A few of our mutual friends always ask if I ever wished we would get back together. They ask if I hate Gladys, his new wife. Without missing a beat, I would respond very diplomatically saying that while I thought my ex-husband was a good man, it was clear that our marriage was not meant to stand the tests of time. It was I who initiated the divorce processions and I felt confident in this decision. Was I afraid of spending my life alone? Yes, but I knew it was better to be alone than to be in a marriage that left me perpetually unhappy. With all of this, I never fathomed that I would be embarking on an affair with my ex-husband after seven years of being divorced.
The second time that we met was at the Cooper Square Hotel mainly because we couldn't imagine many of our friends or those we associated with roaming the streets in that neighborhood. Once inside the bedroom, I sat on a chair facing him. I was incredibly overdressed as I had just come from a meeting in Midtown but he liked it. I wore Azzedine Alaïa Haute Couture’s crocodile print patent-leather jacket and skirt, my favorite pair of Sergio Rossi shoes and some accessories I nabbed from my daughter's apartment last I was there.
As my husband, I never felt the need to withhold sex. We were very active but we quickly found ourselves in a routine where things were not initiated by passion but by expectation. Now when I think of him, the only thoughts that cross my mind are the ones that would make your mother blush. So, when he embraced me in our room, I could not contain myself. My hands flew all over his aging but still firm body while his made mine explode with pleasure.
We lay holding each other afterwards not saying anything until my phone rang. He told me not to answer but something said that I should. I retrieve it from my purse and shuddered when I see the caller's identity: Gladys.
Even though she was now married to the man I once complained to her about, she remained a contact. She was, after all, my oldest friend. I pressed "Answer" and raised the phone to my ear.
Carine Roitfeld for W magazine shot by Paolo Roversi
Image courtesy of W magazine
