The Portrait
I was still in my twenties and supermodeling all over the world but while in New York I lived with Daniel, a Wall Street financier. He was fifty-two, separated from the wife, and so weak for me that he commissioned an artist to paint my portrait. But things went off the rails real fast. It was nothing for me to shoot fashion spreads for VOGUE or BAZAAR but, under an artists’ steady gaze I felt weird. So to take the edge off we started screwing. And oops, he fell in love. Wouldn’t let go of the painting when he finished it!
Now Daniel wasn’t stupid. He put it together and all I could do was fess up. The bastard kicked me out and homeless, I ended up at the Morgans Hotel in Midtown. It started out as temporary, just until I got my shit together, but then I discovered just how cute hotel-living—with all the amenities—can be! Trading on my celebrity endorsement, I snagged a two-year lease on a suite with a balcony. We renewed it five times.
Winona, Inc. 