Robert learned in a late-night call from his editor that an unknown source found Snapchat images of him and Annalisa.
His wife, Melinda, a merchandising director for Condé Nast, accused him of acting “different” in their midtown apartment as he sat at the iron kitchen table and googled fashion spreads in what he called research when he was really looking for photographs of Chic events to see if Annalisa was in them. He looked straight at Melinda’s oval-shaped face, dyed black hair, and the flecks of concern in her green eyes, and responded that he had no idea what she was talking about.
Annalisa and Robert’s initial conversation lived inside of her soul, but it would also be the catalyst for infidelity and destruction in her picture perfect world. Robert
was dark-haired, handsome, and full of substance, but from the distant part of the West Village bar on a late August evening during happy hour this was merely admired by Annalisa. How the conversation began was by a total fluke; they bumped into each other by the restrooms. He ask…