I was still in my twenties and supermodeling all over the world but while in New York, I lived with Daniel, a financier. He was fifty-two, separated from the wife, and so weak for me that he commissioned an artist to paint my portrait. Things went off the rails with a quickness. It was nothing for me to shoot fashion spreads for VOGUE or BAZAAR but under the portrait artists’ gaze I felt shy and weird. So to take the edge off, we started screwing. But the idiot fell in love with me! And after finishing the painting, he wouldn’t let it go. Daniel wasn’t stupid. He put it together and 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 real quick 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.