I Can’t With Desi


Desi shows up at the agency this afternoon just as the staff, Curtiss, Terri, Marc and I, are signing Nova. She’s Indonesian. A striking beauty. Almost six feet tall and as lean as a racehorse. Have I got plans for her! We pop the cork on a magnum of La Grande Dame 2006 and between the six of us, we kill it fast. But just look at Desi. He can’t tear his eyes away from her. I know how he gets about the exotic ones. But I’m floored when he invites her out for coffee. Just what in the fuck does he think he’s doing? Protecting my investment, I insist on joining them. I invite Marc, my office manager, to come along, too.

Winona is wearing vintage Azzedine Alaia                                    Desi is wearing Tom Ford


On the walk to La Colombe Coffee, Desi takes center stage. And Nova is digging him. But why wouldn’t she? He attended his quarterly Guggenheim board meeting today rocking an exquisite Tom Ford suit. But this right here? Between them? It can’t happen. Desi does his thing, hopping back and forth between men and women, and that’s strictly between him and Truman. But Nova is twenty, fresh off the boat and she’s in my charge. Right now I need her fully focused. Not flipped inside out by some middle-aged, switch-hitting cockhound just killing time. And he should know this. Why is he diddling around in my business?


There’s no time to dwell on Desi, though. Fashion Week is just around the corner and I’ve decided to flex my muscle and make Nova the HOT NEW FACE on the runway this season. My team—photographer, hair, makeup and wardrobe stylist— is totally kick-ass and we carve out a full day in our schedules to shoot her. It’s Nova-day and Oh. My. God. You should see her. She photographs like a dream. But there’s something else. It’s in her eyes. Her smile. I can’t name it but it’s on full-blast and it’s working! I’m giddy as a groupie while skipping towards the dressing area to show her some of the cool shots we’ve taken. But when I step around the corner? My eyes almost blow right out of my head. Nova is standing there. She’s naked. And guess what? Nova is a boy.

Winona dress inspired by Adriana Iglesias


Nova’s big reveal sends us all into a tailspin! I can’t believe her agency back home didn’t know. But the images we’ve taken are stunning and, the fever that comes over me when I know I’ve got a hit on my hands takes over. I post her shots online anyway. And right out the gate she blows up! The WINONA, INC. Instagram site, our Facebook page, Twitter feed—everything’s lit! The phones haven’t stopped ringing with go-sees! Nova is making LOTS of noise. In the meantime, Desi and I are playing phone tag. I wonder if he’s discovered her little secret yet? Well. It wasn’t so little, from what I got a peek at the other day. Hee hee. Nova is packin’.


It’s New York Fashion Week-eve. The night before. From the backseat of the town car, I gaze out of the window as we inchity-inch up Sixth Avenue. And look. There’s Desi. He’s at Monte’s restaurant. With Nova. I look at my watch. It’s almost 10pm. I hop out and tell my driver to keep moving, I’ll catch up. Desi sees me as I walk towards them and he freezes. But my focus is on Nova. “What are you doing?” I ask her. “Why aren’t you at home getting yourself together for tomorrow?” Desi glares at me. “What’s your problem? She’ll be as gorgeous tomorrow as she is tonight. That’s how it works when you’re twenty.” Then his smile grows wicked. “You remember, don’t you?”

Winona is wearing Michael Kors


Thursday morning. 7am. It’s Day One of Fashion Week and I’m in the towncar waiting on Nova when suddenly, Desi’s red Ferrari roars up and blocks a lane of traffic in front of the hotel. He leaps out from the driver’s seat. I lower my window. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he shouts. “Why didn’t you tell me that Nova is a man!” I never look up from scrolling through the messages on my phone. “What difference does it make to you,” I ask. With an angry swoop, he reaches inside the car and slaps my phone away. “I don’t like getting a handful of cock when I reach between a woman’s legs! Okay??” I smile and raise my window on him in triumph. He smacks the glass hard before jumping back into his ride and pealing out.

It’s not the first time this crazy Spaniard has snapped on me about some shit that he created. And of course he’ll apologize when he realizes that none of this is my fault. But the son-of-a-bitch really hurt my feelings. And only a trip to Greenwich St. Jewelers will make it better. Okay? SMOOCHES!

Winona is wearing Carolina Herrera

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