Page 3 of The Billionaire

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Alas, the nervous Saturday came. It was one week before finals and I rather had studied but since I was already accepted into Stanford, I didn’t sweat it too much. There I stood, with fifty other contestants. Most of them had had work done. I’m sure of it. I felt confident after all of my beauty treatments. Shelly even had someone put extensions in my hair and she did my make up. I never had this type of treatment. I barely recognized myself when I looked at myself that morning in my floor length antique mirror.

“Damn. This is what money can do.”

I was toned, cellulite free, and tan. I looked totally like an Orange County bunny.

Everyone appeared to be around my age, twenty something. As we stood there shoulder to shoulder, I was just ready for this competition to be over already. But then, much to my utter surprise, they said my name. My name.

Fuck! What?

“McKenzie Kane winner of Miss Orange County.” They repeated my name several times until I blinked back into reality and stepped forward to the presenter with dozens of long stem roses and a giant check. Fans were screaming, Shelly jumped up and down and her brother wouldn’t stop staring at my breasts.

“McKenzie Kane will be attending Stanford University Medical School in the fall. I guess you can have the looks and the brains.”

I wobbled in my heels and felt awkward as all the camera flashes went off. I just wanted to cash the check, get off the stage, get home and put on comfy sweats and study.

But, truthfully, I was elated. I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe this plan would actually work. Maybe I would get to go to Stanford after all.

After a celebratory meal of Mexican food, I ate the forbidden carbs and dairy that I was off of for three weeks and gladly downed my margaritas.

“Oh my gosh, those guys at the bar are so staring at you. He looks famous or something. See, that’s what I’m telling you girl. You should use your body and your looks and land a millionaire, heck billionaire. Then you’ll never have to work.” She said dreamily.

“Seriously? And be a bored housewife?”

“Honey, you won’t be bored. There’s plenty to do when you have all the money in the world. Parties, lunch-ins . . . have a few babies. It’s the life. Shopping...” She sighed. “Don’t you ever watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills?”

I laughed at her incredulously and shook my head no.

“So, is that your little plan, missy? Marry a rich man?”

“You betcha.”

I stirred my margarita. “Not me. I want to marry for love.”

“Well, that’s cute. That’s sweet. Really.” She cooed. “Just don’t work so hard. You’ll have to pay heaps for a great plastic surgeon later.” She winked.

Later at home, I turned music on and was about to study for my final but I needed to check my Facebook because the study group I was a part of had yet to designate a meeting place. But after I signed in, my heart was in my throat; I was tagged in twenty pictures of the competition! Damn it. I just knew I should have changed my personal preferences and made tagging impossible without my approval.

I clicked through each picture. One of them was of me turning around and you could see my toned ass in the barely there bottoms.

Crap!My mom’s gonna kill me!

I clicked picture after picture, panicking that people at home had already seen the pictures. As I feverously deleted each picture, I felt a small smile hang on my face. I did actually look good. I stared at the one last picture daydreaming. It felt nice to be admired for once. I had always felt like a fish out of water here in Plastic City, California and I couldn’t believe that I actually won. The admiration was short lived when I saw a message alert from my mom.

McKenzie,

Pastor Jenking’s wife was on Facebook today and saw that you won some competition. She called me and so I got on to see what she was talking about. You must call me as soon as you get this so we can talk about this! Your little sisters look up to you! How am I supposed to explain this? And more importantly, your father’s Fire Fighter buddies no doubt have seen these circulating. Your poor father. Call me asap.

Love,

Mom

PS—Did you receive the card I sent in the mail? It was a little something for you while you study hard for your finals. But judging by these pictures, it looks like none of this is happening.

I rolled my eyes and sighed.

What a buzz kill.

I trudged to my mailbox and flipped through my mail as I walked back to my apartment. A few magazines, bills, . . . ah, there was my mother’s fancy cursive handwriting.

Good luck sweetie. I know you love Starbucks! We are so very proud of you. Xoxox Mom and Dad.

It was thoughtful of them. I was thinking about calling her and explaining my situation and how things may be a little different for a while. They were about to see much more of me in a swimsuit on Youtube and if the church had a problem with it, well that was their problem. I was going to go to medical school!

I reached for my Iphone but there next to the phone, peeping out under a magazine was a shiny chic black envelope with my name written in beautiful white calligraphy:

McKenzie Kane

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