Chapter 3

This is Now

Rumson Stiltskin's new maid is trying to pull her life back in order after dropping out of college to attend to her ill father. The money she can earn working for Stiltskin is giving her hope that things may yet work out for her. Rumple, as he is known to his friends, defends himself to his savvy, chic manager but does consider how women may have been an on-going distraction to his work. The next morning, he surprises his maid who has stripped down to clean his bathroom creating an awkward position for them both. Rumple has asked his maid to wake him at 2:30.

Soon enough, after massaging his head, neck and shoulders, Rumple waved Belle off and plopped down onto his bed. She slipped off his bed and scurried out of the room. She stopped to take several deep breaths.

She was still feeling humiliated by his surprising her in her wet undies.

She had caught his look, the look he had given her before discreetly looking away.

No, he was definitely not gay. There had been some heat in that gaze.

Having to prep him the Cure-all and then massage him had restored some semblance of neutrality to the situation – although touching him raised some deep-seated sensitivities and even deeper feelings. He had soft hair and strong neck muscles. His skin was smooth and easy to touch.

Oh, but he was old enough to be her father. He dated sophisticated women, rich women, well-educated women, like the one who had picked him up yesterday. She was nothing like these women. Plus, he was her employer and she absolutely did not want any complications in this relationship. She was in it to earn an honest living and make some money so she could finish putting herself through school.

She shook herself. She should have asked him about grocery money. She checked the time. She decided she had time to run the dry-cleaning down the street.

2:30

She gently knocked on his door. She didn't hear anything moving around. She opened the door. He was still sound asleep.

"Sir," she called to him. "It's two-thirty."

He didn't move.

"It's time to get up for your appointment," she said loudly coming over to him.

He moaned and shifted and went still.

She put her hand on his shoulder. She gently shook him. "It's two-thirty."

"Fuck! She can just damn well wait for me," he grumbled.

"Do you want me to let you sleep a bit longer?" she asked.

He moaned again. She could hear him breathing, a sharp exhale, like an angry sigh.

"Crap, no. I'm getting up," he muttered.

"Shall I turn the lights on?" she asked.

There was no answer and she wasn't sure he had heard.

"Shall I . . . "

He interrupted, "Yeah, sure, what the hell." He rolled over and blinked. "What the hell was I thinking making an appointment this early in the day?" He stretched. "Can you get me some clothes?" he asked her wiping some drool off his chin. "Jeans and a t-shirt."

She went into his closet and then into one of the dresser drawers, getting him fresh clothing. "Not someone you want to impress?" she remarked as she handed them off to him.

"Someone who is employing me as an artist," he answered. "They expect the bohemian look, Birkenstocks, unshaven, old jeans and the tee."

"I see," she went to step out. "Can I fix you anything to eat?" she asked.

"I'll take a ham sandwich. Just some mustard," he told her.

"You're out of ham . . . and bread . . . and, quite likely, mustard," she informed him brightly. "I need some money for a trip to the grocery store."

He was sitting up on the side of his bed by now. "Oh yeah. You are supposed to be cooking for me, aren't you?"

"There's some of the soup I made yesterday in the fridge. I can heat it up."

"Soup?" he said, nearly retching. He shook his head, "No, I'll pass that up." He didn't have the strength to argue about food. "Call La Strada, the number's by the phone and have them send up a plate of lasagna. I have a tab with them," he told her.

She pulled a face but didn't say anything. "Grocery money?" she repeated.

He reached for his wallet. Yeah, he had some cash left. Wordlessly, he pulled a hundred from his wallet and handed it off to her.

And so Belle was gone when the fabulous Corella DeVries knocked on his door. Corella was a wealthy woman, famous for being wealthy and for being . . . Corella DeVries. She was one of those women who always seemed to enter a room vagina first, making an entrance and following up with her furs and her honest-to-god cigarette holder.

"Darling Rumple, why on earth did we make this appointment at this ungodly hour?" she asked him.

"I must have been pissed at you," he admitted.

"Well, whatever it was I did to you, we are now even." She looked around. "Oh, my god! What happened here?"

"What do you mean?" he asked leading her into his studio.

"This place is clean!"

It did look better, he had to admit. "I hired a maid," he told her.

"Well, she's gifted. Be careful, or I'll steal her away from you," Corella warned him going behind a screen and beginning to undress.

"I might let you. She's bossy and, I suspect, rather judgmental," he began to get his materials together.

"Hardly deal breakers if she does the job well," Corella told him from behind the screen.

"Well, she had some good points. She's got these sumptuously plump little nipples."

"I'm not going to ask how you know that," Corella told him.

"She got wet when cleaning my shower," he explained offhandedly. "She also has this completely amazing hangover cure," he started to get ready to work.

"You're not making her less attractive. Speaking of hangovers, make me a Gin Rickey, heavy on the gin, shy on the Rickey," Corella told him. She continued to undress behind a screen, draping her clothes over the top of the panes. "Tell me, I take it she's not some little grandmotherly type?"

"No, actually she's an attractive twenty-something brunette." Rumple began to prep the drink pouring the gin and locating the lime juice.

"Sounds like she might be your type. Might be my type too," Corella told him.

"I'm not sleeping with her," he said automatically, finishing off the drink.

Corella looked over the top of the screen at him. "My, that was a quick denial. Is she that attractive?"

"I . . . maybe . . . could be, I guess, if you like fresh-faced and perky."

"Oh god, noooo. You know I like dark and broody. If you didn't have a wanger, you'd be just my type."

Rumple had to smile. "Sorry, I'm rather attached to my wanger."

Corella laughed at him coming out from behind the frame wrapped only in a silk robe. "All you Y-Chromosome Impaired are." She reached for the drink he held out to her, sampling it. She toasted Rumple, "Excellent, as always. If this painting thing ever falls through, I suggest you become a bartender." She headed for a chaise lounge already draped with burnt-out velvets and silken fringed throws. She dropped the robe and positioned herself, texting into her phone as she got comfortable. "I'm starting a pool. When will Rumple bang his maid? I'm sure Regina will join in."

Rumple didn't respond. He looked Corella over as she lounged on the black velvet chaise. "Oh yeah, I remember why we scheduled it for this time of the day. This filtered afternoon light is best. It makes you look ten years younger."

"Really or are you just screwing with me?" she asked him.

"Really, Corie, it's very flattering."

"Thank you darling. A girl needs to hear this type of thing often."

Rumple turned on his music.

"What the hell are you listening to?" Corie asked him.

"It reminds me of you. Korpiklaani - it's Finnish metal polka. All right with you?" he asked.

Corie shuddered. "Whatever helps you work."

It was nearly four when Belle returned, carrying her recycled grocery bags up the stairs. She propped them up in the kitchen and began putting things away. It had been a real challenge to buy food for the man.

Since he hadn't given her any parameters regarding what to buy, she had used her own judgement. Looking at his food preferences that had been evident when she'd cleaned out his fridge, the man lived on fast food, booze and coffee. Well, she couldn't condone any of that and had decided that she would hold to her own principals in preparing food for the old curmudgeon – lotsa real food, vegetables, whole grains, yummies for your tummy stuff.

Of course, he might end up firing her but she thought it worth the risk. Maybe he would just drop the cooking duties. She was an average cook at best.

Belle had finished putting away the groceries and stepped out of the kitchen into the living room area. From this point, she could see up the single step that led to the studio.

And she could see what was going on in the studio.

"Oh, my stars!" Belle covered her eyes and stepped away from the studio area. There was a naked woman reclining on the sofa and Belle turned back into the kitchen in absolute embarrassment.

Corella and Rumple had both turned at Belle's exclamation.

"Oh, darling, is that your maid?" Corella asked. "She is a precious little thing! Just adorable. I supposed what we're doing is too debauching for her innocent eyes. Do you need to go attend to her?"

Rumple considered and shrugged, "No, I've asked her not to interrupt me when I'm in the studio. And you still have fifteen minutes before your time is up. And I want to finish your eyes – they're less bloodshot than usual and I want to get them while the gettin's good."

"Surely," and Corella settled back down.

Belle had retreated to the kitchen and now, she felt trapped in the room. She had put herself into the walk-in pantry and, after calming down, had decided to focus on re-organizing this room until it was safe to come out.

Good lord, she had not expected to find a naked woman in the apartment.

Not like they had been up to anything. He was apparently painting her portrait – her nude portrait.

She looked around the pantry she had corralled herself into. It did not contain foodstuffs. Instead, the man had apparently used it like a storage closet for random . . . stuff. There was hiking gear and photography gear and old paperback books and boxes of paint tubes and more liquor bottles. Things were jumbled together. It was a microcosm of the rest of the apartment – random boxes of crap piled on random boxes of other crap, she thought peevishly.

There were probably also spiders and (oh, let's hope not) contraband, like drugs and such that he had crammed into this room. The man did have a reputation for depravity. She began sorting through the materials she found.

She'd been there for a while, separating out the good stuff from the trash most of it was trash when there was a tap on the door.

"She's gone. The mean, naked lady has gone."

She gave a sigh of relief and came out of the pantry. "I'm so sorry. I know you didn't want to have your work interrupted but I had no idea. I didn't know you were doing a painting and I'm not a prude but it was rather shocking to find you with a nude woman and I didn't think and I couldn't help myself and . . . and, I'm so sorry," she talked rapidly, embarrassed and nervous.

"Got it," he told her. "Maybe we should work out a signal or something. I hang a sock on the door or . . ."

"You could just tell me . . . but the sock on the door is probably a good idea also," she confirmed.

He watched her patiently as she continued to bustle around the kitchen.

"Supper?" she finally asked him.

He shook his head, lost in thought. "Hold on," and he disappeared back into the open studio. He dug through the paperwork on his desk and pulled out a planner. He turned several pages and found the current date. He brought it back into Belle.

"Why don't you start keeping my calendar? I have a lot of appointments and places I'm supposed to be and things I'm supposed to do and people I'm supposed to be with."

"How are you keeping track of things now?"

He shrugged. "I'm not. I miss a lot," he confessed. "People who know me, well, they know I'm a drunk. They will call to remind me or they send someone to get me or they luck out and I just happen to remember."

"You don't have anything written down?" she asked appalled.

"Maaaybeee. Maybe I have some things in my phone." When she held out her hand, he sighed but then gave it over to her.

She pulled one of his metal and wood barstools up to his butcher block workstation and began to systematically go through his calendar on his phone transferring the handful of appointments that he did have recorded onto the desktop calendar. She then looked up at him.

"Now tell me what appointments you remember that you have," she directed him.

He began to think. "Well, there's a thing tonight. It's a gallery opening for one of my best friends." He sat down on the stool next to hers.

"Time?"

""Uhhhh, I think, eight?"

"All right. Any others?"

He thought. "I've got something Friday, but I'm not sure what . . . or where . . . or what time."

She closed her eyes and rubbed her nose bridge. "All right. From now on, either you write things down or you tell people to call me so that I can get it on your calendar. I can't remind you about an appointment that I don't know about."

"Okay," he agreed. "I'll do my best."

He seemed rather cavalier about the whole thing.

Belle glanced up at him. "I cannot make bricks without straw. The system can only be as good as the information I'm given to work with," she admonished him sternly. She laid down the pen and got back up to finish with the few groceries that were still left out.

He couldn't stop himself from watching her move about. She was lovely – aggravating - but lovely.

"So you'll get a meal out tonight and you have nothing scheduled for tomorrow," she confirmed as she sorted through vegetables.

"Right. I'm supposed to be working on a couple of things."

"And do you want me to get you up tomorrow?"

It was a perfectly innocent question, but his mind immediately shoved him toward a misinterpretation. She could certainly get him up tomorrow. She could easily get him up tonight. Hell, if either one of them put any effort into it, she could probably get him up right here on the kitchen stool. He had to stop himself from making a completely inappropriate response. "Uhm. . . Tomorrow? Yeah. Why don't you get me up about four this time?"

"Yes sir," she told him.

He bummed around in the studio for a while, then went into his living room, sat on the sofa noting he didn't have to shove aside any paperwork or clothing and channel surfed on the television noting he had no problems locating the remote on the little coffee table in front of him, and eventually he got up to shower and change for his evening appointment. When he came out, Belle could see that he had changed into one of the really very nicely tailored Armani's, medium grey with a black shirt and silver tie. He'd shaved again and had used some kind of spicy, woodsy aftershave and was sitting on the sofa putting on his shoes when there was a knock on the door.

Belle opened the door and was face to chest with a tall, handsome young man.

"Well, so it's twue, it's twue! All the rumors are true," the young man said. He looked past Belle to Rumple. "You got a hot maid."

"Belle, this is a lying, cheating, fast-talking reprobate, given to seducing naïve, innocent young women and the occasional impressionable young man, and he is probably my best friend - Jefferson Madden," Rumple made the introduction from the sofa. "It's his show I'm going to. Moral support." Rumple stood and came over. "He'll need it. He's doing this abstract thing at the moment. Looks like a mad person has been at the easel."

"Gee, thanks," Jefferson said keeping his eyes focused on Belle. He spoke rapidly to her, "Listen, I should be free after midnight. Why don't you abandon this loser and meet me in my place? I'll give you the building code. If you show your breasts to the doorman you won't have to tip him. Well, it's not really the doorman, it's the wino that lives in the stairwell. Oh, and bring a loaf of rye bread." He peppered Belle with commands. Then he looked over at Rumple. "I'm in the pool."

Rumple closed his eyes. Damn. Corie didn't take any time at all.

"Pool?" Belle asked.

"It's a pool to see how long you put up with working for me," he explained, leading Jefferson out of the apartment.

Belle shook her head and shut the door behind them. She was rapidly getting a sense of a general smarminess in Mr. Stiltskin's acquaintances; she might have thought the pool would have been for something like how soon he'd sleep with her.

She considered her chores for the coming day.

His Best Friend

"Good lord, she is quite the tasty little croissant!" Jefferson was going on about how attractive the maid was.

"I wouldn't know. She's just my maid," he reiterated for the umpteenth time.

"Oh, come on now. You have to have noticed that perfect skin, those gorgeous eyes, that cute little figure."

"I've noticed but I don't have to try to hump every cute little figure that comes across my path," he said sourly. Next time, if there was ever a next time, he would hire a truly ugly maid.

"Since when?" Jefferson asked him.

"You have a grossly exaggerated notion of my sex life. You and Regina both think I have this constant stream of women coming in and out, all taking advantage of my personal services. You know, Regina's on my case to get me to stay away from women – that they stress me out. I think she's got this idea that when I'm getting laid, I don't produce anything."

Jefferson considered. "Could be, maybe. I'm just the opposite. The more jay-jay I'm getting, the better my work."

Rumple did not respond to this particular remark. He did however envy Jefferson's easy style and relationships with women. They seemed to flock to him and the man went in and out of affairs with some of the most beautiful women Rumple had ever seen. And he always managed to have the women tearfully dump him so he was never the bad guy – not to mention the next time they had boyfriend problems they would drunk dial him and he would get to re-connect with them and offer them 'comfort.'

Callers

Belle had been there a couple of days and she was working sorting things out in the kitchen drawers. It was late in the afternoon and Mr. Stiltsin was working in his studio when her bff called.

"Where have you been?" Ruby had demanded to know.

"Got a new job. I'm still close to my dad and can check on him a couple of times a day," Belle told her.

"Whatcha doing?"

Belle hesitated. She wasn't ashamed of doing honest, menial labor, but . . . well, maybe a little. But the pay was good. "I'm . . . I'm working as a maid," she confessed.

There was silence on the other end of the phone. "Pay is good?" Ruby finally asked.

"Yeah, it's really good. And it's just for maid services, except for a little cooking," Belle told her. "And it's in the building where dad's place is."

"Really? Who lives in that building who could afford to hire a maid?"

"It's the owner of the building. He lives on the top floor," Belle was half-way hoping Ruby wouldn't remember who lived in the building.

"Oh, my god! You're working for Rumson Stiltskin! The composer and artist? Wow! What's he like?"

"He's . . ." Belle hesitated. What should she say? He's a drunken sot who is pissing away his talent. He's a pig who can't carry a glass to the sink? He's a foul-mouthed, degenerate who has no self-respect. "He's . . . a handful, but he sleeps most of the day and he's gone most evenings."

"So how hot is he?" Ruby asked.

"He's usually dirty or drunk or hungover, so that does kind of kill any attraction," Belle lied. But when he cleans up and dresses in a suit . . . da-amn. She shook her head. But, if she were honest with herself, he was a nine, even when dirty, drunk and hungover.

"Are you doing him?" Ruby had asked.

"Oh no, Ruby. He's twice my age . . ."

"Well, sometimes those older guys know a lot. They've got the whole experience thing going for them."

"Well, I'm not doing him. I've no intention of doing him. And," the thought suddenly occurred to her, "don't you dare start a stupid pool as to when I start doing my boss."

"You are no fun, no fun at all. Well, glad you're still with us, anyway. Can you get off Thursday night, put it on your calendar. Girl's Night. The Green Dragon."

"I'll see what I can do," Belle promised. "We really hadn't discussed me having time off."

"Well, he can't expect you to work for him twenty-four/seven, can he?"

Yes, he can, "I'll see if he has anything that he's going to want me to do," Belle told her. She hung up.

There had also been another call – one she almost didn't answer.

"Hey babe. You up?"

"Not interested, Keith," she told the caller.

"Oh, come on, it's been a couple of weeks. You can't still be mad."

"I'm not mad. I'm just not interested. Please, don't call me again," and she hung up.

That was unnerving. She'd gone out with Keith just the one time but he'd made her nervous. He was a big guy and used his size to intimidate. She had to tell him, "no," several times before he got the message and then he'd made the assumption that she was on her period (he couldn't imagine that any woman wouldn't jump as the chance to sleep with him). Belle had tried to be nice, to let him know that she wanted a relationship before she would consider having sex with a man but he seemed to respond to this as her just trying to "act the lady" and that she didn't really mean it. That had infuriated her and she had called her best friend Ruby to come and get her from the bar. Ruby had shown up with her boyfriend du jour, James Whale, a promising medical student, and had rescued her.

But Keith would still call from time to time.

Before took a deep breath but before she could return to task, there was a knock at the door. Belle had peeked through the viewer and could see an older man standing with his hands in his pockets.

"Who is it?" Rumple had called out to her from his studio.

"A man – older. Should I open the door?" she asked.

Rumple hesitated. "Is he wearing a green coat?"

Belle peeked again. "Yes sir," she called back.

"Damn, shit, fuck," Rumple muttered. "I'll take care of this."

A.N. Thanks so much to those of you who are following this story and a special thanks to those who graciously sent a review: Tinoviel Undomiel, Wondermorena, Grace5231973, jewel415, and Erik'sTrueAngel.

NEXT: Rumple deals with a couple of unwelcome visitors.

Belle prepares a meal for Mr. Stiltskin.