How to Marry Another Billionaire

by Elise Sax

  The minute I walked inside, I gathered my children to me, and I haven’t let them go since. I don’t know why I can’t let them go now, even though they’re asleep, and I desperately need a shower and to go to bed myself. Maybe I want the comfort of those who love me, or maybe I’m wracked with guilt because I want the man who has rejected my children.

  Or maybe it’s just simply that I’m devastated and I need to love someone who will love me back.

  “You smell bad,” my mother insists. “You’re getting sand and salt in the bed. It can’t be good for the kids.”

  “They’ll get a fungus,” Bessie agrees. “Athlete’s foot or trench mouth.”

  “Fine,” I say and roll out of bed, covering my children before I walk out of the bedroom. “Do we have ice cream?”

  “Rosalind bought five gallons of assorted flavors,” Bessie says. “She said you would need it. What happened? I mean after the drowning thing. You seemed all right when we left you.”

  I tell them about Rock. I tell them about the kiss, but I don’t tell them about my panties, and his finger, and my orgasm. But I tell them that it’s the kiss of the century. And then I tell them that he doesn’t do commitment and he doesn’t like kids, and I represent both of those things.

  “And he didn’t even say goodbye when he dropped me off,” I blubber.

  “Uh oh, here come the waterworks,” Bessie says. “Do we have HBO here?”

  My mother takes the remote control out of the pocket of her housedress and pushes some buttons. Game of Thrones comes on, and Bessie and my mother sit on the couch and watch it. Rosalind sits next to me and puts her arm around my shoulders.

  “Cry it out, honey,” she tells me. “Men are bastards.”

  “Men… men… men… are bastards!” I blubber. I’m pretty much hysterical. I’m doing the ugly cry. The cry where I can’t catch my breath. Tears streak down my cheeks, and snot is running out of my nose like someone turned on the tap. I wipe at it with my bare arm, but it’s no use. My face is a snotty, teary mess. But I can’t stop crying.

  “I’ll be right back,” Rosalind says. She comes back in a few seconds with a bath towel and hands it to me. I wipe my face down and keep crying.

  “Maybe we should just go,” I say after my crying jag dies down to a doable level. “Go home and forget this. You and Beatrice will get your billionaire, but I’m just not cut out for one.”

  “What are you talking about? What about Declan and Vern?”

  “Declan fed me snails, and Vern tried to drown me. I’m not real swift on the uptake, but I think that means that billionaires don’t want me.”

  “Rock wants you, but he doesn’t want to get tied down.”

  “What’s the difference?” I cry. “I’m Ms. Tied Down. I come with a lot of baggage. I’m the queen of baggage. I’m three carousels at the baggage claim at LAX. I’m so much baggage that I have a handle coming out of my head.”

  “You need ice cream.”

  “Did you get rocky road? I love rocky road,” I say.

  “Yes, and I have hot fudge to pour over it, if you want.”

  “If I want? You have to ask?”

  We move into the kitchen and take the rocky road out of the freezer. I open the lid to the half-gallon, and Rosalind hands me a spoon.

  “You don’t want any?” I ask her.

  “No. I’m in training for my billionaire. Going to Bora Bora next week.”

  “Bora Bora. That sounds so exotic.”

  Rosalind grimaces. “I need a totally new wardrobe. Something that says I’m an amazing professional woman, but relaxed island hopper, and sexy, irresistible vixen, but a woman to bring home to mother and live with forever.”

  “That’s quite a wardrobe. I shop at Walmart and Old Navy. You probably can’t get that there.” I’m hit with a tsunami of guilt. I haven’t helped Rosalind at all. Where Beatrice and I have had a great support system for Operation Billionaire, Rosalind is pretty much on her own. We haven’t done any planning for her at all.

  “I’ve got a personal shopper on it,” Rosalind tells me. “I’m raring to go to grab my billionaire.”

  I put my hand on hers. “Don’t worry. You’ll find love with Jackson.”

  “Find love with Jackson Hardy?” she asks like I’ve flipped my lid. “Oh, no. I’m not looking for love, Olivia. That’s for you and Beatrice. My goals are much more mercenary. I’m going to marry Jackson and become his partner. I’ll never have to go through Dana White again. I’ll have free rein to go all the way to the top in my field. Finally, I’ll get the recognition I deserve. I’ve worked so hard. I want my sliver of success.”

  “You’ll get it,” I say. “How can I help? Let’s start working on it since Rock’s done with me. Maybe I can get a job with the post office. They have good benefits. I’m not sure my mother’s going to be happy looking after the kids.”

  “What’re you talking about? You have a great job. Your kids are in the poshest school in California.”

  “Yes, but that’s over now.”

  “It is not,” Rosalind says. “It’s just begun. He kissed you and nearly blew your head off. It was a long kiss, right?”

  I nod and blush. “It was a really long kiss with some extra bits to it.”

  “Gotcha. Well, if he wasn’t interested, he would have given you a little kiss and called it a day. But obviously, the chemistry was off the charts and that’s why it went on and on.”

  “But commitment. But kids.”

  “Oh, honey. They all say that,” Rosalind says. “I mean all the billionaires. Everyone else says they love kids just to get in a single mother’s pants. These billionaires are scared of their own shadows. That’s why it’s all about the wham-bam-thank you ma’am. They’re worried that their precious billionaire status will somehow be in danger if they say ‘I do.’ It’s growing pains. It’s fear of heights. Whatever the hell it is, it’s temporary. Rock Clarke’s going to come around, and he’s going to come around right on schedule by the end of the week.”

  “But…”

  Rosalind shakes her head. “No buts. Did you happen to notice that he just happened to helicopter to Catalina while you were on a date? The man keeps showing up when you’re with another man. He keeps crashing your dates. You think that’s accidental? You think that’s a coincidence?”

  “Yes?”

  “Olivia…” she says with a warning tone in her voice.

  “Okay. Fine, you’re right. It’s odd that he keeps showing up. So, what happens now?”

  Rosalind clears her throat and puts the ice cream back in the freezer, even though I’m not done with it yet. “We’ve entered phase three,” she tells me. “We’re going to up the ante and put on the pressure. Rock won’t know what hit him. Now go to bed so you don’t look like hell tomorrow at work.”

  I’m back at work, doing another spreadsheet. I’m tempted to set the building on fire so that nobody will find out that after four hours, I haven’t been able to finish the damned thing. Or maybe I can use a really big magnet to erase the hard drive.

  Where can I find a really big magnet? What if I gather all the magnets together from the employee kitchen’s refrigerator? For some reason, the refrigerator is covered with chili pepper-shaped magnets. Would that work?

  But then I remember about the cloud. I don’t think I can erase the cloud with a bunch of chili pepper magnets. Stupid cloud. Why do we need the cloud? And what the hell is the cloud?

  Rock walks in, making me jump a foot off my chair in surprise. “Hello, beautiful,” he says, greeting me. He’s wearing jeans, boots, and a San Diego Zoo t-shirt. He’s acting like we never kissed under the stars. Like he never made my eyes roll back in my head in ecstasy.

  Men are bastards.

  “Hello,” I say, using my most professional voice, which is my impression of Rosalind.

  “You ready to get going?” he asks me.

  I look at the clock. “I have four more hours.”

  “No, we’re going d
own to San Diego.”

  “We are?”

  “It’s the opening of the orangutan enclosure down there. I paid for it. Orangutans are my thing. The opening should be on the schedule. Did you have a chance to look at it?”

  He’s being diplomatic. It’s my job to keep the schedule updated and organized. But the damned schedule is on a spreadsheet, so I have no idea what’s going on with Rock and his schedule. I certainly don’t know anything about orangutan enclosure openings.

  “Of course,” I say, smiling. “It just slipped my mind that that’s today.”

  “Ready?”

  We take the elevator down to the lobby, and the doorman holds the door open for us. Outside, Rock’s Aston Martin is waiting for us. Oh no, I think. We’re going to spend two hours in the car together. What on earth are we going to talk about? I’m so angry at Rosalind. Why didn’t she let me quit Operation Billionaire?

  “Gorgeous day,” Rock comments as we get on the freeway. “Not a lick of humidity, sweet breeze. Really, really nice day.” Great. We’re going to talk about the weather for two hours. That should be fun.

  “Yes. It’s cooled off a bit,” I say. “But still warm enough to go swimming. My kids love the pool at the preschool.”

  Oops. I mentioned the kids. That’s not exactly weather-related. But it feels good to talk about Rock’s biggest fear. So, I decide to do more of it.

  “You have any more billionaires lined up for me?” I ask. “Or maybe I could do a second date with Declan or Vern.” Oh, please say no. I don’t think I can handle another encounter with Declan’s penis or risk my life with Vern’s recreational habits.

  “Uh…” Rock says.

  “Vern strikes me as a family man. Well-rounded. Business and recreation. I like that. Work-life balance. Very healthy. He’d probably make a good father. Maybe I’ll call him and have him come over to meet the children. After, we could go out to dinner or maybe the theater.”

  “Really? Vern almost drowned you. He was scared of a starfish. Do you really want a man like that as your children’s new daddy?”

  Rock speeds up, passing a couple cars on the freeway. His hands are at ten and two on the steering wheel, and his knuckles are white from squeezing onto it so hard. Good. I hope he’s miserable. Bastard with his weather conversation.

  “Or Declan,” I say. “He seemed to me like he was ready to settle down.”

  “Are you kidding? He almost raped you by the bathrooms.”

  I feign laughter. “You exaggerate. He couldn’t help it if he was aroused. You know, some men find me attractive.”

  “Olivia, all men find you attractive. That’s not the point. He had you cornered against a wall with a big dick in your face.”

  “He was rather well-endowed,” I say, as if I’m remembering that I have a box of Oreos in my cupboard that I totally forgot about. “That’s good to know for, you know, later.”

  Rock swerves the car, going around another two cars. He’s driving like a maniac, fast and erratic.

  “The man’s a moron,” Rock insists, raising his voice. “How could you possibly think about marrying him?”

  “I didn’t mention marriage. Maybe I want to have some fun for a while. But you know, it’s sort of normal in a serious relationship to take it to the next level. You know… the forever level.”

  “With the boner guy? With the starfish guy?”

  “The sophisticated guy. The life-balance guy.”

  “I can’t believe this shit!” Rock yells and guns the car even more. I hold on for dear life.

  “What’s that noise?” I ask.

  “I don’t hear anything,” he says.

  “It sounds like…”

  Rock looks in the rearview mirror and slows the car down. “That’s perfect,” he grumbles. “Just perfect.”

  There’s a highway patrol car behind us. Its siren is blaring, and its lights are flashing. Rock pulls the Aston Martin to the shoulder and turns off the motor. He leans across me and digs his vehicle registration out of the glove compartment. Then, he leans back in order to reach his wallet in his front pocket and opens the windows.

  “Here he comes,” Rock tells me. “Just stay cool.”

  “Why? What’s the matter? Do you have drugs in the wheels? Drugs under the dashboard?”

  Just as the words leave my mouth, the cop ducks his head down by my open window.

  “Well? Are you going to answer her? Do you have drugs in the car, sir?” the cop asks Rock.

  Rock throws me a death stare and then gives the cop his most innocent looking smile. “No, sir. She was just joking.”

  “Were you joking, ma’am?” the cop asks me.

  “No, sir. I was just asking him if that’s why he was so nervous.” It’s the truth, but boy am I a bitch. I guess it’s true what they say about a woman scorned.

  “Why are you nervous, sir?” the cop asks.

  “I’m not nervous,” Rock says, his patience slipping. “I don’t like getting pulled over. That’s all.”

  “Why? Does that happen to you often?”

  “No!” Rocks says. “I’m a very responsible driver.”

  “License and registration,” the cop orders, putting his hand out. When Rock hands them to him, he goes back to his car and writes something.

  “Don’t mention drugs anymore,” Rock whispers to me.

  “Okay. Okay. Sorry about that. I didn’t know he was right there.”

  “Just don’t mention drugs again, and we’ll be fine.”

  “I promise I won’t mention drugs, again,” I tell him. “Even if the policeman asks me about drugs, I won’t say a word to him. I’ll change the subject.” Rock slaps his forehead and hangs his head. “He’s behind me, isn’t he?” I ask. I don’t really need to ask. I can feel the cop’s breath on my neck.

  “Yes,” the cop says. “I’m right here, and I heard everything. Mr. Clarke, would you please get out of the car?”

  Rock gets out of the car and walks around to my side. The cop shines a light in Rock’s face, like he’s looking for signs of a concussion.

  “I don’t take drugs,” Rock tells him.

  “So, you just sell them?”

  “I don’t sell drugs. I’m a developer.”

  “You develop drugs? Like meth?”

  “No. I’m a land developer. And I’m a philanthropist.”

  “What’s that?” the cop asks.

  “I give away money. I paid for the orangutan enclosure in San Diego. That’s where we’re going. To the zoo.”

  The cop says something in his walkie talkie device on his chest. “The monkey will have to wait for you. First, you’re going to get a visit from the dogs.”

  “The dogs?” Rock asks.

  “Just so happens that the drug dog is a couple miles north of here. It’ll be here in a second. Oh, look. Here they are.”

  A patrol car parks in front of us. “I can’t believe this is happening,” Rock says.

  I study my fingernails. The policeman opens my door and helps me out, winking at me before he lets my hand go. The other cop opens the back door of his car and a German Shepherd leaps out.

  “What a cute dog,” I gush.

  “Don’t touch the dog,” the cop warns me. “He’s trained to bite your arm off.”

  “Why would you train a dog to do that?” I ask.

  “Please don’t antagonize the law enforcement,” Rock pleads.

  “Are you threatening your girlfriend?” the first cop asks him. His voice is deep and ominous. And he has a gun. He’s totally scary, but I’m thrilled that he called me Rock’s girlfriend.

  “No, of course not,” Rock says. He’s totally nonplussed, and when the dog jumps into his sports car, I get another wave of guilt.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter.

  That’s when the dog finds something. It whimpers, barks and paws at the dashboard. “Looky there,” the first cop says. “Thank you, young lady for your civic-mindedness,” he tells me and shoots Rock a you’re-goin
g-to-jail look.

  “I swear there’s no drugs in my car!” Rock insists. He’s throwing his hands around, like he’s a man who’s pleading for his life. “I don’t take drugs. I’m from Idaho!”

  “Isn’t there a Mexican cartel based in Idaho?” the first cop asks me. I shrug.

  “It’s Idaho!” Rock yells. “We don’t even have guacamole!”

  The dog keeps barking. The other cop pulls the dog out. “We need the drill and the saw.”

  “What do you mean the drill and saw?” Rock whines. “It’s an Aston Martin!”

  “Rich guys,” the first cop says to me and rolls his eyes.

  I’m very careful not to catch Rock’s eyes. If he didn’t want a relationship with me before, he certainly won’t now.

  The second cop stands by with his arm-eating dog, while the first cop slips into Rock’s car with the power tools. About five minutes later, he throws the dashboard out onto the asphalt. Rock is holding his head, and his eyes are wide. The dog barks and whines.

  The cop steps out, holding a large brick of something. “Heroin,” he announces with glee.

  “Heroin?” Rock exclaims, completely gobsmacked. His face is red, and he looks like he’s on the verge of having a stroke.

  “You know what this means?” one cop asks the other.

  “Yep. A total dismantle.”

  “Dismantle?” Rock shrieks. “It’s an Aston Martin.”

  “Heroin,” the second cop says.

  “It’s not my heroin!” Rock insists. “I don’t know where it came from. Someone must have put it in there. I have nothing to do with it.”

  “You probably shouldn’t say anything more without an attorney,” the second cop tells Rock. He puts the dog back in his car and returns with another drill. The two begin to take apart the car, throwing the parts over the side of the guardrail. Every once in a while, they shout “ah ha!” and come out with another brick of heroin, which makes Rock’s mouth drop open and he moans loudly.

  “What’s going on?” he asks the sky.

  “Is this how you made your billions?” I whisper to him.

  “I hate drugs. I don’t do drugs. I don’t sell drugs. Never. Please believe me.”