I was good at being responsible. Apparently, the Maxwells were looking for someone young and sharp—someone who could remember small details and handle all their orders for their new home. Household manager. That was the position.
Do you know what a household manager does, Ivy? A household manager is one level down from an estate manager, but the Maxwells didn’t feel the need to have an estate manager when they had a household one who could cover the tasks. A household manager manages the rest of the staff, handles employer needs, is able to think the way the employer thinks, plans the events in the home, minds the security, orders and replaces luxury items that might break, and so much more.
There is always something hands-on to do for the home, or the employer. It was a job one had to be dedicated to, you see, so it was understandable that the Maxwells didn’t want someone with thin skin or with too many family members and friends. They needed a champion, someone accessible at all times, someone willing to dedicate years of their life to make them comfortable and satisfied at home. I knew I could be that woman for them.
Other than my cousin, who I’d asked to forward me job listings she thought would fit me, I had no one.
So, I filled out the application, and to my surprise, I was sent an email a week later with a number, an address, and a confirmation that I had an interview at the new Maxwell estate.
I was ecstatic! I mean, this was Lola Maxwell we were talking about. I’d heard so many great things about that marvelous woman. She was the richest woman of color to live in Florida—other than Oprah of course—and admired by many.
Lola Maxwell had opened up several clothing stores all over Florida called Lolita’s and sold clothes only people in her high-profile class could afford. Basically, her stores sold clothes for millionaire women or the wives of millionaires.
She’d gotten a loan from her husband, Corey Maxwell, the year they got married, and invested it in her first store. From there on, things took off for her, getting to the point where she began to make more money than he did, which said a lot, because Corey was very wealthy.
The couple had just gotten married and her stores were thriving, so they bought a multimillion-dollar home off Biscayne Bay to live happily ever after in.
I remember driving to the home for the interview, in awe of the place. They had it all, and I felt a slight twinge of envy as I parked in front of the house. It was amazing, and I wished I could have my own home just like it.
Seeing as I was sharing an apartment with a friend at the moment, I needed this job. Oh how wonderful it would be to live in a mansion, even if I did work there every day. It was a great perk to have.
Someone would ask me, So, what do you do for a living?
Oh I live in Lola Maxwell’s mansion. No big deal!
I collected my résumé and purse from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car, smoothing down my black pencil skirt and adjusting the blouse I’d borrowed from my roommate’s closet. She was going to curse me out when she realized I’d taken it without her permission, but right now I didn’t care. If I got this job, I wouldn’t have to worry about my roommate’s tantrums.
I knocked on the door, nervous as hell but giddy, and a woman answered. I knew exactly who she was. Lola Michelle Maxwell. Prior to getting married, she was Lola Reyes. A half Black, half Puerto Rican woman who was even more stunning in person.
The many photos of her online hadn’t done her justice. Her beauty was almost intimidating, and suddenly I felt like my blouse was too tight, my skirt too snug. I instantly regretted the greasy, fast-food burger I’d eaten the night before as I studied her in her slim, plum maxidress. Her body was everything mine wasn’t. While I was frumpy and had stress acne, she was thin and had glowing, clear skin. Granted, she probably paid for her skin and body to be so great, but it didn’t matter. She looked ten times better than I did on any given day.
“You must be Georgia,” Lola said, showing off her perfect white teeth. “Come on in. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
Obviously I nailed the interview. How else would I have gotten the job? I had to get personal to secure it, but it worked in my favor. The thing about Lola was, she loved a good sob story. It was almost like she fed off the sad parts of other people’s lives.
“I’m sold,” Lola said to me with a smile as we sat in her lavish sunroom. “I’ve interviewed quite a few people and though some of them were qualified, I didn’t like how arrogant they were. Some of them have worked for lots of famous people, but there was nothing personable about them. But you . . . I like you,” she said. “There’s something vulnerable about you, and I could use that around here. The job is yours.”