It was my second year at the University of Pennsylvania when my parents went bankrupt and then separated. I'd always been spoilt, indulged and well educated (it was out of the question for me to go anywhere that wasn't Ivy League) so last fall they packed me up and sent me to Pennsylvania. And god, did I love it. Freedom? Check. Thousands of attractive boys begging for my attention? Check. Partying, drugs and drinking? Check, check and check, again. I didn't go home once, my mum visited me for lunch every month. We went to the same Italian restaurant and we both drank too much wine, it's okay - she wouldn't drive, she got picked up by her chauffeur (who she had been secretly sleeping with for almost eighteen months) and would go home shortly before four, despite the journey only taking an hour and a half, I'd receive a text from my dad at approximately half seven saying she was home safe.
I loved my parents, I did, but when I received that god awful phone-calling from my mum, who had screamed down the phone the entire time, I realised I truly hated them both. Apparently, after the news they had run out of money things had been difficult and was made considerably worse when my mother had discovered that he had been having various affairs and confronted him. He then confronted her that he knew she had been sleeping with various different men and they screamed at each other for approximately eight hours before he packed up and went to the summer house with Jeanette, the neighbours eldest daughter, who he had been sleeping with for over a year.
I attempted to console my distraught mother but stopped short when she ordered me to not talk to my father. I listened to her sobs and promised I'd return home next weekend, but made no such promise to ignore my father.
After all, he supported me, financially and I still needed that.
A few months later, all three houses were sold, including the yacht in Saint Tropez and lawyers came and divided everything in half. My parents were left with an apartment each, one car each and something to live on, however there was practically nothing left to support me on. I didn't talk to either of them for a month, they deserved that. They deserved worse, for being so careless and thoughtless, but I figured I'd make their lives hell later on. In the meantime, I decided I best get a job. I didn't want to have to leave Pennsylvania so I swallowed my pride and googled it. I didn't want to work in a supermarket, or a shop, I didn't want to be seen and recognised. A few days later an advert popped up: Assistant needed for The Greyfells. I read the job advert, the word 'assistant' was used but it was more of a nanny/maid/house-sitter combo. I sent off an application and waited for a phone-call, which came the following evening. Mrs. Greyfell called me and organised to meet me the following Friday evening, after my lectures had finished.
Even from the phone-call alone, I knew Mrs Greyfell was a powerful woman, her voice was calm but firm and she pronounced every word lazily, as if speaking was beneath her. She explained that her husband worked away from home Monday to Friday, she had one step-daughter who was twenty-two (two years older than me) who was living at home until her wedding which was in April (five months away) and a son who was twenty-three and worked in the city and stayed at home Thursday til Tuesday. I got the impression that their house wasn't dissimilar to our old house. Mrs Greyfell explained they had a large team of cleaners and two cooks, however they needed some assistance that was much more personal. She insisted I wear a black skirt and white shirt and didn't say goodbye before she hung up.
I entertained the idea of working in someone else's home, it made me feel disgusted and ashamed of myself however we had discussed payment and I realised I'd have to suck it up in order to pay for expensive habits. Besides, I might enjoy myself.
That Friday I dashed back to my apartment, five minutes way from campus, which I'd managed to keep despite the bankruptcy. I showered quickly, washing my silky long brown hair, soaking my olive skin under the hot water, I brushed my teeth as I clambered out of the shower and shaved my legs at the same time. Pulling on the knee length leather black skirt I'd found in the back of my cupboard and a smart white shirt that only did up just above my cream bra. I checked my appearance, careful not to appear to inappropriate but still stylish, pleased I slipped on a pair of heals. I blow-dried my hair and applied my make-up hastily, then I grabbed my car keys, purse and bag off the side and dashed out of the apartment.
