A Bona Fide Gold Digger Page 5

  “Me and Mom talk about everything,” Sweetie said in a matter of fact tone. She punctuated her indifference with a shrug.

  “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know. Seems like you and Mom had to put your heads together to figure out a way to kick me out.”

  “Aw, come on, Milan, you know I’d never throw you out in the street.”

  “Whatever,” Milan muttered. “Call Tookie and get the details. You don’t have to put up with me any longer.”

  “Stop being so sensitive, Milan. I’m just looking out for you.”

  “Yeah, thanks. And make sure you tell Mom I said thanks for sending me off to look after a half-dead, disgusting old man,” Milan shouted and slammed down the coffee cup. She pushed back the chair and stood. “If I’m lucky, maybe I can get a decent cup of coffee at the old man’s house!”

  chapter seven

  Most of her possessions had been put in storage. Her remaining belongings were packed in boxes inside the trunk of her car and stacked along the backseat, the floor, and there was even a large box sitting in the front passenger seat. If Milan had the nine thousand dollars the bank was holding, she wouldn’t have felt like such a nomad. But she was penniless.

  Taking a deep breath, she approached the massive wooden front door and lifted the burnished brass door knocker.

  Tookie’s mother, Elise Corbett, ushered Milan into the marble-tiled foyer. The tiles were so shiny, Milan could see her reflection.

  “You made it,” Elise said cheerfully. “Come on in.” She wore a welcoming smile.

  Milan stepped inside the stately dwelling and followed Elise into the great room. Awestruck, Milan appraised the place. There were oil paintings in gilded frames, floor-to-ceiling French windows, a dazzling butterfly staircase that overlooked the foyer and the grand family room, a fireplace, and expensive area rugs scattered tastefully upon a shiny parquet floor. Sure, she knew that Radnor, Pennsylvania, was part of the collection of wealthy Main Line suburbs situated west of Philadelphia, but she was completely unprepared for the exquisite abode of Mr. Noah Brockington.

  Though the heavily carved antique furnishings admittedly didn’t suit her modern taste, her eyes had never beheld such opulence, such grandeur, such lavish abundance.

  Being on the run and not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to herself, Milan had dressed down for the interview. Elise had assured her that she was already hired. The interview, she’d told Milan, was just a formality.

  Wearing a fleece jacket, a plain pair of brown wool trousers, and an unimpressive beige sweater, Milan felt suddenly shabby. Old memories of feeling unworthy reclaimed her. Once again, she was the skinny little dark-skinned girl from the Raymond Rosen projects. Big feet…crooked teeth…stinky stink Milan, cruel children used to chant. Humiliated and broken hearted, Milan would burst into tears, inciting the children to taunt her with even more enthusiasm. But then her sister, Sweetie, taught her to stand up for herself. Taught her to be tough. Fight the jeering kids. Whip their asses.

  But when she reached her teens and yearned to be perceived as refined and sophisticated, physical fighting was no longer an option. Getting her crooked front teeth straightened had been a top priority when she reached adulthood. Cosmetic dentistry had cost her a small fortune, but having even teeth and a boosted self-esteem made it worth every dime. Focused on her expensive Jimmy Choo or Gucci footwear, people didn’t make comments about the size of her feet anymore. The part of the malicious rhyme that alluded to bad hygiene had never been true, but nevertheless, Milan splashed herself daily with only the best perfume.

  But today, she’d toned down everything and the lack of embellishment made her feel impoverished and exposed.

  “Give me your coat,” said Elise. “I’ll show you around before I introduce you to Mr. Personality. Let me warn you. That man is a doozy, but don’t let him get on your nerves. Put your foot down and remember, you’re the boss. He’s just a cranky and very sickly man. You can’t please him, so just do your job and go on about your business.”

  As Elise had promised on the telephone, an application and formal interview would not be necessary. Elise had already secured the position for her. Milan was so elated that she wouldn’t have to provide a resume or even suffer through an interview, she hardly heard a word regarding Mr. Brockington’s character traits. Who cared? She was only concerned with having a place to hide and to write her book with minimal distractions.

  Inside the exquisite French manor home, Elise, a small and energetic woman in her mid-forties, briskly walked Milan from one picturesque room to another. “All total, this house has nine bedrooms, seven full bathrooms, two half-baths, a guest house in the back that has three bedrooms and just as many full bathrooms. There are all types of athletic facilities around here, but not a soul bothers to use any of it. Such waste,” Elise said. She shook her head and sucked her teeth.

  Quite honestly, Milan didn’t share Elise’s disgust over waste for she truly didn’t give a damn whether any of the inhabitants of the French manor used the facilities or not. However, feeling she needed to appear to be on the same page as Elise until she was officially hired, Milan shook her head disapprovingly also.

  “You can look around on your own later. There’s a two-story gym, an indoor and outdoor tennis court, a pool house, steam room, and a hot tub.” Elise thought for a moment. “Oh yeah, there’s a musty old wine cellar with a bunch of dusty bottles of wine. Girl, everything in this house is just for show. A bunch of nonsense. How come the Lord doesn’t know who to give good money to?” Elise asked with another somber headshake.

  It was amazing good fortune that she’d secured such a luxurious hiding place. In a state of astonishment, the only response Milan could muster was a tight smile.

  “It’s too cold to go out on the grounds, but there’s supposed to be fourteen or so acres out there. What Mr. Brockington needs all that yard for is a mystery to me. It ain’t like he puts it to any use. Chile, do you know how many barbecues me and my family could have out there? We could hold our family reunion right here at the Brockington place and have rooms to spare.” Elise broke up laughing.

  Milan cracked a polite smile. “So, how many people live here?”

  “Oh, just Mr. Brockington. But his nurse, Greer…” Elise’s voice trailed into a whisper. “She calls herself a traveling nurse. Whoever heard of such a thing as a traveling nurse?” Elise muttered disgustedly. “Anyway, she’s been Mr. Brockington’s nurse for, oh, I guess about six months or so. But honey, you can’t tell that woman she ain’t Mr. Brockington’s personal physician. When she whips out her stethoscope or blood pressure gadget, you can’t tell her nothing. She swears she runs this place, but she ain’t nobody, so don’t let her boss you around.”

  “Well, who is Mr. Brockington’s doctor and where’s his wife?”

  “He never married,” Elise answered, shaking her head. “He’s a strange bird. As far as I know, he’s never even been to a doctor’s appointment.”

  Milan crinkled her brow. “You said he’s terminally ill. What’s he dying of?”

  “Don’t get me to lying. Something to do with his heart—I think.” Elise scrunched up her face and searched the ceiling for an answer. “Or is it cancer? I’m not sure. He’s very secretive about his illness. I think he’s ashamed.”

  “Does he have HIV?” Milan inquired, her eyes wide with concern.

  “No, I asked Greer right out because I wanted to make sure it was safe to take care of his…um, personal needs,” Elise stammered. “Greer showed me a recent report of his blood work. She said she drew his blood and sent it out to a lab. He’s HIV negative.”

  Milan sighed in relief.

  “So, like I was saying, Mr. Brockington doesn’t trust doctors. Greer is the only person allowed to take care of him. Look, I’ve only been here about four months and that’s long enough for me. Every time I turn around, Greer’s asking me to put in more hours. She wants me handing out pills, monitoring his blood pressure, and mes
s like that.” Elise rolled her eyes.

  Milan shook her head, pretending to commiserate with Elise, but she had too many problems of her own to give a damn about Elise’s troubles.

  “I told that bossy heifer my job don’t have nothing to do with nursing.” Elise made a clucking sound. “So, a word to the wise. She’ll probably ask you to give him his medicine at night. I figured that wouldn’t be a problem for you since you’re going to be living here and all.”

  “Not a problem,” Milan chimed in, though she seriously doubted that she was qualified to administer medication. But since Mr. Brockington was already at death’s door, could she do the man any real harm?

  Elise scratched her head. “Maybe it’s just my nature to be suspicious. But I think Greer is trying to figure out a way to get Mr. Brockington’s money. Being that he doesn’t have any kids or anything, I think she feels entitled to it. If she didn’t have a husband and a family to go home to, I swear that greedy heifer would set up shop right here while she waits for him to die.”

  Wheels started spinning fast inside Milan’s mind. If the dying old man didn’t have any heirs, maybe she could get a cut, too. She made a mental note to treat him extra nice. “So, if Mr. Brockington refuses to seek qualified medical care, who told him he was dying?” Milan inquired. She needed to make sure her employer’s death was imminent before she started doting on him. She certainly didn’t want to waste her energy if he was going to be among the living for any significant amount of time.

  “I don’t know who told him,” Elise responded. “But I’ll tell you something—Noah Brockington might be sick and all, but he ain’t nobody’s dummy. I’m forty-five years old and when you’ve lived as long as I have, you start to get a handle on folks. Mr. Brockington knows that Greer is just pretending to be his devoted nurse. He knows she can’t wait for him to kick the bucket so she can get her grubby hands on his money. She probably thinks she’s gonna move her own poor white trash family in here. Hmph, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Brockington leaves every penny of his money to some charity or to some distant relative nobody knows about. You know how rich folks do. They love stringing greedy people along. They get what they want out of folks and then turn around and leave them something worthless like a book or a picture frame.” Elise made the clucking sound again.

  Lines of worry began to form on Milan’s forehead. She hoped Mr. Brockington lived long enough for her to get an opportunity to become included in his will. It would be nice if he left her some money. Just enough to comfortably tide her over until she finished her book and was able to acquire a hefty advance from a publisher. With the publisher’s advance, she planned to pay off the credit card debt and any other restitution she was required to pay for her freedom, and then she’d open her own day spa. An exclusive day spa that would put Pure Paradise out of business!

  The companion position was starting to sound really good. It was a stroke of unbelievable good luck. Once she got her bearings and was comfortable, she’d put the neglected athletic facilities to good use. She’d worked so hard at Pure Paradise she hardly ever got a chance to enjoy any of the perks. They worked her like a damn horse. It was no wonder she took comfort in using the company credit card. Who could blame her? But here at the Brockington estate, having only to read a daily newspaper and play music, she’d work out in the gym, relax by the pool, and enjoy the hot tub during the day. At night, she’d sip the rare and expensive aged wine from the cellar while working on her book. This job would be a piece of cake!

  “Where did Mr. Brockington get his money? What business is he in?” Milan was suddenly quite curious about her new boss. She wanted to be able to engage him in topics of interest when they spent quality time together. She’d be a complete idiot if she failed to make a favorable impression on a wealthy man. A wealthy man without kin, whose days were numbered. Yes, she’d deserve to be left penniless if she didn’t jump on this opportunity.

  Elise shrugged. “I think Mr. Brockington inherited his money, but to be honest, I don’t know anything about his family history. I know he’s richer than God, but he can be mean as a snake sometimes…and he’s a very lonely man.” Elise paused thoughtfully. “Oh, yeah, let me tell you something before I forget.” She pointed a finger for emphasis. “The maid, Irma, comes every day from six in the morning ’til around three or four in the afternoon. Irma cooks too, so don’t listen to Greer if she tells you to cook or clean something around here.” Milan nodded.

  “Mr. Brockington doesn’t have much of an appetite,” Elise continued, “so Irma only fixes him soup and some kind of half-cooked eggs. Poached something or another.” Elise wrinkled her nose. “Real nasty-looking eggs, if you ask me. You’re supposed to fix your own meals, but if you want Irma to fix something special just for you, take her to the side and ask her. Just don’t let Greer know.”

  The thought of being asked to cook or clean made Milan instantly queasy. She would have probably fainted from shock had this Greer person approached her with the demand that she perform such menial and demeaning tasks. Milan gave Elise a knowing look and nodded appreciatively for the heads-up.

  “Elise,” called a white woman who stood at the top of the staircase. She wore a nurse’s uniform. “I gave Mr. Brockington a sedative,” the woman added. “He’ll be napping soon.”

  “That’s Greer,” Elise whispered, then gave a snort.

  “Do you want to introduce the applicant before he dozes off?” Greer had a Southern drawl, she obviously wasn’t from the area.

  Applicant? Milan ascended the stairs and extended her hand. “Milan Nelson,” she said, giving a fake last name to conceal her true identity. Elise, aware of Milan’s temporary problems with the law, went along with the ruse. “I’m not applying for the position. Mr. Brockington told Elise to hire me.” Having already claimed the French manor as her temporary hiding place, Milan couldn’t risk having her safe haven snatched from her before she’d even moved in.

  “Nice to meet you,” the nurse replied dryly. Looking past Milan, she spoke to Elise. “Elise, you’ve overstepped your boundaries. You should have cleared this with me. Mr. Brockington isn’t well enough to—”

  “I ain’t overstepped nothing,” Elise said with hostility. “And I don’t have to clear anything with you.”

  “Lower your voice,” the nurse hissed at Elise. “Mr. Brockington is resting.”

  “Then don’t come down here starting with me,” Elise said, practically shouting. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, but since you tryin’ to be all up in my business—for your information, I already cleared everything with Mr. Brockington. He still makes his own decisions, you know. You should stick to your nursing duties. He doesn’t need you to pick out his companion.” Elise gave a snort, rolled her eyes, and huffily pushed past the nurse. “Come on, Milan,” she grumbled. “Some people always minding other people’s business.”

  Just in case the nurse had the power to have her fired from her cushy position before she’d even gotten it, Milan gave the woman an ingratiating smile that was intended to convey her apology for Elise’s bad behavior. The nurse sucked her teeth in return. Milan shrugged and hurried behind Elise. A few moments later, Elise led Milan to the master bedroom suite. It was an enormous bedroom with ankle-deep carpeting that showcased a shimmering crystal chandelier, built-in dark mahogany cabinetry, an eye-catching mosaic tile fireplace with mahogany mantel, and a dropped ceiling with mahogany inset. Pillars separated two sitting areas and a large rectangular silk rug was displayed in the dressing room.

  The appearance of the man lying in the bed propped up by what seemed like a dozen pillows was so shocking Milan covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. Her eyes bulged as she looked back and forth from Mr. Brockington to Elise.

  Noah Brockington was a light-brown-complexioned black man. He had caucasian features and straight, thinning hair, but he was most definitely an African American. Being sickly and gaunt, he gave the impression of an aging man; still Milan could tell that he
was somewhere in her mother’s age range—between forty-five and fifty years old.

  “I’m pleased to introduce you to your new companion,” Elise said with a dramatic flourish. “Mr. Brockington, meet Milan. Milan, this is Mr. Noah Brockington.”

  “Does Milan have a surname?”

  “Uh, yes. It’s Nelson. Milan Nelson,” she said.

  Milan had never even entertained the thought that her employer was a filthy rich African-American man and she wasn’t entirely certain if his being black would be beneficial or a thorn in her side.

  chapter eight

  Noah Brockington’s eyelids fluttered open, revealing sharp brown eyes that were alert and appeared wise. Though frail, he did not appear to be close to death. Maybe he was having a good day. Milan hoped so; she had no intention of allowing his improved health to interfere with her free time. She hadn’t planned on reading to a fully alert person who might expect to be engaged in meaningless chatter for hours at a time.

  But looking on the bright side, Milan decided that a longer life span for her employer gave her more time to work on getting her name mentioned in his will.

  “I’m sorry to see you go, Elise,” Noah Brockington said, his voice strong and clear. He didn’t sound sickly at all. “However, I couldn’t be more delighted with my new companion. Elise, you missed your calling, you should consider going into the employment recruiting business,” he said with a pleasant laugh. “You’re a marvelous headhunter and you’ve certainly earned your finder’s fee.”

  Finder’s fee? Milan turned to Elise with eyes widened as if to say, He gave you money for me? Elise looked back blankly. There was something terribly fishy going on. Elise had not told her the entire story and Milan was deeply offended, but being in a particularly sticky legal situation, she was in no position to huffily leave the French manor.

  As if he possessed a sixth sense and was aware that Milan had silently acquiesced, Mr. Brockington said, “Welcome to my home; I hope you’ll be comfortable here.” He gave her a brilliant smile.