The Rose and the Dragon

“Tell me, Miss Wilson,” said Dominic Andrus, looking at the young woman sitting across from him. “Why do you wish to work for me? Do you crave excitement, adventure...danger ?”
Miranda smiled.
“Would being a nanny really bring those things into my life, Mr. Andrus? Frankly, I can’t envision working as a glorified baby-sitter as being either dangerous or exciting!”
“You haven’t met my children,” he replied quietly, returning her smile. “Why did you answer my ad, then?”
She took a moment to answer, studying both the well-dressed man sitting across from her and then the ad he had placed in the New York Times, looking down at the paper she held in her lap, folded so that the advertisement was visible.
Nanny wanted. Must have desire for excitement, adventure, and danger.
It had been only forty-eight hours since that she had seen that ad, dialing the phone number given after only a few minutes consideration, and then listened to the recorded message: “This is Dominic Andrus. If you are calling in answer to my ad, please leave your name and phone number....”
He’d returned her call the next day, asked for a meeting, and here she was. Idly, she wondered how many other applicants had sat across this table from him, and if she had any chance of being hired.
“Well, as my resume says--” she gestured toward the typewritten sheet laying near his elbow (and which he had yet to read). “--I ran a small baby-sitting service while I was in college, taking care of graduate students’ children, mostly.”
She paused slightly, then added quickly, “I like children. We get along. My brother tells me it’s because I’ve never really grown up. That kids can relate to me.”
Oh, God, was she rambling? Why couldn’t she just give an answer and not embellish it?
He smiled again.
He had the most charming smile, she decided. It made his dark face glow.
It was an impressive face, a dramatic face--like something from a medieval Italian painting of one of the Borgias or the Medici, ascetic but handsome with high cheekbones, a strong, straight nose--and his eyes.... They were like pieces of jade, but translucent somehow, and twinkling at her.
She certainly envied Mrs. Andrus.
“You have a child-like mind.” He made it a statement.
“More likely a childish mind!” she laughed. “At least that’s what Tracy says!”
“Tracy?”
“My brother.”
“You have a large family?” A slight frown appeared.
She wanted to reach over and stroke his forehead until the frown disappeared, and flushed slightly at that absurd thought.
She shook her head.
“Just Tracy, and we rarely see each other since I graduated. He lives in California, now.”
“Ah--I see.”
She wasn’t certain exactly what he saw, but her answer seemed to satisfy him; the frown disappeared.
“So he wouldn’t mind your...traveling?”
“Not at all! In fact, that’s the real reason I answered the ad--”
“Because your brother doesn’t mind your traveling?”
The eyes were smiling again. She could imagine him looking at a woman, practically drowning her in that cool greenness.
“Because I need a job! You see, my parents are-- Well, Tracy and I are orphans. He’s older than I am and he put me through school--now he expects me to take care of myself!”
“And you think being a... glorified baby-sitter...is the answer?”
Had she said the wrong thing? She’d meant it as a joke. He was a foreigner--perhaps he hadn’t understood that.
She couldn’t tell from his expression.
“W-well--” for a moment, she stammered uncertainly, then plunged on determinedly, “as I said, I like children, and-- to tell the truth, I don’t want just any job! I want something unusual!”
His expression changed, showing definite interest.
Encouraged, she went on.
“I don’t want to be a secretary chained to a desk or a waitress lugging trays of food all day or--”
“In other words,” he supplied, “you want adventure, excitement and danger?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes!”

“Miss Wilson, with my children,” there was the smile again, “you might get all three, and demand hazard pay as well!”
Miranda allowed herself a little laugh of relief.
“Why don’t you tell me about them, Mr. Andrus?”
He leaned back, studying the drink on the table before him, forefinger slowly tracing the curve of the rim of the glass.
She could almost see him at the head of a conference table, closing some business deal, pausing slightly before delivering the blow calculated to bring his competitor to his knees.
For several seconds, he was silent before looking at her again.
“I’m sorry--I’ve been remiss in my role as host. Would you like a drink?” He looked around, ready to signal a waiter.
She shook her head.
“I don’t drink.”
“Then do you have that other vice--smoking?”
“No. I'm afraid I’m a bit of a health nut.”
Why did she have to sound apologetic about not polluting her body? Because it made her sound naive? Or defensive?
He nodded, his expression neither condemning nor applauding her statement, sat a moment longer as if in deep thought, and then said, with a tone that indicated he’d made a decision, “I have four children, Miss Wilson--”
She tried not to look surprised and failed. He didn’t appear old enough.
As if in explanation, he said quietly, “I was married very young. It was a-a...business arrangement between two very influential families--to consolidate their power.”
A sigh, a wave of his hands.
“Unfortunately, the relationship between our families deteriorated about the same time as the one between myself and my wife. She left me, taking my youngest children with her. My oldest son, Dominic tas--that translates as Junior in your language--was left with me.”
Miranda was silent, waiting for him to continue.
“I’ve spent considerable time and much worry trying to regain custody of my children....”
His voice trailed away and for a few moments, he sat silently staring at his glass. He raised it suddenly, drained it and commented, almost off-handedly as he set it down, “The waiter called this vodka, said it was quite potent. I find it somewhat weak....”
He looked at Miranda again.
“Last year, my wife died and the children were sent back to me.”
He leaned forward slightly, voice lowered.
“They are little savages, Miss Wilson! My wife’s family has ruined them--alternately coddling and ignoring them and letting them run wild, giving them rein to do whatever they wish, as long as it is contrary to their father’s wishes!”
He sighed, spreading his hands helplessly.
“That is what you’ll be facing if I hire you. Three brats who are filled with a very true sense of their own importance! Do you think you’re equal to the task of taming my little beasts?”
Not a very complimentary way to speak of one’s children, Miranda thought, but probably to Dominic Andrus--whom she envisioned as living in some pristine palazzo somewhere, with priceless paintings and sculptures and spotless marble floors, a home as impeccable and well-groomed as the man himself--facing three unruly children could probably be a frightening experience, even if they were one’s own!
Especially if they were one’s own....
“Yes, Mr. Andrus, I do!” Miranda smiled a confidence she didn’t feel.
He signaled to a passing waiter and ordered another drink, waited until it was before him, then said, :”Tell me, Miss Wilson, do you like to read?”
“Read?” Her ratty little one-roomer was filled with books. “Of course!”
“What kind of books?”
“All kinds--but mostly I like mysteries and thrillers.” She smiled at the thought of the stacks of Dean Koontz, Ed McBain and Tom Clancy novels lying beside her bed, all in various stages of being read, placed marked with ribbons, shreds of toilet paper, and occasionally an actual bookmark. “But not those silly romances! Nothing like those stories could ever happen in real life!”
“Do you like science fiction?”
“Science fiction?” For a moment, she looked blank.
“Yes--you know--little green men, bug-eyed monsters, Babylon-5....” a pause, a slight smile, “...Men in Black....”
“Why, yes, I do!”
Where was this leading?
He was smiling again as if he now had some secret which he knew about her but wasn’t willing to share.
“So you like to read of other worlds and rocket travel and men from outer space.”
She nodded.
“Why?”
He sounded if he really wanted to know.
“Why?” She thought about that a moment.
Why did she like it? She’d never really considered the question before.
“I-I guess.... B-because it’s entertaining,” she began carefully. “...because it might be true. Because--”
“--because it give you vicarious adventure, excitement, et cetera?”
Was he laughing at her?
She was surprised to see that he appeared totally serious.
“In a way--yes!” It came out defiantly. She couldn’t help it.
“Do you believe in UFOs?”
“I’ve never seen one, and if someone told me they had, I’d probably call the men with the butterfly nets! But--” she allowed herself a slightly sheepish smile. “--secretly-- I’d like to think that there are extraterrestrials, Mr. Andrus, that we’re not alone in the universe, and most important of all, that they’re friendly!”
“Have you ever thought what you might do if you were to met an...alien?” He said the word as if it provoked amusing thoughts.
“No,” she answered, surprised by this turn in the conversation, as well as her admitting this.
From children to flying saucers! What next?
“But I’m sure I’d like to meet ET--providing he...it...was friendly.”
“If these..uh..ETs do exist do you think they’d land in a flying saucer somewhere...? Say, on the White House lawn, perhaps?”
Scenes from Independence Day and Earth Versus the Flying Saucers flitted through her mind--of great saucer-shaped disks doing just that....
“Oh,” she laughed, both at the absurdity of his suggestion and her vision. “You’ve been watching too many late night movies!”
“--or would they simply infiltrate the population, live among the people and learn from them, and then simply leave? Without anyone every knowing?”
“Since we’re speaking hypothetically,” Miranda answered, thinking that this was beginning to sound less like a job interview and more like one of those get-togethers at college--when they’d sit around and dissect the latest X-Files episode, “I’d pick the latter. It’d certainly be the safest way. As anyone who’s ever seen a Sci-fi movie knows, Earthlings have a habit of shooting first and asking questions afterward!”
Dominic Andrus nodded, and she was surprised to see that her answer apparently satisfied him.
“In that case, Miss Wilson, did it ever occur to you that you might already have met an alien?”
She didn’t have an answer to that.
###
Miranda pressed the button and listened to the buzzer inside the apartment. She had been carefully screened by the security guard at the desk downstairs before being allowed to take the elevator to the penthouse apartment; now, several minutes passed before she heard footsteps coming to the door.
It opened and Dominic Andrus stood before her, but when he said, “Please, come in,” and stepped back, swinging the door wide to allow her to enter, she realized that the man greeting her wasn’t her prospective employer.
He was much younger, though just as tall, with the same dark hair and green eyes, dressed in gray slacks and a black turtleneck and a corduroy jacket with suede patches on the sleeves. He held a glass filled with ice cubes and a dark liquid.
A brother?
As Miranda walked into the little foyer, he shut the door, coming to stand beside her. Abruptly, she felt a little disturbed by his nearness.
“You must be Melissa-- uh, Melinda--?”
“Miranda,” she corrected,
“--Williams--”
“Wilson.”
“Whatever.” A shrug, a totally guileless smile. “I'm Dominic tas. They call me Niki--”
He held out his hand.
Miranda placed her own in it and it was pressed in a quick, cold grasp, a little awkwardly as if he wasn’t accustomed to shaking hands, then released.
He walked on into the living room, motioning for her to follow him
“Can I get you a drink? That seems to be the first thing everyone asks around here.”
“No, thanks. As I told Mr. Andrus, I don’t drink.”
“But they tell me this is non-alcoholic.” He held up his glass. “Has a comical name. Cocaaa-Colaaa.” He almost sang the word, waggling the glass slightly, causing the ice cubes to clink together. “Very melodious-- It’s pleasant tasting...though the bubbles do sting a little!”
He took a sip from his glass and turned to face her, the brilliant eyes inquisitive and assessing.
Miranda stared back at him, remembering what Dominic Andrus had said.
I’d like you to meet my oldest son, Miss Wilson. Usually, he’s with me, doesn’t let me out of his sight, but today, I managed to convince him to let me do my interviewing alone.....
She’d thought he was simply described a spoiled and very possessive child, but if this was Dominic Andrus’ oldest, why did he need a nanny? Surely this man was at least as old as she. Unless, he was...retarded...or...something....
“Mr. Andrus--”
He made a correcting gesture with one hand.
“Niki....”
An approving nod.
“May I ask how old you are?” she said it gently, just in case he was an incompetent.
“Certainly!” came the prompt answer.
He had an accent similar to his father’s, putting the intonation of some words on the wrong syllables, but she couldn’t place it, couldn’t tell which country.
“By your calculations, I’m...uh...twenty-six.”
Twenty-six. Three years older than she. And he certainly didn’t look or sound as if he were mentally defective, so why--
”I don’t understand. Surely, you don’t need a nanny--”
He laughed, a little ruefully. “I certainly don’t--though Papa often swears I need a keeper! Still, he appreciates me when things get rough!”
That had an ominous ring to it.
“No, you’re to take care of my younger brothers and sister! Teach them, tend them--things like that! Papa just felt that, as his eldest and heir, I should have some say-so in the selection of my siblings’ nurse.”
Abruptly, she realized that Dominic Andrus had told her very little about the children.
“H-how old are they?”
“Ten...” He saw her eyebrows raise slightly. ”My parents were reconciled long enough for their conception ’Randa--”
She smiled at the way he pronounced her name.
“--and parted permanently soon after. They’re ten. Triplets.”
Triplets!
Secretly, she’d always thought multiple births an indication of excessive virility. Miranda was beginning to have new respect for Dominic Andrus.
“Are they here? Do they give their approval, too?” She looked around as if expecting to see three identical little Andruses peep out from under the furniture.
Niki shook his head.
“No, they’re not here. Papa felt that they weren’t quite up to such a journey just yet. Their ages, you know.”
She didn’t understand but nodded anyway.
“They’ll be arriving--”
Abruptly, his expression changed. For just a moment, he learned against the chair beside him, shivering slightly.
“Are you all--”
“Excuse me.” It was said quickly and apologetically. “My body still hasn’t adjusted to being in this...country.”
“Jet lag?” she asked sympathetically.
His eyes brightened. “Yes, that’s it! Jet lag! And by the time I do get used to it, we’ll probably be gone again!” He sighed. “It’s always that way!”
“You and your father must do a lot of traveling,” Miranda said sympathetically and a little enviously.
She envisioned a pair of carefree globetrotters. Father and son playboys.
“We never stay in one place very long. Not even Home! Papa can’t seem to keep away from trouble--or maybe it’s the other way around--and that really worries our family! And, whenever he goes, I have to go, too. Anyway, that’s why he needs someone to look after the brats. We’ll be gone and you’ll be stuck at home with them.” He gave a dramatic shudder. “At least you won’t have the two of us underfoot, too!”
She nearly protested that having either Dominic Andrus or Dominic tas underfoot wouldn’t be such an inconvenience.
Abruptly, he asked, “What did he tell you anyway, ‘Randa? About us, I mean?”
“Hardly anything, really!” she smiled. “We spent a good portion of my interview discussing science fiction novels.”
She expected him to laugh at this vagary of his father’s. Instead he looked relieved.
“And you like Science Fiction?”
What is this? Are they both Sci-fi freaks?
Before she could answer, he went on, almost eagerly, “What do you think of real science? Mir, the shuttles? Voyager II? This proposed Martian colony--that type of thing?”
“I think it’s wonderful!” she answered truthfully. “I envy anyone who’ll participate in something like that! I wish I had the training for such a thing but,” a sigh, “I don’t, so--”
“--so you apply to be a nanny.”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that but-- Yes,” she agreed.
“How about travel to other planets?” He tilted the glass, allowing one of the ice cubes to slide into his mouth, crunching it noisily.
“Everybody knows it’s feasible. Just as soon as they figure out some way to over the time/distance factor--” God, listen to me! I sound as if I know what I’m talking about! “--maybe by developing a-a Warp Drive or something, like they use on Star Trek.”
“Ah, yes, Star Trek!” He nodded agreeably, swallowing the last of his ice.
He drained the remaining Coke, looked around for somewhere the set the glass and placed it on the cocktail table.
“An amazing phenomenon--practically an institution. I’ve monitored...I mean, watched a few of their trans-- shows. Amusing dramatizations, some of them very close to reality, but mostly speculation and entertaining though thoroughly false!”
He laughed.
Miranda didn’t like his demeaning one of her favorite television shows but didn’t say so. It wasn’t good business to insult a prospective employer.
She was more concerned with preventing the damp glass from making a ring on the table, had automatically pulled a tissue out of her pocket and slid it under the glass like a coaster.
A very nanny-like thing to do, she reflected.
“Would you like to go to another planet, ‘Randa?” he asked, almost softly and smiled as he watched her with the glass.
“Of course,” She didn’t hesitate. “Providing I could get back again safely!”
“And if you couldn’t?”
She shrugged. “Then, I’d hope I could at least let my brother know I was alive and well.”
“Hmmm.” He thought that over as if it were terribly important, then the brilliant eyes were looking up again, twinkling as his father’s had, almost teasing.
“Are you willing to travel? Go to another...country?”
“I don’t have a passport but--”
“You won’t need one, he assured her quickly. “We’ll be crossing no borders that require papers.”
“Oh, you mean Mexico or Canada?”
“Something like that. You see--here’s where the adventure comes in ....” He lowered his voice conspiratorially and leaned forward slightly.
Miranda moved toward him as he went on in a softer tone.
“My mother’s family has been trying to get the Tripps--” That was his nickname for the triplets, she realized, “--back again. That’s why we’re here. They have no power on this plan--in this place! But if one of their representatives should appear....” He shrugged. “It might be necessary to pack up and move quite quickly!”
Somehow, Dominic Andrus didn’t seem like the type to be running away from anything, even to keep his children. If he was as power and wealthy as he appeared to be, why didn’t he simply take his in-laws to court and legally keep them away? Or, if he had enough money, illegally fend them off?
“Anyway, “ Niki went on, almost vaguely, “anything that’s needed, Papa’s people will handle.” He shrugged good-naturedly. “You needn’t worry.”
She was glad that Dominic Andrus was so influential. He’d said he belonged to a wealthy family, hadn’t he?
Again, she wondered where they were from. Andrus--it sounded Greek. Was he like Onassis? A rich Greek, with a yacht anchored in the harbor, ready to sail at a moment’s notice?
Abruptly, Niki looked serious, his smile flickering off like a faulty electric light.
He took her hands and Miranda was startled at how cold they were, just as his father’s had been when he’d shaken hands with her in the restaurant.
“Are you ready for your adventure, ’Randa?”
Before she could answer, he released her and walked to a nearby door, knocking on it softly.
The door opened and Dominic Andrus came out.
For a moment, father and son looked at each other and, seeing them together, Miranda was struck by how much alike they were.
“Well?” Dominic asked.
Niki nodded. “She’ll do....”
They both looked at Miranda.
Dominic smiled, and after a moment, so did Niki, his face becoming a replica of his father’s, expression warm and friendly and intimate.
“She’ll do very well,” Niki said.
Miranda managed to suppress a shiver.