“Oh yes, that is my main goal with the charity.” She gave a serious nod. “No one should have to carry a baby without support, let alone worry about finances or necessities while raising their baby.”
“You wanna know something funny? I applied to be a volunteer for the charity this year,” I said, giving her a sheepish grin. “But I probably won’t be approved.”
“Are you serious? You’re interested in volunteering?” Lola sat up, back straight, looking me in the eye.
“Yeah.” I waved it off dismissively. “I applied last spring too, but I didn’t get the opportunity. I totally understand why, though. There are people who are way more qualified out there than I am.”
“What is your name?” Lola asked, and my heart beat a little faster.
“Ivy Elliot.”
She didn’t show me any sign of disapproval or recognition of the name. If she knew it, she had a mean poker face because she revealed nothing. I let out a slow, steady breath when she tilted her head and sighed. It was a good thing I’d used my mother’s maiden name.
“Well, Ivy, how about after class I take you to my office close to the bay and we can go over your application?”
“Oh—no, Mrs. Maxwell, you don’t have to do that. It wouldn’t be fair to the other people who I’m sure are much more qualified.”
“That’s nonsense. I love to hire passionate people who are willing to help! Plus, you have a mean right hook.” She winked at me. I blushed, as if I was so flattered to receive a compliment from the Lola Maxwell.
Chanel wrapped up the class and clapped for us, but I kept my attention on Lola. “If you have the time now, you can follow me to my office. I was going to make a quick stop there anyway before heading home.”
Home. Home. Her home. I needed to get into her home. Not yet, but soon.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“I’m positive. I’d love to chat more.”
“Okay, then. I don’t mind following you there.”
I went with Lola to the lockers and we collected our things. Chanel commended me on my good work on the way out the door, but I brushed her off, not leaving her much room to talk.
The plan was in motion now. There was no room to keep playing the friendly new girl.
I watched Lola get into what I’m sure was a brand-new, pearl-white Escalade as I climbed into my Civic.
This was happening, and I was ready.
CHAPTER SIX
I followed Lola across town, but I didn’t need to follow her to know exactly where her office was located.
She did all her work with a small staff in an office close to the bay. I’d driven past it so many times I’d lost count. Most times I’d never see Lola there, which led me to believe she mostly worked at home.
Because I was a fresh face, she wasn’t going to take me to her house, which was understandable, but her office was good enough for now. One step closer, I figured, and at least now I wasn’t sitting in the car watching from across the street. I was going to be inside the office.
Be patient, Ivy, I told myself. You’ll get there.
I pulled up to the familiar white-brick building that had over a dozen wide, rectangular windows, all of them squeaky clean. Two palm trees delivered shade around the front of the building. From where I was parked, I could see right through the windows. There were desks in each corner, and walls separating the offices that appeared to be made completely of frosty glass.
Lola stepped out of her SUV and waved at me as I met up to her. “I believe Noah and Olivia are here today, which is a good thing. They may be able to get your application processed today,” she said when I met her at the door.
I followed her into the office, feeling a sense of accomplishment as we walked across sparkling, porcelain floors.
“Olivia, Noah! Good morning!” Lola greeted from the door, meeting them and giving them kisses on the cheek. “Forgive me, you guys! I am so sweaty! I just left kickboxing class.”
“Oh, stop it,” the one I assumed was Noah said. “Even when you sweat, you sweat diamonds, girl!” I avoided an eye roll as they all hugged and squealed like baby pigs. She needed people like this in her life. People eager to compliment her.
Lola turned to me. “This is Ivy Elliot, and believe it or not, she was in class with me today and brought up the Ladies with Passion project!”
“Did she now?” Noah exclaimed with way too much enthusiasm. He was extra and flamboyant, with his blue, skinny pants, white loafers, and floral button-down shirt. And what was up with his hair? He had the thickest dreads I’d ever seen, but I guess that was the hip thing now—having a hairstyle that made you look homeless.
“Yes, and she told me she applied to be a volunteer. Isn’t this a small world?” said Lola gleefully.
“It sure is.” Olivia gave me a bold smile. She was a petite woman with a short, pixie cut and bronze skin. She wore a white linen dress and hideous jeweled sandals.
“I told her I would sit down with her so we could look over her application today,” Lola went on.
“Oh, for sure. I actually just wrapped up on getting some volunteers for the gala. Competition was fierce this year, honey!” Noah stepped toward me and offered a hand. I shook it firmly. “It’s so nice to meet you, Ivy. And you are so damn gorgeous, by the way.”
Smile, Ivy. Just smile. “Thank you.”
“Ivy, would you like some cucumber water or some coffee?” Lola asked as she walked to a wide, white door with her name on it. Of course her name was on a gold plate on the door.
“Cucumber water sounds good,” I said. Might as well enjoy the luxuries. She told Noah to fetch the water and then instructed me to follow her.
She walked into her office, which was immaculate. Not that I expected anything less. Her office may as well have been made all of windows. It revealed turquoise waters, white sand, and sailboats not too far off in the distance. Her glass desk was free of papers. The only thing atop it was a Mac desktop and keyboard.
There was a teal love seat against the only painted wall, which was a very light blue, and a coffee table with white lilies on top of it. Everything was clean, crisp, and perfect. Just like our dear Lola.
“Please, have a seat.” Lola sat in the cushioned chair behind her desk and I pulled back the clear chair across from her. This chair had to be made of glass. I was almost too afraid to sit my sweaty ass in it.
“So, tell me about yourself, Ivy,” Lola said, booting up her laptop and clicking away on her keyboard to log in.
“What would you like to know?” I asked, pretending to be nervous, fidgeting in my chair. Truth be told, I was prepared for this.
“Are you originally from Florida?”
“I am, yes.”
“Oh really? Were you born here in Miami?” she asked, looking me in the eye.
I wasn’t about to tell her I was from St. Petersburg, and not the lovely part of that city either. She’d catch on. Figure out my past. “I’m from Tampa.”
“Oh, Tampa is amazing. My husband and I go there a lot to visit his mother.”
“Really? I bet that’s nice.”
“It’s funny, because you remind me of someone. Are you related to anyone I know?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” I answered quickly.
She narrowed her eyes. Studied my face, every detail of it. Then she shrugged, and I held back a sigh. “So, what makes you so interested in volunteering for Ladies with Passion? Other than helping the future moms, of course.”
“Well, um . . . I sort of have a personal story, but I didn’t want to say much about it during kickboxing to throw off the mood or anything. It’s on my application, but I don’t go into a lot of detail on there.”
“Oh?” Lola sat up higher in her chair, giving me her undivided attention. “Are you okay with sharing your story? Everything in this interview remains confidential, I assure you, but if you aren’t comfortable telling me, you absolutely don’t have to.”
“No, no. It’s oka
y.” I drew in a breath, ready to play the inspired-good-girl-with-a-tragic-past. My true story is already a bit of a tragedy—you know all about it—but this new one I’d made up would butter Lola up for sure. “Well, when I was eighteen, I suffered a miscarriage.”
“Oh my goodness.” Lola swallowed hard, then closed her eyes for a brief moment. For a second I thought I’d come on too strong with my little fib, and that I should have eased into it, but she opened her hazel eyes again and pressed her lips together. “I am so sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay. I feel like I’ve healed from it now, you know?”
“Honey, trust me. We never heal,” she murmured.
We? One step closer.
“That’s true.” I worked hard to swallow, and tears crept to my eyes, right on cue. I swiped at my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “It’s just when I think about it I, um . . . I get a little choked up.”
“No, no. Please.” Lola pushed out of her chair and I hung my head in shame. She walked around her desk and took the chair beside mine, placing a hand on my upper back. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me right now, sweetie.”
“No, I want to,” I whispered, and my voice cracked. Damn, I deserved an Oscar for this shit, Marriott! I almost had to fight a smile. I’d practiced this sob story in the mirror too many times to count, making sure all my facial expressions were clear and worthy of tugging on the heartstrings.
“I’m just . . . well, it still haunts me sometimes. I was seven weeks along. I was only eighteen years old, but I wanted the baby. I know I was young, but I had a job and I knew I could take care of it if I wanted to. I was so prepared to live life as a new mom, but then I woke up with these really bad cramps one night, and when I turned on the light, blood was all over my bed. I—I didn’t make it to the hospital in time.”
“Oh, sweetie, I am so sorry.” Lola rubbed my back as I dropped my face into my palms. I had her right in the palm of my hand.
“If I’d had insurance or money to set an appointment, then I could have gotten the proper care, but as a young girl, I couldn’t afford to go to prenatal appointments or anything. I was just saving up for the birth and afterward. I should have gotten the care I needed.”
Lola was quiet for a moment, but she still rubbed my back in soothing circles. She stared off in the distance for a long time—so long that I thought she was ignoring me.
After several seconds, she said, “I went through something similar.”
I picked up my head and purposely separated my lips to gasp. “You did?” Of course I already knew that. She’d posted about it on Facebook several times, stating that her miscarriage was part of the reason she’d started a charity for pregnant women who couldn’t afford proper care—especially if they were high risk. Apparently, she had met a woman who’d suffered a miscarriage around the same time she did while she was in the hospital. The woman couldn’t afford the medical bill when all was said and done, so Lola paid the bill for her, and that inspired her to start up Ladies with Passion a year later.
“I did,” Lola went on. “I was thirty-four at the time, seven weeks along. I remember being so happy that I was pregnant, but then watching it all vanish into a pool of red. It was just . . . I can’t explain it, but I understand your grief. I am so sorry you went through that, Ivy.”
I nodded, and Lola sighed, blinking away her tears and standing up. She walked to a bookcase against the wall and took down a box of tissues. After offering one to me, she snatched one for herself and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.
Noah walked into the room, and I was so thankful he interrupted our tearfest. It was getting harder and harder to fake the waterworks. He handed the water to me with a sympathetic sweep of his eyes and I thanked him graciously.
“You know what? I’ve heard enough. I want you as a volunteer,” Lola said with utmost certainty. “I know how hard it is to endure what you’ve gone through, and to know that someone who is passionate about this project is around to encourage these moms is exactly what I need.”
“A-are you sure?” I asked, lowering the tissue as she walked around her desk.
“Positive, sweetie. I found your application and I’m going to forward it to Noah so he’ll have you on file as an approved member. Just lend me your ID so I can get it photocopied and you’ll be good to go.”
“Oh my goodness! I can’t thank you enough! This is a dream come true, it really is!” I thought maybe I was laying my excitement on too thick, but Lola only smiled a sweet, caring smile.
“I’m lucky to have met you. It’s very rare to find the passionate eggs, but I can tell you’re one of them. We will be having a seminar next Saturday to discuss Passion Camp, which is coming up very soon. Do you think you’ll be able to join us to learn the ropes for camp?”
“Of course. I don’t work too often on Saturdays, so that’s perfect.” I fingered through my wallet, handing her my fake ID. Ivy Elliot from Tampa was what she’d see on it.
“Wonderful.” Lola accepted the ID, typed something else, and then pushed back in her chair to stand. I stood with her. “I just forwarded your application.” She walked to me and held me by the upper arms. “I am so happy to have you on board for the Ladies with Passion Project, Ivy. You are so strong. I know you’ll make a great team member.”
My eyes filled with tears. Don’t ask me how I was doing it. I read something once that said you have to think of something that makes you really sad to conjure tears, but for me, I would have considered these tears of joy.
I had a foot in the door. I was going to be a volunteer, and our dear Lola just took me in with wide-open arms because of a made-up sob story and a few crocodile tears.
Truth is, Marriott, I didn’t have a miscarriage when I was eighteen. I had an abortion. I did want to keep the baby, though, so it was like a loss, wasn’t it?
Look, I told you not to judge me. I couldn’t afford to have a baby, and the guy who’d knocked me up was a complete asshole and wouldn’t have been a good father.
Xavier was bad news and you know it. I was barely making ends meet at eighteen, so if anything, I was sparing that baby from a life of struggle, hopelessness, and anger. I didn’t want the baby to end up like me—alone and mad at the world. I had to build up my life first. I was too young for a baby.
For a while I didn’t know how I’d build my life and make it greater, but then you gave me a name, Marriott. I found the face that went with that name and my whole perspective on life changed.
This rich woman in front of me owed me her life, and the only way I was going to be able to provide for myself was if I took what she had. I wanted a child one day, but I had to make sure the child could be protected and taken care of financially first.
I walked out the door of Lola’s office after Noah scanned my ID, still carrying on with my hopeless-girl charade as I walked past Olivia, but when I got inside my car, I did a small jig, glad I had won Lola over.
There was more work to be done, though. Lots more. This was just the beginning. The next step was going to be the trickiest, but if I could get her to believe my made-up story, I could get her to believe almost anything.
I know how fucked up it is to lie about something as serious as a miscarriage, but it was the only way, Marriott. How else was I going to connect to the charity and to Lola?
She felt automatic sympathy for me because she could relate to what I’d gone through, and I was going to use that to my fullest advantage.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I couldn’t wait for Saturday to arrive.
Most times work went by in a flash, but it was slow the week after officially meeting Lola, not to mention the customers who did come in were starting to get under my skin. A few more months and I would be able to quit this damn job.
Still, Saturday rolled around eventually, and I wore a black maxidress with stud earrings to keep it subtle. I wanted to give off the appearance that I was well-off enough to look presentable, but that I could still use a ha
nd if Lola ever wanted to generously offer a shopping spree and take care of the costs.
I dreamed of all the new clothes I could get with her at my side. I bet she didn’t have a shopping limit. I could shop ’til I dropped and still go back for more with her.
Lola liked to give. She was charming and kind, and between her and her husband, they made so much money that handing over fifty thousand dollars was probably like handing over a single dollar bill for them.
I got an email from Lola the same night she’d sent my application to Noah. She sent me the address of the location where the seminar for Passion Camp would be held. It was my desire to be prompt—show her that I was fully invested in becoming a volunteer.
I arrived at the place, which happened to be a Baptist church. There were already dozens of cars parked in the lot. I collected my purse and scurried right inside. I was greeted with smiles and hugs at the door and tried hard not to stiffen as they all wrapped their giving arms around me.
I had to get used to this. Hugs weren’t my thing, but I was Ivy Elliot, a nice young woman who loved to help and was so unassertive that it was almost embarrassing.
I signed in with one of the women at the tables and then walked into the room that was set up for our event. There were tables covered in white tablecloths, with sky-blue balloons and blue place settings. Many women stood around, mingling and sipping coffee or wine.
I stood near a table to the far left, hoping to avoid conversation. Unfortunately, avoiding conversation was not in the plans.
A plump woman walked up to me with a moonlike face. Her smile was wide and her eyes were thin, like almonds. “You must be Ivy!” The woman was loud. I hated that her voice was drawing attention my way. The less attention I received, the better this plan of mine would work out.
“I am,” I said, patting her back as she reeled me in for a hug. I was seriously never going to get used to the hugs.
“I’m so glad you could make it! I’m Vonyetta, Lola’s organizer and assistant. You are going to love it as a volunteer, especially for Passion Camp! We have so many mothers coming to enjoy camp this year, it’s nice to have your helping hands.”
The Perfect Ruin Page 4
