He began an awkward and creepy little rant about the beautiful car he had just given me, and our fabulous estate (which I designed and half financed), and how in spite of all of it, I wanted to leave him. I was sitting still, looking down at the table, when Tommy walked over and picked up the butter knife from the place setting in front of me. He pressed the flat side of it against my right cheek.
Every muscle in my face clenched. My entire body locked in place; my lungs stiffened. Tommy held the knife there. His boys watched and didn’t say a word. After what seemed like forever, he slowly dragged the thin, cool strip of metal down my burning face. I was searing with rage from the excruciating humiliation of his terrifying, cowardly performance in my kitchen, in front of my “colleagues.”
That was his last show with me as the captive audience at Sing Sing.
So many I considered closest to me
Turned on a dime and sold me out dutifully
Although that knife was chipping away at me
They turned their eyes away and went home to sleep
—“Petals”
I was locked way in the bathroom, which now felt like a mausoleum, sitting on the edge of the cold tub trying to muster up the courage to leave, completely. Then the words softly came fluttering into my head: “Don’t be afraid to fly. Spread your wings. Open up the door.” I hummed the melody, which would become “Fly Away (Butterfly Reprise).” And I descended the grand stairway for the last time. I truly believed I was going to die in that house I built in Bedford and haunt it forever. I could just see what they’d make of it: a morbid yet festive tourist attraction, “The Famous Ghost of Mariah Mansion,” like a tasteful Graceland, where you could hear me hitting high notes in the halls at night.
When I finally walked away from Sing Sing, with little more than my wardrobe and personal photos, the only thing I really wanted from the house was the beautiful hand-carved mantelpiece. A masterful Eastern European craftsman had carved it exquisitely to my very specific design directions. As I was leaving the house, I ran my fingers along its smooth and intricate curves for a final farewell. Only then did I notice there was a butterfly in the center of the heart that was in the center of the structure. I did not request it but its open wings were the sign I so desperately needed when I let that door close behind me.
Natural disasters eventually tore down all the walls that held so much of my misery. A few years after I left Sing Sing, it burned down to the ground. And Hillsjail was completely destroyed by a tornado. I was in my Manhattan penthouse when I received a call from a woman who was the former owner of my former house. She had removed the mantel but put it into storage, because she found it so personal and thought I might want it. I retrieved it and had it painted a fresh white lacquer, just as Marilyn did with her mother’s piano. That mantel is now in my most personal room in my house, along with my family photographs and other precious things of mine. And I didn’t let my spirit die.
JUST LIKE HONEY
The rendezvous with Derek was just the push I needed to cross over into the Promised Land. I had proof that I could have something beautiful on the other side of the hell that was my marriage. Tommy’s dark reign over me was now crumbling. Derek was outside of Tommy’s world; Tommy couldn’t destroy him, and I felt the possibility of my own destruction coming to an end.
“The Roof,” as a song and a video, painted a deeply passionate and very accurate picture of my experiences. It was major for me, not for any salacious reason but because any intimacy with another human being was not something I had experienced before, ever. It was an amazing feeling, and I was obsessed with replaying the encounter and fantasizing what it could lead to.
I romanticized so much about that night that I believed it was part of my destiny. I thought I had met my soul mate. I was driven. My whole being ached to see Derek—or, more accurately, to experience how I felt when I was near him.
In creating the video concept for “The Roof (Back in Time),” I wanted to capture the feeling of the night—the crazy anticipation and the strong sensual undertones. I wanted it to be a little raw and sexy. We played on the “back in time” theme with a stylish old-school eighties hip-hop vibe, which was not a common era to reprise in 1998. The wardrobe stylist had to scour thrift stores and costume shops to get Adidas tracksuits, Kangol hats, and Sergio Valente jeans; and Serge Normant the hairstylist worked overtime to achieve my Farrah Fawcett layered, feathered moment. We featured Mobb Deep, members of the rap group the Negro League, and legit break-dancers. I knew it was a very cool video, good for both the “urban” and “mainstream” markets.
But anytime I made a move forward for myself, there would always be backlash. The “show” that was my marriage might have been over, but the aftershow—the “meet and greet,” the dismantling of the stage—took a lot of delicate planning. There was quite a bit of upheaval. My life was thoroughly intertwined with Tommy’s; I needed time, and counsel on a clean (as possible) exit strategy. I moved into a hotel on the Upper East Side and continued therapy.
I was still absorbed in the memory of the roof and wasn’t willing to fall back into the mud of despair. A new part of me was alive, and I was intent on feeding it. I heard from one of the Armani people that Derek was going to be in
