Willow was something that Fran had never been. Fran was reliable, brilliant, and substantial. Willow was a work of art sheathed in sparkling jewels wrapped in a stunning gown. What harm was there in following his instincts? William craved intimacy. Admittedly, he knew nothing about her, but when would he meet a more beautiful woman? Finally, he went off in search of her.
Willow was given her first name at birth, but her last name, Bukowski, cried out for reinvention.
From the early days of her modeling career, which began in earnest just weeks after she completed four years at the private high school, Marin Academy, she was known only as Willow.
The work was nonstop, and the grueling schedule of modeling commitments was endless. Willow’s visibility in the profession kept rising. Soon she caught the eye of French fashion designer Henri LeBon. It was then, at the age of twenty, that Willow’s universe opened dramatically.
“She is my muse,” LeBon declared imperiously whenever another model was suggested.
Soon Willow’s slender, perfectly proportioned frame graced the pages of Vogue, InStyle, Paris Match, and Glamour. When she and her small circle found Willow looking fabulous on the back cover of Vanity Fair clothed in a soft, creamy fabric that clung perfectly to her, everyone knew she had arrived.
LeBon was so pleased with the sensation he had created that he busied himself in a new marketing venture, creating a signature scent for his muse. The ridiculously expensive perfume became an overnight sensation.
“Willow Wisp Will Haunt Your Every Dream,” was the headline that adorned print ads, billboards, and window displays from Rodeo Drive to Piccadilly Circus, from Broadway to the Champs-Elysees, and back home to San Francisco’s Union Square.
Willow now belonged to the ages. The child Bukowski was subsumed by the carefully crafted marketing image of Willow Wisp.
Willow Bukowski, the Marin County girl who was often accused of seducing the boyfriend of every girl she disliked at Marin Academy, and taking other valuables that did not belong to her as well, was now an internationally recognized celebrity. Her name was often attached to a list of famous men in gossip magazines read around the globe. Leonardo DiCaprio was seen kissing her cheek at Cannes, Orlando Bloom casually had his arms wrapped around her waist as they played and shopped in London’s Chelsea district. And through the watchful eye of a telephoto lens, she was seen tanned and gorgeous, in a two-piece swimsuit, lying serenely with her head resting on the lap of James Franco aboard a yacht off the island of Catalina.
Willow had her star athlete phase when she was frequently caught by ESPN’s cameras blowing a kiss to her latest man of the hour, who had just helped his team, the Portland Trailblazers, secure a place in the NBA playoffs. But she quickly grew bored with basketball and traded her NBA power forward for a top-rated NFL quarterback.
After a series of passing flings with several of Hollywood’s most sought-after leading men, and professional sports’ highest-paid athletes, Willow was suddenly smitten with love for classical music. She settled upon the brilliant young conductor of the Vienna Philharmonic. Unfortunately for Willow, the Viennese maestro was more interested in Viktor Kozlov, the gifted Russian violinist who, to the conductor’s disappointment, was far more interested in the intoxicating Ms. Wisp.
So began Willow’s most passionate affair. She explained to her friends with an innocent smile, “He plays the violin, and I am undone.”
Renowned for his sensitive yet forceful finger work, both on stage and off, the tempestuous soloist, known to classical music lovers as the “Magician of Moscow,” began spending more of his time in San Francisco. There, he explained to a local music critic in his typically fractured English, “This most beautiful place. I enjoy much often staying here.”
Kozlov’s favorite view was from Willow’s bedroom in a luxury high-rise condominium perched atop San Francisco’s Nob Hill. While Kozlov looked out of windows offering incomparable vistas, Willow lovingly massaged his tired shoulders, arms, hands, and fingers that, in just the past month, had endeavored to please audiences from Sao Paulo to San Moritz.
James had come to know Willow while working as her attorney. As a thriving corporate entity, Willow quickly learned that expert legal representation was a necessity. James and his wife, a native of Hong Kong, invited Willow and Viktor to be their guests at the San Francisco Symphony’s gala night. But, moments before their limousine was scheduled to pick them up, Kozlov got into a furious long-distance exchange with his agent over a contract for three appearances with the New York Philharmonic. Afterward, he announced, “I am too much upset for making party! Please forgive.”
Already dressed and bejeweled, Willow was not keen on the idea of spending one more night at home with her dramatically dark lover. Instead, she headed out and was soon on her way to the gala.
A few days earlier, James mentioned to Willow that he would like her to meet his law partner.
“Why should I want to meet William Adams?” Willow asked coquettishly.
“Because he’s unattached, and he’s an incredibly wealthy man whose wife died last year.”
“He doesn’t look like the Monopoly Man, by any chance?” Willow asked suspiciously.
“Hardly! He’s my age—mid-fifties—in splendid shape. Plays racquetball like he’s going off to war.”
“Sounds intriguing. And how wealthy is wealthy?”
“Billions—with a B.”
Willow could feel her knees weaken at just the thought of such tremendous wealth.
The two were standing close to each other in James’ richly appointed wood-paneled office; her lawyer, mentor, and one of her legion of former lovers brushed his lips against her bare right shoulder as he imagined taking her right there.
“Don’t get any naughty thoughts, James; we agreed to keep our relationship strictly business going forward.”
“That would be easier to do if I didn’t find you so irresistible.”
“Well, try darling, try. If I continue to tempt you, I might have to take my business elsewhere.”
“You tease, but you would never do that. I’ve made you too much money.”
“If
