Anonymous Edits
The Cipriani, Leo & Crazy Rich People
The private equity firm I worked for in New York had a shit ton of money. Like, they wiped their asses with money. That's how much money they had. The very first big event I ever went to with the company was a fundraiser at the Wall Street Cipriani. They paid Jerry Seinfeld 100k to be there that night for a fifteen minute set, or something crazy like that. Like I said...a FUCK TON of money.
I happened to have a dress for the occasion my friend in London had just given me. It was long, off the shoulder, a rich cranberry lace with a small train. I was so excited to wear it as this was truly my "first rodeo" as the guys in the office liked to say to anyone exhibiting amateur behavior (p.s I worked with HUGE douche bags). Anyway, I showed up and within minutes was aware of how out of my league I was. I saw Paris and Nicky Hilton in the bathroom, and at one point in the night the red carpet was filled with all of the top models, from the likes of Irina Shayk to the legend who is Crystal Renn; (I met her later in the evening and she is amazing). Apparently, Leonardo Dicaprio was also going to show up at some point in the night and my co-worker Megan was shitting her pants she was so excited by that idea.
We all eventually sat down to dinner at our assigned table, number 22, and I sat across from the ginger guy in my office who made me all hot and bothered every time I looked at him. Megan would always say, "He makes me sick! He's such a dog!" behind his back and then she'd be sweet as pie to his face. Apparently he was cheating on his wife all the time, and even during work hours, in classic ‘New York’ style. Regardless, I loved our minor flirtations although nothing ever came of it. Everyone knew that he only liked black women, something out of the cards for me.
Anyway, everyone was on their best behavior that night. I was sitting next to Andrew, the only guy in the office who wasn't affected by "douche bag syndrome". Andrew was a genuine guy and he had the nicest family. His grandpa was even at the event and reminded me of old Hollywood movie stars like Clark Gable. He would follow in tow behind Andrew with those good looks and charm.
After the set from Jerry Seinfeld had finished, Chris Botti got on stage and played the trumpet throughout dinner, while we all settled into a more casual time of visiting. Megan and I were been joking throughout the night about saying hello to Leo, who had finally arrived. Leo had been on his vape pipe the whole night at his center table, rocking a chill hat. Andrew agreed to go over and say hi to him with me. As I walked first over to his table, I turned around and noticed that Andrew was nowhere to be seen and I was standing right behind Leo by myself. I'm not a shy person so I went ahead and said hello to Leo and showed him a picture on my phone of someone wearing a crazy fur coat and dreadlocks which I'd titled "Revenant Fashion". He had just won the Oscar for that role so he laughed politely then turned back around. Relatively un-memorable but still it was a nice little interaction.
As I made my way back to my co-workers at the table, I saw someone bee-lining it my way. All of a sudden my boss's crazy wife Inga was in my face screaming at me with that awful Russian accent of hers, berating me, asking how I could have been so stupid and what did I say to him!?!?! She continued for a minute, not even listening to the answers to her questions then stormed off to I’m sure go gossip about it. Honestly I'm lucky I didn't lose my job right then and there because she's that type of high strung woman whose focus is solely on image. She had gone through six personal assistants in just my one year working for that company. What Inga wanted, Inga got. I was so caught off guard by that interaction that I felt tears start to well up in my eyes. I looked back to the table and my co-worker Janet gave me the "pull it together" look and I left to go get a gin and tonic to hopefully calm my nerves.
I felt so small in that moment. I had been so excited to be at, probably, the most expensive, high profile event of my life, and had somehow managed to piss someone off in the first 2 hours of being there! Since everyone at the table knew Inga was crazy, my co-workers told me to shrug it off, so I did. However, after that night I always looked her in the eye whenever we crossed paths and she later tried to accuse me of sleeping with one of my co-workers (who is gay) to stir up drama against me. As it was days before my two weeks were up at that job (quitting by my choice, not hers), I basically told her to fuck off. Ultimately after the Cipriani experience, I realized two things: 1) private equity was not for me 2) neither was Leo.
When Its Over
It’s the beginning of 2016, a typically cold day during late winter in New York. On this particular day, as I cross the street during my mid-week lunch hour, I look up Madison Avenue to observe it’s usual midday bustle of business people, nannies, dogs and cabs. It’s a cloudy day, but still the Empire State Building stands tall – the picture of New York. The Empire State Building is the sort of monument that meets the expectations of the dreamers who look up to it as they arrive in this city and it’s one that still reminds me every time I catch a glimpse of it that I live here, in New York City.
This view up Madison Avenue, in the high 20s and a little too far east to get many tourists, is still the first image that comes to mind whenever someone says ‘New York’. A never ending avenue; a street full of yellow cabs weaving between one another, honking horns and cross walks flooded with people pushing forward to their next destination. A crowd of people not slowing down, never slowing down. And so, here it is, my New York; my memory, my dream.
As I stand here, taking pause in the shadow of the Empire State Building I feel as if I’m looking on a memory, rather than living in the present. Witnessing a time gone by; a story about “that one time I...”. Because, standing here, on this cold winter morning, I know I have already decided to leave New York. In one year, this city, this wonderfully messy, difficult, incomparable place will be behind me. It’s a strange thought, when you’re in the middle of it.
The city itself feels like the "blue of the mountains" described by Rebecca Solnit. As you look ahead you see the blue beauty of the distance. The blue makes everything more enticing, it draws you to it, makes you want to be held in its splendor. But as you get closer to the blue of those mountains, you realize that the blue has moved further and further away; a place forever in the distance, a goal which can never be achieved. And that is exactly how I feel now, standing on Madison Avenue, about New York. For a short time, I thought I would always live in New York. Not because I wanted to necessarily, not because New York was my forever, but simply because I had no other plans and New York was the best place I could think to be.
As I have grown into New York these past several years, I’ve realized that it is not that my dream feels unreachable here, but that the dream was never in New York in the first place. New York is the place I felt I was supposed to dream about, so I let it become my dream. But now I know my dreams will lead me and land me elsewhere. New York has been a fun distraction, the part of the journey in which I decided to take the long way around.
The breadth and depth of my New York memories feel like lifetimes of their. From that first view of the skyline riding in from JFK while sitting in the back of a yellow cab on the BQE, to the lovers I’ve had, the heartbreak I’ve cried through, the sidewalk rats, blistering winters and magical summer nights, New York has given me more than I can imagine and taken just as much. It is a piece of my story I will never regret and never wish to give back.
So, standing on this corner, I take in this vista – one of the last times I will look down Madison Avenue as a resident of this City. In this moment New York feels like an eternity, one I used to want to be part of. So, New York, thank you for the storm, but in the words of Joan Didion, “Goodbye to all that.”
Ready to Leave, Not Ready to Go
The walk to my apartment is a long one. And today, it’s snowing, so as I walk I’m getting pelted with ice bullets in the face for a solid ten minutes; trudging through inclement weather while trying not to body-check anyone because I am blinded by these ice bits flying everywhere. (Also, how do they always find their way directly to your eyes?)
Home. Finally. The studio is cute, but gosh it’s so small. It’s like one section of a regular-sized apartment.
In my apartment I don’t have proper blinds. I have these blinds that are essentially fancied up tissue paper glued to the top of the window sill. My fear is that one day, after a decidedly long bath, the clouds of steam will make the glue give way. At which point my faux blinds turn into theatre curtains, unveiling the stage and providing a free show for all my elderly neighbors. Or, at least for their house-trained dogs.
In my studio, there is also another strange and rare sighting: the pot (my only pot), the one that gets used to for all of the cooking. Once used, I wash it in a sink made for a dollhouse, making it impossible to contain the water. Doing dishes it’s as if the scene from Disney’s Fantasia, when the soldiers of brooms mop with engorged buckets, has taken place in my home.
Water. Everywhere.
And, did I mention that the apartment is dark? It's the, "I’m not sure if it’s 10 a.m. or 6 p.m" kind of dark. The sort of dark that no self-respecting plant is going to survive in.
But, I do like the colors of the studio. So much white. It feels minimalistic.
And I do really want to own fewer things, so the small space helps. So far, I have a bed, coffee table, rug, two lamps and the raddest, baddest, smartest…air filter. People may make fun of me, but it’s like a rocket ship. When it turns on, it sounds like it’s about to launch and blow apart everything in its path.
On my block, there are two bodegas, two laundry places, one pharmacy and a sushi restaurant. There used to be nail salon but they closed the week I moved in. But I figure, if a superstorm (or an AI-led rebellion) hits the city, I’ll survive at least for two weeks given my plumb location and all the available amenities. (Right?)
Also, the Hudson is only one block away. Which feels like such a fun thing to say - especially when you live in the most densely populated urban area in the U.S. However I have yet to visit this river for two very important reasons, (a) it is December-cold and (b) I am daily dragging my body home on a ten minute ice-walk.
And while this studio is new to me, I kind of think this might be it. That this will be my last apartment in New York.
Honestly my time feels as if it is up. I have a two year lease and will probably leave when it’s finished. After thirteen years, it’s time.
It is time, right?
The truth is I’m just so exhausted. I love this city. I can’t go, but at the same time I also can’t be here.
Christmas is almost here, so as I sit in the back of a cab headed to JFK for holiday travel I see an obnoxious Maybelline ad featuring a New York City brownstone. And yet, I feel sad that this trip might soon be behind me.
I'm headed towards a flight that will take me to San Francisco. This time, just for the holidays and then I’m coming back. But one day, I won’t.
The Keys
I remember the first time I saw her in Washington DC - the girl who would become my best friend - I didn't like her. There's something to be said for first impressions.
She had this air about her that was bratty and gross. Her eyebrows were arched with judgement and as she scanned the party for anything to elevate herself against. The way most people in the District would do, trying to find a way to talk about themselves in the political arena, to measure and size up their worth and value.
We were both makeup artists which is why we both ended up moving to New York City not long after that initial meeting. We took part in the same master makeup program, beginning our New York lives together. At the time she was single, I was married. 'P' was sweet and we went through the first year in New York side by side at parties, making dinner together, doing test shoots, creative shoots, collaborating on opportunities and so forth.
Eventually my career took off, I was winning competitions, flying off to London to compete and eventually got hired in the makeup department on a major motion picture. It all happened so fast that summer I can hardly remember not going to London being an option. Because, this is why you move to New York right??!!! To get the biggest fucking break of your life, so you better be ready for it. And I was.
So, off I went for 2 months assisting the top film makeup artists in the industry, rubbing shoulders with movie stars I had no business being around otherwise. The days were long and involved a lot of waiting around. The time difference between NYC and London created difficulty in keeping in touch with people back in New York, but 'P' and I talked almost every week and emailed. There's nothing like a friend that feels like a sister.
She only had a brother, whereas I grew up with two sisters, so she looked up to me somewhat and we had a sweet innocence to our friendship. We were also raised very Christian and sheltered. So much so that when it came to talk about sexual or dark places, such topics were judged harshly or ignored altogether. Looking back, I'm ashamed to think about what a judgmental asshole I must have been during that time. I thought I was better than others (although I didn’t see it as that at the time). And I think we fed that in one another, with our similar backgrounds. In some ways, her and I also competed against one another. But, secretly. The sort of thing you have to watch out for in close friendships. I had more of a natural artistic ability than she, who was the perfectionist, and I think this bothered her. Anyway, all of this would later contribute to our ultimate fall out.
She was hurt I hadn't kept in touch better while I was in London. And the truth is, I didn't know what to talk with her about. I'd entered a phase of life she'd only conceptualized. Her ideal of me and our friendship was so fragile. Once I got back to New York, we went out for wine and cheese in Chelsea. After two glasses of Shiraz, I told her my secret, something had happened in London that I had been keeping inside myself and it was crushing me. I hadn't meant to tell her, at least not in that way, but I did. And the secret? That this girl – me - who was a virgin on her wedding night and had worked so hard to hold up her Christian ideals, had had an affair in London. I think the guilt in me pushed it out unintentionally, longing for a safe place to dialogue. But instead? This secret, shared with a best friend, was met with shock and shame.
I'd always behaved so well. Performed so well. Did what I was supposed to do. Was such a good, perfect, ideal wife. How could this happen?
"How could you do this?" my single, inexperienced friend pleaded. I realized I had shared too much. My secret wasn't safe with her; I was no longer safe with her. And it wasn't going to be okay, our friendship would soon become collateral damage.
However, over the next year she was by my side, lending a home and accountability and acting as a support even though, in some ways, having never been married she had no business being in the middle of everything and expressing her opinions. The judgement from her remained strong and the friendship tense. Those days felt long... I watched my marriage die from a distance, weeks and months filled with unending stress and sadness. And yet, the day after my husband asked for a divorce I went engagement ring shopping with “P”. She told me I needed to be a good friend to her and go because of everything she'd done for me. I didn't want to let her down, so I went.
To this day that moment is a reminder of the measuring and the trauma. Eventually, she stopped being my friend. No explanation. Just silence - for 5 months. I'm not going to lie, I was a mess and full of drama the whole year while my marriage was falling apart. I lost numerous friendships. The ones I still have I cherish because of their patience and grace towards me.
The breaking point between her and I came when she did something that hurt more than the divorce. She invited my ex to her engagement party, and not me. I think, out of spite. Or, the fact that she didn’t want an adulterer at her engagement party. I found out from a mutual friend afterwards and saw the pictures that were posted everywhere online. It cut me deep, this betrayal. Her competitive, vindictive spirit to hurt me when I was down, simply because she could. I knew we could never be friends again.
It would be another 2 months until I would see her after, at a mutual friend's film screening. We knew each other was going to be there, but we didn't acknowledge each other. There she was with the same look and raised eyebrows as the day I'd met her. She eventually made excuses and left to go somewhere else - perhaps to avoid having to see my involvement with the event and feel insignificant, but in her rush to leave she had left her car keys on the bar. She always used to be that one random friend who actually had a car in the city. A car I'd borrowed numerous times when moving my belongings out of the house because of the divorce.
Seeing them on the bar, I grabbed them. And a week later, I threw them in the East River, one by one. After that, every time I thought about what she'd done, I'd remember the keys...and always feel so much better.
Is All Truly Fair in Love And War?
I search for you on crowded subway trains. I search out of this desperate longing to see you again... It’s been almost 2 years since I last heard your voice. It's been almost 2 years since I last followed the spiral of your beard up your cheek with my finger and then kissed it. I always loved you with a beard. And you grew it for me even though you knew she would find it odd. For ten years you followed a winter-beard, summer-clean-face cycle... but once we crossed that line and I told you how much I preferred men with facial hair, you kept it for me. Even in the summer.
You were so limited in what you could give me but you tried your best. I couldn't have you on the evenings or weekends but you did what you could for me. Trips you didn't really need to take. Calls that weren't warranted. You found ways to give me just enough to keep me holding on. You broke me down and split me open, I will never be the same again.
I search for you in small places (a room at the MoMA), or in tight spaces (a cozy English pub on the UWS), but I search for her too, on the streets of Manhattan. Her flaming red hair would give her away in an instant, allowing me enough time to escape. I search for her out of desperate fear and a need to survive, to try and outrun my mistakes (which I made over and over again for more than a year while we were seeing each other). You told me once she loves New York City... that she would take trips up here with her girlfriends for the weekend. And then, I went and fucking moved here. Now instead of being a long plane ride away from you and her and your broken marriage I am only a train ride... or a long motorcycle ride... you could be on my doorstep, with nothing but the clothes on your back like you always told me you would be... if I'd have just said the words... if I'd have just asked you to leave her. You'd have done it. But I didn't. I couldn't.
She found out anyway, after I'd ended it for the fourth time. What I thought would have really been the final time. She exploded my life, our lives, like you knew she would. I thought you were kidding about the mid-western vengeance streak she had, but you knew... you knew she would destroy my life if she could. And she almost succeeded.
It took me months to figure out what to do next after my life as I knew it was taken from me. The harassment from complete strangers on the streets were unending. Finally the harassment slowed, then stopped... but I still had to get away. And so there was New York, this shiny beacon of hope. This place where I could start fresh, where no one knew my story, where no one had heard the rumors or read the terrible websites. A place where I could be just a face in the crowd as I rebuilt my life. So I did it. I drove across the country and found my way. Found a job that didn't dig too deep, found new friends, have even found the occasional new lover... yet I still search for you. And for her. Because I can move to a new city but I am still haunted by my past. My past hasn't frozen with my first proper winter and it’s not washing away with the spring. I hope that by the time summer comes my sins will burn from my flesh in the sun and I will be free. Maybe by then I will have finally paid the price and will be loved again.