How to Marry a Gazillionaire

Jill could have show you how to find the rich guys… really rich guys.

First, you must have a drop-dead gorgeous face.

Jill had one.  All silk skin and sandy blond waves, curves and legs up to her ears, but her voice… powerful and gritty… Jill’s voice could make me cry. She could have made it big.

“Music,” she said, “Was just a chance. Men,” she said. “Were a sure thing.” With assets like hers, how could she lose?

“If I only date rich guys I’ll never fall for a poor one,” she reasoned. It was her mission.money

She took coffee at that diner by the courthouse and knew all the lawyers by name. She sang on St Patrick’s Day and then again outside in the street. They loved her!

“I love the smell of Brooks Brothers in the morning.”

“An American Icon.” I nodded.

“My brother’s your size. Would you try this on for me? Or, I’d love to see my Daddy wearing clothes like yours. Or, and this one’s my favorite.” She’d deepened her voice and sound almost sound Southern, “Would you like a woman’s opinion on those jeans you’re wearing?”

They’d follow her like a HOT Krispy Kreme sign in the wind.

“A man likes to have a blond with him for lunch or dinner,” she said. “And they don’t call them prospects for nothing.”

With cool Irish eyes she summed it up. Men valued women by how much money they’d spent on her, how much they had financially invested in her. She even had a math equation that never made sense to me.

But it was the feeling I had when I was with her. Jill made you feel special, exciting, exclusive.

She got the man, the wedding, the car, the jewelry and the house, the golf course view and  the lake. She got an apartment in Manhattan, the condo in Boca, a Swiss chalet and a psychoanalyst.gold bar

Then came a line of beautiful girls to steal Jill’s pay-dirt and pay-back, as you know, is a bitch. Then I heard the news, suicide at age thirty-six.

If you want to dig for gold get a metal detector, a degree or start your dream. Set your standards high. Because, like Billy sang, “God bless the child that’s got his [or her] own.”

I miss you, Jill. You could have had a damn good life in song.

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