How to Date a Millionaire

by Allison Rushby

  ‘Hey! Look at this!’ I say to Alexa and Nat, pointing and laughing.

  ‘Are they for real?’ Alexa says, after spotting what I’m pointing at and watching for a while. ‘It’s only just eight o’clock.’

  ‘I’m afraid they are for real.’

  ‘I didn’t think anyone really did that. I thought it was just in old movies.’ Nat sounds perplexed. ‘What’s that girl called? You know, in those surfing movies. The ones they play on rainy Sundays.’

  ‘Gidget!’ Alexa and I tell her at the same time, both laughing hard now.

  ‘Yeah, her!’

  Again, our eyes turn in the same direction. There’s a group of girls and (seriously, I’m not joking about this) they’re all wearing either pink or blue gingham bikinis and matching hats and are standing around on the sand in a circle delicately batting a blow-up beach ball to each other.

  ‘I think someone needs to introduce them to the new millennium. And to beach volleyball.’ Alexa shakes her head.

  ‘Oh come on. They’re cute.’

  ‘Too cute.’

  Okay, she’s probably right. They’re verging on too cute.

  ‘It’s a great beach, though, isn’t it?’ Alexa says now. ‘It’s gorgeous. Just stunning. I mean, admit it. You’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I quit looking at the four gingham-clad girls.

  ‘Huh?’ Nat turns to look at Alexa too.

  ‘The beach. It’s the best beach you’ve ever seen, right?’

  Now Nat and I turn to look at each other. And, together, we start laughing.

  ‘What?’ Alexa’s head whips from Nat to me. ‘What?!’

  I lean over and give her a pat on the shoulder. ‘Oh, possum. That’s so sweet. But, honestly, you need to come to Australia sometime. Or New Zealand. If you think this is nice, our beaches will blow your mind.’

  ‘I don’t know about you guys, but my fingers are turning into prunes,’ I say after a good forty-five minutes in the spa. I flip my hand over to show Nat and Alexa the damage.

  ‘Yuck. Me too,’ Nat says, inspecting her own.

  ‘Three.’ Alexa grimaces.

  ‘Want to go out and get some brunch?’

  The other two girls agree.

  ‘And then I might need a nanna nap. I slept pretty well on the flight over, but I still feel weird.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Alexa says as she climbs out of the spa.

  ‘But we can’t sleep. We’re in Hawaii. Anything could happen!’ Nat stands up behind us.

  Alexa turns to look at her, but I’m distracted for a second by one of the gingham crew running after the group’s dropped beach ball. I still manage to answer her, though. ‘We’re here for ten days,’ I tell her. ‘You’ll have to sleep sometime and … ow!’ I whip around quickly, as something thumps against my head. ‘Geez, Nat. Calm down. You don’t have to hit me.’

  ‘What? I didn’t hit you! It was this!’ She bends over and picks something out of the spa. A plastic cup. ‘It came from upstairs.’

  I look up. Upstairs, huh? That can only mean from the penthouse apartment that was supposed to be ours. And, just as I look up, another plastic cup falls over and lands on our balcony tiles.

  ‘Oi! Hey! Hey, you up there!’ I call out. I hear mumbled voices. And then …

  ‘Oh man. Sorry!’ A head pops over the railing.

  Oh.

  It’s a guy. A cute guy. And I was about to give a lecture about donking people on the head with plastic cups, especially plastic cups that fall from apartments certain people are supposed to be penthousely ensconced in themselves, but I’m not quite so sure what to say now. It’s not a cute guy kind of speech, is it?

  ‘Hey! That cup fell on Nessa’s head.’ Alexa starts my speech for me.

  Right. Okay. Apparently Alexa thinks it is a cute guy kind of speech after all.

  ‘Really?’ He bites his bottom lip. ‘I’m sorry. I keep telling the guys not to leave cups there, but …’ He shrugs.

  ‘Guys?’ Nat pipes up.

  ‘Seth and Connor.’

  ‘Really. And you are?’ (For this, Nat gets a good elbowing from Alexa.)

  ‘Oh, sorry. Jason. I’m Jason.’

  ‘Well, I’m Nat and this is Nessa and Alexa. Don’t throw any more cups on us, okay?’

  Jason grins. ‘I won’t. I promise. And sorry again, Nessa!’ His eyes rest on me for a moment and then, with a wave, he’s gone.

  Nat turns to us both with a satisfied look. ‘He’s interested in you.’ She cocks an eyebrow at me. ‘I can tell.’

  The first thing that pops into my head is Ben. And then Ned. And then Justin. Use your head, Nessa, I remind myself. Your head, not your heart. Just for a while. Just till you’re over the Ben/Ned/Justin stuff. I shrug. ‘He’s not my type,’ my head (thank goodness) answers for me.

  ‘He’s not your type? But he’s so cute! He’s super-cute!’

  I shrug again and my mouth opens, ready to say something, but nothing comes out. It doesn’t really matter, though, because Alexa fills the silence for me.

  ‘Out! Out!’ She gives Nat a little push from behind. And, to me, her eyes wide, she mouths two words, which look decidedly like ‘choker chain’.

  We walk a couple of doors down to the Outrigger hotel and decide pancakes at Duke’s are a good idea.

  ‘That’s the banana pancakes, the macadamia pancakes and the waffle dog. Enjoy your meals!’

  ‘What is that?’ Alexa stares at Nat’s waffle dog as if it might start barking at any moment.

  ‘It’s a waffle dog.’

  Sigh.

  ‘It’s a hot dog wrapped in a waffle thing.’ Nat lifts it to her mouth and takes a big bite. ‘And it’s good too,’ she says, her mouth full.

  Shrug.

  Not too long after (you really work up an appetite going pruney in a spa), we’re resting back in our seats, holding our stomachs, checking out Duke’s groovy wood-and-thatch surf-shack décor and sighing different kinds of sighs altogether – full-up sighs.

  ‘I think I want to live here,’ Nat says contentedly. ‘In Hawaii, I mean. Not at Duke’s.’

  On the other side of the table, Alexa and I look at each other. I think we both know exactly what she means. Everyone seems really friendly and cruisey, the weather’s perfect – not too hot, not too cold, with blue, blue, blue skies – the shopping looks good and smiley happy holidayers abound. In other words, it’s the opposite of NYC, where it’s seen as a weakness to smile, the holidayers look scared they’re going to be mugged any second and sometimes even your life takes on the cold, grey hue of concrete and routine.

  ‘I think we should live here,’ Nat continues dreamily. ‘We could rent the apartment. The three of us. And work as …’ She pauses, thinking.

  ‘Bikini models?’ Alexa snorts.

  ‘Well, Nessa has a nice new bikini,’ Nat laughs and, not being able to help herself, Alexa laughs along with her.

  But I don’t laugh because, although my eyes are fixed on a cabinet of toy hula girls, I’m a million miles away, thinking about something completely different.

  ‘Hello? Nessa?’ I finally tune in to Nat, who’s waving a hand in front of my eyes. ‘Nessa? What was that you just said?’

  ‘Huh?’ I half jump and realise I’ve been muttering to myself. ‘Oh, sorry.’ I smile quickly, trying to cover up my craziness. ‘Nothing. It was nothing. I was just thinking about someone. Um, I mean, something.’

  Suddenly, Alexa’s eyes zoom in on me, maybe because she hears the tone in my voice, I don’t know. Either way, that girl doesn’t miss a trick. ‘Is that right? What kind of something would that be?’ she asks suspiciously and I can almost hear her mind ticking back to a certain point in time. A certain point in time when I’d been infatuated with a certain … someone.

  ‘Busted! You were thinking about Jason, weren’t you?’ Nat grins.

  Alexa groans. ‘Some of us have more than one-track minds,’ she says to Nat, but then turns back to me. �
�I’m hoping you do too, Ness. Except I’m guessing your mind is on a different track to Nat’s. Don’t think I didn’t hear you muttering those two “M” words.’

  Uh oh. My best friend’s caught me out once again.

  ‘Wait, wait.’ I wave my hands at her. ‘It’s not like that. I’m not like that any more, remember?’ What I’m talking about here is my past (yes, past, thank you very much) infatuation with a little someone (okay, okay, a big, big deal someone, can I just finish my sentence here?) named Marilyn Monroe. Let’s just say that in my younger, sillier days I sometimes thought a little too much about Ms Monroe. Let’s just say that sometimes I’d kind of imagine the plots of her films were playing themselves out in real life – in my life. And let’s just say that sometimes this got me into big, big trouble. Mainly with my dad. And Alexa. And Holly. And my ex-psychiatrist. Oh and, um, everybody, really.

  ‘I’ve heard that one before,’ Alexa mumbles, beside me.

  ‘That’s not fair.’ I point at her. ‘I haven’t done anything like that for almost a year, have I?’ (‘Anything like that’ being things like trying to set up Holly with a paparazzo she wasn’t interested in when who she was really interested in was my dad. And all because I thought we were playing out the film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Plus, a while after that, there was a little incident involving me racing across the country to LA without my dad’s permission to try to make sure Holly and Dad’s wedding went off smoothly because I thought this time we were playing out The Seven Year Itch. What can I say? Um, silly me.)

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Come on, I haven’t.’

  ‘Okay, you haven’t. But I’m begging you, don’t start up again now. I thought it was all over.’

  I sigh an exasperated sigh. ‘It is and I’m not.’

  ‘What are you two going on about?’ Nat’s head is swivelling from one of us to the other at the speed of light.

  ‘Nothing,’ we say together, then look at each other and laugh.

  But poor Nat still looks more than a little weirded out, so I take a deep breath and continue, ‘It’s just that you were talking about the three of us in the apartment together and the bikini model thing and it sounds kind of like the plot of the Marilyn Monroe movie How to Marry a Millionaire.’

  Alexa groans again and I shoot her an ‘I’m not going there, I promise’ look and pat myself on the back for not mentioning the falling pot plant from The Seven Year Itch. Nice save, Ness.

  ‘I’ve never seen that movie.’ Nat shrugs. ‘Is it good?’

  Now Alexa really groans.

  ‘How to Marry a Millionaire? It’s brilliant! It’s about these three models who rent an apartment together and go hunting for rich men like they’re moose or something. I’ll watch it with you sometime.’

  ‘I’ll watch too and provide half-hourly disclaimers about why you don’t need a rich husband these days,’ Alexa adds. ‘My favourite line? Getting married. It’s the biggest thing you can do in life! Or at least it’s something like that. Should I giggle now, or save it for later? You know, when a guy’s around.’

  ‘You know, you’re so much fun,’ I tell her. ‘Don’t forget to bring the popcorn with your disclaimers.’

  But Nat doesn’t say anything. She’s busy stirring her iced water. ‘So, are there three guys in the movie? Like, cute guys that live upstairs?’

  * * *

  How to Marry a Millionaire

  Um, hello? Marilyn Monroe, Betty Grable and Lauren Bacall. I should just end my review right now, because those three names pretty much say it all. I won’t, though, because I have to convince you this is a film you need to watch.

  Three models, Shatze (Lauren Bacall), Loco (Betty Grable) and Pola (Marilyn Monroe) – love those names – rent a posh apartment they really can’t afford in Manhattan in the hope of attracting rich husbands. Shatze’s the brains behind the scheme, Loco’s the resident dumb blonde and Pola’s both so dumb and so vain she won’t wear her glasses, even though she’s as blind as a bat (which gets her into all kinds of dating trouble).

  Within about five minutes the girls have run out of money and have to start selling the rented apartment’s furniture to get by. It’s about this time that they realise they’d better act on husband-hunting season – and fast. Of course, things don’t go to plan and the girls find they’re only truly interested in the wrong kind of men. But everything works itself out in the end. The girls’ hearts win out over their heads and all three marry for love, not money.

  Not as funny a film as Gentlemen Prefer Blondes or The Seven Year Itch, but still a good laugh and definitely worth watching, especially for the outfits the models get about in. Who knew that models used to be allowed to eat and still got work when they had busts and backsides covering their bones? Ha!

  I give it out of five stars.

  * * *

  Not even looking at Alexa, I point my finger at her. ‘Before you groan one more time, this is a no-groaning vacation. Honolulu is a groan-free zone.’

  ‘Good.’ Nat rolls her eyes. ‘I was getting sick of the groaning. So, are there?’

  ‘Well, they’re not exactly upstairs, but there are three cute guys in the movie. One for each of the girls.’

  I watch as Nat sits quietly for a second, then she nods, almost to herself. ‘Hmmm,’ she says thoughtfully, ‘sounds like the kind of movie a girl like me should see.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say back. And I think I sound just as spacey as she does. Because the weird thing is, I’ve just remembered something funny. That whole using my head instead of my heart thing that I’ve been harping on about lately? I think that may have actually come from How to Marry a Millionaire itself.

  ‘Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me. What we all need is a little romance, Hawaiian style.’ Nat has worn me down on the twenty-step trip back to the apartment from Duke’s.

  ‘Good. The guys upstairs’ll do just fine.’

  Beside me, Alexa snorts. ‘Nice to know you’re not picky.’

  Nat shrugs and smiles. Honestly, that girl just doesn’t give up. Still, I can’t help but think that maybe there’s more than a little something in her suggestion. Being in Hawaii is kind of infectious. You smile just walking down the street. The heat and the sweet breeze make you feel lazy and like you want to shed your old dusty skin from home – shake all your cares away. Maybe even I could be up for a bit of romance Hawaiian style, despite the recent Ben/Ned/Justin trials. And there’s no denying that Upstairs Jason was kind of cute. Not my type, like I said – I meant that. He really isn’t. But maybe for Alexa? So who knows what’ll happen. Plus, we’re only here for ten days. You can’t get hurt in that amount of time, can you?

  Up at our front door again, I swipe my card through the lock before taking a quick glance at Dad and Holly’s door.

  ‘You guys go in. I might just check in with the olds.’

  ‘Okay. Say hi to them both.’ Alexa clicks open the door and lets Nat in before her while I step sideways and give a quick knock.

  Dad opens the door within seconds, looking more than a little flustered.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ my words blurt out. ‘Is Holly okay?’

  ‘Of course. Of course. We’re just waiting for the doctor to get here.’

  I step inside and quickly shut the door behind me. ‘Doctor? What for? What’s going on? Where’s Holly?’

  ‘Over here!’ A hand pokes up from one of the living-room sofas and waves itself around. Her head follows. ‘And I’m fine. Really.’

  But Dad doesn’t look convinced. ‘I knew we shouldn’t have come. Dr Meyers told us it wasn’t the best idea.’

  Now Holly really sits up. ‘He did not! He said I was in perfect health. He only said it wasn’t the best time to travel.’

  ‘He also said it would be best to stick close to the hospital. Just in case.’

  ‘But there are hospitals here. And he gave us the name of a good doctor, who I’m sure will be able to check my blood pressure just fine. I’m sure he pass
ed blood-pressure checking in medical school, so let’s all just calm down before my blood pressure really does go up.’

  I walk over towards Holly. ‘Your blood pressure’s up?’

  Dad walks with me. ‘We were out taking a walk on the beach and she suddenly felt a bit woozy.’

  Holly sighs. ‘It’s probably nothing. I mean, I’m the size of a whale. My knees can’t stand to hold me up any more, that’s all. They want a holiday as well. And so they dumped me on the sand.’

  This doesn’t sound good. ‘Maybe Dad’s right. Maybe we should go home.’

  Holly rests herself back down again. ‘Maybe we should all take a deep breath and wait for the doctor and see what he says. Humour me. Are we ready to breathe? Now, one, two, three …’ Just as we all go to take that breath, there’s another knock on the front door.

  ‘Hold that thought,’ Holly continues. ‘That’ll be him now.’

  I race over and open the front door to be greeted by someone who should, honestly, have taken over from George Clooney on ER. Right. That’s decided then. We’re definitely moving to Hawaii. Dr Meyers is old and short and bald. This Hawaiian-type doctor isn’t.

  ‘Hi, I’m Scott Reid. I think your dad’s been speaking to his wife’s obstetrician, Tom Meyers. He asked me to stop by.’

  I indicate towards the sofa where the hand is waving again. ‘I’m Nessa, Holly’s stepdaughter. Holly’s over there. My dad said she got a bit dizzy walking along the beach.’

  Carefully, Holly pushes herself up off the sofa. ‘I keep telling everyone it’s just because of my whale-like proportions. I’m actually surprised Greenpeace didn’t arrive on the scene, cover me with wet towels and try to roll me back into the ocean.’