Thursday, July 10, 2003
MR. BIG, Sex and Lies continued...
Money was never an issue in my life. I don't worry about it. When I have some I spend it. I'm not a saver or a planner but I do trust in my ability to make a living no matter what.
So now it's 1981. I had my job at the Art Institute about a year. It provides some security, but the salary is still pretty meager. My sexual/artistic relationship with Robin was still the highlight of my day or week or whatever schedule he and I established so he could continue his contact with J. Bill would be available whenever I felt like seeing him. That was the problem. We'd have dinner, he'd always pay for everything. Sometimes we'd have uninspired (for me) sex, and he would deliver me wherever I wanted to go. He was a small man, in every department. But I feel guilty writing this way about anybody because I know by many other standards he is a very good man, a good "catch", faithful and loyal and honest. I know he loved me. I seemed exotic after his church going wife. I would depend on his loyalty for several years to come.
Meanwhile, my artist/journalist friend Lois T. who wrote the cover story about me in an early issue of Art New England, takes a more personal interest in me. I think she would have loved to have left her husband like I did, but she was older and had less amunition as a woman in the world than I did at the time. She tells me about a student of hers (she always taught private art classes on the side to make money.) His name is Ric, he is older (actually about 60 which seemed ancient to me.) He is an enthusiastic student of art, seemed captivated by her article about me, and he is very, VERY rich. She tells me about him and suggests if I meet with him he might buy one of my paintings. Ric is the founder/owner of the RIX drug store chain which morphed into CVS. I am totally excited, a rich patron, every artist's dream come true. Lois helps to set us up, I am to meet him at his corporate offices after hours.
How to dress, what to say, I forget, but whatever I did, I know when I walked in, he was not displeased and art was not the first thing on his mind. He was an imposing man with a shock of white hair. He was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. I had never met a man like him before. We laughed. I tried to get him too look at the portfolio I had brought but he wanted to invite me to some private social event instead. I went along with it and found out he was married to a left leaning political activist. Didn't matter, I was arm candy and I knew it. So what. Once he snuck me into his home in Wellesley so I would know what being REALLY, REALLY RICH means. I wandered around aimlessly poking into stuff. The art was not memorable.
What was memorable was when he was invited to NYC to the opening of the Trump Tower. Donald Trump was, I guess, a buddy of Ric's so he had an invitation to the private opening. For those of you who don't know, the Trump Tower was the glitzyist, most over the top building, combining shopping and living yet to be imagined in the greatest city of the world, NYC. There was to be a gala opening and for whatever reason, Ric wanted to take me (his wife was probably out campaigning for a politician who would do some good in the world.)
The plan was he'd fly to NY first, then he'd send for me. He sent my plane tickets, had me picked up at the airport with a private limo, taken to his hotel where I could "freshen-up" for the event. I felt like I'd won "Queen For a Day". He got to the hotel after some business meetings and wanted to get a little pay back for all the effort he made to bring me here. It was gross, but I complied (the closest I've ever come to prostitution.) Later we dress, a limo takes us to the Trump Tower. I am agog. There are kleig lights, press, famous people and red carpets. I like being with Mr Ric because he his big, he looks good, he has the power that money and access brings. Intoxicating. We are ushered in to the most sparkling, marble, fountain filled lobby I have ever seen. We ride gleaming escalators up and down as unlimited champaign flowed from bottles carried by tuxedo garbed waiters. Ric took me into one of the chic shops on one of the escalator stops and wanted to buy me anything that interested me. The clothes looked like rags from a garbage heap, some very hot Paris designer. I fingered a tag and it said $3,000. I don't know if it was for the whole pile of rags in the window, or just the one item the tag was attached to. I declined Ric's gracious offer to buy me something. There were grand pianos on every floor, we went back to the lobby, Ric seemed disapointed. He wanted to buy me something. I told him the event was enough, we had a great night after in the Four Seasons restaurant and then a wonderful walk together in Central Park. He is the only man who ever gave me a gift from Tiffany's. I still have the little blue velvet bag this piece of jewelery came in.
Don't let any body ever tell you that the rich don't have fun.
Money was never an issue in my life. I don't worry about it. When I have some I spend it. I'm not a saver or a planner but I do trust in my ability to make a living no matter what.
So now it's 1981. I had my job at the Art Institute about a year. It provides some security, but the salary is still pretty meager. My sexual/artistic relationship with Robin was still the highlight of my day or week or whatever schedule he and I established so he could continue his contact with J. Bill would be available whenever I felt like seeing him. That was the problem. We'd have dinner, he'd always pay for everything. Sometimes we'd have uninspired (for me) sex, and he would deliver me wherever I wanted to go. He was a small man, in every department. But I feel guilty writing this way about anybody because I know by many other standards he is a very good man, a good "catch", faithful and loyal and honest. I know he loved me. I seemed exotic after his church going wife. I would depend on his loyalty for several years to come.
Meanwhile, my artist/journalist friend Lois T. who wrote the cover story about me in an early issue of Art New England, takes a more personal interest in me. I think she would have loved to have left her husband like I did, but she was older and had less amunition as a woman in the world than I did at the time. She tells me about a student of hers (she always taught private art classes on the side to make money.) His name is Ric, he is older (actually about 60 which seemed ancient to me.) He is an enthusiastic student of art, seemed captivated by her article about me, and he is very, VERY rich. She tells me about him and suggests if I meet with him he might buy one of my paintings. Ric is the founder/owner of the RIX drug store chain which morphed into CVS. I am totally excited, a rich patron, every artist's dream come true. Lois helps to set us up, I am to meet him at his corporate offices after hours.
How to dress, what to say, I forget, but whatever I did, I know when I walked in, he was not displeased and art was not the first thing on his mind. He was an imposing man with a shock of white hair. He was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. I had never met a man like him before. We laughed. I tried to get him too look at the portfolio I had brought but he wanted to invite me to some private social event instead. I went along with it and found out he was married to a left leaning political activist. Didn't matter, I was arm candy and I knew it. So what. Once he snuck me into his home in Wellesley so I would know what being REALLY, REALLY RICH means. I wandered around aimlessly poking into stuff. The art was not memorable.
What was memorable was when he was invited to NYC to the opening of the Trump Tower. Donald Trump was, I guess, a buddy of Ric's so he had an invitation to the private opening. For those of you who don't know, the Trump Tower was the glitzyist, most over the top building, combining shopping and living yet to be imagined in the greatest city of the world, NYC. There was to be a gala opening and for whatever reason, Ric wanted to take me (his wife was probably out campaigning for a politician who would do some good in the world.)
The plan was he'd fly to NY first, then he'd send for me. He sent my plane tickets, had me picked up at the airport with a private limo, taken to his hotel where I could "freshen-up" for the event. I felt like I'd won "Queen For a Day". He got to the hotel after some business meetings and wanted to get a little pay back for all the effort he made to bring me here. It was gross, but I complied (the closest I've ever come to prostitution.) Later we dress, a limo takes us to the Trump Tower. I am agog. There are kleig lights, press, famous people and red carpets. I like being with Mr Ric because he his big, he looks good, he has the power that money and access brings. Intoxicating. We are ushered in to the most sparkling, marble, fountain filled lobby I have ever seen. We ride gleaming escalators up and down as unlimited champaign flowed from bottles carried by tuxedo garbed waiters. Ric took me into one of the chic shops on one of the escalator stops and wanted to buy me anything that interested me. The clothes looked like rags from a garbage heap, some very hot Paris designer. I fingered a tag and it said $3,000. I don't know if it was for the whole pile of rags in the window, or just the one item the tag was attached to. I declined Ric's gracious offer to buy me something. There were grand pianos on every floor, we went back to the lobby, Ric seemed disapointed. He wanted to buy me something. I told him the event was enough, we had a great night after in the Four Seasons restaurant and then a wonderful walk together in Central Park. He is the only man who ever gave me a gift from Tiffany's. I still have the little blue velvet bag this piece of jewelery came in.
Don't let any body ever tell you that the rich don't have fun.
