Maid for Martin (4 page)

Celia crossed her arms and her dark blue eyes gave him a dirty look. “Why? You don’t like him either. You’re just doing this for spite.”

Martin picked up his jacket, house keys, phone and sunglasses. He started to go but then turned back, looking at her. “I’m doing it because I need this part. If you want to keep spending money like we’re made out of gold then you better put on a smile and act as if you’re happy to see him. Like him or not, he’s coming to the party.”

Chapter 5

Tweety Bird

The room was great. She could stay here for two weeks, easy. Randi sat down on the full-sized bed and looked around the room. The carpet was plush and a nightstand, a dresser, and her own private bathroom now held her items. There was no TV but she had her iPhone if she needed anything.

Randi looked at the clock on the wall and sat up in bed. It was two a.m. She should be sleeping. She’d been given the security key to the Internet and since she couldn’t sleep, she began writing out an email to her mother.

She’d learned a long time ago that taking pictures and sending them to family or friends wasn’t allowed, so she hadn’t taken any pictures of the home she was staying in.

She wanted to send a shot of the kitchen to her mom. Nothing would make her mother happier than to have an evening loose in the very clean, very organized, Taylor kitchen.

When done with the email, Randi laid her phone by her bed and picked up the clipboard. She glanced at tomorrow’s duties that Emma had given her. She’d overheard the lady of the house throwing a fit because Maids 101 had only sent over one female. Ms. Taylor had been expecting at least three women, but Maids was shorthanded so Randi was it for now.

Not long after she heard the discussion she was able to speak with the household manager, Emma. She assured her that she would pull her weight and that the "missus" wouldn’t be disappointed. Emma seemed grateful and said as much.

Emma had given her a rundown of where she was allowed to go and what was expected of her. She would rise at seven and start working on the great room. Everything would need to be dusted and cleaned before they started with the decorations.

Randi had access to the kitchen at any time she needed. There would be no meals prepared for the help, but she was welcome to cold cuts or breakfast sandwiches that were in the kitchen.

Randi glanced at her watch and wondered if she would wake anyone if she slipped into the kitchen. She hoped not. She couldn’t sleep and she needed something to eat. She rose from the bed, slipped into her house boots, and saw her reflection in the mirror. Tweety Bird stared back at her. The nightshirt was short, about six inches above her knee.

She twisted right and left, looking at her reflection. She had more clothes on than most women in those skimpy ads, and she wasn’t showing any cleavage. Randi shrugged and went to the kitchen. Peeking out into the hallway, she saw no one. The house was quiet. That was a good sign. One more look around and she made her way to the kitchen.

She stood, trying to make up her mind. She didn’t want a sandwich; didn’t want to run the microwave and make any noise. After peeking through all of the cold cuts, fresh fruits, and protein drinks, she smiled and reached in, pulling out a vanilla pudding.

She bent over and stretched to the third shelf down. Pudding would hit the spot. Chocolate would be better, but then she’d have the caffeine to deal with. And she would have to get some milk too. That would be best. She could grab a spoon and a cup of milk and sneak back to her room before anyone spotted her.

*****

Martin slammed the car door shut. He knew he should have insisted Celia go to his meeting. He hated showing up when everyone else had their wife, or live-in, with them. It made the whole evening uncomfortable and made him feel out of place.

He climbed out of the Mercedes and instead of going in the front entrance he went into the garage. He stopped as he walked by his bike. It was almost midnight and he was in no mood to talk to Celia.

He glanced down at his shirt and dress slacks and walked to the garage bathroom. There he found what he needed hanging on the wall. Coveralls. They belonged to his good friend Mike and were one size too big. He put them on just the same.

After Martin slipped out of his clothes and into the clean but dirty-looking oilskins, he zipped up and walked toward the Harley. He didn’t do anything major when it came to the bike but he liked to tinker around, changing the oil, plugs, and filters.

Martin turned on the radio and began to unwind as he got out the tools he’d need. Music always calmed his nerves and so did tinkering in the garage. He killed an hour re-arranging tools, cleaning off his work area, and then started working on the bike.

It’d been two weeks since he’d taken the bike out for a spin. He loved to ride. Out on the bike no one knew he was Martin Taylor. The full-face helmet kept his identity hidden. There was no mob of teens wanting his autograph and no wild women running up to him offering anything and everything that one could imagine.

Still, the women would stare. Most women seemed to love a man on a Harley. He smiled as he thought of Randi. She’d been attracted to him. That was obvious. What would she do if she saw him on the bike? His mind drifted to the dark hair she’d pulled back in a bun and the smile that played on her lips almost every time she looked at him. It was if she had some secret and she just couldn’t wait to share it.

Celia and he had been dating for close to nine months, and he was beginning to see that they weren’t as compatible as he’d hoped. He wasn’t ready to get married, like his mother thought, but he was getting tired of the differences that kept cropping up. They were becoming more and more evident in their daily life.

He was getting mad again just thinking about it. It was affecting his concentration. He picked up a bottle of oil and set it down by the bike. The bottle fell over, the lid popped off, and oil went everywhere. Martin cursed, quickly setting the bottle back up. He let out a frustrated breath and went on with his work.

As he began, what Bill had said as they had left the restaurant came to his mind. His agent was very vocal about Celia and her distaste for the movie industry. In Bill's words, "If Celia isn’t supporting you, she will only hold you back."

Those words kept playing through Martin’s mind, so much so, that it broke his focus. As he was taking the oil plug out to drain the oil the wrench slipped and he cut his right hand. It didn’t look deep but it was bleeding so he rose from his position on the floor and went into the kitchen. 

If memory served him right, there was a first aid kit under the sink. He walked up four steps that led to a short entryway opening into the kitchen. Using his good hand he opened the door and entered the dark hallway.

There was a light on in the kitchen so he didn’t bother to turn on the hall light. As he took the few steps into the kitchen he stopped. The cut on his hand left his thoughts and a smile crossed his lips.

There, rummaging through his refrigerator was a black-haired beauty wearing a Tweety Bird nightshirt. A single brow shot up as he wondered who the girl was. It wasn’t Sue, Celia’s friend. Her legs weren't that nice. He stepped up to the sink, grabbed a napkin from the counter, and spoke. “Do you mind telling me who you are, and what you’re doing in my refrigerator just past two in the morning?”

Chapter 6

Nurse Maid

Randi was just reaching inside the refrigerator as someone behind her spoke. She jumped when she heard a man’s voice. She dropped her pudding. It went bouncing out the door and to the floor. Her brow furrowed and she straightened. Of course, someone would catch her scrounging for a snack.

With her luck it would be the man of the house, up to also find a late night, something to hold him over until breakfast. As she closed the door and turned, she reached down with one hand to tug on the bottom of her nightshirt.

When she met those blue eyes again she smiled, but the smile vanished at the sight of blood on the man’s hand. “What did you do to yourself?” Randi bent down, scooped up her pudding, set it on the table, and went to the sink.

“I think I cut myself.”

“Ok, Smarty-pants,” Randi added, “I can see that. Was it something dirty, old or rusty?”

“No, something pretty new and pretty clean.”

“Good.” Not asking, and trying to forget about her short gown, she took the limo driver's hand and turned the water on. “How long ago did you do this? You should always clean a cut, and wash it good.” She turned on the cold water and tugged his hand until it was under the water.

“Are you a nurse?” He asked.

Randi glanced at the man’s handsome face, then down to the name on his shirt. “No, Mike, but cold reduces swelling. You didn’t drip your blood all over my clean floor did you?”

“Maybe, maybe not. The floor wasn’t my biggest concern at the time.”

“I suppose it wasn’t.” Randi had a hard time not staring at the man. He was so good-looking. Even in those old oily-looking clothes. Man, I need a date, bad. Finally, after trying to recall the last time she had a night out, she spoke. “This might burn a bit.”

“If it does, I promise not to cry.”

Randi laughed at his attempt at humor, reached for the soap, squirted some on the palm of her hand, and began to wash the cut. She glanced up at the man and began to feel just a bit intimidated. She always chatted when she was nervous. She just hoped it didn’t show. “Tell me, Mike, are you the limo driver and the mechanic?”

“You could say that.” He said, leaning on the kitchen cabinet, which brought them even closer. This time when she turned, those eyes, and that body, were only inches away.

“Do you normally work this late?” Randi managed, trying to keep her mind on the man’s hand and not keep glancing back into those deep blue eyes, but it wasn’t easy.

“No, I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d change the oil in the Harley. Then I did this, instead.”

“You should be more careful.” Randi reached up, turning on the overhead light. She leaned over the sink, using both hands to wash away the blood and look at the cut. She knew this would make the gown shorter, but it couldn’t be helped.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught him as he tilted his view. She wanted to comment on his being a Peeping Tom, but was too nervous to do so.

“What are you looking for?" He asked, leaning over the sink, confirming to her that he’d stopped peeking. It didn’t help though. She felt even more tension as his shoulder brushed hers.

Trying not to seem chatty or nervous, she spoke. “I had a coworker cut her hand a few weeks ago and you could see white in the cut. It was her tendons. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t deep, and it’s not. You just managed to slice the surface.” When she straightened thankfully so did he, but they were still close. “Just the first layer. I forget what it’s called. Something 'dermis'.”

“I have no clue.” He watched her closely and it made her nervous and energized at the same time.

Mike seemed amused that she was on edge. She guessed he knew his proximity was causing her to feel like a kid with a crush. He didn’t bother to help out by stepping back.

There was even a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. The word at last came out of the mist of her thoughts. “'Epidermis.' That’s it. The first layer of the skin. I read that not too long ago, at the same time Nancy cut her hand.”

The awkward silence came again and she put her attention back to rinsing off the soap. “Do you think I’ll live?” He asked, and she could hear a flirtatious tone in his voice. When she looked up he was smiling. She knew he’d been stealing a few looks at her legs. She was thankful she’d gotten some sun over the last few weeks, not to mention the Nair she’d used a few days ago.

“I think you’ll survive without stitches.”

“If you’re not a doctor or nurse how can I trust your prognosis? Maybe I should seek a second opinion.” He tugged lightly to get away from her grip, but she only gave him a dirty look and he stopped.

“Get one if you want, but mine is free and there'll be no charge for a house call. After hours will really hit you in the wallet.”

“I do hate doctors, so it’s just as well. Patch me up and I’ll be good as new.”

“I’m trying. Is there a first-aid kit around?” Randi asked, turning the water off and letting go of Mike’s hand. He stepped back, reaching for a paper towel.

“Sure, under the sink.”

Randi opened the door, started to bend over and look for the kit, but instead she motioned toward the table. “Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”

*****

Martin could have said no, but he didn’t want to. He was enjoying the attention. He doubted if Celia would walk, in, catching him in the act of nothing really, so he sat down at the table. He waited and kept his eyes on Randi as she sat down.

He thought it refreshing that she seemed modest about her short gown. She pulled it down as best she could and sat in the chair next to him. After she opened the kit he stretched his hand out. “You asked me what I was doing up so late. Other than stealing pudding, why are you up at this hour?”