I don't know what it is - Part I

Ok, so I'm sitting here on a chaise in our living room with a glass of Champagne. No, scratch that, I may as well be honest, that was at 9pm last night. By now it's 7am and now it's an almost empty bottle of gin. Isn't it strange how suddenly your life just changes?

The plan was for Aiden (that's my husband) and I to attend the opening of the Tous store here in London. I had put on my new silver suit (ok, maybe it does sound a bit naff but it reminds me of my modelling days) from Dolce & Gabbana and I was waiting for him to come home from work so we could go. Then of course Aiden's late. He finally comes home, it was about 8pm by then, and sits me down and says he wants a divorce. I'm outraged - obviously! - and start yelling and crying and making a complete fool of myself. Of course I knew about his affair with that Asda model Scott but I assumed it would die out. Like it did with Miles, Sambad, Thomas and who can remember the rest. It didn't mean anything, it was just sex. Right?

So I just kind of alternated between throwing stuff at him, yelling, and fumbling my way towards the Champagne cooler. Aiden ducked and covered with the best of them, and said he was moving out. For the time being, he said. Like he's ever getting in here again, hah! Good one. His affairs must have started about the time we got married, about 10 years ago and we've been together 15 years. Today is our anniversary, funny that.

I really love Aiden, and I ignored the cheating because I figured that he always ended up back with me. He didn't love those two bit skanks who, quite frankly, only participated because they thought it would boost their modelling career. This is when you think, hah, who are you to talk. Aiden's a 51 year old world renowned fashion photographer and you are a 39 year old (OK, honesty is the best policy I suppose, 42) ex underwear model and you do the math. Well, it does look bad, but really it isn't. You just think all models are skanks who screw whatever to get on the cover of Elle, Vogue or whatever is the premier fashion magazine at the time. You'd be quite right, been there and done that. Yet, I never whored around after I met Aiden and I never used him to get ahead (ahem!). I didn't.

The thing is, everyone thinks models are whoring around and using everyone to get ahead. They will be quite right, but as I mentioned before, I stopped doing that when I met Aiden. I loved him. Well, I love him. I'm bitter, surly, angry, hateful and I still love him.

I look down at my platinum wedding ring with diamonds all around the band. Apparently I've taken it off earlier and been holding it in my hand. Suddenly, I throw the ring at the 62 inch flatscreen TV. As I watch it fly towards the TV, I regret throwing it and get up to go pick it up. The room is now spinning, like that time some cow spiked my drink at a Jean Paul Gaultier after party at Paris fashion week in 1997. I fall to my knees and crawl to my destination. It looks like there are two rings. How could there be two, it's like friggin Alice in Wonderland. Will the wrong one make me small? How could I feel smaller than I feel now, lying on the living room floor in a naff silver suit from Dolce Gabbana staring at two rings - and is that dust behind the sofa over there, or is the Mad Hatter coming to get me? Must mention it to Alice, no Alicia. Our cleaning lady is Alicia, isn't it?

The phone wakes me up three hours later. Apparently Miss K wants to know why only Aiden and 'some guy' showed up last night at Tous. Oh, and do you want to do brunch? Um, OK...? When, what time is it now? It's 10am. Well Ok then, in an hour at the usual place. Right. Miss K is rarely in town these days, and I fear that I need the company. I put on the wedding ring and wonder for a second if I'll get any smaller. No, and the other ring is gone. Must call Alicia about the dust then.

I take a quick shower, and think of how I do love my bathroom. It's positively divine. The shower and bath tub are the best parts though, but then I picked those out.

You still can't get over the whole, he's an ex model who didn't whore around on his partner, am I right? I know, even I'm baffled. It just never occurred to me because I loved him. Also you are thinking money, Nathaniel (that's my name, but my friends call me Nate) probably didn't have any and his famous photographer boyfriend turned husband probably had loads. You are wrong, I thought we were fairly equal in that sense. Aiden had a great career etc., and I was just an underwear model.

I could have been like that, had I done all that stuff (read. drugs, parties, vacations) my colleages did. When they were all partying in Acapulco, I was off working. Photoshoots, fashion runways, commercials etc. My parents were right about money, put it away and once you're done modelling you can go to law school or something. Of course, I ended up retiring earlier because of Aiden fairly rich. Aiden wanted me to stop working so he'd be the only one seeing me in my underwear, and I did. Partly because I loved Aiden, and partly because I thought I'd be able to do something else. Yet, in those last 15 years I never got around to finding out what that something would be.

On some level I probably thought the only thing I was good at was modelling. That's not completely true, because I did pass all the exams to become a lawyer. At some point I got sick and tired of only being this accessory only to be worn out at parties. I suddenly had deep sympathy for my old Hermés ascot that I hadn't worn in ages. Eventually I took it to a nice little vintage fashion shop down the corner, and bought a pair of 1972 Manolo Blahnik shoes. I know, how gay is that. And yet, I'm a collector. By now I must have over 300 pairs of Manolo Blahniks. They don't get worn, but they get adored at any chance I get. Aiden found that extremely funny, but he has this weird pen fetish, so he's one to talk. It's not like I go about mocking his Mont Blanc collection.

Here I am, telling you about Aidens Mont Blanc collection and my ridiculously large Manolo collection but I never told you how we met. Sorry. This is where everyone says, it's really kind of funny, or, it's really kind of romantic the way we met. With kind of, being the emphasis. Because it really isn't, is it, unless of course you were there perhaps but then again. Maybe not.

It was love at first sight, on my part anyway. We met at a gallery opening in New York that had an exhibit on fashion photography. He had taken a few of the photos and everyone was gushing over him.

Sorry, I just have to put on my black Jean Paul Gaultier trousers and that striped Paul Smith shirt, and grab some orange juice before I pass out.

Well, I caught his eye while I was looking at this black and white four foot blow up of a halfnaked man in the shower. It wasn't his work, and he came over. I pretended to be a student of fashion photography, and he bought it. I gushed over the photo, knowing full well he hadn't taken it, and he was pointing out all the flaws. He ended up giving me a tour of the exhibit and asked me on a date. At the time I was a total workaholic and had a shoot the next morning at 5.30am so I declined. He insisted and we made arrangements the night before I was set to fly back to London. I was immediately attracted to him, although I'd heard he had a thing for these Italian dancer types named Gianluca and Paulo. They usually didn't last long, and I thought maybe I would last, at least a bit longer. I was right about that, turns out, but not as I'd hoped forever.

In the end I ended up back in New York and went on 2 more dates with Aiden. He still had no idea, I was a model, and I didn't really want him to know. The photography student thing was working so well. Turns out, I had been booked to do an underwear shoot for Calvin Klein, and there had been a change of photographer. Who walked into that shoot, but Aiden Donovan. I nearly died. He pretended not to notice but after the shoot he used this cheesy line on me and asked me out again, and that's it. We dated for a while and ended up moving in together. Which is easy to do, when he was based in New York, and I had a studio flat in a scummy part of London and shared a flat with 10 other models in Paris and Milano.

Now I'm off to meet Miss K for brunch, and I'm late. She's usually 10 minutes late, but if the Tube doesn't have delays I'll be 20 minutes late. I'll never hear the end of it. Last thing before leaving is the key, phone, wallet and bags under eyes check. God, I look old. Wait, shoes! Must wear shoes. Black Prada loafers, yes. Wait, they are Aiden's, oh who gives a shit. He might though, hah! I put on his black Boss jacket and leave.