was bemoaning the fact that most women didn’t have that luxury, as well as the fact that even the wealthier ones who did also had to contend with meddling husbands and demanding children and a spate of oppressive sociocultural expectations that stifled their creativity beneath the endless, mindless minutiae of everyday existence. I don’t think she was urging women to marry rich so they don’t have to work. Quite the opposite, actually. Woolf believed that—”
“George!” I interrupt. “Never mind all that right now. I was just trying to make a point.”
“And that point would be…”
“Well, basically, that if you want to turn your dreams into reality, you need more than a goal, G. You need a plan. And in order to execute that plan, you need a time line. And this…” I gesture expansively to include the entire bar, from the shiny black piano at one end to the velvet-draped windows at the other, “…this is the first step in the process.”
“Huh? What process?”
“It makes perfect sense.”
Still, a blank stare.
I sigh. “We’re here to find rich men.”
George practically chokes on the honey-roasted peanuts she’s been inhaling. “Oh… My… God… Did you really just say that? How completely disgusting. What a disgusting concept.” She shakes her head and stares at me in disbelief. “What happened? What’s going on with you? How did you get sucked into this whole Must-Find-A-Man syndrome all of a sudden? And a rich one? Even worse…”
“Don’t you see, George? It has nothing to do with that, it’s about the big picture, although I have been feeling a little down and out these days, as you know. First with the whole Jean-Jean thing…” I shake it off. Better not to think about that anymore. Those days are behind me. “Look. It’s not just about ‘finding a man.’ That’s just a secondary perk.”
“I suppose the money’s the primary reason, then?”
“No, no. Of course not. The writing is the reason. The motivation. The call to arms! G, you know I’ve been crazy lately, with work, with my love life, with Zoe. But something’s finally changed. It’s like I’ve been trying to read the writing on the wall for years and just now it’s coming into focus for the first time.”
George raises a skeptical eyebrow. “So what does it say?”
“It says, ‘You’ve got to do something, Holly Hastings, before it’s too late!’”
“I see. And tell me, how exactly do you plan to justify this scheme of yours?”
“Because ultimately, The Plan is to realize my own potential and make positive life changes—to write my book. The Plan is not just to hook up or get rich. Those are just parts of the process. Fringe benefits, if you will.”
“I don’t know, Holly. Those are pretty small distinctions.”
“Not to me! Nothing’s changed, except that I’ve finally figured out a way to do what I’ve always wanted to do. Besides, I’ve pretty much lost my faith when it comes to finding Mr. Right. And what sense does it make to wait around forever for someone I don’t really believe exists anymore? So I figure I might as well start looking for Mr. Financial Stability instead.” As I explained it to her, the whole thing was beginning to make even more sense than it had at the outset.
“Mr. Financial Stability? Sounds romantic…”
“For the first time, I feel empowered, George, actually empowered. Like something great is about to happen. I am no longer going to accept being a leaf blown about by the breeze. I will be the mistress of my own destiny! I will do what I want with my life, and what I want is to be a writer. A real writer. Not an obituarist at a small paper or a drill-press operator who writes on the weekends…a real writer. Full-time. And the only way I can think to make it all happen is to find a sweet but wealthy guy who believes in me just a little bit. Is that so wrong?”
“I don’t know. Is it?” She seems genuinely confused.
“And I’ll tell you something else…” I pause just long enough to prepare her for the enormity of what I am about to say.
“What?”
“I can now see that my existence makes very little difference to the vast majority of people on this planet. Whether I like it or not, I don’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. And quite frankly, I want to change that.”
“Well, Holly, we can’t all be Ghandi or Oprah,” she intones seriously.
“Can’t we, though? I’ve been thinking…”
“Haven’t you done enough of that lately? Maybe you should just take it down a notch for a while and—”
“Bear with me please. A big part of what I’ve realized is that I want to help people. I want to make a difference in real people’s lives. I want to be a philanthropist. A writer-philanthropist. And since I don’t have any money, and I can’t make any money writing until I actually write something, and I can’t write something until I don’t have to worry about making money, marrying rich—no, wait. That sounds so ugly, doesn’t it? Let’s call it ‘actualizing financial freedom.’ Yeah, so actualizing financial freedom is the perfect solution. It’s like killing two birds with one stone, see? Because once I’m a successful author, I will not only be deliriously happy and personally fulfilled, but I will able to use my various sources of wealth to do some good on a much larger scale!”
George, by now completely stunned, shakes her head in amazement. “You’re being manic, Holly. Are you okay? Do you want me to call Dr. Martindale?”
“I just want to make a difference, G. That’s all. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
“God help me for even getting into this with you, because you’re obviously beyond out of control with this, but I don’t think being a philanthropist qualifies as a real aspiration. With all due respect to Grace Kelly, it’s like saying you want to be a princess when you grow up. It’s ridiculous.”
“Well of course it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that, but it isn’t. It’s complicated, and it may be hard to justify in some ways, but it makes perfect sense to me. I’m sure of it. This is what I want.”
“Do you really think you need a man to get what you want out of life?”
“A valid question, George. But look at it this way instead. I want a man so I can get what I need out of life.”
“That’s very cute.”
I pull out my notebook and write it down so I won’t forget.
George looks at me wearily. “What’s this about, now?”
I scooch over so that we’re right next to each other. “So this is where it gets really good,” I whisper.
She begins rubbing her temples with her thumbs. “I don’t know if I can take any more of this.”
“I can admit that on the surface it might seem like I’m just some run-of-the-mill gold digger. But as you now know, nothing could be further from the truth. Because even though my motivations
