Back on the street with her nervous little dog and a dozen sequined dresses. They are all dressed the same, in expensive striped silk shirts tucked into designer jeans, all tanned and plump and glistening with money and self-satisfaction. Everyone is wrecked by now and bounces around sweating, so fast it’s almost in slow motion.
The show is going to be called How to Marry a Millionaire.
I had thought it would be tough to get Oliona to talk, that she would be shy about her life.
Apply this principle when you search for a rich man. A pool of serious blonde girls taking careful notes. The academy has faux-marble halls, long mirrors, and gold-color-painted details. You go for your gold-digger lessons, then you go get waxed and tanned.
On a first date there’s one key rule: never talk about yourself. The teacher is a forty-something redhead with a psychology degree, an MBA, and a shrill smile, her voice high and prim, a Miss Jean Brodie in short skirts: “Never wear jewelry on a first date, the man should think you’re poor. Arrive in a broken-down car: make him want to buy you a smarter one.”The students take notes in neat writing.
Quite the opposite: she can’t wait to tell the world; the way of the gold digger has become one of the country’s favorite myths.
Bookstores are stocked with self-help books telling girls how to bag a millionaire.
But I know he’s checking there’ve been no guys here. Opposite is a red-brick monastery leaning like an ocean liner in the snow. When the other went for more vodka he let me go.”“When I told him what happened he raged, promised to kill them. And though many westerners tell me they think Russians are obsessed with money, I think they’re wrong: the cash has come so fast, like glitter shaken in a snow globe, that it feels totally unreal, not something to hoard and save but to twirl and dance in like feathers in a pillow fight and cut like papier-mâché into different, quickly changing masks. the music goes faster and faster, and in the throbbing, snowing night the cattle become Forbeses and the Forbeses cattle, moving so fast now they can see the traces of themselves caught in the strobe across the dance floor.
Outside the restaurant black cars are quadruple parked up the narrow pavement and onto the boulevard; scowling, smoking bodyguards wait for their masters, who sit inside. The guys and girls look at themselves and think: “Did that really happen to me? With all the Maybachs and rapes and gangsters and mass graves and penthouses and sparkly dresses?
Petersburg, with names such as “Geisha School” or “How to Be a Real Woman.”“I want a man who can stand strong on [his] own two feet.