When Richard and I met at a book party almost three years ago, he was at the tail end of a long marriage. What first drew us together was our love of style. That night, I chatted so openly with him because I believed he was gay. He was wearing a purple Lanvin suit with a floral tie, a polka-dotted pocket square, and striped socks. I couldn’t believe that a man who dressed so well could actually be straight.
Last week, a professional chef invited me to his house for dinner—a six-course meal that included homemade pork sausages, beef meatballs, lamb, spinach risotto, ravioli, a cheese board, and a three-tiered coconut cake. The chef marveled at how much food I could put away. “How can you eat this much and stay so svelte?” he inquired, as I served myself a third lamb chop. The answer came as soon as he asked me if I’d care for a glass of wine. “No, thank you,” I said. “I don’t drink.”