Lies of a Real Housewife (3 page)

In 1994 she packed up everything that she could fit in the back of

her vehicle, and we headed south. We bot
h put Buffalo, N.Y. in our rearview mirrors. I never looked back because I knew the only things I was leaving behind me were all the bad memories of my childhood. I wanted to distance

myself from that. Honestly, I was glad I made it out alive.

After driving for hours, we finally arrived at our destination. We put

our roots down in Greensboro, North Carolina. My mother wanted to move

closer to her family in Atlanta, but not too near. She was the seventh child out

of ten children, and yes, some were very dysfunctional.

The scenery was much different from what I had imagined. It was

more laid-back and peaceful. I had heard stories about the south, but there was nothing like witnessing it in person. You could actual
ly see the beautiful greenery. To me, this was something very foreign. I would often be stunned by the comparison to the broken concrete, and abandoned buildings I’d

grown up around during my early childhood.

Everything just appeared to move so darn slow. The people of North

Carolina even talked, and moved at a slower pace. Buses and cars didn’t go flying by. Everybody there seemed to be compassionate and caring. This was amazing to me and was like a breath of fresh air. I remember thinking I could learn
to really like this place. Hope suddenly returned and positive thoughts started to fill my psyche. Maybe I could go to school, get a part-time job, and take care of my baby-girl, Aleea. I put a plan together and started doing

exactly that. Then all hell
broke loose!

But I’m moving real fast here. So let’s take some time and return

to a couple of years in my past life of horror in Buffalo. It was 1991 and my mother had met a man. She fell hard for him. He was a con artist and a scammer who went by the name of Curtis. As you already guess by now, I hated Curtis. From the beginning, I knew he was not right. But hey, what do you

tell a person blinded by love?

By this time, my brother had graduated high school, and was up-

state New York. Having received a s
cholarship for his athletic talents, Lee was living his dream of playing basketball at Sienna College and my mother couldn’t be prouder. Her son had made it out of Buffalo, and all she had to worry about was me. Lee eventually played basketball for Sienna College from 1988 to 1992. I was sure that he would never have approved of Curtis,

and I actually couldn’t wait for the day when they would meet.

Before meeting Curtis, my mother had already made a name for

herself. She was a very successful woman who w
as working in her field of choice. Joan Milling was an ambitious black woman with an entrepreneurial spirit who owned her own successful business. With nothing more than her

faith, she had established a successful real estate business from scratch.

We were not by any means filthy rich, but were definitely not poor.

If I had only learn to follow the rules, I could’ve had my heart’s desires. But I was rebellious, and breaking rules became a bad habit. I didn’t feel it was in my DNA to follow or be confine
d by anyone’s rules.

Curtis was a homebuilder who wanted to start his own construction

company, and saw my mother as an opportunity for his selfish gains. In her real estate business, she would purchase abandoned homes, and he was hired to renovate them. Well, that was the initial plan. The second time in my life I ever laid my eyes on Curtis, he was introduced to me as my step-father. My blood instantly began boiling at the thought of this man being anything significant in my life.

Things immediately st
arted to change the moment Curtis moved

into our home. My brother, Lee was seven hours away, and was absolutely clueless to the recent change of events. He was spared the experience of liv-

ing with the homewrecker known as Curtis.

My mother began asking this man for permission to speak. This was

a strong indication to me that something was amiss. Anyone who knew my mother would tell you how outspoken she was. Joan Milling was always known for being a leader. She was headstrong, honest, and smart. There was power in her voice, but soon it would all be silenced. And this happened whenever Curtis walked into the room.

I could hear them fighting at nights when she would leave me in the

living room watching my favorite TV show. She would be in her bedroom, and I could hear him beating my mother. On one occasion, I remember sitting in the living room with two of my childhood friends. Out of nowhere, my mother came running and screaming for dear life. Following right behind her, chasing my naked mother with a knife was sorry-ass Curtis. I immediately jumped up, ran into the kitchen, and grabbed the biggest knife I could find.

Then I took off after him.

By the time I made it outside, I could see my mother running bare-

footed through the
cold, icy street which was covered with snow. Curtis jumped in his car, and he was actually attempting to run my mother down. Luckily, she made it back to the house, locked all the doors, and immediately

called the police.

The next morning, she took out a restraining order against Curtis. But later that day, this evil man returned to our home and cut all the electrical wires to the house. It took the National Grid power company five days to repair the lines. During this time, my mother and I were prisoners in our own home. We remained trapped without electricity while the awful smell of rotting food filled our nostrils for days. This occurred because my mother was too frightened to leave the house. On the other hand, I refused to be a captive

in my own ho
me.

My mind was already made up. I made a promise to myself that I

would kill this creep. My mother knew it too. She was not only aware of my plan to commit murder, but she felt it! In this harsh world, we were all each other had. There was no way I was going to stand by and let this con man take

my mother away from me.

I already hated life and the only thing I had left to lose was my moth-

er. I wasn’t having that, so my blade was persistently by my side. I slept with it each and every night. Patiently
, I waited to seek my revenge exclusively on

the man who beat my dear mother.

To my dismay, a couple of days later, they were back together like

nothing had happened. I couldn’t understand this development, and needless to say, I wasn’t just angry, but
I was very frustrated. I had reached the limit of my boiling point. Unable to fathom my mother’s actions, I moved out of the

house. This time it was for good. I had had it at this point.

Surviving by any means necessary, I lived on the streets of Buffalo. I hated my mother’s husband, and he hated me. There was absolutely no way that we were going to exist under the same roof. Where could I stay to get off the streets? I was a teenage girl. My options were limited, and few. I defi-

nitely was not, and coul
d not live with my natural father.

His wife would not allow it. She hated my mother the most. There

was no option, but to extend her hatred in my direction. My mother gave him something she couldn’t, and my mother had something she didn’t. I was his only child! But why did she hate me? I did not ask those two people to have sex, and bring a life into this world! I resembled my mother. And to this very day, my father’s wife still harbors a strong revulsion toward me.

Every other day I would stop by and check in on my mother. I want-

ed to see how she was doing, and to learn what the wacko had up his sleeves. My mother was kind enough to give me a job in her office. This kept me out of trouble, and she paid me pretty good too. My mother taught me office management, how to create files, make copies, fax papers, and read good

faith estimates. She spoke to me a lot less, and I could tell that something was

bothering her. I just didn’t know what it was.

One day, after having a quiet mother and daughter lunch, we re-

turned to her office. A tall man with a thin build, accompanied by a petite woman with red hair, who I later learned was his wife, showed up at the office. The man was loud and adamant about needing to speak with my mother right away. She directed the couple down the hall to her office, and closed

the door.

Like any inquisitive child, I made sure I got close enough where I

could hear every single word. I overheard the ranting of the irate man. He was threatening my mother. He told her that if she did not have his money
in thirty days, he would have her arrested. Then he grabbed his wife by the hand, and

together they stormed out.

My heart raced erratically. The thought of my mother going to jail

was extremely terrifying to me. I heard her on the phone arguing with someone from her bank. Thousands of dollars were
missing from her business escrow account. No money had been removed from her personal account, but the money earmarked for her real estate clients was gone.

The next few weeks were like something out of a nightmare. My

mother was avoiding telephone calls, telling people she wasn’t there while being in her office. Then she began eyeing everyone around her as if they were suspects in a plot against her. She had even put me—her only daughter, the one she gave birth to, at a distance. After a couple of weeks passed, a friend of mine handed me a newspaper, and told me to read it. Right there on the newspaper’s front page was a picture of my mother, her home, and her business. She had been charged with fraud, and the federal agents had seized