Bound By Contract

Chapter Two

Christina's P.O.V.

After that unfortunate first day on the job, I all but collapse onto my bed, exhausted. The rooms I dusted today weren't so big, I mean, the bedrooms in this house are gigantic compared to any other house I had worked in, but the dining rooms and living rooms are just humongous. I find it very amusing that someone would have a house so big that they would need three people to maintain it, but what is more amusing is that the three of us, Luisa, Rachel and I are only responsible for the main house and its five bedrooms. There are another five people that take care of the bungalows and various other buildings. Neverland is a huge ranch; he has eight cleaning people while most homes have only one. Not to mention he has gardiners, veterinarians, a personal doctor, nannies, hair and makeup people and bodyguards. You name it, he has it. I guess all of our efforts and Mr. Jackson's great imagination is what make this place the beautiful and magical place that it is.

Or was. Or that's what I was told it was going to be when I found out I got the job. I'm originally from Los Angeles, some three hours away, and I've always been a neat freak. I didn't go to college after high school because it seems that school just isn't for me. I love to learn and I love to read but on my own time and at my own pace. The school setting just doesn't appeal to me. 

I am also an avid writer. I have written scores of short stories, poems and even novels. Writing is the one thing I do to relax. Without a pen and paper my life has no meaning.

Right out of high school I entered a cleaning service agency, where I cleaned houses for some well-to-do people. I was good at it, the clients loved me, and I earned more than I would at any other menial job that was out there for me. I even got hefty Christmas bonuses from my bosses at times. I had good referrals and was known for being a hard worker.

So, when a request came in to the agency from Neverland Ranch for a hard worker who was trustworthy and a good spirited person, I was the one the agency sent. Marissa, the owner of the agency, told me, "This is a chance of a lifetime. Not only will your salary be increasing tremendously, you'll find a family there. Everyone is so close, and Mr. Jackson is the best boss you can ever ask for." Hmmmm. Then why am I not feeling the love now that I'm here?

Rachel told me that something happened and it was all over the news. Curious, I get up from my bed and make my way into the living room of my small apartment that I rent in Santa Maria, a short drive to Neverland. I turn on the television in hopes to catch anything that might have anything to do with my new employer. Finding nothing while I flip through the channels with my remote,  I yawn and rub my eyes.I walk back into my bedroom and flop myself back onto my hard bed. Tomorrow is another day, and it can only be better than today. I pull my scratchy pink covers over me and fall fast asleep.

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The earphones of my pink iPOD are blasting some good Michael Jackson music. Hey, I'm here in the King's house, I love his music, so why not, right? Listening to music while I work always gets me going.

Today I started my dusting in the library. I shake my duster on top of all the books, so the pages don't get dirty on top. Nothing looks more tacky than a bunch of really dirty books. And boy does this man have a ton of books. Some of them I've read, some of them I want to read and others I have never heard of. Where does he find all the time to do all of the things he does? After I finish with the books I take out the wood cleaner and start on the furniture, while singing 'Billie Jean' and shaking my butt to the rhythm.

While dust the long table behind me, I notice Luisa standing just inside the room with the classic what-in-the-world-are-you-doing hand on her hips stance that she always does. She shakes her head in what I can tell as being disappointment. Smiling, I  take the earplugs out of my ears ready to hear her reprimand. What's wrong with a little singing while you work? As long as the work gets done, right? Instead of her reprimand, I hear giggling behind Luisa. She swirls around and we both find Mr. Jackson with his hand to his mouth trying to cover his obvious amusement at my show. Oh my God, Michael Jackson just heard my little song and dance number. How absolutely embarrassing. Turning as red as a beet, I shoot my eyes down to the floor.