I just knew I needed to work hard. I may not have been blessed with much natural talent—a lot of people have it—but it’s work ethic that separates people. Artists or athletes.

I have read everything by Anaïs Nin. I especially love her diaries and her erotic short stories. Her imagination and writing style captivated me. I wondered how she protected her lovers and her family, as I feel odd about writing about people in my life. But she was brave and open. She too didn’t want to hurt anyone with her words.

Before the boys were born, I read The Continuum Concept by Jean Liedloff, about attachment parenting and how if children’s needs are always met early on, they will grow up secure and confident and form healthy attachments later in life.

When I read Robert A. Johnson’s He, She, and We, my world was turned upside down.

Like Marilyn Monroe. Pure elegance. He said it suited me. Tom just knew glamour.

Like in years past, I walked the trails around Pepperdine and went to my old Pilates studio. I was determined to connect to my body again—it felt so far away. Secret layers.

No matter how I tried, the image was bigger than me and always won. My life took off without me. It felt superficial, materialistic. I joked that my breasts had a career of their own, and I was just tagging along. Flashing back to the gym at the Playboy Mansion, where I agreed to amplify my chest like everyone else, then endured years of sordid att

Ursula Andress called me her favorite, and Jane Fonda told me, Don’t let them do to you what they did to me.

I spent all I had on that party. It was worth it. And money wasn’t something I was comfortable hoarding. If I had it, I only wanted to use it to make people happy. Love is the quality of attention we pay to things.