“That was your choice. We made sure you had a foster family–” he argued.
“You made sure?” she interrupted him back. “The state made sure I had a roof over my head, not you or anyone else. When that became too difficult I took to the streets and I’ve taken care of myself ever since.”
“You won that lottery. You didn’t have it so rough,” he pointed out.
“Oh, really? I did not have it so rough? How would you know? How would any of you know? Did you look for me during the time I was on the streets, or did you wait until I won the lottery and you heard about the millions?”
“You can afford to…” he began.
“I can afford a lot, including having you thrown out of here,” she pointed out rudely, tiring of this conversation. “You and the others have done nothing for me, but resent me for existing. Now that I have money, you want that too. Well, I have news for you all…you get nothing. Absolutely NOTHING. Even if I died tomorrow, you would get NOTHING.”
“I saw where you left it in trust to no one,” he spouted off before he could think, his anger at her getting the best of him.
“You saw that? You saw my will?” she asked, a crucial piece of one of her puzzles falling into place. It would be an interesting thing to mention to her lawyers.
“Yeah, we saw your will,” he said, starting to work up a real lather over her obstinacy. “You could have shared with us and made our lives better…”
“As you all could have. Where were you when I was fourteen and grieving over the loss of our parents?” she asked, having wanted to ask that question for years. “You took everything.”
“You had everything. Mom and Dad spoiled you, you little brat! You got what you deserved,” he spat as he raised up out of his chair to lean over her desk.
“As shall you…NOTHING,” she repeated, seeing his blood pressure rising as his fat face flushed in anger.
“You’ll get yours, Joy Parker,” he threatened, almost lunging across the desk to try and intimidate her as he had the little girl so long ago.
“That’s a threat and my lawyers will have a field day with you. If you don’t want to lose everything you do have, I suggest you leave here and never see me again. If you happen to see me, say in a mall,” she taunted, “I would suggest you turn the other way and leave.” She said it calmly enough, but she could see he thought her threat real. She added for effect, “I can afford to have you taken care of in ways you can’t even imagine.”
“You should take advice from your betters, you should respect them,” he tried to intimidate her one last time, the insolent child that he remembered still there in his mind. The problem was, he wasn’t dealing with a fourteen-year-old child anymore. She was an adult and firmly in control of herself.
Blinking at the audacity, she asked, “My betters? Who in the world are you talking about?”
“Why, me of course!” he answered angrily, sure she was being deliberately obstinate and obtuse.
She laughed. She genuinely laughed at that and it came across as disparaging to Randall. “Tell you what,” she answered in a tone that gave him momentary false hope that she would be reasonable, that he had gotten through to her, “You bring my betters before me and if they earn my respect, they’ll get it and I’ll consider their advice.” Her comment clearly implied she wasn’t talking about him.
He was so angry, he was grinding his teeth, but he had turned white at her earlier threat. The thing was, he thought she would do unscrupulous things with the money since he might have. He thought money meant power. He didn’t realize the immense responsibility that Joy felt. He didn’t think beyond the things he could buy with it, including power. He turned abruptly and left her office.
“Everything okay, boss?” one of the workers leaned his head in the office. They had all heard the raised male voice and worried about her.
“Make sure that man’s picture is spread around. He’s not allowed on the property again,” she said distractedly. “Could you close the door?” she asked in a kind voice as she reached for her phone to call her attorney and inform him who had gotten the copy of her will so long ago.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“A private plane? Really, Joy?” Robyn asked, awed at the obvious display of her wealth. Besides the nice apartment and the designer clothes, Joy was so unassuming.
“Yeah, I’ve flown commercial many times and I really do not think it’s for me. Those crying babies and people sneezing all over you…” she shuddered at the memories.
“Plus, you can work while we fly,” Robyn teased as they drove out onto the tarmac where a couple of her contractors were waiting for her at the plane.
There was a team of people going. Joy had arranged with friends in Europe to get a personal tour of Dementia Village in the Netherlands and one of their people had agreed to tentatively come and consult with them on the building of their own. “Well, it is a tax write-off,” she agreed with a laugh. Her lawyers and accountants were thrilled with the investments she was making in The Town and now The Village as it was a tax write-off and offset the huge gains she had made on her money over the years.
Several of the contractors that had gone up to Canada earlier in the year with her had flown in a private plane, but enough of them, Robyn included, had not, and it was a novelty for them. It was fun to spoil her girlfriend, but that extended to the contractors who had agreed to the initial plans for The Village. And one had also pointed out some property Joy could purchase for the project that was adjacent to one of the community centers she was building. Her lawyers were already negotiating the purchase while she was on this trip.
The twelve hours it would take for this trip was too much time to spend in cramped quarters and Joy was glad they were all able to get up and walk about the cabin as the crew catered to their needs. They all discussed various aspects of the projects from The Town to The Village and what they might see in the Netherlands, but nothing really prepared them for the reality.
* * * * *
All of them—from the big burly contractors, to Joy and Robyn—were moved by Dementia Village. A large courtyard surrounded by eight houses, housed the tenants of their little village. There were places where they could shop, from a grocery store to a bakery, and even a post office where they could mail a letter. To the dementia patients, it was their own little world, but familiar. Their caretakers took the form of ‘shop owners’. There were also people for those who needed live-ins in the two-bedroom apartments they ‘owned’ within the facility.
It brought the visitors to tears to see how happy and healthy all the tenants seemed to be. None of the homes in the states had a place like this. Instead, in Joy’s opinion, they were simply there waiting to die. Here, they had a purpose, even if it was the same purpose every day. They were living their lives, limited as they were, but they were taken care of in a way that was not industrialized like the nursing homes back in the states.
“Do you think their spouses could live there with them?” one of the contractors asked after they heard that the Dutch government didn’t allow it.
“We shall see,” Joy answered as they all discussed the ideas.
“Do you think this will work for other elderly afflictions? Could we expand it beyond the eight houses?” another contractor asked, voicing other’s questions for them.
“We will work that out, and I expect you all to offer your suggestions. We will consult experts and hire them too. I want to expand The Town to be right next to The Village,” she explained and let them discuss the options between themselves.
“The village is their home. They aren’t searching for their home like they do in the facilities that are currently housing them. These residents are at home so they don’t need to wander off searching for it,” one of the caretakers explained.
They saw that the activities weren’t much different from what Joy had proposed for the senior center at Site Two. Incorporating this into their programs wouldn’t be difficult. The center emphasized
exercise and Joy was determined to have walks and gardens to make it pleasant for them all, regardless of their abilities and age.
“People with dementia can’t understand the real world. If you try to explain it to them, they become upset, disturbed with your reality. Here, they can have their own reality. This is home so they are happier and healthier here. They have a quality of life that some don’t understand,” the director of the center explained.
“Rather than medicate them into compliance, we dedicate ourselves to their comfort,” was explained. The village they had created was like any other Dutch town, but outsiders weren’t allowed here. Everyone who lived there had something in common; this was the last place they would ever live. It was a neighborhood where they all had dementia. “It’s the only place like this in the world. I hope you can recreate it where you are,” she said encouragingly as she understood what Joy was trying to accomplish. She had checked before allowing Joy and her foundation into their facility to observe. Joy Parker was very wealthy and what she had already done with The Town was admirable. If she could duplicate Dementia Village in America, that would help countless others.
Meeting with some of the more lucid tenants, their caregivers, and relatives, they all got the impression of a happy, healthy place. It was open, the people could go outside, they could visit a restaurant, they were free to go wherever they wanted within their village. There was only one way in, with locked, sliding glass doors that were manned. Joy could see this was exactly what she wanted for her next project and she could see the enthusiasm in the people she had brought with her. Not one didn’t ‘get it’ or had negative things to say about it. Instead, they wanted to improve upon it, make it more economical with the same things they had implemented in The Town, from the gardens, to the hydroponics, to the wind and solar power.
As they got ready to leave, Robyn marveled at the courtesy and respect Joy received. Even when they had arrived, once she was identified as ‘the American’ who wanted to duplicate Dementia Village in America they had fawned over her slightly, giving her information whenever she asked her astute questions. Robyn saw Joy give them a discreet envelope as a ‘donation’ to their cause and tell the director, “This is for those things the government doesn’t cover.” The smile on the director’s face told Robyn it was a substantial amount.
“Would you like to see my apartment?” Joy asked Robyn as they packed up at the hotel. Even the rooms that Joy had booked for her team were first class and Robyn enjoyed the treat.
“What, you have an apartment here?” she asked, confused.
Shaking her head with a laugh, she said, “No, I have an apartment in Paris. I thought we’d send everyone back with our plane and you and I could hop another while we are on this side of the globe.”
“Really?” her eyes opened wide with wonder. Who did that? She nodded eagerly. “I’m going to have to wash some of my clothes. I didn’t pack nearly enough…” she began hesitantly.
“We’ll have that taken care of,” the blonde promised with a laugh.
Robyn watched as their contractors boarded the plane back to America for the long flight home along with the Dementia Village employee they had contracted with to take a temporary leave of the facility and help them work out plans back in Milwaukee. She and Joy got on another plane that would take them down to Paris. It was an amazing experience to fly in a private plane and be catered to. Even at customs they seemed to be treated differently than others. Robyn watched as Joy was kind and courteous and generous when she could be. She didn’t ask to be treated differently, she just was. She accepted it, but did not expect it or demand it. It was an interesting observation and she wondered if everyone who had the money that Joy did, acted like this. She doubted it.
As the short limo whisked them from Charles DeGaulle Airport in Paris to the apartment that Joy owned, Robyn gaped out at the sights. The streets they drove on were lined with lights. She heard Joy speak what sounded like flawless French to their driver, giving him directions. “Why is the limo so small?” Robyn asked, trying not to sound stupid, but wondering.
“You would have preferred a stretch?” Joy asked, amused.
“No, I was just curious,” she was quick to defend herself.
“It is just easier to get through the streets in a normal size vehicle, and having a driver means I can point out things to you as we go.”
“My brother is going to be annoyed that he has Mom for these extra days, but I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” she gasped as they began to drive past the Eiffel Tower, which was lit up. “Oh, my gawd, it’s bigger than I thought it would be,” she craned her head to look up.
They went past many sights on their way to the apartment and finally Robyn accused Joy, “You had the driver do that on purpose!” She didn’t sound disappointed either.
Joy nodded as she smiled. “It never gets old, not for me either. Coming in at night, I knew you would enjoy the view. Tomorrow we can go up there,” she pointed back to the Eiffel Tower. “Maybe you would enjoy going on a few tours?” she offered.
“Anything you want to do is fine by me,” she answered as she pressed her face against the glass of the car like a little kid, taking in anything and everything.
“Ma chérie,” a man greeted them as they stopped at a modest building and he opened the door to hand Joy out of the back seat. He kissed her on each cheek, not just the touching of cheeks, but actual lips pressed against each cheek and Robyn stared in awe. “But…where is your friend?” he asked in a charming way.
“Here she is,” Joy said with some flair as she held out her hand, waited for the brunette to grasp it and handed Robyn out to the sidewalk.
“Velcome,” he said in accented English, clearly happy to meet her, and to her surprise and amazement, Robyn also got kissed on each cheek.
She blinked, unsure how to react. She squeeked out a little, “Thank you,” but felt it was inadequate.
“Ah, you have overwhelmed her, eh?” he teased as he went to help the chauffer with the bags as he began to unpack them from the trunk.
“We gave her the tour on the way from the airport,” Joy told him with a smile.
“Who is that?” Robyn asked in an undertone.
“This is my friend, Pierre” she said with a flourish, loud enough so he could hear her. “Pierre helps me when I’m in Paris.”
“Vill you be staying long?” he asked, taking in both women and thinking the one in her provincial American clothes was due a shopping spree.
“Only a few days. I must get back. We are filling in Site One and Site Two is coming along rapidly,” Joy explained as she took Robyn’s arm to lead her inside. Another man came from the building to help with the baggage, doffing his hat at the tall blonde and addressing her as, “Mademoiselle.”
“Vill ve never have zee pleasure of your company again here at home?”
“I am home wherever I lay my head, Pierre,” she said in a teasing tone and held the door as the three men brought their luggage in through the double doors.
“Ah,” he said in understanding, seeing the linked arms of the two women. “Amour,” he said under his breath and she nodded.
Even Robyn, who didn’t speak French, understood what he was saying. She blushed, but bravely held onto Joy’s arm as they got in an elevator. One of the men produced a key that took them to the top of the building where the elevator opened into a large foyer. The foyer led to a living room, dining area, and kitchen. All of it was beautifully and artistically decorated with plush seats, matching cloth on the walls, and an elegance Robyn had only seen in magazines. “You had this professionally decorated?” she asked.
Joy shook her head. “No, some of it came this way and I added a few touches to make it my own.”
A hallway went back beyond the kitchen and Robyn would later see an office, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. The master bath was huge and very old-fashioned with a big, wide, claw-footed tub, but very beautiful too with white paint and gold trim on
the walls.
“You like?” Joy asked as she finished her tour and they watched the men who delivered their luggage leave the apartment. Pierre began to fuss in the kitchen, making them a late dinner.
“It’s so big! This is your home?”
Joy nodded. “It’s where I keep my clothes,” she downplayed. “It was not what I was looking for, but it was a bargain. Someone I knew needed the money and I got it for a song. When I sell it, it will bring me a lovely profit.”
“You’re going to sell it?”
She nodded. “Since I spend so much time in the US, I have no need for it anymore. We’ll pack all my clothes and take them back with us.” She looked around and then said musingly, “I must call my realtor in Berlin and have him sell the apartment there too.”
“So, you are moving to Milwaukee permanently?” she asked to be sure, looking Joy straight in the eye. She didn’t want to miss anything here, she wanted no misunderstandings, and she didn’t want to get her hopes up.
“I think I should. Will you help me shop for a house? Maybe, someday, live in it with me?”
“But my mom…” she began, the familiar litany, the bane of several relationships she had lost over the years, but maybe, just maybe not this time.
“Your mom will be one of the first residents in our Village,” she stressed, taking Robyn into her arms and holding her tightly. “When I saw that CNN report on it I knew it was the answer. It’s not that I want to get rid of your mother,” she hastened to explain, “but I want her to have the best care possible. You can’t live your life caring for her, waiting for her to pass away. It will kill you slowly. I want the best for her because I love you and I want to help. This way, we can help others, show other families there is a solution to give their loved ones long and happy lives. They deserve it after a lifetime of raising us and contributing to society. We will move your mother and her furniture into an apartment in The Village when it is ready and she can contribute, or she will think she is.” She had hesitated to fully explain herself before because she wanted Robyn to see it in Holland, to see it like she had seen it on the television. Now she worried that she had gone too far.
The Outsider Page 35
