Manhattan

1978

While eating dinner at La Goulue with Daniel (our second date), he invited me to Casa de Campo in the Dominican Republic for one week.

He said that I could ride horses—or polo ponies—there, while he played golf. We’ll travel by private plane. One of his clients, who lives at One Beekman Place, among several other places, is an industrialist who owns his own jet, which lives at Teterboro airport. Several New York couples are going.

Daniel sent me home in a limousine, after slipping an envelope containing one thousand dollars to me under the table.

“Buy some new clothes for our vacation,” he said.

Both of us are taking a big risk. We’ve never spent a night together. He asked if I would “switch.”

I answered with an emphatic, No.

Hope I’m not en route to some cocaine-crazed orgy. Definitely not my style. Have to take risks though. Don’t want to be too stodgy, which perfectly described me in high school and during freshman and sophomore year at college. I was always the quintessential Goody Two-Shoes: Little Miss Priss.