MY 758 MILLION DOLLAR SELF

MY 758 MILLION DOLLAR SELF

I did not win the $758.7 million Powerball jackpot recently.  Mavis Wanczyk had the honor.  Of all of us who played the lottery for weeks, waiting and hoping to win the enormous jackpot of money, Mavis was the lucky one who actually did. 

Every time I invested in the Powerball, week after week as it grew larger and larger, I had to imagine and ultimately plan on what I would do with such overwhelming wealth.  Naturally, my first thoughts were about helping my family members and ensuring their safety and welfare.  Strangely, at first, I was not concerned with my own stability. 

I don’t know why.

Surprisingly, once I allowed myself to consider such a probability, my thoughts for self were simply focused on the fun aspects of how to spend the money once my safety, health, financial security and well-being were in order [would have to hire a lawyer, a financial accountant, financial consultant, and a bodyguard immediately].  I guess for once, I wanted to dream about not having to do anything on a schedule or when it was appropriate.  I wanted to know what fantasy life would be and how it would look.  So, deciding to forego my normal three blogs per month devoted to my favorite “Grand” Person, Place and Thing, I’m writing three blogs in one and revealing my fantasy life of living my “758 Million Dollar Self.”  Naturally, throughout this entry I will reveal a few fantasy places and most lavish of things.

Strap yourself in…my multi-millionaire dreams await.

HOUSING

A woman has to have a place to lay her head.  For me, I will spend most nights in one of two areas in North America.  From November 1 to April 30, I will spend these winter months on the western side of the United States at my penthouse in Las Vegas, Nevada. 

    

                                           

I love Las Vegas!  The city has action and life 24 hours a day.  If I want to gamble, see a show, see an exhibit, crash a convention, shop in designer stores, wear ridiculously expensive clothing or sport rare jewels, Las Vegas is the place to do it.  If I want to eat the finest of foods, at any hour of the day, I can find whatever I want in Las Vegas.  If I’m bored and want to experience the excitement of joyous crowds, Las Vegas is the place for non-stop music, dancing, celebrating and people-watching.  My home base during Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day and my birthday will be in the one and only, Sin City, USA. 

Having an address which implies the life of luxury, my private domain will be a custom-built and designed penthouse at a casino location.  I am not one who likes to clean or cook, so 

the advantage of having top-level security and household staffing at my pleasure and request, is probably one of the main reasons for choosing to live such a resort hotel-based life. 

Most of my other needs are met by just venturing out into the city.  Yeah, baby.  Give me Vegas any day.

As winter makes living in the eastern part of North America a rather harsh challenge, I will have run of the eastern terrain from May 1-October 31^st.  I have to see the leaves changing and feel the breeze from the Atlantic Ocean during the summers and early Fall.  So, my ideal location for these six months is Montreal, Quebec, Canada. 

I love everything French and North American.  If you combine the two, you get Montreal!

Some deep recess in me has always felt close to water.  Perhaps, it’s the Pisces in me.  Perhaps, it’s the respect I have of water since childhood.  For some reason, I have envisioned a house either located overlooking water or built in a city where water runs through it for most of my life.  With a golden pot of roughly 200 million dollars to play with after the serious stuff is handled, I’m pretty sure I’d have enough to buy my dream villa overlooking the Saint Lawrence River in Montreal.

This is the city where my heart would relax, where I would cross my legs in front of a warm fireplace and simply listen to the sounds of the night.  Or on a starry night, I would stand on my elongated balcony and peer at the people along the water.   

Having no job to rush to.  No house to clean or grocery to buy.  For at this location is where my devoted staff would be in charge of the daily operations of my charity and businesses.  In Montreal is you would find my core concentrations.  

STAFF

As the only person in history to hit such a high jackpot--as a single winner--I would become an over-night celebrity.  Whether I would like it or not, people would be curious about me so I would have to create order from the inevitable chaos. 

Enter a staff. 

Being a quick learner and having so many other celebrities as role models in this situation, I would first have to hire a Personal Assistant, Manager, and an Agent to keep my life on track.  Next, as I would not be able to always drive and work simultaneously, I would have to hire a part-time Driver.  Then, of course, since I don’t plan on cleaning and cooking, I would hire a part-time Maid and part-time Chef.  Since my household staff would be complete, the next staffing need would be to run my charity and businesses.

My charity work would be limited to a private foundation with the goal of funding the educational desires of specific descendants from the Griffith and Brantley families.

My businesses would include companies focused on manufacturing and retailing products (household, food, beverage and apparel) under my self-entitled brands.

TRANSPORTATION

On those cool nights in Las Vegas or Montreal, when I feel like driving and seeing the sights, I want to cruise in one of my three cars.  Parked in Las Vegas for my convenience is a taupe-colored Mulsanne Bentley.  Protected in Montreal and at the ready for business along with my driver is the gold C-5 Aircross by Citroen.  Both cars will be upgraded every other year to the current model.

  

                                                

My one classic automobile, reserved for important engagements and those long drives, is the two-toned black and silver 1959 Rolls Royce Phantom (V).  It will be parked at the Montreal house.

                                           

CLOTHING

Most of you know my passion in life has been apparel.  I am fascinated with all things textile-based and apparel-oriented.  Having the funds to fulfill my wildest apparel dreams is like receiving a gold star from the heavens above. 

To avoid a heart-attack during my first shopping spree, I would limit my wardrobe style to a few basic designers and an annual featured designer.  The basic designers would include Chanel, Ralph Lauren Collection, Valentino and Cartier.  My featured 2017-2018 designer label is Dolce and Gabbana.

SOCIAL LIFE

As I am no longer a young lady, but a well-seasoned woman, I have no need for nightly parties at mass populated nightclubs.  My nightlife of choice is that of gambling.  It is my one vice for I do not smoke or drink much alcohol, maybe one drink per year.  I like the excitement of walking through casinos, socializing in casinos, betting on the horses, playing bingo and pressing buttons for slot machine jackpots.  I love the sounds and thrills!

Yet, even I will take focused time each year to attend a few conferences and balls.  Yes, I will attend conventions for the NAACP, Rainbow Coalition and National Action Network.  Yes, I will support the Balls for the American Heart and Stroke Associations.  And yes, I will lend my support to some political campaigns. 

At my core, I do have very serious convictions about life on this planet as a Black woman.

BUCKET LIST (Top 10)

Last and gratefully so, here are the ten things I pray to do before I leave this planet (in no particular order):

1.  Spend at least 24 hours in the 7 remaining U.S. states I have not been visited.

2.  Spend 3-5 days at the casino in Sun City, South Africa.

3.  Spend 3-5 days at the casino in Macau, China

4.  Go back to Monte Carlo for a week.

5.  Spend a week in Toronto, Canada.

6.  Spend a week in Victoria, Canada.

7.  Spend a week in Vancouver, Canada.

8.  Spend a week in Sweden.

9.  Spend a week in Switzerland.

10.  Get Lasix eye surgery.  Maybe.

Well, I have finished my plan.  You know how I would have spent the $758.7 million.  The pending question now is…how would you have spent the money?  What is your plan when it happens? 

Enjoy fantasizing!  I sure did.     

*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com, August 27, 2017, “My 700 Million Dollar Self”, Volume 9, Blogs 1a-c [vol. 9, 1a-1c].

DOING LUNCH

“DOING LUNCH”

Originally, I wrote this essay in 1994.  Here it is 2017 and the truth remains, there was no grander restaurant for true fashionistas than the Zodiac at Neiman Marcus.  Whether shopping in San Francisco or Philadelphia, Neiman Marcus made you feel right at home.  No, I didn’t have the money to buy my basic wardrobe there each season, but I did have the means to “Do Lunch” on Saturdays.

Here is the original essay with a few added updates:

There had been no reason for me to feel at home in Los Angeles until went window shopping in Beverly Hills.  Standing majestic amongst the lavish hotels on Wilshire Boulevard was my connection to a life left in Atlanta, GA.  Like a child on Christmas morning whose name was on the largest gift under the tree, I was overcome with joy.

Slowly, I pulled open the heavy door.  The marble floors glistened and the chandeliers above helped to cast the California sunshine throughout the magical store.  Pearls, crystals, silver, and gold sparkled under the glass top jewelry cases.  Leiber evening bags and Louis Vuitton trunks lead the way to Chanel high-tops and other shoes I could never afford.

Curiously, I searched every floor following the familiar scents of fresh herbs, exotic spices, smooth coffees and expensive colognes.  I was getting closer, the aroma was growing.  My head turned to the right and there it was, my Saturday obsession—The Zodiac!

This was no ordinary restaurant.  It was the restaurant.  Eating was secondary.  Being seen and seeing was everything.  It was the premiere place to partake in the ultimate fashion sport of “Doing Lunch.”  You had to look and smell the part.  It was the sport of ladies.

Attention was the preferred fashion signature.  Runway pieces were the coveted prize.  Wear a label or die.  If you insisted on breaking the rule, the stares would surely kill you.

Hairstyles varied.  The over 40s had to cut or tease.  The under 40s knew instinctively that one’s hair could never over-power one’s attire.  Lips ranged from red matte to red gloss or pale nude to nude brown.  Wearing any other color was a sure sign of a poor imitator.

Jewelry had to make a trend statement or a financial proclamation.  Nails were kept medium to short and colored to match one’s lips.  Your fragrance had to announce your arrival, but conceal your presence.

Never smell like a garden for you’d be mistaken for the gardener.

Direct eye contact was to be avoided.  Professionals knew to simply stand in line and wait to be seated.

Points were given for every person whom you out dressed; therefore observing the competition was mandatory.  Quick glances, once up, once down, were all that was allowed.  Longer stares were not tolerated.  It was considered rude and common.

Finally, I was at the front of the line.  “Good afternoon,” said the host.  “How many are in your party?” he asked.  “One.  Non-smoking, please.”  I replied.  As he showed me to my to my table, I could feel the points being scored.  Competition was keen today.  I came unprepared.  I was carrying an older designer purse and they knew it.  Luckily, it was a shoulder bag, so I draped it to the back of my chair. 

I was still in the game.

Ordering was a trick in itself.  Always notice what has been ordered around you first.  The rule clearly states: “If one or more diners shows interest in your meal, the maximum number of bonus points is automatically awarded.”  Knowing this valuable piece of information, I cleverly stated my order.  “I will have the shrimp and chicken Caesar salad-HEATED, with no anchovies!”
Heads turned!  The waitress smiled.  I was winning.  No one had anticipated the mix of order plus the word “heated.” 

I had tested this order a couple of months during the week.  It received widespread approval, but the weekday lunch crowd was comprised of regular laymen.  These were the Saturday professionals.  I had taken a risk…and won.

The heat from the salad sent the smell of rosemary chicken permeating throughout the dining room.  Several ladies who “lunch” nodded and smiled openly.  A couple of over 40s even asked what I had ordered.  They knew a good order when they smelled one.

And now for the check.  Even players who were behind in points had the opportunity to regain their status when it came time to pay the check.  Those who paid with cash may have well have been wearing polyester double knit.  For shame. 

Orange MasterCard, Blue VISA and American Express green card holders were greeted with polite kindness.  The real fashion high rollers only carried the tiny chocolate brown charge card that confirmed membership in the “Doing Lunch” club.  I am proud to say, I never left home on a Saturday without mine.

Many states and cities later, I find myself back in Atlanta, GA.

No more do you find the “Doing Lunch” crew.  Nowadays, new money has taken over.  For them, stripper pole outfits and dudes with pants riding low are the accepted norm.  No longer is fashion respected and followed.  It is butchered and torn, thugged-out and poorly worn. 

The few people who remember, and know what it meant to have class and style, are no longer brave enough to endure the violent stares and potential for criminal encounters.  I try to remind myself that I deserve to have one last go at the past.

So on one Friday each month, I avoid the “new-money posses” to enjoy a warm popover and the memory of the Zodiac, the once infamous restaurant in Neiman-Marcus.


*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com, July 24, 2017, “Doing Lunch”, Volume 8, Blog 1b [vol. 8, 1a-1c].

“HELLO,” MR. JORDAN

“HELLO,” MR. JORDAN

It would be an exaggeration to say I know Michael Jordan.  Yes, I have met the man.  Yes, I have worked around the man.  Yes, I have taken a picture with the man.  And yes, I have spoken to the man, even had short conversations with the man.  Yet, I cannot say that I know Michael Jordan.

Assuredly, I will say that he is a man whom I respect and admire.

I think it was the summer of 1988, before starting my graduate study at the University of Georgia.  I had been hired as one of the two wardrobe stylists on the Kenny Rogers’ Classic Weekend television show.  It was a televised show highlighting talented athletes from several sports, particularly NBA basketball superstars of the time.   

NBA superstars like Michael Jordan, Isiah Thomas, Larry Bird and Dominque Wilkins were some of the ‘A-Listers the 2 years I worked the show.  I was also given the pleasure of dressing other celebrities such as Gladys Knight, Travis Tritt and the smoothest of them all, Smokey Robinson. Try not to be too jealous ladies, but my right hand was kissed by Mr. Robinson--as he is the greatest gentleman.

Yet, of all the celebrities and players, no other star was as magical in person as Michael Jordan. 

My first profound conversation with him was during the first summer of the show.  I was in the kitchen, seated with my head down reading instructions--learning how to use the washer machine and dryer-- when I sensed someone else in the kitchen with me.  Low and behold, it was the young, later to become legendary, Michael Jordan.  Beyond his extraordinary talent, he was the man of the hour because a kazillion women on the planet were in mourning from the unexpected news that he had just gotten married. 

As I was not confident enough to think that a Michael Jordan would ever enter my circle of life, I had no reason to be in mourning.  Such a possibility of dating and marrying a Michael Jordan was not on my radar of reality.  So when my head lifted and the very tall basketball icon of the time (and now history) stood before me, with no chaperone or bodyguard around, my natural instincts as a woman should have kicked in.  I should have naturally grabbed him by the ankle and not let go, screaming out like a banshee just to be in his presence, but no, not one hair on my arm stood erect.

Something about Michael Jordan made me feel that I was being given a gift from the gods…a private moment with Michael.  I could not blow this moment.  I just could not do it to myself nor to him.

Michael had been bombarded by the entire world.  I was about to give him a rare moment to breathe.

He politely did the church nod and I followed his lead.  I didn’t know if he would stay a minute or a nanosecond.  I just knew that he was there.  Standing a few feet away.  

I was mega-nervous.  Why was I so nervous? I thought.  It’s not like I’m breaking into his house.  I’m working.  And this isn’t his house.  We are both working right now.  We are in the kitchen on the EXTREMELY large estate of Kenny Rogers.  And I do mean LARGE!  I’m talking nothing you can ever imagine as a private residence LARGE.

Based on my old, fading memory, Kenny Rogers’ estate featured not only the main house and guests’ residence, but also a full-size equestrian arena, basketball court, full lake, golf course, and performance venue.  I’m telling you it was a massive property with Michael Jordan and Vanessa Brantley frozen in a slice of time, about to have a conversation in the kitchen.

Breathe.  Here goes.

“Hello, Mr. Jordan.”  I said with reverence.

“Please, call me Michael,” he responded.  I think his next statement was something basic like “Looks like you have your work cut out for you.  You have to wash the outfits and uniforms, too?” 

Basically, he was referring to the fact that I had to get the measurements and descriptions of all the outfits for the players and performers; conduct fittings and do the alterations; plus maintain the looks-- which is why I was doing the laundry.  Remember, it was only two stylists and one wardrobe supervisor.  In general, the supervisor worked with Kenny Rogers and we (the two stylists) handled everyone else.

“Yes,” I said.  “It’s the nature of the job.” “So how is it going, thus far?”  I nervously asked.

Not really sure whether I meant the show or his new marriage, I guess he assumed because everyone had been asking the same question.  He faintly smiled and gave me the scoop of all time. 

No, I will not repeat what he told me.  However, I will say that we shared a very short and honest conversation about the hottest topic of that year. I had an exclusive one-on-one with the grand Michael Jordan.  The conversation will forever remain private, for he is above all, just a man.  And I can say with pride and honor that I have shared a brief moment with Mr. Jordan during his incredibly legendary life.

Michael, you deserved it all!


*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com, July 9, 2017, “’Hello’, Mr. Jordan”, Volume 8, Blog 1a [vol. 8, 1a-1c].