A Bona Fide Gold Digger

by Allison Hobbs

  “What you’re doing isn’t right, Milan,” Irma whispered out in the hallway. “Now, I’ve held my tongue all this time, but I’m gonna speak my mind. You can try to fire me but as long as Mr. Brockington is alive, he’s going to keep me on.”

  Milan glared at the meddlesome woman and shot a look at Noah’s closed bedroom door. “Can we have this discussion in private?” She ushered Irma down the staircase. “Now, what does my marriage to Noah have to do with you?” Milan asked when they reached the downstairs landing.

  Irma put her hand on her hip saucily. It was a defiant gesture, and Milan was taken aback. The cook hadn’t gotten feisty with her since she’d been put in her place. “Marrying that sickly man just so you can get your hands on his money is a sin and a shame,” Irma said, her bottom lip protruding in disapproval.

  “What’s it to you? Really, Irma, how does my marriage to Noah concern you?”

  “I’m just trying to warn you. Mr. Brockington isn’t right in the head.” Irma tapped her temple area for emphasis.

  “Obviously,” Milan said, and chuckled sarcastically. “Still, I don’t see why his mental status would be of any concern to you. Your position here is…what? A cook, a scullery maid? A poorly trained scullery maid,” Milan added viciously. “So mind your business. I’m not stupid, Irma. I know where this conversation is going. You want to blackmail me. Again! But there’s not a chance in hell that you’re getting your grubby fingers on one penny of Mr. Brockington’s fortune—”

  “Mr. Brockington is so proud,” Irma interrupted. “He told me about the contract and the heir he plans on leaving.”

  Milan smiled. “If it’s any of your business, which it’s not, we’re planning on having a passel of children to carry on the Brockington name.” Milan did a wide sweep of her hand.

  “Well, I know you’re not planning on honoring your contract,” Irma blurted. “You’re on the pill. I know where you hide them, and I count them every day.”

  This time Milan did choke. She had a fit of coughing so severe, Irma smacked her hard on the back and then gave her a glass of water.

  After Milan settled down, Irma informed her that she’d keep quiet if Milan signed a document promising to keep Irma on after Mr. Brockington’s death. Irma expected a pay raise at five times her current salary, and a one-million-dollar bonus when Milan secured her deceased husband’s fortune.

  “I’m tired, Irma. Can we discuss this tomorrow?” Milan asked wearily.

  “All right. But remember, if I don’t get what I want, I’m gonna start singing!”

  Start singing! Irma sounded like a character in an old gangster flick. It was all too much for Milan. Every time she thought she had things figured out, someone threw a monkey wrench in her plans. She didn’t know how much longer she could put up with the insanity in the Brockington household. Noah was looking and acting healthier by the minute, there’d been a reversal of power between her and the nurse, and now Irma’s greedy ass was hounding her for a part of her inheritance.

  Milan was walking a tightrope; something had to give. Distraught, she wished she could talk to Gerard. Just being near him would be a comfort. But she wasn’t allowed to contact him without permission. Desperate for solace and some type of understanding, she picked up the phone and called her sister.

  “Hey, Sweetie. Can we get together somewhere so we can talk?”

  “Oh, really? You must be in trouble again, otherwise, you’d still be hiding out. It’s a shame the way you treat your family, Milan. You won’t give out the number to that house you’re living in. You don’t call nobody and you won’t answer your cell. After I didn’t hear nothing else from you about the wedding, I got worried. Tried to get in touch with Tookie’s mom, but she was on a cruise. When she got back, she had the nerve to be acting all tight-lipped—wouldn’t give out that ol’ man’s phone number or address. Tookie’s my girl and everything but her mom made me so mad, I told Quantez that we might have to get one of them young thugs he works with to go rough Miss Elise up.”

  Milan laughed.

  “That shit ain’t funny, Milan. You got family and you’re supposed to keep in touch.”

  “I need to talk, Sweetie. It’s serious. Can you meet me somewhere?” she asked her sister.

  “How you gon’ be calling me from out of the clear blue and expect me to just stop what I’m doing and come running to you. Bring your ass over here. I’m in the middle of cooking dinner for Quantez and the kids.”

  “Sweetie, please. I can’t come over; it’s a very private matter and I need some sisterly advice. Please. It won’t take long.”

  Sweetie became quiet. “How come you never call Mom for motherly advice?”

  Milan sighed. “Mom doesn’t care about me, Sweetie. You know that. She only loves you.”

  “That’s not true, Milan. She loves us both the same.”

  “No, Sweetie. She hated my father and she hates me. But I didn’t call you to talk about that. Are you going to meet me or not?”

  “Okay, Milan. I guess Quantez can watch the food. Where do you want to meet? And don’t go choosing no high-siddity place because I’m coming as I am; I’m not changing my clothes.”

  “Let’s see…how about that KFC at Sixty-first and Lancaster Avenue? Is that ghetto enough for you?”

  “See. There you go, acting like you’re better than everyone else. That’s what Mommy don’t like about you—”

  “I was only kidding about the ghetto part. I thought it would make you laugh. And for your information, Sweetie, Mommy doesn’t like anything about me.”

  “Whatever. I’ll see you in an hour.” Sweetie hung up.

  Milan checked on Noah, making sure he was still conked out before she slipped out of the house.

  chapter thirty-two

  Sweetie, plump yet pretty as ever, sat at a table drinking a soda when Milan entered the fast-food restaurant. Sweetie gasped when Milan sat across the table from her. “You came out in public without makeup? I guess that’s a good thing because me and Mommy always thought you wore too much of the stuff. Still, I’m shocked that you would show your face without it.” Sweetie looked Milan up and down. “What’s up with your hair?” She eyed Milan’s drab ponytail. “Look at your edges—you need a perm, girl!” Sweetie frowned at Milan’s appearance. “I thought you were living with that rich man, planning to marry him to get his money to buy all the material things you worship so much. But, um, it looks like he’s changing you. I hope this change is for the better,” Sweetie said skeptically.

  Milan waved her hand. “This has nothing to do with Noah. I stopped wearing makeup because the man I’m in love with said I don’t need it. He likes me to have a more natural look.”

  Sweetie’s jaw dropped. With the straw from the soda resting against her bottom lip, she was a humorous sight.

  “That’s why I called you.” Milan beamed. “I’m in love, Sweetie! I’m twenty-six years old and I’m in love for the first time in my life.”

  Sweetie frowned in confusion. “In love? You fell in love with the old man?”

  “No! I hate him!” Milan grimaced at the insult. “I’m in love with my personal trainer. He’s gorgeous, Sweetie. He’s sexy and smart.”

  “Okay, slow down. You’re in love with your what?”

  “I hired a personal trainer to get me in shape for the wedding. But it was love at first sight and that’s when I decided I didn’t want a big wedding.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Sweetie said, shaking her head and gesturing with her hand. “You’re in love with another man but you’re still going through with the wedding?” As if drinking the soda would clear her mind, Sweetie bent her head and took a deep sip from the straw.

  “Yes,” Milan said, suddenly solemn. “I’m not going to just throw away all that money. I’m going through with the wedding plans.”

  Sweetie stared at Milan as if she were a total stranger. She drained the milkshake. “And what does your new boyfriend think about that?”

  �
�He doesn’t know about Noah,” Milan confessed.

  “Milan! You always want to lay the blame on other people. But the problem in your life is you! Wasn’t it bad enough to marry a dying man so you could get your hands on his money? Now you’re making the situation even more complicated.”

  “Sweetie, I’m in trouble,” Milan whined. “Don’t fuss at me. Not right now. I need your support.”

  “Oh, here we go again. What kind of support can I give you? You’re cheating on your sick-ass future husband. Your new man doesn’t even know you’re engaged.” Sweetie’s eyes darted to Milan’s ring finger. “Oh, by the way…I really hate your ring.”

  “I know,” Milan responded. “It sucks.”

  “But back to your sick situation. Why did you want me to meet you; what do you think I can do?”

  “Be supportive. That’s all. Noah has moved up the wedding date. We’re getting married the third Saturday next month.”

  “That soon. Damn, thanks for taking the time to let me know.” Sweetie sucked her teeth. “I guess I’ll have enough time to find a dress for this sham of a wedding.”

  “Oh, don’t bother; you’re not invited. We’re having a private ceremony at home.”

  Sweetie just shook her head. “Milan, you need help. You’re not right. Something tells me this whole thing is gonna blow up in your face.”

  “No it isn’t. I have everything planned out. After Noah dies, I’m going to sell the house and buy a bigger one for me and Gerard.”

  “Gerard? He’s the one you’re creeping with?” Sweetie asked.

  Milan sucked her teeth at Sweetie’s crude wording. “Yes, Gerard is the man I’m in love with.”

  “Okay, I’m just trying to keep the names straight.”

  “Here’s the problem, Sweetie—”

  “You mean to tell me there’s more to this twisted tale?”

  Milan nodded and then fiddled with her engagement ring, nervously twisting it back and forth. “I suspect Noah is trying to trick me.”

  “About the money?” Sweetie asked, wide-eyed.

  “No, no. He has plenty of money and I’m entitled to a lot of it after we’re married. But I’m starting to get worried.”

  “About what?”

  “I’m beginning to think he’s not as sick as he says he is. I mean…he claimed he only had six months to live, but lately he’s been looking kind of healthy and actually walking around without the help of his nurse.” Milan paused, in thought. She didn’t notice the look of horror on her sister’s face. “I don’t have any legitimate proof that he’s actually going to die anytime soon. And if he doesn’t die right after we’re married, I might have to kill his ass.” When Milan finally focused on her sister’s face, she saw the shock in Sweetie’s eyes. “I’m not kidding, Sweetie. I have to be with Gerard. I can’t sit around waiting forever.”

  “Are you out of your mind!” Sweetie banged the table with her palm of her hand. Sighing and rolling her eyes in disgust, she grabbed her purse. “I’m leaving. I’m going to pretend we didn’t have this conversation.”

  “Wait, Sweetie. Don’t leave.”

  “I’m out! You done lost your damn mind. I’m not sitting around here listening to you plot murder. That would make me an accessory to the crime.”

  “I didn’t say I was definitely going to do it. I just wanted to run the possibility past you. Since he’s supposed to be so sick and all, if I plan it right, I know I can get away with it.”

  “That’s it; I’m out.” Sweetie stood up abruptly. “You’re nuts and I don’t want to hear another word of this. I gotta worry about Quantez and my two kids. You love living on the edge. I don’t.”

  “Sweetie,” Milan said pleadingly. “I really need to discuss this with you.”

  Sweetie wagged a finger at Milan. “You don’t need to talk with me. What you really need is a couch and a nice long talk with a damn psychiatrist.”

  Milan winced. “I’m not crazy and you know it,” she said, sounding hurt.

  “Well, stop talkin’ crazy. And don’t look at me as if I should feel sorry for you. Oh yeah, you can keep that money you promised to give me and Quantez. I don’t want it. Don’t bother to call me; I can’t afford to be involved with someone as crazy as you.” Sweetie gave Milan a long hard stare and then pushed past her sister and walked out the door.

  For a few moments, Milan stared at the door that Sweetie had exited through. Then she shrugged. To hell with you, Sweetie. Her sister’s departure from her life was for the best. The lifestyle she planned to live with Gerard would be hard to explain to Sweetie and her mother. Yes, it was for the best that she lived in seclusion.

  Then sorrow washed over Milan. She didn’t want to go home; Noah might be awake. If he was and wanted to play one of his games, there was no telling how she’d respond. And murdering him before the wedding wasn’t a good financial decision.

  On the way to her car, she slipped her cell phone out of her handbag. She had to talk to Gerard. If he didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t answer. If he picked up and chastised her for calling without permission, at least she’d have the satisfaction of hearing his voice. But if he punished her by refusing to see her at her next appointed time, she’d beg and plead, cry, and throw herself at his mercy.

  After weighing the pros and cons, Milan went ahead and pushed Gerard’s number. Surprisingly, her call was answered on the first ring. But instead of hearing Gerard’s deep, sensual voice, Milan was startled to hear the feminine voice of a woman. “May I speak to Gerard?” Milan asked, sounding nervous and perplexed.

  “If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll get him in just a moment,” said the overly solicitous voice of the anonymous female. Milan thought she heard several voices in the background. It was probably the television or the radio, she told herself. Whatever the case, she was sorry she’d called him. It was a spontaneous decision and not a very good one, she now realized. Most likely, he was in the midst of a training session. The woman who had answered his phone was probably a paying client. Sorry she’d disturbed him from his work, she feared that she now faced a severe reprimand.

  “My pet,” Gerard said when he picked up the phone. He sounded cheerful. Milan was relieved. “So, you’ve decided to break the rules. You know you’re not supposed to call,” he said, still sounding chipper.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t an emergency…” She heard Gerard breathe out deeply. After several seconds of silence, Milan realized Gerard did not intend to inquire about the emergency, so she pressed on. “The need to see you was so strong, I couldn’t help myself.” Milan hesitated as the female voices in the background grew closer. Thankfully, neither voice belonged to Ming. Gerard still did not speak.

  “After your company leaves, can I come over?” Milan asked timidly.

  “You can come over right now,” he said coolly. “It shouldn’t take more than a half hour to get here. I’ll see you soon.”

  Milan glanced at her watch. It was five o’clock. She’d have to get there at exactly five-thirty if she expected to be admitted. “Thank you, sir,” Milan said. Regretfully, she’d have to share him with yet another woman. There was no telling what was in store for her. But what could she do? She was hopelessly addicted to him and there was no limit to what she’d do to be with him.

  Shockingly, Casey, the young snob from the fitness club, opened the door for Milan. And even more shocking, Casey came to the door wearing nothing except a pink leather submission collar fastened around her neck. From the collar hung a gleaming silver engraved dog tag. Fearing that the tag would reveal Gerard as her owner, Milan couldn’t bring herself to read the lettering. Slowly and bravely, she brought her eyes up to the dog tag and zoomed in on the fancy script, Property of Ming.

  Okay, so where was this brat’s rightful owner? Then she remembered—Ming was Casey’s stepmother. Damn, Ming was doing her thing with the father and his daughter.

  Seeing Casey put in her place was uplifting, but it occ
urred to her that if Casey was Ming’s property, then Ming had to be in close proximity. Milan became nervous. She was not in the mood for another scene with Ming. She’d heard another female voice over the phone and now assumed Ming was in the house somewhere. Where was she? Milan wondered. Was she upstairs sucking off Gerard? A hot wave of jealousy hit her like fire.

  “Close the door and get back in your cage, Casey,” Gerard called from the dining room. Cage! Casey humbly lowered herself to the floor and hurriedly crawled across the living room. When she reached the dining room, a wall blocked Milan’s view and Casey disappeared from her scope of vision.

  Milan had seen a lot of things in her life, but seeing the arrogant heiress degraded to crawling like a dog was totally unexpected. It had to be the most outlandish and thoroughly satisfying sight she’d witnessed in a long, long time.

  Milan stood near the front door, not daring to sit or leave the location of the living room until she had Gerard’s expressed permission to do so. She could hear the low sexy rumble of his voice and the mingled soft voices of Casey and another female. The other female was definitely not Ming. Milan knew Ming’s voice all too well.

  She could also hear the sound of clanging metal as the door of the cage was slammed shut. Then she heard what she assumed was a lock snapping into place. Curiosity was killing her, but Milan knew better than to pry.

  Holding a leash connected to the pink collar of a gorgeous black woman, Gerard came into the living room. Milan’s heart sank when she saw how stunningly beautiful the woman was. Gerard wore a proud expression as he gently tugged the chain. The woman was led into the room walking upright—she wasn’t made to crawl like Casey, who had scurried to the cage in the dining room like a terrified terrier. But despite the collar and leash that relegated her to being property, there was a proud sensual sway to the woman’s walk. She had a regal carriage that made it hard to fathom how this confident woman could belong to anyone. Her skin was deep, dark chocolate, a darker hue than Milan’s. Her body was strong and well muscled; her huge breasts sat upright with large dark nipples that Milan prayed Gerard had not tasted. She was a walking work of art and Milan was hot with envy, wishing it was she who put such joy on Gerard’s face; wishing he would parade her around with a leash and collar.