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. He fell in love and wouldn’t let go of the painting after he finished. Daniel wasn’t stupid. He put it all together, I fessed up, and he kicked me out. Homeless, I ended up at the Morgans Hotel down in midtown. It started out as temporary, just until I got my act together, but I discovered right away just how cute hotel-living—with all the amenities—can be! Trading on my celebrity, I snagged a two-year lease on a suite with a balcony. We renewed it five times. But I never could get my hands on that portrait.