"Special Guy was your JFK," the Baron observed. "The Awful Ex was your Ari--you got the order wrong. And now it's time for your Maurice Templesman."
The Baron explained. He'd recently seen a biography of Jacqueline Lee Bouvier Kennedy Onassis on public television. One commentator explained, "First she married for love, then she married for money, and then she found companionship." Handsome John Fitzgerald Kennedy, though a rogue, was the love of her life. After his assasination, there was Aristotle Onassis, a marriage that assured she would want for nothing. And finally, from the mid-1970s until her death, she had Belgian financier Maurice Templesman.
Special Guy, though a rogue, was certainly the Love Of My Life So Far. And truly, what propelled me into the obvious mismatch with the Awful Ex was not his wealth--although he brough home about $20,000 a year more than me and had all this family money--but the fact that he was ten years my senior and when we met seemed to have figured out so much of the Rules of Life that had eluded me. Me with my unmade bed and sink full of a weeks worth of dirty dishes. That was then, definitely not now. See, I learned from him.
And I suppose what I've been looking for was another Jack Kennedy. When perhaps, what I should be looking for is a nice Maurice.
Although I guess that presupposes that my Maurice is also looking for a Maurice. That he's already cycled through his Jack and his Ari.
To be sure, I'm definitely open to another Jack. And I sure wouldn't mind an Ari. Especially if he had a hot tub and liked to travel. But the Baron's comment rings true. What would really do me the most good is a Maurice.