Griselda Speaks
2/16/2013
Today was my first day at my new assignment. I was a bit nervous, since this was my first time working for this new client. I usually work in wealthier neighborhoods, but I could tell by the zip code that this job was above my pay grade (pun intended haha). When I peeped the zip code, I just knew I’d be cleaning some palatial mansion while trying to maneuver around a couple precious toddlers and a bratty dog whose sole purpose was to look cute in family photos. Before arriving, I had to contact the homeowner and give him a description of my car and license plate so the security guard would let me in, a task that reminded me of just how out of place I would look driving through that area with my aging, forest-green Georgina. Sure, the passenger side door was black because that was the cheapest way to fix ol’ girl after her accident last spring and the windows weren’t automatic, but hey, she still got the job done. Regardless of my own love for dear ol’ Georgina, I was wary of driving past a row of Aston Martins and Bentleys in a 1998 Toyota Corolla as a poorly dressed Black woman in this country…
Anyway, I drive up to the gate, assuming it would be a gated community. No, bitch! This client had a security guard stationed at a gate in front of his house. Just his. No neighbors within view. Even though it was only 11am, my Black people spidey senses started tingling. I really started thinking the worst, like maybe he was going to kidnap me and kill me and turn my skin into lamps or some shit…but the way these bills are set up means I had to ignore that nagging fear in my gut. So I continued to drive up to the gate, and put on my friendliest, least threatening grin before rolling down the window. Before I could speak, the jolly old White guy inside of the booth chimed, “Welcome, Miss Lowe. Mr. Williams told me to expect you.” The encounter was so harmless that it seemed almost…threatening? Perhaps I was just being paranoid. Nonetheless, I proceeded down the paved driveway (which must have been at least a half mile) before coming up on what was easily the most impressive home I had ever seen in real life. Honestly, it was as massive as I imagine Beyonce’s house is–crisp white siding, black shutters, a wraparound porch on the first floor, stately columns, a draping weeping willow. I felt like I was walking up to the master’s house.
Before I could lift the heavy door-knocker, the door flung open, as if Mr. Williams were eagerly awaiting my arrival (I later learned that he just had a state of the art security system that told him I was approaching the door). He looked almost pleasantly shocked when he opened the door, like that feeling you get when you realize that the $5 in your wallet is actually a $20. He’s younger than I imagined, maybe mid thirties (I can never quite tell with White people tbh). Again, before I could say anything he warmly said, “Hi, I’m Walter. Can I call you Giselle?” Even stranger, we did that awkward thing that you do on Tinder dates when you aren’t sure if you should shake hands or hug so you end up doing a combination of both (except obviously this wasn’t a Tinder date)…
What am I even doing? Why am I even romanticizing this? The job itself was fairly standard, he just had me wash the linens, vaccuum, and mop. Next week I’ll come back to clean the linens. Until then, I’m going to set up an actual Tinder date so I can stop thinking about this guy.
3/4/2013
I’ve been cleaning Walter’s house for a few weeks now, and we’ve been fucking for two. I know, I know, that’s a terrible idea for a lot of reasons. For one, he’s my boss. Secondly, he’s my boss (this is messy enough to warrant being repeated). Three, he’s a wealthy White man eleven years my senior and I’m just a Black girl who can’t get hired in my field with thousands of dollars in student loan debt. The optics are bad, I get that. I’m not sure if it makes the situation better or worse that I think this is a little more serious than casual sex. I mean, I haven’t slept over or anything yet. I haven’t met his parents. He’s still never been to my place. But it feels…different? I know that’s so cliche, and I’ll probably end up regretting ever saying that but for now that feels right to say.
But Walter really is different. He isn’t pushy, he’s surprisingly down to earth given that he reigns from one of the wealthiest families in North Carolina (thanks Google!), he’s got a great sense of humor. He seems genuinely interested in my life and my interests. Turns out, he was also an English major in college so at least we’ve got that in common (side note: He referred to Morrison as the “Black Faulkner,” which rubbed me the wrong way but ya know, I can’t fight every battle). When we’re together it just seems like we’re in a world of our own.
3/6/2013
I spoke too soon–I slept over. I also got fired. Twice. Okay, that’s not as bad as it seems. I slept over, and it was just…bliss. I hadn’t realized how much time had passed, or even that time was passing at all. Everything was so still. I swear, I could feel the breeze through the window but even the weeping willow outside the house remained still, like the wind was only interested in the company of Giselle and Walter, Walter and Giselle. But here’s the thing–just because time doesn’t feel like it’s moving doesn’t mean things are actually at a standstill. So here I was, all tangled up in the softest linens I’ve ever touched, giggling like it was the morning after prom, having a good ol’ time. My phone wasn’t in the room and I didn’t care. It wasn’t until I got up to see what I could make us for breakfast did I check my phone, realize it was then 2PM, and that I had completely forgotten about a client that morning. So she left me two angry voicemails and fired me. I don’t blame her, but I was STRESSED. She was my most consistent client, and I relied heavily on her employing me to pay my bills. I was visibly upset when Walter found me, and though I tried to change the subject, he eventually got it out of me. I don’t even know how we got to talk about my student loan debt, but he was shocked to hear how much debt I had accrued. He offered to pay them off, and I laughed. Loudly, and for too long. Why would this man I’ve been cleaning house for and fucking for three weeks want to pay off my loans? I am nothing to him. Needless to say, I couldn’t accept that. Right? So I told him that we had a business relationship, and that it would be unethical for him to pay off my loans.
“Excuse me? A business relationship? That’s what you call this? I’m what, paying you to fuck me?” he was so indignant that I was almost frightened.
When he said it like that, I struggled to backpeddle. I guess calling this a business relationship did make it seem like I was an escort–something I know that I’m not. You know, sex positivity is great and everything but I’m nobody’s girlfriend-for-hire. So I backpeddled. I told him I cared about him (I didn’t even realize that I did until it came out of my mouth???) and he echoed that sentiment. He said he wanted to fire me so there would be no confusion about what ~this~ was. You know, if he were a few years younger that would have sounded like some Grade A bullshit. But it’s Walter. He’s thirty-seven, and stable, and warm. And he wants to be with me. Little ol’ me. So rather than running from the “what are we doing” conversation like I normally do, I boldly asked, “so if we aren’t in a business relationship what kind of relationship is this?” BITCH, I don’t even know why I said that, like who did I think I was? But he replies with some smooth ass Mr. Darby type question-as-an-answer, saying, “Are you more interested in the relationship we’ve had or the relationship we could have?”
Bitch. I was SHOOK. Like oh my gosh, this is a man. Walter’s not some boy who’s coy about his feelings for me. Walter was blunt. Walter knew what he wanted, and he was willing to fight for me. I can’t even tell you what I said to that question, I just know it started to feel like I was finally home.
4/11/2013
It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything. Walter whisked me away from my apartment, telling me to make sure I only brought my ID and nothing else–not money, not my card, nothing. Now, if i hadn’t already felt so comfortable with him this would have been really bizarre. But Walter’s really adventurous and just loves for us to not be distracted by other obligations when we spend time. I figured he was going to take me on a day trip, which is something he’s started to do often, but instead he had his driver take us to an airport. He had a bag packed, with all of these brand name clothes I couldn’t even pronounce. He told me they were all clothes he would love to see me in, and if we were going to be a thing I’d have to look the part. I blushed, less from gratitude and more from embarrassment, since it was the first time he seemed to acknowledge just how different we are. He then mentioned that he had a friend of a friend who would meet us in Miami who would give me a complete makeover. I was overjoyed–I couldn’t even remember the last time I had a manicure. But I guess Walter and I had different ideas of “makeover.” When we touched down in Miami, I was whisked away by a whole team of stylists and makeup artists. Before I could even ask questions, they started unbraiding my hair. I had just gotten them put in less than a week ago, so I was admittedly a bit bitter when they started to take them out. But I trusted their vision. Within a few short hours, my hair was bone straight and about 7 inches longer than it actually is, thanks to a weave (surprisingly enough, the first one I’ve ever had), and my face was beat to the GODS. Damn, I looked good. I just didn’t really look like the same Giselle Avery Lowe that I’ve been all my life.
Any apprehensions I had about my new appearance melted away when Walter saw me for the first time. He was speechless, literally. He was eager to show me off to his colleagues in Miami. He took me everywhere. I felt like a princess. I wanted to post some pictures on IG, but he told me that people who live “our” lifestyle don’t publicize those kinds of things. I didn’t really know what he meant by that, but since he’s the expert on being wealthy, I figured I’d just follow his lead. After he let me borrow his phone, so I could tell my mom where I was, I stopped even missing having my phone with me.
5/31/2017
Walter has been really strict with the no-phone-on-dates rule lately, but our dates have been so magical. I really do find all my enjoyment in him. I feel like I’m in high school again–I can’t stop thinking about him. Like, I’ll look down and realize I was mindlessly doodling “Walter” on our grocery list. It’s so cute it’s almost gross lol. My roommate, who I really haven’t seen since Walter insisted I move in with him, has grown increasingly frustrated with me since the chores we used to split have fallen squarely on her shoulders. When I told Walter about it, he seemed worried that my roommate was stressing me out, and offered to buy out my lease so I wouldn’t feel obligated to engage with Rose anymore. Normally, I’d be really uncomfortable with someone forking over that much money for me for any reason, but paying for things is one of the ways that Walter shows he ~cares~ so I just let him do it. And honestly, it was a relief not to be worried about her anymore…but that also means that Walter has moved me into his home. I initially suggested that I move into one of the other bedrooms since this relationship is still very new, but he said relationships like ours don’t need that much separation and privacy because we trust each other enough to share everything, so it seems I’ve got him pussy-whipped lol! To be honest, I really value my privacy, but if being around me 24/7 makes him happy, then so be it.