![]() My friend was tortured by this coldly pragmatic setup–it pained him to be manipulated so. She wanted sex, crackling conversation, and eloquently expressed affection from my soulful friend she wanted financial security from the banker. This man was obsessed with a beautiful older woman, an Israeli academic who lived with an investment banker. I was 22, youthful, guileless, recently graduated from college, wearing a black miniskirt with knee-high leather boots, and thrilled to meet the author of the incendiary magazine essay I'd pored over and underlined the day before.Īnyone could have predicted where this meet-cute was headed, but after an initial frisson, our relationship settled into something much rarer between men and women: a deep and genuine friendship uncomplicated by sex. ![]() He was 40, wild, irreverent, feeling the first flush of literary success, recently separated from his wife, and on the prowl. At a loft party in Soho one early fall night in 1999, I met a man-a brilliant and respected writer. ![]()
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