IN HIS KEEPING: TAKEN

Sylvie squirmed.  She needed to pee.  She’d drunk too much water on the train trying to stop her stomach from growling.  ‘How long till we get there?’ she asked, squeezing her thighs together.  If they didn’t arrive soon she’d have to ask him to pull over so she could go in the bushes.

‘Almost there Miss.  About 5 more minutes.’

That was a relief.  It had been a nice ride.  The scenery was spectacular.  The roads they’d traveled snaked through the mountain passes and quaint villages of the Adirondack High Peaks area.  Brady had been a wonderful tour guide.  He knew the names of all the mountains they passed.  Pointed out the cascading waterfalls, and the Lake Placid Olympic sites.  But she was starving and now her bladder was giving her fits.  She wanted to get there before she peed her pants.

They were going to Upper St. Regis Lake outside the Village of Saranac Lake.  Brady told her Mr. Hudson had built a huge log home there in the style of the 19th-century Great Camps of the super-rich.  He informed her that Topridge, the home of Marjorie Merriweather Post, was in the area and so was the Vanderbilt camp.  Sylvie was impressed!  Her eyes searched the greenery for some sign of the million-dollar ‘summer cottages.’  If there were houses nestled amid the trees she couldn’t see them.  Everything looked desolate and uninhabited to her.

Brady had worked for Mr. Hudson for 6 years.  He headed security at the estate.  He told her about the other staff members.  A Mrs. Cosgrove ran the household and did the cooking.  She’d been employed by the Hudsons for 18 years.  She supervised three cleaning ladies.  Eight security guards, mostly fellow ex-Marines, reported to Brady.  There was also a handyman; two groundskeepers; and someone who tended the boats and acted as a guide for fishing, hunting, and canoeing.

She was feeling better about her decision to accept the job.  He had a Bentley and a large staff.  He certainly seemed on the up and up.  She stared out the window.  There didn’t appear to be much to do up here.  Stores were few and far between.  And the only movie theater she’d seen was when they’d passed through Lake Placid.  That was miles ago.  This was going to be quite a change from the city.

Brady turned off the road and stopped in front of an ornate wrought iron gate, which magically opened for them.  They drove straight into the woods.  It was kind of creepy.  It was only about four o’clock, but the canopy of trees was so thick that the sunshine didn’t filter to the ground.

Ahead lay an expanse of lawn and beyond it a huge glass and log home.  Stunning!  In the distance water sparkled in the sunlight.  Two cars were parked in the circular driveway.  One was red.  She was pretty sure it was a Porsche.  The other car was definitely a sports car, but she didn’t know what kind.  What did Carlene say about her having the use of Mr. Hudson’s vehicles?  ‘Mr. Brady, what kind of car is the blue one?’

‘That’s a Maserati.’

‘Oh,’ she said, trying to sound nonchalant.  Sylvie had no idea what a car like that cost, but she was sure it was obscenely expensive.

Brady opened the car door for her and as he did the door to the house swung wide open.  A middle-aged woman stood in the opening, a big smile on her face.  ‘Welcome Miss Jenkins.  It is so good to meet you.  I’m Estelle Cosgrove.’

‘Nice to meet you too,’ Sylvie responded awkwardly as she walked up the stairs.  She was scared to death.  She hoped it didn’t show.

‘Come in.  Come in.  You must be exhausted from your trip.  Can I get you something to drink?  Something to eat?’

‘That would be lovely.  Thank you.’  Thank God, they were going to feed her!  Her stomach was doing flips.  ‘Could I use the restroom?’

Mrs. Cosgrove pointed the way.  Thankfully it was close.  She didn’t know if she could hold it much longer.

The bathroom was all mirrors, marble, and chrome.  It was a little disconcerting: wherever she looked she could see reflections of her bare ass sitting on the toilet.  There was another toilet besides the one she was using.  She thought it was a bidet, but couldn’t be sure.  She’d never seen or used one before.  Classy.  Very classy!

She opened the door and heard Mrs. Cosgrove’s voice.  ‘You must be famished.  I’ve set out some snacks to hold you till dinner.’

Sylvie followed her into the kitchen.  It was gigantic.  The cabinets were oak, the countertops granite, there was a large breakfast bar and the appliances were polished stainless steel.  It was…HOLY SHIT!  She nearly fainted when she saw him.  Standing next to the refrigerator was a naked man!  He was tall, muscular, and had a huge…’look at his face not his cock,’ she kept telling herself.  ‘No, no, no!  Don’t look down!’  But she couldn’t help herself.  She had never seen a naked man before, just pictures.  So this was what they looked like up close and personal.  This was what all the fuss was about.  She had no point of comparison, but from what little she knew he was well-endowed.  As her fellow waitresses would say when they graded the men that came into the restaurant…he had ‘a real nice package!’  Sylvie’s skin was on fire.  Her face was turning purple.  The color inched its way up from her breasts to her neck, and then to her face.  Maybe her first assessment of her new employer had been right after all: he was a pervert!  She’d never been so embarrassed in her life.  Her ears turned crimson.  Large red splotches appeared on her arms and legs like she’d been scalded.  She could barely breathe.  The air was stifling, like a steam bath or a sauna.  Her head felt funny.  She was dizzy.  The room began to whirl around her.  The heat was unbearable, like a blast furnace.  Beads of perspiration soaked her breasts and back, droplets of sweat dripped from her forehead.  Everything was spinning.  A wave of nausea seized her.  She was going to be sick!  Sylvie grabbed for the breakfast bar hoping to steady herself, but only succeeded in sending the plates, bowls and glasses set out there crashing to the floor.  Her knees buckled.  Her eyes rolled back in her head.  Down she went!

Someone was sponging her head with cold water.  Sylvie’s eyes fluttered open.

‘It’s OK.  You’re all right,’ Mrs. Cosgrove assured her.  ‘You just fainted.’

Sylvie tried to focus.  There was broken china, shrimp, crackers, assorted vegetables, and puddles of spilt liquid all around her.  What a mess!  Sylvie was mortified.  She opened her mouth to apologize but the words stuck in her throat.  Uh oh!  Standing right next to her were a pair of hairy legs.  At their apex was a large penis and a pair of dangling balls.  She gasped and shut her eyes tight.

‘Mr. Hudson, could you please put some clothes on!’  Mrs. Cosgrove said in exasperation.  ‘You’re scaring the girl!’

Sylvie retreated into the blackness.  When she awoke she was laying on a couch.  Mrs. Cosgrove was hovering over her.  ‘Feeling better?  You frightened us.’

‘I am so sorry,’ Sylvie apologized.  ‘I didn’t eat anything today.  Between the sweltering heat and the train ride up from New…’

Mrs. Cosgrove’s look silenced her.  Sylvie wasn’t fooling the woman.  They both knew what made her faint and it wasn’t lack of food, the weather, or the long trip.  It was the sight of Connor Hudson’s manhood!

‘Why in God’s name didn’t you eat?’ a male voice demanded to know.

She looked up and saw him standing in the doorway.  He was now dressed, wearing a pair of well-worn jeans.  Threadbare at the knees, they hung loosely from his hips.  She felt weak in the knees.  She hadn’t gotten a good look at his face before.  He was gorgeous!  He looked like he had just stepped out of the pages of GQ or an old Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue.  She couldn’t help noticing that he wasn’t wearing any underwear.  She could see the outline of his penis hanging at the top of his left pant leg.  He turned slightly.

He had a nice ass.  It was muscular, round, and tight.  His hair was brown and sun streaked as though he spent a lot of time outdoors.  It fell in waves and loose curls.  Long dark lashes fringed a pair of large chestnut-brown eyes.  He looked to be 6 foot 2 or 3 and there didn’t appear to be an ounce of fat on him.  She always thought of male writers as being spectacled professorial types with no muscle-tone, large paunches, and big asses.  Mr. Hudson was anything but.  He must have spent his every waking hour in a gym.  When did he have time to write?  Six pack abs…check.  Muscular chest with great pecks…check.  Bulging biceps and rock hard forearms…check.  He was shaped like a V, broad at the shoulders channeling down to a narrow waist and hips.  His skin was deeply tanned.  He either used a tanning bed or had just come back from a vacation.  Strikingly handsome, his face was angular with high cheekbones straight sharp nose, and a deeply dimpled chin.  The fact that he had a day’s growth of stubble on his jaw only made him look even more handsome.  He had the sexiest mouth.  His lips were plump, full, and fleshy.  When they parted they revealed straight, even, brilliantly white teeth.  He was all man from the thatch of course curly hair on his sculpted chest to the hairy trail that descended from his belly button to his now hidden groin.  Mr. Connor Hudson was hot!  Male model, movie star hot!  Sylvie trembled.  Not from exhaustion.  Not from hunger.  From him!

‘Well?’ he said, sounding irritated.  ‘You’re not on some kind of stupid whacked-out diet are you?’

She shook her head no, then sheepishly admitted ‘I didn’t have any money.  That’s why I didn’t eat.’

‘When’s the last time you ate?’ he asked, looking none too pleased.

‘I ate something yesterday.’

‘What?  Breakfast?  Lunch?  Dinner?’

‘If you must know…I had a can of peas.’  Her face was turning crimson with embarrassment.

‘That’s nourishing,’ he said sarcastically.  ‘And before that?’

Why the third degree?  Why was he being such an asshole?  She was tempted to tell him it was none of his damn business, but she couldn’t very well do that.  She needed the job.  ‘I had a package of Ramen Noodles the day before that.’

‘You in the habit of starving yourself Miss Jenkins?  Are you anorexic or something?  You’re thin as a rail!’

‘No!’ she shot back, her voice rising in indignation.  She sat up.  ‘I assure you Mr. Hudson, I’m not anorexic.  Just poor!  I lost my job.  I had no money.  I couldn’t afford to buy food.  The can of peas was the last edible thing I had in the house.  But then you probably wouldn’t know about such things!’  Sylvie glared at him.

Feisty little wench!  He wasn’t used to having his employees talk back to him like that.  Miss Jenkins would be a challenge.  She needed a lesson in comportment.  Connor rolled his eyes and shook his head.  ‘Look,’ he said eyeing her with measured condescension.  ‘I’m not in the habit of having new employees report for work only to have them collapse on my floor suffering from malnutrition.  I need someone who’s able to keep up with me, who’s got the stamina to work 24/7.  That’s why I’m paying you top dollar.  Can you do that?’

‘Yes!’ she hissed, trying to keep her temper under control.  Sylvie struggled to her feet.  What a bunch of unadulterated horse shit!  The reason she collapsed was not from hunger but because she wasn’t in the habit of seeing her employer walking around with his big dick flapping in the breeze.  Aargh!  What a cold-hearted, arrogant bastard!  After her first paycheck she was out of here!

‘Very well.  I’ll take you at your word Miss Jenkins.  Give her something to eat,’ he ordered, turning to Mrs.Cosgrove.  ‘When you’re finished, come to the library and we’ll discuss your duties.’  With that he strode from the room like he owned the place…which he did.

When he was out of earshot Mrs. Cosgrove gave her a big grin.  ‘Don’t mind him.  He was very worried about you.  He was hovering over you and dithering.  He never dithers.  It’s not in his nature.  He didn’t know what to do.  Whether to rush you to the hospital or leave you on the floor.  He hates it when things are out of his control.’

Sylvie looked skeptical.

Mrs. Cosgrove put an arm around the young woman to steady her.  ‘Let’s get something in your stomach.  How about a corned beef on rye with some chips and a pickle?’

‘Sounds great!’  Sylvie’s mouth watered.

‘Could I ask you something?’

‘Yes dear of course.  What is it you want to know?’

‘It’s about Mr. Hudson.  Does he always go around the house like that?  Naked?  It’s very unsettling.’  Not to mention inappropriate, unseemly and indecent!

‘Oh don’t mind him.  He’s in character.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Well, every time Mr. Hudson writes a book, he becomes one of the characters.’

‘You’re kidding me?’  Did that mean that she was going to have to see him in the altogether all the time?  It wasn’t just outrageous.  It was freaking weird!

‘No.  Actually I’m not.  If you’d been here last month you’d have seen him parading around in a silver lame jumpsuit playing captain of an intergalactic spaceship or some such thing.  Last fall he was a tormented teenage vampire in love with a zombie; and before that a codpiece wearing, 16th-century dandy.’

‘Really?  He always does this?  Seems like a lot of effort.  Has he ever actually sold anything?  I mean I’ve never heard of Connor Hudson.  I went to the library looking for books by Connor Hudson, I even used their computer to check Amazon and Barnes and Noble, but nothing came up.  He’s obviously rich: the house, the cars.  He can indulge himself in whatever way he wants; but he’s never been published, and I, well…I can’t help thinking I was brought here on, well…’  She hesitated, not knowing if she should just say what was on her mind.  She’d probably run right back to Mr. Hudson and tell him.  Sylvie wasn’t the kind to mince words…out with it.  ‘False pretenses,’ she announced.  ‘I’m supposed to be a sort of editorial research assistant, girl Friday.  No one mentioned the man I’d be working for would be nude.  How do I know that he isn’t just a pervert who is using the pretext of a book because he wants to show off his schlong?’  Her face turned scarlet.  Her hand flew up to her mouth, covering it.  She was mortified.  Had she really said that?  She’d accused her new boss of being a pervert.  Oh God, now she’d be fired for sure.

‘I admit that he’s a bit unconventional, but he’s harmless.’

If that was supposed to reassure her it didn’t!

Mrs. Cosgrove could see she wasn’t convinced.  ‘Have you heard of C. J. Thaw?’

‘The famous science fiction fantasy writer?  Of course I’ve heard of him.  Two of his Rings of Annara series are on the New York Times bestseller list right now: Dragon’s Keep and.  Erlu Rage of Sythsarene.  The movie of the first Rings book came out last year in June and was the highest grossing film of the summer.  The second movie is coming out this Christmas.  I bought one of the Annara dragon pilot action figures and a pair of Erlu the Dragon pajamas for my nephew Jake’s birthday.  There are a whole slew of toys, clothing, bed linens, school supplies, and party goods based on the characters from the books.  And I read somewhere that they’re building a Rings of Annara thrill ride at one of the big amusement parks in Orlando or maybe it was California.  That CJ Thaw?’

‘The very same.  And, just so you know, those rides will be in both Florida and California.  They’re also negotiating to put them in Europe, Japan, and I think Shanghai.  Mr. Hudson does very well with the merchandising and licensing agreements for his books.’

Sylvie’s eyes widened in disbelief.  That explained where the money for the cars came from.  ‘So Mr. Hudson writes science fiction then?’  That still didn’t explain his being bare-assed though.  Naked science fiction fantasies?  She didn’t think so!

‘Among other things.  Have you heard of Terrance Waddell Holmes?’

‘The English mystery writer?  The one who writes about Lord Talis Somersby, the English gentleman detective who investigates murderers in rural English villages?  There’s a BBC TV series based on the books.’

‘Would you be shocked if I told you that Terrance Waddell Holmes isn’t English?  That he doesn’t exist any place other than in Mr. Hudson’s mind.  It’s a pseudonym.’

‘Mr. Hudson wrote those mysteries too?  One of them is on the Times list too.  I think it’s called Death Descends on Doningham Mews.’

‘I believe you’re correct.  I can’t keep all the titles straight.  As a matter fact, I think that as of last Sunday, Mr. Hudson has five books on the Times list.’

‘Five titles on the New York Times bestseller list?  Are you kidding?’  Maybe this guy wasn’t such a lunatic after all.

‘No dear, not at all.  One of them is some kind of war, spy, or CIA type thriller.  I can never remember the name of it.  But I sure remember him writing it.  He spent six months running around here carrying an AK-47 and wearing combat fatigues.  It scared the bejesus out of me.  I believe the character’s name was Riff, or Rap, or Rock, something like that.  There’s a half-naked torso of a man on the cover wearing low slung camouflage pants and a bandolier of ammunition slung across his chest.  Very macho!’

‘Do you mean Battle Weary—Chaos and Carnage?  That’s the book he wrote?  It’s number one on the bestseller list!  It has been for months.  I thought that was written by Taylor Charles, an ex-Navy seal.’

‘No.  Mr. Hudson wrote it.  And in case you’re wondering, he was never in the military.  He’s just a very talented writer.’

‘I’ll say,’ she responded, no longer trying to conceal her astonishment.  She had to admit she was impressed, even though he was a perv!  ‘So Mr. Hudson writes science fiction fantasies, mysteries, and thrillers?’

‘And historical novels, regency romances, crime novels, horror, occult, and westerns.  Oh, and he writes YA.’

‘Young Adult novels?’

‘Yes.  For teens and tweens.  You know: zombies, vampires, alternative history, the kind of things kids like nowadays.’  She paused a moment.  Had she missed anything?  ‘I think that’s all.  Oh.’ she tsked, ‘Silly me!  And children’s books.  He writes wonderful children’s books.  He must have 40 in print: picture books, early readers, first chapter books.  Remind me to show you the kid’s closet.  It’s filled to overflowing with toys: trucks, cars, planes, rockets, robots, dolls, action figures, and lots and lots of stuffed animals.  All of them based on his books.’  Mrs. Cosgrove set to work and began pulling fixings out of the refrigerator: thick slices of corned beef, mustard, and pickles.

Sylvie watched, her mouth watering, as the woman took out a loaf of rye, removed two slices, and began slathering them with mustard.  She laid them on a plate then piled on the corned beef.  It looked to be about 2 inches thick.  Next came the pickle spears and a handful of potato chips.  She put the plate on the bar and motioned for Sylvie to sit down.  Mrs. Cosgrove poured them both a large iced tea and sat down beside her.

Sylvie was famished.  Acting like a starving animal, she tore into the sandwich.  It was wonderful!  The meat was lean and flavorful, the bread chewy, and the mustard spicy.  If Mrs. Cosgrove was this good a cook all the time, Sylvie was sure to like it here…regardless of how she felt about ‘Naked-Boy!’

Mrs. Cosgrove smiled.  She took pleasure in watching people eat and enjoy their food.  Especially this little girl.  She looked like she hadn’t eaten a decent meal in weeks.  She was shocked at how quickly Sylvie gobbled downed the sandwich.  ‘More?’ she asked.

‘Maybe just another half,’ Sylvie responded sheepishly.  She didn’t want the woman to think she was a glutton.  But the sandwich was so good she couldn’t help herself.

While Mrs. Cosgrove busied herself at the counter, Sylvie alternately sucked and chewed her pickles.  She’d just started to munch the chips when she finally asked the question that was troubling her.  ‘Why doesn’t Mr. Hudson write under his own name?’

‘Well, I guess it’s because he wants the books to stand or fail on their own merits.  He doesn’t want it to appear like he’s just self-publishing them.’

‘Self-publishing?  I don’t understand.  Why would people think he was self-publishing?’

‘Obviously you didn’t Google his name did you?’

‘I didn’t have access to a computer; just at the library, and they limit you to 15 minutes.  Why?  Should I have?’

‘If you’d have Googled Mr. Hudson you would know he owns Hudson Books, the largest privately owned publishing company in the world.  All his books are published through his corporation.  That way, Mr. Hudson maintains total control.  He writes the books.  He publishes them.  He owns all the rights.  His books are available in every format: printed in hardback, paperback, and trade editions; audio books; ebooks; graphic novels; and even comic books.  He has interests in publishing companies around the world.  His books are translated into every language.  The man doesn’t miss a trick.  His subsidiaries market and license his characters to various manufacturers, his production company turns his stories into movies and TV shows, his tech company creates electronic games based on the books.  He has financial interests in all the companies he licenses to; plus he owns hotels, restaurants, office buildings, apartment buildings, spas, and ranches.  You name a moneymaking venture and I can almost guarantee that Mr. Hudson has his fingers in the pie.  Forbes named him one of the richest men in the world.’

‘Oh,’ she said, looking puzzled.  ‘I don’t understand.  What does he need me for?’

‘It has to do with his new project.  Mr. Hudson has been very upset about some of the new books that have shown up on the Times bestseller list.’  She looked at Sylvie and brought her hand up to her mouth as though she was going to tell her a secret.  ‘The Mommy porn,’ she whispered.  ‘It upsets Mr. Hudson terribly.  Some of them are so poorly written it drives him to distraction.  Three weeks ago two of the top five books on the list could be classified as Mommy porn, erotic romance, whatever you want to call it.  So were numbers ten and eleven that week.  Mr. Hudson was furious that his books were being displaced by ‘crap!’  His words not mine.  He’s very competitive!  So he’s decided to beat them at their own game and write an erotic trilogy.  Well written, of course, with a believable plot, interesting characters, and lots of sex.’

‘And I’m here…because?’  Sylvie asked in confusion.

Mrs. Cosgrove put the sandwich down on her plate.  ‘I think it’s because he wants a woman’s view of things.  Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Hudson’s not celibate or anything.  He does date on occasion, but his work is his life and vice versa.  He doesn’t seem to have room for anything else.  He hasn’t lived with a woman in years.  Sure he’s slept with some, maybe even a lot.  They wander in and out of here.  It’s a changing cast of characters from week to week, month to month.  But in spite of all the models, actresses, and what-have-you he’s been with, I don’t believe he feels he really knows women.  At least not well enough to write a book from a woman’s perspective.  He wants to know what women really think.  Their thought process.  What they like and don’t like.  Their feelings.  Their emotions.  Their pain.  What makes them tick!  I think he wants you to enlighten him.’

Mr. Hudson should have done his research too.  Sylvie guessed he didn’t realize what little experience she had at being a woman.

‘Don’t worry.  You’ll do just fine,’ Mrs. Cosgrove assured her.  ‘Don’t be put off by first impressions.  I’ve worked for Mr. Hudson a very long time.  He’s eclectic, eccentric, exacting, and prolific.  Some say he’s a genius.  He can also be so focused and so obtuse sometimes; that you just want to strangle him.  There have been plenty of times I’ve wanted to quit.  But I’m glad I didn’t.  Mr. Hudson takes some getting used to, but I can attest to the fact that he’s a good man.  Now eat up.  He’ll be yelling for you any minute now.’