This is not a partisan issue. The American people – and Epstein’s many victims – deserve transparency
I
n 1986, my life went from black-and-white to color. It was the year I taped a Duran Duran poster to my rural Pennsylvania high school locker, and then months later hung out with band members backstage at the Paris runway shows. It was the year I went from cleaning bathrooms for $3.35 an hour to making $50k in a day for a Maybelline shoot. Modeling opened a door into a gorgeous, creative, elite world – a dream born of a biological accident.
It is also what led me, decades later, into the very uncomfortable position of speaking out about the horrific legacy of child sex offender Jeffrey Epstein, whom I briefly dated in 1993.
I was introduced to Epstein at a dinner party, which I attended at the request of my then agent Faith Kates. He was charming and smart, and didn’t condescend as we connected over current events and the state of the world, a rare experience for me in those scenarios.
