JFK Jr. was hot. Way hotter than you ever dreamed. We both grew up in New York so for years I saw him often, all over town. Back when Belle and I were shoplifting, we were working the Gucci boutique one day and he strolled in. He eyeballed me, I eyeballed him, but neither of us made a move. It was years later, while rollerblading near the bandshell in Central Park, that he and I literally crashed into each other. I knew him of course but this time, he knew me, too. My first Revlon billboard had just gone up in Times Square and my face was three stories tall. He and I hooked up, locked ourselves inside his loft for four days and kee-kee’d over how insane it’s gonna be when the world finds out about us. And then duty called. He took off for China and I had several gigs in Madrid. We couldn’t seem to be in the same place at the same time and after weeks of trying, our sweet thing just fizzled out. With only one regret. I really wanted to meet Jackie.
JFK Jr. was the finest white man who ever lived. Bar none.
He’s on the Top Five list, that’s for sure.