Why A Banker Asked Me Not To Leave After One Look At The Passbook

of the Fairmont Copley Plaza. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto the shoulders of Boston’s elite. Cameras hovered like insects, hungry for a moment.

I arrived at 7:55 p.m.

I wasn’t wearing the beige, sensible clothes Richard preferred me in.

I was wearing a structured red dress that cost more than my car. The color wasn’t an accident. It was a statement:continue reading …