“Thank you so much.”
“I’m so glad God sent you our way. Lola has been talking about all the new volunteers she’s interviewed! She told me you have a beautiful story. If you ever wish to share it with any of us, just know we are here to listen with open arms, sweetie.”
“Thank you!” Like hell I was sharing anything with these bitches. It was like pulling teeth for you, wasn’t it? Why would I share a thing with them?
Vonyetta gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder, and as she did, someone walked in, catching her attention.
“Oh, Meera! Look at you! Glowing with that bump, girl!” Vonyetta rushed toward the pregnant woman who’d walked through the door in a red sundress, and I turned away, glad she was gone.
I sat in a chair, gritting my teeth as the women in the room cackled like old hens and exclaimed over how blessed they all were.
Yes, yes, they were blessed. I got it already, but was it necessary to keep saying it? I’m not very religious, as you know, Marriott. After losing everything that mattered, how could I be? All hope was lost when I was fourteen.
Fortunately, Lola sauntered into the room and stole the show. Everyone greeted her with smiley faces and gave her so many compliments on her clothes.
I watched her stroll by, dressed in linen white pants and a baby-blue blouse. Her hair was half up, half down, and her face was free of all makeup except mascara. She was flawless, and I envied the hell out of her.
Still, when she looked my way, I smiled, and she gave me an urgent wave, like she was so happy to see I’d made it.
She was starting to like me, Marriott. I could feel it. The start of something great . . .
Well, for me anyway.
* * *
The camp training was a snoozefest. I can’t even count how many times I was about to doze off as Vonyetta went on about how the pregnant moms were nervous, but so thankful for the opportunity to kick their feet up and enjoy camp this summer.
I suppose if I were pregnant and got a chance to get into Passion Camp, I’d be grateful too. Passion Camp was a week-long event where pregnant women would be pampered with pedicures, manicures, facials, boat rides, three hot meals a day, and prenatal massages.
Rumor had it that it was hard to get accepted into Passion Camp. You had to truly need the escape and the help of a charity, and they also ran background checks on the women. Any hard convictions and they wouldn’t take you. Basically, you needed to be as poor as dirt and pure as snow to get treated like a princess for a week at Passion Camp.
When the volunteer seminar was over, we had a lunch catered by Lola. I slinked my way past a few volunteers to get to the front of the line and get my food first, making sure I could secure a seat close to Lola.
Because Vonyetta was her assistant, she had a seat beside her. Some other woman named Keke, who I was sure was going to cause me problems just from her nasty looks alone, took the chair to Lola’s right.
I didn’t care for this Keke woman. She was late to the seminar and had this weird, territorial claim on Lola. She was obnoxious, and I had no clue how the classy Lola Maxwell dealt with someone like her.
I sat next to Vonyetta, unfortunately. I had a rotisserie chicken club sandwich on my plate, with apple slices and a glass of champagne offered from the food line.
“I love bringing on new volunteers.” Lola sighed as she sat down with her glass of champagne. I noticed she wasn’t eating, though she insisted everyone take as much as they wanted. The serving area was filled with food—sandwiches, fruit, desserts, sangria, and champagne.
“It’s a blessing for sure,” Vonyetta said, and I swore I would stab her with my fork if she said the word “blessing” one more time.
Something crashed in the corner and a burst of gasps set the room off. We all looked over to see a woman standing in front of shattered glass. She’d dropped her wineglass. I’d been watching that woman. Her name was Alyssa. She’d been drinking during the whole meeting.
“Oh, Lyssa! You okay?” Vonyetta asked, pushing out of her chair and helping her step around the glass.
“Yeah, I’m okay, girl. Just feeling a little lightheaded. You know I work third shift,” Alyssa said, forcing a laugh.
“Yep, that’s right. You know you could have skipped the meeting today and I could have filled you in. You need to rest, honey. It’s a blessing you got that new job, but you work too hard.”
Have mercy.
I sipped my champagne to fight the urge to scream. As I did, I felt eyes on me. Lola was looking right at me with a warm smile.
“How are you feeling? Excited or overwhelmed?” she asked.
“A little bit of both,” I said with nervous laughter, sitting up higher in my chair.
Lola slid over to Vonyetta’s chair, but I didn’t miss the scowl Keke gave me before biting into a grape.
“No need to be overwhelmed at all,” said Lola. “We have a great staff, and they’ll walk you through everything. I know it seems like a lot to take in right now, but I promise you, the volunteers have just as much fun at the camp as the expectant mothers.”
“That’s good to know.”
I looked up to see Vonyetta sweeping up the glass.
“Do you have any relatives around here?” Keke asked, leaning forward.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”
“Really? But aren’t you from Florida?”
I stared Keke in the eye. “Yes, Tampa, actually.”
“And no family there?”
“Keke,” Lola hissed. “Why are you so worried about her family?”
“I’m just wondering.” Keke sipped her sangria with flared nostrils. There was something about her. I could see that Keke wanted to be just like Lola, except she didn’t have the grace or gentleness. She was just a hostile, jealous bitch who hated being second best, but kept Lola close to make herself look good. It was sad I could read all that about her, and I didn’t even know her last name.
When lunch was over, it was time for everyone to part ways. I took my time finishing another glass of champagne and watching Lola give everyone sweet farewells. Keke had long gone, thank goodness.
I walked toward the exit, slipping past Lola and a woman she was speaking with. “Oh—Ivy!” I peered over my shoulder before reaching the door, and Lola was holding up a manicured finger for me. “Just a minute! I need to chat with you really quickly.”
I waited for her to finish with the woman, and by the time she did the room was mostly clear of bodies. “Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Oh, everything is great. I just wanted to apologize for Keke’s little interrogation. She can get a little ahead of herself. She sometimes forgets that not everyone is so open and willing to share their lives with the world.”
I huffed a laugh. “Oh, it’s okay.”
Lola studied my face for a fleeting moment before saying, “I am curious about you, though. Noah and I looked at your application, and you mentioned being adopted?” Her voice was quieter, even though not many people were around.
I knew this was coming and I played my card, nodding and swallowing. “Yes, I was. I was adopted into this huge family, didn’t really like it there, but I survived.” I gave a shrug.
“Oh. Do you still keep in touch with them?”
“Sometimes. Not often. I gave them a lot of trouble. I’m trying to be a better person and they know that, but sometimes it’s hard for them to forgive the adopted girl.”
“Oh Ivy.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “I bet you have had it rough.”
Yeah, because of you, bitch! I wanted to shout. Instead, I nodded, and to my surprise my eyes did sting, but not with tears of sadness. Tears of anger.
“Well, listen—Corey will be in Vegas with a few friends and I’ll be free tomorrow after my morning yoga. What do you say you come to my place for brunch?”
“Brunch at your place? Really?”
“Yes. Call me crazy, but I see something in you and I’d like to get to know you a li
ttle better.” She paused and laughed a little. “This might sound silly, but you feel so familiar to me. It’s hard for me to form connections like this, but I like you, and I see myself in you. Of course if you’re busy, I completely understand.”
“No—no. Not at all.” That was a lie. I did have a shift in the afternoon, but it wasn’t until four. I could make a brunch with Lola Maxwell work.
Wasn’t this all strange? She was being too nice to me, a new girl who was just a stranger to her a week before. It felt like she was up to something, that she could see right through me at times like this, but then, when I really looked at her, it was as if she knew nothing at all.
Did she know? Did I need to continue pretending to be Ivy Elliot?
“Perfect. I got your number from the application,” Lola told me. “I’ll text you my address as soon as I get home.”
“Great.” I followed her out of the church and into the Florida sun, then watched her climb into the navy-blue Tesla. She waved as she drove away. I stood by my car, watching her go.
Sure enough, Lola sent me a text with the address. I had just gotten out of the shower after a quick workout when my phone buzzed on the bed. I was quick to pick it up and read it.
Brunch was at twelve.
I would bring a bottle of cheap champagne, just to show her how excited I was to be invited. Truth is, I was excited. This would get me one step closer to Lola.
It was game time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning I woke up early so I could take my time getting dressed and practice my humble mannerisms.
I found an ivory dress in the closet that I’d bought when I first moved there. I’d decided I would create a new wardrobe. Long gone were the days when I wore crop top shirts, shorts with fishnet stockings, and leather boots. I’d even gotten rid of my septum piercing. Face jewelry seemed to be frowned upon in Lola’s elite world, and I needed to fit in as best I could.
After getting dressed, sliding into a pair of sandals, and then pinning pearl earrings in my ears, I grabbed my phone and wallet and left my apartment. I locked up and went downstairs, spotting my neighbor Julius sitting on the stoop. He had a cigarette pinched between his lips.
“You look like an escort,” he said as I walked past him.
“And you look like a bum,” I said back.
“You’re a real bitch, Ivy. You know that?”
I rolled my eyes and climbed into my car.
Funny story about Julius—we slept together once. It wasn’t intentional. I’d had a little too much to drink one night and he had a lot of friends over next door who were really loud. I was stewing about Lola over some accomplishment she’d posted, and because I was already ticked off, I went over, banged on his door, and told him to shut off the noise.
Because he had friends over, Julius was embarrassed. We got in each other’s faces and he walked out of his apartment, bumping me back with his chest toward my apartment. The next thing I knew, we were making out on my bed. Angrily. Aggressively. It was weird, but good.
I have no idea why I slept with a guy like him. Julius had a tongue piercing, which I admit he made good use of, cornrows, and had arms that were covered in ink. He wasn’t my type, but I suppose I was desperate and needed some. He was okay in bed. Good enough to go to again if I needed it. I could tell he always wanted more whenever I passed by, always focusing on my ass or my new breasts, but I couldn’t stoop to Julius’s level anymore. I had to go for men like Corey.
I drove away from my run-down apartment complex and through town, following the directions of my phone’s GPS. I couldn’t believe I had her address. I knew where she lived by now—I’d followed her once—but the place was under twenty-four-hour security and you either had to be an owner of one of the homes or on someone’s visitors list to get inside, though lately I’d noticed security had been kind of slack due to all the rented-out Airbnbs in the area.
I was tempted to rent one once, just to have access to the neighborhood, but the costs were too extreme and I didn’t have thousands of dollars to spend per night.
I drove for twenty minutes, riding along MacArthur Causeway, before the GPS told me I had arrived on Star Island, right off Biscayne Bay. I knew anyone who lived in Star, Palm, or Hibiscus Island, or anywhere near Biscayne Bay, had deep pockets. It didn’t surprise me to know Lola lived there when I first followed her.
I checked in with security at the gate, pleased that Lola had me listed on her visitors’ sheet. This was a big step for me in my own eyes. As a visitor, I could come and go in the neighborhood without her knowledge, and without raising any red flags.
I made a right turn, riding through the neighborhood made of immaculate mansions I couldn’t even imagine owning. There were droves of palm trees and thick, monogrammed iron gates and neatly paved roads.
How was it that people could become so rich? These millionaires made it seem so effortless, and yet I had no clue where to even start.
When I was near Lola’s estate, I made another turn, and the black asphalt smoothly transitioned to cobblestone. The driveway was lined with palm trees and fresh flower beds in between. I drove until a wrought-iron gate appeared with a gold letter M in the middle of it. M for Maxwell.
There was a silver speaker box at the gate with a camera, and I rolled my window down to press the white button.
“Ivy! Come on in!” Lola’s voice was shrill through the intercom. The silver box buzzed and the gates rolled apart, separating the gold M. I drove through the gates and up more cobblestone. There were more shady palm trees lining the driveway.
The palm trees soon cleared and the ocean came into view. I collected a breath when I noticed the luxurious mansion built right on a hill, surrounded by turquoise waters from behind.
“Wow.” It was the only word I could muster. I’d always imagined what her home would look like. I saw many photos of the front of her mansion when she’d pose with a new car or just take a photo for her Instagram, but seeing it on social media was nothing like seeing it in person.
The home was stunning—not that I expected anything less. Just like her office, the mansion was practically made of glass. Windows embellished the entire front side of the home, intricately designed in sharp-edged rectangles and squares. The grass was bright and green, the leaves of the palm trees swaying with the wind. A terra-cotta roof covered the large abode, giving it color and life.
I parked and climbed out of the car with the cheap bottle of champagne I’d picked up the night before from a corner store and made my way to the front door. I rang the doorbell and the door opened in a matter of seconds.
A woman who appeared to be in her midthirties, her coily, black hair pulled up into a bun, answered the door. She was dressed in khaki pants, flat black shoes, and a blue shirt with the letter M monogrammed on the heart of it. Her face was clear of makeup, her brows bushy and untamed. The woman really needed them arched and plucked.
“Hey there. You must be Ivy,” the woman said, letting me inside as she took a step back. “I’m Georgia, Mrs. Maxwell’s household manager and personal assistant. Can I take that from you?” She lowered her gaze to the bottle of champagne in my hand and I nodded, handing it to her. “Wonderful. Right this way.” Georgia walked across polished marble floors, the bottle of champagne resting in her palm, and I followed her, but I couldn’t help taking in my surroundings.
Lola’s home was stunning in every way, shape, and form, from the crown molding in the ceilings and well-picked chandeliers to the tan paint on the walls. We passed a sitting area consisting of a matching love seat and single chair made of white leather. I could tell this room was hardly ever used, but a furry gray throw was placed on the top of the love seat, positioned in a way that made the room appear used and cozy.
Georgia continued walking, into a kitchen made predominantly of white marble, from the counters to the backsplash. The counters were a light gray and spotless, and sunlight from the floor-to-ceiling glass double doors bounced of
f them, the light almost blinding.
Georgia slid open the doors, and as she did, I spotted Lola standing in front of a wide, blue pool, her hip cocked, a cell phone to her ear. She wore a red sleeveless dress that hugged her curves, with gold earrings and gold bangles connected by red rubies. On her feet were red stilettos with gold straps. Why did she always look so great, Marriott? Please explain.
At the sound of the doors opening, she turned around and smiled at me. “Yes, I’ll discuss it in depth tomorrow. I’m just about to have brunch. Talk to you soon.” Lola ended the call and then walked to me, opening her arms. “Ivy!” She sang my name. She gave me a squeeze and I returned one, patting her back for emphasis. “I am so glad you’re here.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it.” Not for the world.
“Would you like something to drink?” Lola offered. “Georgia had our chef whip up these delicious raspberry mimosas. So good. Would you like to try one?”
“Sure, I’ll take one.”
Lola gave Georgia a nod, and she walked off right away, making her way back into the kitchen. When she was gone, Lola walked to a seating area on the deck. It was shaded with a turquoise umbrella, and there were air ducts above, blowing out cool air. An air-conditioned patio? This woman really was rich.
“You have a lovely home, Lola. I can’t believe you get to wake up here every day.”
Lola laughed, but waved it off. Even so, I could tell she was flattered. “Corey chose this place. I just made the most of it. He wanted to be able to park his boat close to the house. No better place than on the bay, I suppose.”
I took a look to the right, where the ocean was past the pools—yes, she had two—and saw a small, white yacht at the end of the pier. Corey had a yacht. That was nice. It would come in handy.
Georgia returned with two red drinks in champagne flutes, two fuzzy raspberries floating at the tops of each glass. Lola moved to the end of her chair after accepting her drink, then tipped her glass toward me. “I want to propose a toast.”
The Perfect Ruin Page 5