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Millie is interviewing for a housekeeper position with Nina Winchester. Though they grew up in very different neighborhoods in Brooklyn, Millie pretends they are practically neighbors to improve her chances. Millie dresses in an unattractive manner for the interview to appear non-threatening. While Nina does not seem to work and has staff to do gardening and cleaning, she claims to not have time to cook. Millie believes Nina is spoiled despite not truly knowing her life. The home is extremely lavish, and Millie currently lives in her car and agrees to things during the interview without fully paying attention in hopes of getting the job.

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14 views

Split 20240224 0021

Millie is interviewing for a housekeeper position with Nina Winchester. Though they grew up in very different neighborhoods in Brooklyn, Millie pretends they are practically neighbors to improve her chances. Millie dresses in an unattractive manner for the interview to appear non-threatening. While Nina does not seem to work and has staff to do gardening and cleaning, she claims to not have time to cook. Millie believes Nina is spoiled despite not truly knowing her life. The home is extremely lavish, and Millie currently lives in her car and agrees to things during the interview without fully paying attention in hopes of getting the job.

Uploaded by

nompiloasande811
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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ONE

MILLIE

“Tell me about yourself, Millie.”


Nina Winchester leans forward on her caramel-colored
leather sofa, her legs crossed to reveal just the slightest hint of
her knees peeking out under her silky white skirt. I don’t know
much about labels, but it’s obvious everything Nina
Winchester is wearing is painfully expensive. Her cream
blouse makes me long to reach out to feel the material, even
though a move like that would mean I’d have no chance of
getting hired.
To be fair, I have no chance of getting hired anyway.
“Well…” I begin, choosing my words carefully. Even after
all the rejections, I still try. “I grew up in Brooklyn. I’ve had a
lot of jobs doing housework for people, as you can see from
my resume.” My carefully doctored resume. “And I love
children. And also…” I glance around the room, looking for a
doggy chew toy or a cat litter box. “I love pets as well?”
The online ad for the housekeeper job didn’t mention pets.
But better to be safe. Who doesn’t appreciate an animal lover?
“Brooklyn!” Mrs. Winchester beams at me. “I grew up in
Brooklyn, too. We’re practically neighbors!”
“We are!” I confirm, even though nothing could be further
from the truth. There are plenty of coveted neighborhoods in
Brooklyn where you’ll fork over an arm and a leg for a tiny
townhouse. That’s not where I grew up. Nina Winchester and I
couldn’t be more different, but if she’d like to believe we’re
neighbors, then I’m only too happy to go along with it.
Mrs. Winchester tucks a strand of shiny, golden-blond hair
behind her ear. Her hair is chin-length, cut into a fashionable
bob that de-emphasizes her double chin. She’s in her late
thirties, and with a different hairstyle and different clothing,
she would be very ordinary-looking. But she has used her
considerable wealth to make the most of what she’s got. I can’t
say I don’t respect that.
I have gone the exact opposite direction with my
appearance. I may be over ten years younger than the woman
sitting across from me, but I don’t want her to feel at all
threatened by me. So for my interview, I selected a long,
chunky wool skirt that I bought at the thrift store and a
polyester white blouse with puffy sleeves. My dirty-blond hair
is pulled back into a severe bun behind my head. I even
purchased a pair of oversized and unnecessary tortoiseshell
glasses that sit perched on my nose. I look professional and
utterly unattractive.
“So the job,” she says. “It will be mostly cleaning and
some light cooking if you’re up for it. Are you a good cook,
Millie?”
“Yes, I am.” My ease in the kitchen is the only thing on my
resume that isn’t a lie. “I’m an excellent cook.”
Her pale blue eyes light up. “That’s wonderful! Honestly,
we almost never have a good home-cooked meal.” She titters.
“Who has the time?”
I bite back any kind of judgmental response. Nina
Winchester doesn’t work, she only has one child who’s in
school all day, and she’s hiring somebody to do all her
cleaning for her. I even saw a man in her enormous front yard
doing her gardening for her. How is it possible she doesn’t
have time to cook a meal for her small family?
I shouldn’t judge her. I don’t know anything about what
her life is like. Just because she’s rich, it doesn’t mean she’s
spoiled.
But if I had to bet a hundred bucks either way, I’d bet Nina
Winchester is spoiled rotten.
“And we’ll need occasional help with Cecelia as well,”
Mrs. Winchester says. “Perhaps taking her to her afternoon
lessons or playdates. You have a car, don’t you?”
I almost laugh at her question. Yes, I do have a car—it’s all
I have right now. My ten-year-old Nissan is stinking up the
street in front of her house, and it’s where I am currently
living. Everything I own is in the trunk of that car. I have spent
the last month sleeping in the backseat.
After a month of living in your car, you realize the
importance of some of the little things in life. A toilet. A sink.
Being able to straighten your legs out while you’re sleeping. I
miss that last one most of all.
“Yes, I have a car,” I confirm.
“Excellent!” Mrs. Winchester claps her hands together.
“I’ll provide you with a car seat for Cecelia, of course. She
just needs a booster seat. She’s not quite at the weight and
height level to be without the booster yet. The Academy of
Pediatrics recommends…”
While Nina Winchester drones on about the exact height
and weight requirements for car seats, I take a moment to
glance around the living room. The furnishing is all ultra-
modern, with the largest flat-screen television I’ve ever seen,
which I’m sure is high definition and has surround-sound
speakers built into every nook and cranny of the room for
optimal listening experience. In the corner of the room is what
appears to be a working fireplace, the mantle littered with
photographs of the Winchesters on trips to every corner of the
world. When I glance up, the insanely high ceiling glows
under the light of a sparkling chandelier.
“Don’t you think so, Millie?” Mrs. Winchester is saying.
I blink at her. I attempt to rewind my memory and figure
out what she had just asked me. But it’s gone. “Yes?” I say.
Whatever I agreed to has made her very happy. “I’m so
pleased you think so too.”
“Absolutely,” I say more firmly this time.

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