I got a new lawyer, someone outside of Tommy’s circle of power. I had her draw up the papers. Tommy signed, and I boarded a jet to the Dominican Republic, where mutual-consent divorces for foreigners are processed with the quickness. I flew into Santo Domingo, saw a judge, got my freedom papers, hopped back on the jet, and went straight to Tampa, where Derek was at spring training! I finally felt like a butterfly.
Don’t be afraid to fly … spread your wings
Open up the door … so much more inside
On that flight, I wasn’t afraid. I was incredibly vulnerable and raw. I’d closed and opened a door. I knew I had so much life, and work, ahead—and at the time I thought that life would include being happily-ever-after with Derek J. My romantic life up until then had been so grim, why not believe in a fairy tale? I couldn’t wait to fall into his arms with divorce papers in hand. Finally!
Neither of us had wanted to cheapen our romance by cheating on my marriage. I know plenty of women would’ve had sex on that roof in the rain, or in the villa on the beach. It would’ve been justified—they were such seductive situations, and my miserable marriage was in ruins at best—but it wouldn’t have been right. I wanted to wait until it was right. I’d waited all my life to really desire a man. It was worth waiting for it to be how I wanted it to be.
I’d had so many threatening experiences with men, and I had no real concept of choosing and being chosen on my own terms. I’d never been hungry for sex—not on my wedding night, not ever. I saved all my passion for my music. This time, Tommy was right; I was inspired. It was so sensual—everything was so new and sweet, down to the smooth texture of his honey-dipped skin. It was how it was supposed to feel. The months of anticipation had built an intensity I could not have manufactured. It was so heady, so intoxicating, and I was so vulnerable. I was in touch with a fire I didn’t know I had inside.
Derek confessed to me then that he was “in on” our divine dinner meeting. He had apparently told several folks he wanted to meet me, including his contacts at Armani. He revealed that he and a friend had had posters up on the wall in their bedrooms: his friend’s was of Alyssa Milano, and his was, you guessed it, of me. Apparently, plenty of people were aware he was a fan, long before we ever met.
“I had this plan,” he told me. “I was going to come to New York. I was going to get on the Yankees. I was going to meet you, and I was going to steal you away from Tony Sony”—his name for Tommy—“and then we were going to get married.” My grin was a mile wide. “Okay. I like that plan.” Only, he didn’t steal me from Tommy—I liberated myself.
There was nothing salacious about my relationship with Derek. Even on the night of our consummation, when I slept over at his house in Tampa, his sister was there, so basically it was an eighth-grade event. I remember waking up the next day, enthusiastically thinking, I’m going to make breakfast for him! just like in the movies. I tiptoed down to the kitchen with passion-tousled hair, wearing his oversized Yankees jersey.
I looked in the refrigerator to find three lonely eggs and not much else. His sister found me searching, and we laughed at my foiled rom-com plans. She was kind, and I related to her instantly. I didn’t know many mixed-race young women. She was beautiful, with an open heart and an honest laugh.
His entire family moved me. All my life I had blamed the dysfunction in my family on race, but meeting the Jeters dispelled this myth. My family’s brokenness was deeper than Black and white. This family was close in composition to mine but so different in actuality—they were close and loving. They interacted with each other as if they really knew, and cared for, one other. They were solid people, with a clear moral code. They held each other up. And they were lovely to me, all of them. This was a powerful example: a Black father and a white mother existing as partners and parents. A sister and a brother who were proud of each other, not enemies. Here was proof that a family that looked like mine could be unbroken. Perhaps that notion, that there could be a mixed family that was perfectly matched, was the most lasting thing Derek gave me in our brief relationship. The image of the Jeter family gave me hope.
But Tampa was only a weekend wonderland, and I had to return to New York and Butterfly. I had to prepare for the tour, which would be my most extensive to date. A couple of my girlfriends who were excited to celebrate my emancipation from my marriage to Tommy came to meet me, and we all flew back to NYC on a jet. It was difficult to leave what seemed like a dream, but I was also anxious to get back to work. Derek gave me a little gold ankle bracelet and a giant stuffed puppy dog as going-away presents. Cute. I only had whatever short-skirt outfit I had worn to the Dominican Republic, so he gave me one of his sweat suits to wear on the plane.
We arrived at the private airport where the jet and my girls were waiting. Derek opened the car door for me, and I stepped out
