Synopsis
Listen instead of reading
This is my story.
I arrived in San Francisco in October 1980 and was picked up at the airport by a man I had never met. I was twenty-one and had left Italy to get away from a seven-year relationship that wasn't going anywhere good, an overbearing mother and a life that felt too small.
Within a week I saw more marijuana than I would ever see in my entire life, heard a threesome through a paper-thin wall and slept in my overalls on a waterbed next to a Puerto Rican drug dealer with my passport zipped into the thigh pocket. None of this unsettled me as much as it should have.
I had come to America looking for two things: a path to a creative career and what I called true love, a passionate and loving relationship with a man who was all mine. The first took less than two years to find and never stopped evolving. The second almost twenty, and stayed.
In between there was college, then a career that went from printing double exposures in my kitchen darkroom and shooting high fashion in junkyards, to creating surreal photo montages for magazines and eventually moving into the digital world ahead of my peers.
There was the French bohemian who taught me about art and cocaine, the American who married me and made me legal and the German who showed me what I was missing all along.
There was also a loft in the Los Angeles Arts District where I lived my best and worst days. There was a married actor I stayed home to wait for and a houseboy who walked my dog and caused his death. By the time I landed in the Hollywood Hills surrounded by beauty, style and luxury without trust, I knew my days there were numbered.
On my fortieth birthday I asked myself what I would do if I only had six months to live. The answer was the same thing I had wanted since I was a child.
Find true love.
So I left and went back to the Arts District, alone. The difference was that this time I was no longer willing to compromise.
For a moment it looked like regression, but by then I knew better. When the right man arrived, I felt it before it made any sense at all. For the first time, nothing was missing.
Memoir Content
Stories Available for reading are in red.
THE FIRST WEEK
California October 1980
• Welcome to America
• Keeping It Cool
WHERE IT ALL BEGAN
Flashback Italy 1959-1969
• The House on the Hill
• Family Fracture
• What Could Have Been
• Early Seduction
• Bloody Freedom
• A Drink With My Father
WHERE IT HAD TO END
California 1980
Flashback Italy 1969-1980
• The Last Confession
• Speak for Yourself
• The Full Moon
• First Pain
• Politically Dangerous
• It's My Turn
• Escape to Germany
• Choice
• One Thing Led to Another
• My Heroes
• The Beginning of the End
SAN FRANCISCO
1980-1984
• Bones, Buick and Bathroom
• Loneliness Vs Drama
• The Phone Calls
• Self Portraits
• Back for Too Long
• Not For Me
• The Stud
• The French Fiancé
• Cruising to Mexico
• A Summer of Change
• Naked in the Refrigerator Light
​
LOS ANGELES
1984-1989
• Coincidence
• The Summer Solstice
• On the Set
• A Fun Month
• One Woman Two Men
• The Car Accident
• Congratulations
• The Motel
• Valentine's Day
• The Only Thing That Was True
DTLA ARTS DISTRICT
1989-1996
• The Arts District
• A Gun Without a Holster
• A Wild Year
• Cross Processing
• Moving to 301
• Photo Montage
• Raising Rocco
• The One Who Got Away
• The Home-Boy
• The Walk
• Caught by Technology
HOLLYWOOD HILLS
1996-1999
• What Do I Have to Lose
• Little Armenia
• Unfinished Business
• Find True Love
HERE AT LAST
DTLA Arts District 1999
• Back on the Roof
• Frank's Arrival
• The Last Act
• Love of My Life
• The Wish List
• I Love You
THE FIRST WEEK
California October 1980
• Welcome to America
• Keeping It Cool
WHERE IT ALL BEGAN
Flashback Italy 1959-1969
• The House on the Hill
• Family Fracture
• What Could Have Been
• Early Seduction
• Bloody Freedom
• A Drink With My Father
WHERE IT HAD TO END
California 1980
Flashback Italy 1969-1980
• The Last Confession
• Speak for Yourself
• The Full Moon
• First Pain
• Politically Dangerous
• It's My Turn
• Escape to Germany
• Choice
• One Thing Led to Another
• My Heroes
• The Beginning of the End
​
SAN FRANCISCO
1980-1984
• Bones, Buick and Bathroom
• Loneliness Vs Drama
• The Phone Calls
• Self Portraits
• Back for Too Long
• Not For Me
• The Stud
• The French Fiancé
• Cruising to Mexico
• A Summer of Change
• Naked in the Refrigerator Light
LOS ANGELES
1984-1989
• Coincidence
• The Summer Solstice
• On the Set
• A Fun Month
• One Woman Two Men
• The Car Accident
• Congratulations
• The Motel
• Valentine's Day
• The Only Thing That Was True
DTLA ARTS DISTRICT
1989-1996
• The Arts District
• A Gun Without a Holster
• A Wild Year
• Cross Processing
• Moving to 301
• Photo Montage
• Raising Rocco
• The One Who Got Away
• The Home-Boy
• The Walk
• Caught by Technology
HOLLYWOOD HILLS
1996-1999
• What Do I Have to Lose
• Little Armenia
• Unfinished Business
• Find True Love
HERE AT LAST
DTLA Arts District 1999
• Back on the Roof
• Frank's Arrival
• The Last Act
• Love of My Life
• The Wish List
• I Love You
THE FIRST WEEK
California October 1980
• Welcome to America
• Keeping It Cool
WHERE IT ALL BEGAN
Flashback Italy 1959-1969
• The House on the Hill
• Family Fracture
• What Could Have Been
• Early Seduction
• Bloody Freedom
• A Drink With My Father
WHERE IT HAD TO END
California 1980
Flashback Italy 1969-1980
• The Last Confession
• Speak for Yourself
• The Full Moon
• First Pain
• Politically Dangerous
• It's My Turn
• Escape to Germany
• Choice
• One Thing Led to Another
• My Heroes
• The Beginning of the End
SAN FRANCISCO
1980-1984
• Bones, Buick and Bathroom
• Loneliness Vs Drama
• The Phone Calls
• Self Portraits
• Back for Too Long
• Not For Me
• The Stud
• The French Fiancé
• Cruising to Mexico
• A Summer of Change
• Naked in the Refrigerator Light
LOS ANGELES
1984-1989
• Coincidence
• The Summer Solstice
• On the Set
• A Fun Month
• One Woman Two Men
• The Car Accident
• Congratulations
• The Motel
• Valentine's Day
• The Only Thing That Was True
DTLA ARTS DISTRICT
1989-1996
• The Arts District
• A Gun Without a Holster
• A Wild Year
• Cross Processing
• Moving to 301
• Photo Montage
• Raising Rocco
• The One Who Got Away
• The Home-Boy
• The Walk
• Caught by Technology
HOLLYWOOD HILLS
1996-1999
• What Do I Have to Lose
• Little Armenia
• Unfinished Business
• Find True Love
HERE AT LAST
DTLA Arts District 1999
• Back on the Roof
• Frank's Arrival
• The Last Act
• Love of My Life
• The Wish List
• I Love You
SELECTED STORIES
Welcome to America
San Francisco, 1980
I arrived in San Francisco on the evening of Sunday October 5th, 1980, wearing my most comfortable clothes: a pair of soft red leather pants and a pale yellow cashmere sweater. It was dark when we landed.
This wasn't my first time there. I had visited briefly a year prior during a six-city trip to the United States I had organized through my father's travel agency. Back then, I was the tour guide of a group of twenty-four people, but this time it was different. I was alone.
I had left Italy to get away from my ex-boyfriend and my overprotective mother, and came to California to improve my English and possibly enroll in college to study film.
I was twenty-one and my goal, although vague, was to learn how to make American-style TV commercials. But first I needed to take the TOEFL test, an English language exam required by U.S. schools for international students. So when I found a college near San Francisco where I could take a course to prepare for the test, I decided to go there.
However, I thought it may be fun to first spend a week in the city and, ideally, stay at someone's house instead of being in a hotel by myself. So I asked a few people if they knew anyone in San Francisco. A friend mentioned a man whose son, George, lived there. "Maybe he could host you for a week," he said. "But I only met the father. I've never met him," he cautioned me.
Nevertheless, I wrote George a letter, including a nice picture of myself, with my long brown hair, smiling softly, and asked if I could possibly stay with him for a week before heading to the college. George wrote back, including a picture of himself, confirming that I was welcome to stay at his house and offering to pick me up at the airport.
Without giving much thought to where I was going to stay, two months later I landed in San Francisco and George was there. After retrieving my luggage and going through customs, I walked out toward a crowd of people waiting behind a barrier and, as I scanned their faces, I immediately recognized him.
He had dark curly hair, a goatee, a bright white smile and was very tanned. But what struck me the most was the sparkle in his eyes, which felt almost devilish. I had seen his picture, but in person he immediately reminded me of the devil as depicted in religious paintings and church booklets.
Keeping It Cool
San Francisco, Sausalito, Long Beach, 1980
In Sausalito, George took me to an open-air restaurant by the harbor, near the water, where he ordered lobster and French fries for us, a combination I had never tried before and I liked it. He was being a kind host, treating me to lunch and showing me around Sausalito. It was a very pleasant day.
​
Later we drove up the hill to his girlfriend's house. It was an older bungalow set among thick vegetation that reminded me of the area I came from in Italy. Once inside I noticed that the living room, dining area and kitchen were all connected, with an open but cozy feel, and there were some large windows with a beautiful view over the bay. I met Janet and Paula, who were very hospitable, thanked them for having me and complimented them on their home and the beautiful view.
​
George gave me a quick tour of the place, then showed me a room with two beds and said, "This is Paula's room, and you'll sleep in that bed over there," pointing at a twin bed squeezed into an alcove that probably used to be a closet. I said, "Okay," and then the four of us sat at the dining table and had dinner.
​
Afterwards, George pulled out some white powder, which he explained was cocaine, divided it into lines on a small mirror and the three of them started snorting it. I had never seen cocaine before, so when they offered me some, I just said, "No, thanks." My mother had always told me not to try any drugs because I could get addicted. So I wasn't keen on trying anything and I didn’t feel the need for it. I was still jet-lagged and after this exchange I went to bed.
​
I fell asleep immediately but, in the middle of the night, I woke up to loud moaning, as if people were having sex in the same room as I was. I looked around and realized that nobody else was there. Paula's bed was empty and untouched. The sounds were coming from the wall next to my bed, which must have been paper-thin. I lay there listening, trying to figure out how many voices I was hearing. After a few seconds it became clear that they were having a threesome in the room next door.
​
So there I was on my third night, thinking, "Oh crap. How long is this going to go on for?" I couldn't remember a situation where I had overheard people having sex before, let alone a threesome. The concept wasn't foreign to me, as my ex-boyfriend used to recount his own group sex experiences, but I was annoyed because I was tired and wanted to rest.
​
Finally, around four in the morning, they stopped and I was able to fall asleep. But then at around five, I started hearing very loud horn sounds from the ships across the bay, and that woke me up and kept me from falling back asleep. When I joined them for breakfast in the kitchen later, I was exhausted but played it cool, pretending that I had heard nothing.
​
I don't recall what the plan was for that day but, at some point, George announced that later that week he, Janet and I were going to Los Angeles to the wedding of a friend of his. "I have already purchased plane tickets, including one for you," he said. "It's going to be fun."
​
Then the day after, I went out on my own, exploring the city, and when I got back to George's house I found him to be quite distraught. He was sitting at the kitchen table with a beer in his hand and a sad face. "My friend, who is in the same business as I am," he explained, "got shot today during a deal and is in the hospital. They don't know if he's going to make it." That conversation finally made me realize that I had been naive and careless with my long-distance arrangements.
​
Nevertheless, on Friday we flew down to Long Beach. It was dark when we landed, and when we exited the airport there was a big white Cadillac parked by the curb. Standing next to it was Luis, a short man with a big mustache, dark skin, a thick gold chain around his neck, and a very bright grin. He greeted George and Janet, and then we were introduced, got in the Cadillac and drove to his home, which was less than fifteen minutes away. The Cadillac ride felt very smooth and luxurious to me and quite different from the Italian cars that I was used to.
​
The House on the Hill
Italy 1959-1968
The night of their date, he took the train to her hometown, about two hours from his, and from the station he went to pick her up by taxi. He was so excited that when they got to the restaurant he paid the driver with a large bill and forgot to ask for change. She noticed. “During dinner I was afraid that he wouldn’t have enough money to pay the bill,” she would say when telling the story, but he did.
​
That evening she learned that he wasn’t just working at the ski resort, his family owned it. She also learned that he was a recent widower with three children.
​
In spite of their 18-year age difference, they fell in love and not long after got married. With that, she became an instant mother to two young girls and a teenage boy, which turned out to be more challenging than she had expected.
​
She was of humble origins and was looking forward to a better lifestyle. But although she had married into a wealthy family, she was given cash in separate envelopes marked “vegetables,” “meat” and so on, as if she were a housekeeper. She would have none of it.
​
Among my grandfather’s businesses there was also a bank. One morning she walked in. Everyone at the bank knew that she was Vittorio’s young wife. “Good morning,” she said. “I am Vittorio’s wife. Can I have a checkbook, please?” The clerk hesitated and glanced at his colleague at the next desk. The colleague nodded. The clerk pulled out a signature card, asked her to sign it, then reached into a drawer and handed her the checkbook. “Thank you!” she said, put the checkbook in her purse and walked out. “I assumed that if I wrote some checks they would honor them, and they did.”
​
Family Fracture
Italy 1968-1969
Because of the travel agency, my father occasionally traveled on his own, along with other male agents. They were invited to different countries on promotional tours, wined, dined and entertained. At some point my mother started suspecting that while traveling he might be cheating, became disillusioned and gave him reasons to worry too.
​
Soon they were accusing each other of infidelity and he began checking her car mileage and calling the stores around town to find out where she was.
​
They also started fighting about money. “We can’t afford your fancy clothes,” he would tell her. “You are not asking for what’s yours,” she would reply. “You were born rich, but you let your brothers steal from you.”
​
My uncles had been scheming behind my father’s back to keep most of the wealth for themselves once my grandfather passed away. My mother made him fight back, resulting in years of stressful family feuds and endless meetings with lawyers and accountants.
​
I found out that we were no longer on speaking terms with our uncles and cousins when I was nine. It was winter and we were at the ski resort. One afternoon I was walking through the hotel hall, which had several clusters of couches and chairs and one large corridor in the middle. Then I saw my cousin coming toward me. No one else was there. She didn’t acknowledge me and when we got closer and I said “Hi.” she ignored me and kept walking. It was obvious that she did it on purpose, so when I went home I told my parents. “Yes,” said my mother, sighing, “your father told me that that bitch, your aunt, has instructed your cousins not to speak to us anymore. Don’t let it bother you.”
​
Eventually the brothers came to a settlement, but it took several years.
Photo Montage
DTLA Arts District 1992-1993
The week after I went to Hawaii to shoot the five bathing suit catalogs, I worked on a jewelry brochure for a Beverly Hills company, and it was a fun project. Besides photographing the jewelry at my studio, we also took lifestyle pictures in a room and by the pool at the brand new Peninsula Hotel and with a convertible Porsche on the street. The models were gorgeous, the settings great, and the brochure was going to be beautiful.
In about ten days I had made $15,000 and was contemplating going to Italy for a visit. But it was August, my hometown would have been quite busy and the airplane ticket expensive. Ultimately I decided to take a vacation at home, so to speak, and play around with some old photographs.
That same week, John, a fellow photographer I had recently met, introduced me to a gallery and lab owner, Jean-Claude. John was excited about Jean-Claude's printing capabilities and told me that he was going to have a show at his gallery and his picture was going to be on the invitation. When I met Jean-Claude I showed him some of my latest bathing suit photographs, which I had taken in the Honolulu harbor against industrial backdrops. Jean-Claude looked at them but made no remarks. I took it for what it was: as original as my bathing suit pictures were, they were not art. But at least we had met.
After I went back home, I pulled out some film and transparencies that I had shot over the years, and that were both normally exposed and cross-processed. I put them on my light box and then broke one of the first rules we were taught in school, to never touch the film with bare hands for fear of scratching it. On the contrary, I started cutting film strips and sliding them around.
At some point, I took a roll of black and white 35 mm negatives I had shot of my friend Marnie, naked and pregnant, about to give birth to twins. Marnie was a dancer and, in spite of her huge belly, she was able to stand on a large pedestal and hold several interesting poses mimicking a dance.
I cut out the three best consecutive shots from three film strips and put them next to each other. It looked amazing. The woman's body was white while the background was black. Simple but striking. I reached for some tape and glued the three film strips between two pieces of glass.
The following day I drove to Jean-Claude's lab and showed him the image. When he saw it, he said "Wow, this is amazing! Can you make more? If you can, I will build an extra wall in the gallery, add your work into the show and use this on the invitation."
The One Who Got Away
DTLA Arts District 1993-1994
Music References:
Toni Braxton "Breath Again"
​
In early 1993 I was enjoying raising my dog Rocco, and making photo montages for a variety of new clients. These included a movie poster with Virginia Madsen and a shoot for Z. Cavaricci, whose casting brought over 100 models to my studio in one day. I was happy and busy.
Then I got a job to make a photo montage portrait of an actor and director for a small Hollywood magazine. The photo shoot was to take place at my studio and from the moment Charles rang the bell and I looked down from the balcony, we seemed to click.
He had presence, with an interesting, intellectual look and during the photo shoot was relaxed and seemed to enjoy himself. Soon, I realized that we were flirting with each other, so I asked my assistant to check if he was single.
​
She discreetly asked the PR lady who was also there, and the woman wasted no time and promptly yelled out "He's married and his wife is pregnant!"
"Too bad," I thought to myself. But the flirting didn't stop.
​
The photo shoot went well and eventually I created several photo montages for the magazine.
​
Charles came over one evening to look at them. He liked my technique and asked me if I could do some work for him. Truth be told, he didn't offer me much money, but the job was an opportunity to both work using my new technique and see him again, so I accepted.
During the next few weeks we did a couple of additional shoots and also met at an editing bay. There I had a chance to get quite close to him physically, as we were passing each other and when I did, I felt a surge of sexual energy like I hadn't felt in a while.
​
After that Charles started coming over to my place more often with the excuse of discussing the job, but it quickly became obvious why he was there. In retrospect I even wondered if he hired me so he could see me again. However, for several weeks I resisted his advances because I didn't think getting involved with a married man was a good idea. One night, in particular, when he tried to kiss me, Rocco came by quickly, sat next to me looking up at him and made it clear that I wasn't ready yet.
​
But I liked him, a lot, and eventually, I gave in. The connection between us was undeniable and we had great sexual chemistry. But it wasn’t just that, in spite of the fact that he was a celebrity, and could have found better looking women than me, I also felt a genuine sense of admiration coming from him.
​
Our evenings together were fun and interesting to me because we came from two different worlds. I was an Italian from a privileged background who had chosen to live in an industrial loft in the Arts District, he was an American who had come to Hollywood without connections and built a name for himself through talent and determination. He was also funny, so I felt true admiration for him.
​
However, the affair was exciting and stressful at the same time, because I never knew when he was going to be able to come by, and ended up not making any plans in the hope that he would show up. We also couldn't go anywhere together for fear that someone would recognize him. And, to make matters worse, I had to lie to my friends about my private life.
"Why don't you want to go out?" they would ask. "Are you seeing someone?" And all I could do was come up with lame excuses.
​
On the other hand, I had no interest in breaking up Charles' marriage to secure a relationship. He had told me that he loved his wife and I believed that somehow he did, although I knew in my heart that by cheating on her, he had already moved on and it was just a matter of time until they would split up. So I tried not to develop any feelings for him and to keep it cool.
​
But I failed. I was in love, at least with that part of him that he had shared with me, not the celebrity, the husband or the father, but the lover and the creative soul who appreciated the creative and sexual part of me.