Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Actress and the Celt ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

<center><b>The Actress and the Celt</b></center>

 

<center><b><i>Chapter 1</i></b></center>

 

Oh gods. The hated scale flashed the three digits that tore a groan from the throat of the owner. The number wasn't any smaller. Which meant she wasn't any smaller. Damn.

 

Elizabeth Cody resisted the overwhelming urge to take a sledgehammer to the satanic piece of electronic equipment as she stepped off. She raked her slender hand (surprising on the body she had) topped off with clean, well-manicured nails through her long, curly, auburn hair that was soaked at the moment from the shower she had just stepped out of. Pink, full lips frowned, small teeth worrying at her lip before pursing and letting a breath of a sigh escape. Once again, the evil scale had conquered. She again had to walk away from the temptation of setting the measurement device on fire as she walked out of her bathroom.

 

The bathroom, like everything in her house, emitted no toxic chemicals from paints or any unnatural substances. The pale blue paint consisted of water, flour, cornstarch, and natural dye; the same for the white trim. The tiles came from stones off the coast of Ireland, sliced and smoothed slightly into beautiful slate-colored tiles. She'd made sure that they were the real thing by picking them herself on her last break from the play.

 

Her bathtub once stood in a beautiful, aristocratic Victorian home in Manhattan before she bought it for her loft. A classic porcelain tub, complete with clawed feet, she'd fallen madly in love with it at an antique shop in Queens. It cost her much less than what she'd budgeted for the project, but she couldn't be happier. The giant size proved to be more than worth the trouble to have it brought to her loft, in the Village district. She spent most of her off-days lounging in steamy, fragrant water, letting the heat soothe away her troubles.

 

The shower Elizabeth had installed separately from the bathtub. Growing up in a trailer, she well understood how awkward it was to try to relax with a shower curtain in your face. It, too, followed the stone theme of the floor, a slightly darker stone this time. There was no one high showerhead, but six that sprayed in all directions. The water fell through the drain into a filter, then back into the water heater to wait until it could be used again. It cost a pretty penny for that feature, but she couldn't shake her conscience about wasting so much water. After a long day of rehearsals and performances, she loved the full-body rejuvenation she experienced. There was no door, since the faucets all pointed down, and the shower easily spanned six by seven feet. Not that there was a specific reason for it being so big; she just didn't want a door.

 

The sink she kept small, made of beautiful blue marble with a silver antique faucet. The water here also went through a recycling process (damn that guilty conscience!) She kept bar soap that she made when she went to her parents' home for holidays. Liquid soap basically was nothing but chemicals. The mirror, another antique shop find, had a glossy silver frame, the glass replaced.

 

The toilet had to be the most interesting thing in the entire room; she had it shipped from Japan. It came with a remote control that allowed you to clean yourself without using any toilet paper, a plus for her. Also, something that her guests thought absolutely hilarious, if you pressed the right row of buttons, different sounds boomed out, like waterfalls, toilet flushing, and birds singing.

 

To complete her eco-spa paradise, she kept a wicker closet full of terry cloth robes and fluffy towels. Half of the towels stayed on the shelves, the other half in a warming compartment. She loved the color green, but her bathroom she kept in soothing tones of blue, grey, and white. The towels all followed that pattern with plain white, pale blue, and striped. Next to the closet she kept a wicker hamper lined with organic white fabric.

 

Elizabeth smiled in spite of the scale fiasco. She did so love this loft, and she'd put so much time and effort into making it her home. Living in a trailer taught you to dream big, very big. Her loft measured out to roughly 4,100 square feet; one of, if not the biggest, loft in New York City. Also, it was the only all-green loft in the entire city, making headlines in eco-friendly magazines and society articles alike.

 

She sighed, gave a parting glare at the evil scale, and walked into the kitchen, tying her robe closed. She popped an organic, vegetarian meal into her low-wattage microwave and punched a button. She pulled out a wineglass and a bottle of her favorite red merlot. She couldn't stand straight liquor or dry wine; she wanted something fruity and deep, and red wine satisfied that.

 

Elizabeth swirled her glass as she propped her chin on her hand. The play, Hairspray, was on hiatus at the moment, totally her fault. She grinned. One of her friends, a community director named Tally, told her that her annual children's theatre program for the summer would have to be canceled, since the building apparently housed asbestos and would have to be torn down. She couldn't hide her tears and disappointment; Tally loved helping those kids, and she loved helping them break out of their shell through theatre. Elizabeth assured her she'd find a way for the program to continue, and approached the producer about shutting down the play for a month so the kids and the actors could work together on this program.

 

Hal Whitmore had a nasty temper and a famous nickname, “Dragon's Ass”. Of course, he'd refused, but Elizabeth called all the television news shows she could and set up a surprise press conference. Besides his nasty temper, Hal possessed a great love for money, and publicity equals money. After giving her a sidelong glare, he acted beautifully the part of a generous, community-loving Broadway producer who would give anything to help out the poor, unfortunate children. The next day, the show was put on an official month-long hiatus, and the children would perform in the play when it reopened for one night to show off what they learned.

 

Elizabeth worked with the kids who were and weren't musically inclined. Tally assigned her there after taking power from Hal and assigning everyone in the cast a job. Elizabeth even managed to talk to Hal's superior, the executive producer Mr. John Stevens, and everyone was on paid “vacation”, and Tally received a giant donation for her efforts. Mr. Stevens had a soft spot for children, but he left all the organizing and planning for productions to Hal, filling out the checks when he needed to.

 

Elizabeth's dreamy smile faded, and her shoulders slumped as she swallowed the last bit of wine in her glass. She loved those kids so much, but seeing them run to their parents after the day finished made her heart ache. She wanted one of her own so bad. And worse, seeing their mommies and daddies look at each other with love and pride.

 

She always thought by now she'd be married, or at least have adopted a child. But with her schedule and lifestyle, every agency had turned her down. Her parents had even tried to co-adopt with her, but it still didn't work. She gave up a few months ago, defeated, broken down by the legal system.

 

Her mother, Colleen, had soothed her like she used to when she cried at night at the tender age of four. William, her father, had ranted and raved about the injustice, about how could they tell her that she wasn't a fit mother?

 

Her siblings were no help either. Her brother and older sister believed that she should stop acting and find another job and a husband. She refused to give up her job. She'd work too long and too hard to give up her dream now.

 

Dawn Desiree Roach believed firmly that Elizabeth shouldn't have a child without there being a father. Her three children, Jacob, Taylor, and Sarah, turned out so well only because they had a father around. Elizabeth didn't bother to mention that for the first six months of Jacob's life, Gerald was training in the army. Then, when Jacob was three and Taylor almost two, Gerald left for Afghanistan for a year. Jacob still had trouble talking without stuttering, even though he would turn twelve in a few months.

 

William Brian Cody, Jr, agreed with his sister, despite his liberal views of the world. He didn't think Elizabeth could put forth the effort to properly raise a child while working six days a week. His wife, Danzi, argued with him long and often about the subject. She and Elizabeth were close, and her own heart broke at every rejection that seemed to wear the talented actress down. Their children loved Elizabeth because she always brought them something not necessarily expensive, but that always had a great, significant story behind it.

 

Barbara Lauren Katateros did not agree with anything that her siblings said, and sided with Danzi. Even though she and Elizabeth had never been close as children, they'd become closer when she went off to college. Being a lawyer, she'd represented Elizabeth in the adoption hearings, but in the end, it always ended the same. The pound of a gavel, a heartbreaking verdict, and a lifetime sentence that hurt more than prison.

 

She sighed. If only she could find someone to love her as her, and not because she made so much money doing what she did. Someone with no reservations, who could pull her out of her pain-filled shell and yet needed her at the same time. Someone like-

 

A bright flash interrupted her thoughts. It came from her living room, and it took her a moment and a lot of blinking to realize that it was indeed a flash and that it could be a burglar. She grabbed an iron skillet and crept around the corner. Her mouth dropped, and with it, the skillet.

 

In front of her had to be the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen. Scratch that, the most gorgeous man in the history of humanity. He didn't wear anything on top, but on the bottom a green and black plaid kilt settled on his hips, accompanied by a goatskin bag held by a leather thong. On the other side, a deadly sword that made her think twice about hitting him with the skillet. She ran her gaze up, and almost gasped at the intensity of those dark, haunting eyes. She didn't know if they were black or brown, but they seared her very soul.

 

Like a typical Celt, if she was right in her theory, his dark hair reached just past his shoulders, brushing against broad, tan shoulders. He was extremely well built, like looking at human flesh over steel, and the way his chin tilted up ever so slightly told her he held some kind of noble or leadership position from wherever he came from. One shoulder, she noted, was completely covered with a Celtic style tattoo that looked like it hurt a lot. She winced in sympathy. Her black rose on her hip wasn't a walk in the park either.

 

Bewildered, the man looked around, obviously confused. His eyes settled on her scared face. For some reason, recognition hit him, and his eyes narrowed before his hand flew to his sword.

 

“This time, witch, I will kill ye!”