The weeks of covert communication built up to arranging an encounter. I was still painfully aware that I was married, and I didn’t plan to break any of my vows. The plan was, I would meet him at a low-key pizza spot near his apartment, and we’d sneak out and go to his place. I was freaked out about taking the risk, but I had to see him; I had to know I was alive. I recall the care with which I chose my ensemble. I wanted something sexy of course, but certainly classy, youthful yet chic. I put together a warm chocolate moment: a soft and creamy chestnut-colored quilted Chanel leather miniskirt paired with a russet fine-knit bandeau top and layered with a matching cardigan. There were brown ribbed Wolford tights underneath, leading into a sleek round-toed mocha Prada boot. I loved those boots. I was serving textures in cocoa flavors. It was November, so I was giving an “autumn in New York” moment. To top it off, I wore a brown baseball cap over the volume of my curls, the brim pulled down low to hide my face.
I was scared (ooh, was I scared). The stakes were incredibly high. I’d never tried anything this dangerous before, and I had seen firsthand how Tommy could destroy people. He certainly tried to destroy me. As I remember it, the procedure for the covert operation was: My assistant and I would tell my driver (aka Tommy’s spy, on my payroll) we wanted to grab dinner at the pizza parlor. We’d walk in together, and when Derek came in, we’d give my driver the slip. Derek lived nearby, somewhere we could be private and just chill. My assistant would act as a decoy, and Derek and I would duck out together.
I was nervous on several levels. In addition to being terrified of Tommy’s wrath, I was also feeling naïve. Even though I’d been all over the world, I had nearly nonexistent experience in dating. The thought of the simple pleasure of just being close to Derek was liberating.
My assistant and I sat on stools at the counter, staring at the large storefront window, adrenaline pulsing through us both. In walked Derek—in a basic sweat suit and baseball cap, of course. My heart was pounding. We were finally in the same room together, but the most treacherous move was ahead: we had to escape the pizza parlor without the spy seeing us. I believe my assistant went out to the car pretending to retrieve something. When she went up to the driver’s window, Derek and I pulled down our hat brims and ducked out the door and around the corner into a small backstreet. Tucked under his arm, I was consumed with relief and excitement. We slipped through a couple more winding backstreets to his apartment building.
I was anxious beyond belief, and a shyness I desperately tried to hide washed over me as soon as the door to his place closed behind us. Had I ever been alone with a single man in his apartment—or anyplace—before? I wasn’t sure. This was all new. Would the spy discover me missing and foil our covert op? The butterflies in my stomach were in a complete frenzy.
I took off my cap, shook out my curls, took a breath, and tried to calm and orient myself by focusing on my surroundings. I don’t recall many details. It wasn’t a particularly impressive place, just practical and neat. I stood in the living room a bit awkwardly, very smitten and still scared. Derek said there was a roof deck on the building and asked if I wanted to go up there. I agreed.
He disappeared from the living room and returned with a frosty bottle of Moët. “I’ve been saving this, because I thought one day you might come over here.” I smiled and said, “Yeah, we’re gonna need that.” (And so it really was a bottle of “Moe-ay” that got me feeling liberated.) We went up to his roof, laughed, talked softly, took sips of cold champagne straight to the head, and reveled in our bodies embracing.
The fall moon was bright, and a warm, heavy mist covered the night. For this brief moment, I was in rapture, alone on top of the city with a man who seemed to have stepped out of my dreams. We whispered a few things, giggled some more, and then drifted into the romance of the moment. We leaned in, an inch at a time, and melted into a warm, slow, intoxicating kiss. I felt an invisible veil of sadness begin to slip off of me and melt into a puddle at our feet.
And in that instant, the sky gave way, and it began to pour. We held on to our kiss; our arms didn’t relax their embrace, and our bodies remained fixed. The rain came so suddenly, but we had already disappeared into the dreamy encounter we had anticipated, planned, and risked so much for. I was so caught up, not once did I think about my leather Chanel skirt or Prada boots in the elements. And thank goodness my hair was naturally curly, because had it been straightened, I might’ve broken and run to save the blowout!
What broke the trance was not the rain but fear again. How long had we been gone? Did Tommy already know? I had to go! I two-wayed my assistant that we were on the way back. Derek dashed me back through the wet streets and left me right before the pizza parlor, where my assistant was waiting with wild eyes. She ran out when she saw
