Part Six, How to Marry a Gazillionaire

Meet Jill. My friend Jill could show you how to find rich guys… really rich guys.

First, you must have a gorgeous face.

Jill was stunning, all silk and sandy blond, curves and legs 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 and men were a sure thing.” With assets like hers, how could I blame her?

“If I only date rich guys I’ll never fall for a poor one,” she reasoned. She made it her

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

We walked past Brooks Brothers one night in back bay. “This is gold mining, Brooks Brothers.”

“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 deepened her voice and almost sounded Southern. “Would you like a woman’s opinion on those jeans you’re wearing?”

They’d follow her like Janis 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 an equation.

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

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

Then came a line of beautiful girls to steal Jill’s pay-dirt and pay-dirt, as you know, is a bitch. Then I heard the news. She’d killed herself 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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