Christmas dinner, but Celia wanted to plan every meal from Christmas day to New Year's Eve, and she wanted him to help.
How was he going to stand this many people in his new home over the holidays? He reached for the phone, looking out at the setting sun. He’d wanted to take his family to Colorado for Christmas, but no, Celia had talked him into throwing the party of his life at his new home.
The house wasn’t decorated. Some rooms needed curtains or linens. They would need the three maids Celia kept ranting about because in three days guests would begin to arrive.
Martin picked up his Bluetooth. From a few days before Christmas to New Year's Day, his house would be full and running over with his family and Celia’s. He wanted to fast-forward to New Year's Day, when everyone would be leaving. After slipping on his Bluetooth, he spoke. “Hi, mom.”
“Hi yourself. How are you? Is Celia driving you crazy about the party yet? I know this was not your idea.”
“You’re right, it wasn’t,” Martin laughed. “And, yes. She’s driving me nuts. Today it’s the menu. You know she can’t cook, and she’s falling apart thinking the party will be a disappointment to everyone.”
“Martin. You know I love you, but I just don’t understand. Why Celia? The two of you are so different.”
“Maybe your opinion will change when you meet her.” Inwardly, Martin groaned. He could see it now: Women arguing, children crying, and the men going hungry.
“Unless you’ve given me a drastically incorrect image of this woman, I don’t see my opinion changing. She can’t cook. She won’t clean or do the laundry. I don’t dare even dream of grandchildren. Sorry, but I just don’t understand.”
Martin sighed. His mother didn’t pull any punches, and he hated to admit it, but hearing the description of Celia didn’t make her sound like a promising bride. “It’s not that bad,” he lied. “Things have changed. People don’t cook, they eat out.”
“Are you saying you want to spend the rest of your life eating out? Wasting money? Has she ever cooked you breakfast or anything? Can you see her changing and wanting children a few years from now? I know you love kids.”
“I don’t plan things out. You know I hate that.”
“I know, and that’s always irritated me. You don’t get that from my side of the family. You should be dating someone like Patricia or Julia from our hometown, Church Lane girls. They would cook for you, clean your house -- not curse you or call your family names.”
Martin’s brows shot up. So she had heard Celia’s comments last week. He’d tried to take his mother off speakerphone but hadn’t been quick enough. “Mom, I don’t live in Canada now, and you just caught Celia at a bad time. She doesn’t think you’re narrow-minded or old-fashioned.”
Lillian laughed. “Don’t lie to me. I heard her, and you know good and well I’m old-fashioned. And maybe I am narrow-minded, but she’s lazy and a bit about herself.”
“What does that mean?" Martin chuckled. “Celia’s confident, business-minded, and attractive.”
“It means pretty is as pretty does. It’s not about your looks, it’s about how you treat people, and how you look inside that counts. I’m trying not to judge by what I’ve heard, but you haven’t made it easy.”
“Me? What have I done?”
“It’s not what you’ve done, it’s what you’ve said and not said. I never hear you mention what you’ve done for your friends or neighbors. Since you started dating Celia you’ve stopped donating your time to charity and I never hear you mention doing much of anything. When was the last time you went riding, or camping? She’s changing you, Martin, and I don’t like it.”
Martin rose, walking barefoot to the balcony, looking over the grounds. The sun was going down, and a slight breeze rustled the tips of his hair. Talking to his mother was making him homesick for cold weather, snow, fishing, and ice-surfing.
Her voice too, was making him homesick. He didn’t dare mention it. She often complained that he could turn accents on and off at will. She always thought he was ashamed of his homeland but it wasn’t that at all. It was just that in his line of work most of the time people wanted an English accent.
He got his mind back on the conversation and answered her. “I haven’t changed. I give plenty of money to charity. Celia does too. I know we’re opposites, but it works.”
“Does it? Martin, opposites attract, but the question is can they or should they co-exist? While we’re on the topic, I want you to know I will not stay under your roof if you and Celia are sharing a room.”
Martin returned inside and ran his fingers through his hair. “Do we have to go there?”
“Yes. We do. I know it’s old-fashioned, but if you want me to be a guest in your home—”
“I understand and I’ll comply.” Martin had never told his mother that he and Celia were living together, but, along with other things, she’d figured it out.
“Good,” She added. “I apologize if you think I’m over-stepping some boundary, but I will not apologize for my beliefs.”
“I understand. I don’t have a problem with it.” He knew Celia would, but he would cross that bridge when he had to.
“I know you’re a grown man, but you will always be my child. I didn’t call to pick. Sorry about that. I called to let you know our reservations are ready. We should be there Friday.”
“Good. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Same here. Now I should go finish packing. I love you, Martin, and I don’t mean to criticize. Marriage is a huge step. I want you to think this through. I assume we’re coming together for more than a dinner. It just worries me if she’s not the one.”
Martin said his goodbyes and ended the call. Was everyone expecting an engagement announcement? He hoped not. He wasn’t planning on one. His brow furrowed. Was Celia thinking the same thing?
He shook his head and picked up the list. He needed to get busy. There was paperwork to do, a script he needed to finish reading, and as he glanced at the clock, trying to remember the last time he ate . . . it hit him . . . the help. He had to make sure someone went to pick up the maids.
Where in the world had the time gone? He should have called the limo service an hour ago and arranged for the maids to be picked up. He'd promised Celia he'd do that before she went to get her hair done.
He picked up his phone but shook his head, pushing it into his pocket. There was no time. He buttoned up the white shirt he was wearing, slipped into a pair of socks and tennis shoes, and took the steps two at a time.
He went to the kitchen, grabbed the keys to the old Ford, and went out through the garage door. He pulled out the address from his pocket, read it, memorized it, and was on his way.
Chapter 3
Limo Driver
Randi stood looking down the lane. Good thing she was wearing her working shoes. The limo driver was late and she was getting hungry. Instead of taking time to eat, she'd gone home and, as Nancy had suggested, uglied down.
She was wearing her Maids 101 uniform. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun. She had on only a little makeup, and had found an ugly pair of glasses she'd used at Halloween. The pants were not tight and the smock did nothing to flatter her close-to-perfect figure.
She had everything she would need in the two bags that sat at her feet. This was the perfect job. She loved overnight stays in a fancy home. The work would be hard, but the pay would be the best.
There was supposed to be at least one more maid, but Nancy hadn't found anyone she thought suitable. She never sent a maid that she couldn’t trust to a job. Three of her other regular, most dependable maids were off for vacation. One of them, Sandy, was having a baby. Not much of a vacation, Randi mused.
This job wouldn’t have worked for Sandy anyway, because the maids had to be away from home Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day. Randi didn’t have kids so this wasn’t a problem. The money would be good, and she could find plenty of things to spend it on. Her mother wouldn’t like it, but her dad would understand.
She tapped her foot, hoping the limo would come soon. She was starving. Most of the time these fancy mansions had plenty of food, but she didn’t want to show up and hit the refrigerator first thing. She was going to ask the driver if they could stop by a fast food joint and pick something up.
If he didn’t want her eating in the limo she would understand. Unless he was on a time limit there would be no rush in getting to the estate. She wasn’t due in until the next morning. She was even willing to buy his supper.
She kicked at a rock and glanced at her watch. Why wasn’t anyone on time? She took out her iPhone and was about to play a game of Crazy Birds when she heard something coming.
She furrowed her brow and looked over the top of the old glasses at the approaching vehicle. It was definitely not a limo. It wasn’t even a current model. She tilted her head, trying to guess what year the old truck was, and pushed her glasses back into place, ready to dismiss the truck, when much to her surprise, it came to a stop.
“Great, so they’re not as well off as Nancy said,” Randi sighed, resigning herself to the idea that she would not be riding in a limo today, and picked up her bags.
She paid little mind to the man in the truck as she walked by the open passenger’s window. “Taylor’s limo driver, right?” She made this comment in mock humor. She placed her bags into the back of the truck and heard the door slam.
“Sorry about the limo. I was running late so I brought this beauty.”
“No biggie.” Randi adjusted her bags in the corner of the bed of the pickup and turned to face the driver. “It is a beauty . . . ” she began, but stopped as she turned. She had not been expecting to be facing one of the best-looking men she'd seen in her life. Her mouth dropped open. She was sure it had, though she closed it as fast as she could. “It is a beauty,” she finished.” Is it a 1960?”