Over the phone, Anna explained that she wanted to make a documentary film during the trip, and that she would be covering the cost of the hotel as part of a business expense. She wanted my help researching possible destinations, she said, so that we could make the most of the opportunity, since this trip out of the US was something she needed to do regardless. After a brief back-and-forth contemplating other places, Anna suggested Marrakech—she’d always wanted to go—and knowing that it was, in her words, “the hot spot,” she chose the hotel La Mamounia, a five-star luxury resort ranked among the best in the world. A Google search later, I agreed it looked incredible. Four days after announcing that she wanted to go away, Anna reserved a $7,500-per-night private riad and forwarded me the confirmation email. This did not seem preposterous—after all, Anna lived in one five-star hotel after the other, whether she was on an island in Greece or in downtown Manhattan. And at the time, I fully expected to pay for my own flights and expenses.
All that was left to decide was whom else to invite. Finding a videographer for the documentary became Anna’s first priority. That’s where Neffatari Davis came in. As a concierge at 11 Howard, “Neff” was an affable go-getter with a pretty smile and a penchant for gossip. Conveniently, she was also an aspiring filmmaker. Anna and I spent time with Neff when she was on duty, and sometimes after her shift, when she’d join us for dinner or drinks. She was two years younger than Anna, making her five years younger than me. Her interest in talent, fame, and money was overt—if she was starry-eyed about this or that person, especially anyone having to do with filmmaking, it wasn’t a secret. She wore her passion on her sleeve. For reasons unknown, she called me “Trachel,” which stood for True Rachel—and I didn’t mind.
As the obvious videographer for the Morocco trip, Neff was on board from the start. She and Anna had researched hotels before Anna settled on La Mamounia, and the three of us texted about plans for the film and whom else to invite.
Anna: The suite i booked has 3 bedrooms and can accommodate 6 people, assuming we all sleep 2 in each bed
Me: K that sounds great, we should meet to talk about who else soon right?
Anna: Throw me your suggestions for 3 other people we can invite.
Anna: We dont need to be 6 but we have the capacity.
Anna: I will ask my guys who work for me but most of them are married/have babies.
Neff: I’m so down with it.
Neff: I already have the people ready to cover my shift.
Anna: Cool
Anna: Making a movie
Anna:
Anna: Need 3 more props that would fit the narrative.
Neff: Ugh I’m so excited
* * *
Under New York State law, an occupant who resides in a hotel room for thirty consecutive days or longer is deemed a tenant rather than a guest, making him or her harder to evict. To avoid this, hotels usually set a maximum length of stay, after which guests are required to check out for at least one night.
As a result, 11 Howard required this of Anna every time her stay approached the thirty-day mark. She hated the inconvenience. Adherence to policies and procedures was her nemesis; she saw protocol enforcement as arbitrary. So, in mid-April, when she’d been at the hotel for nearly thirty days, Anna came up with a solution. She made a reservation in my name at 11 Howard for one night. I’d check in and pick up a key as a formality, but all of Anna’s stuff would remain in the room. She’d pack a bag and move to the Greenwich Hotel for twenty-four hours, where she and I could have dinner and a spa night. She would take care of the billing for everything.
I didn’t see anything wrong with the plan, so I went to 11 Howard around five p.m. on Tuesday, April 11, as instructed. Just as I entered the lobby, Anna walked by me without stopping. Had she not seen me? How could she have missed me? It was weird, but when Anna’s eyes were fixed on an objective, it was like the rest of the world didn’t exist.
Where’d you go? I texted, confused by her sudden departure. Our massages were scheduled to begin in one hour.
I need to pick up some luggage, she replied, back in 20.
Neff checked me in. The process didn’t take long. She gave me a key card, but with no reason to visit the room, I waited for Anna in the lobby and called the spa to say we’d be late.
An hour later (ten minutes after our appointment start time), Anna finally returned to the 11 Howard lobby. Again, she flew right by me, pausing only to grab the hotel key from my outstretched hand before shlepping her giant new Rimowa suitcase into the elevator. Because Anna was the one who’d made the spa appointments and would be the one paying, I was perfectly calm waiting for her to go upstairs and pack. Nevertheless, I was taken aback—and not for the first time—by her erratic and somewhat mysterious behavior.
The front-desk staff at the Greenwich Hotel expedited Anna’s check-in—we flew through the lobby and took an elevator down to the spa. We were so late that the duration of our services was cut in half. Still, the spa visit was an extravagance and I was grateful to be there, especially since I’d been stressed lately, working through tension with Nick about the on-and-off status of our relationship and also worried about my grandma Ruthie, in South Carolina, who was in her nineties and had come down with pneumonia. Not that Anna knew it; I kept my sadness and anxiety to myself.
After her shift, Neff joined us. While she and Anna chatted and laughed in the steam room, I stepped into the gym to take a call from Nick. When I found them in the changing room, Anna and Neff could tell that I’d been crying. Without asking for any details, they sweetly tried to cheer me up. Neff took the lead, telling me that I was too strong to cry over a guy and too nice to be in the wrong. Anna tried to comfort me, too, but in a different way. “He must be stupid,” she said, smiling—having pulled the word “stupid” from a song we often listened to while working out: “Got It Good,” by Russ.
It was rare for me to let anyone see that I was upset, so for it to happen now, in front of Anna and Neff, made me feel exposed. But their support made me feel closer to them, so I wasn’t entirely sorry about it.
By the time we got to dinner, I was feeling much better. We ate in the Drawing Room, a cozy den that was exclusively for guests, where we spoke about Neff and her boyfriend (a rapper she knew from growing up in the Washington, D.C., area), other staff at 11 Howard, and our plans for Morocco. With her interest in film, Neff studied every detail in the Greenwich Hotel as if it had been chosen by its owner, Robert De Niro, himself. After dinner, I went home, feeling excited about the vacation to come and happy to have Anna’s and Neff’s friendship.
* * *
The trip was approaching, and Anna was determined to invite more guests. She asked me to suggest people, especially anyone who could help make the film alongside Neff. It struck me as odd that, as the host, Anna wanted me to pick her guests, though I did work in the photo industry and her connections to that world seemed limited. I casually asked a few friends, people who could potentially take a week off for a trip—but I didn’t push very hard. My hesitation was definite but undefined—something just didn’t feel right. Part of it was that Anna was so out-there and I wasn’t sure if my friends would understand her. Was I trying to protect her? Trying to protect them? Maybe both? Anna also appealed to a certain part of me, and not necessarily the best part. Because of her, I was often late for things, I drank too much, and I neglected other friendships. I felt proud that Anna liked me, but was it possible, at the same time, to feel subconsciously ashamed?
Feeling a need to reconnect with my family, I spent Easter weekend in Spartanburg, South Carolina, at my grandparents’ house. My mom and I planted flowers in my grandmother’s garden. We also picked a few, which we brought to Grandma Ruthie in the rehab center, where she was “through the woods” of pneumonia but still recovering. I also spent time with my grandpa Fletcher, went on a hike with my dad, and, on Sunday, dyed Easter eggs on the back porch with my siblings and cousins. It was a calming and uncomplicated break. It
felt good to be surrounded by loved ones.
Anna hung out with Neff while I was gone, which had become a bit of a pattern. Even though it felt like I saw Anna every day, I had traveled a fair amount throughout March and into April. I had gone to visit my sister, Jennie, in Baltimore, traveled to Stillwater, Minnesota, for a bachelorette weekend, and been to Washington, D.C., for an engagement party. I’d also had a visit from my college roommate, Kate, who’d come to the city for her wedding-dress fitting.
Neff later told me that Anna had seemed lonely while I was gone. I had noticed that Anna didn’t seem to have many other friends, and I knew that she’d had a falling out with Mariella (and by extension Ashley) before leaving town in 2016. The details were blurry, something to do with Anna’s lack of sensitivity—apparently she’d called Mariella to deliver some upsetting news but had relayed the message as though it were a fun piece of gossip. Even though the way Anna’s friendship with Mariella and Ashley had ended made me wary, it didn’t entirely surprise me, and I continued to give Anna the benefit of the doubt. Yes, she could be tone-deaf, I reasoned, and she lacked social graces, but she was well intentioned.
While I was in Spartanburg, Anna and Neff had dinner at Gramercy Tavern, went shopping at Rick Owens, and tried cryotherapy—an anti-aging beauty treatment that requires you to stand in a freezing-cold chamber for two to three minutes. Anna bought a new pair of sandals during their outings, and she sent me a photo: I think they are so you with [their] pearls, she texted.
Over the weekend, Anna brought Neff to work out with Kacy. During the session, Anna invited Kacy to come along on the Morocco trip. When Anna told me that Kacy had agreed, I was glad, and felt relieved to have a genuine adult joining our ranks.
I’m getting so excited for our adventure, I replied.
Yes we’ll focus on the movie and working out , Anna said.
My flight back to New York was early on Monday morning, and I landed to a text from Anna. How about inviting Mark Seliger to Marrakech? she asked. Mark was a famous portrait photographer—also a friend and client of Kacy’s–but I knew him strictly through my job. I told Anna it would be too weird and awkward for me professionally. I believed she was serious about her film project, but asking Mark, an older man with whom I worked, to come on a trip with four women to a private Moroccan villa? No.
Would make sense though since he knows you and [Kacy] and does film, Anna maintained.
He’s a very well known/busy photographer, I replied. I’d be surprised if he were free.
The conversation shifted and Mark’s name wasn’t brought up again. I told no one that Anna had even mentioned the idea. It felt too off base. It was clear to me that Anna was becoming increasingly vexed over her indecision about whom else to invite, and what had started out as a fun idea was turning into a more stressful project than I had expected.
To make matters worse, by the end of April, Anna’s friendship with Neff had become strained. Looking back, I can see that this was bound to happen given the nature of their relationship—Anna expected Neff to be both employee and friend. At the same time, it was easy to see how, for Neff, it might have been hard to gauge the sincerity of Anna’s offer. Here was this girl operating in extremes, party nights and power lunches, making bold proclamations and grand gestures. What was Neff supposed to take seriously?
Despite Neff’s enthusiasm, Anna told me, Neff was not getting back to her with the dates she was available for the trip—information that Anna needed in order to confirm her booking at La Mamounia—and the hotel’s cancellation window (after which point Anna’s deposit would become nonrefundable) was approaching. Anna had given Neff a clear deadline and was annoyed that she had to follow up for an answer.
When the dates were finally set, Neff tweeted, I’m going to Morocco in a few weeks to direct a film. Two years ago I was a manager at Starbucks. You can’t tell me God isn’t real. In the comments section, Neff also responded to a person’s congratulatory message by asking her if she’d like to come. When the girl said yes, Neff said she’d check to see if all the PA positions had been filled.
Anna sent me a screenshot.
That’s a bit much, no? Anna asked.
I couldn’t have agreed more. Part of my job on photo shoots had always been to make sure everyone respected our closed-set policy—social media wasn’t allowed. It detracted from our collective mission, which was to make something great for the magazine to release. Travel, sets, locations, and talent were not booked so that a photographer (or anyone else for that matter) could take and instantaneously share shoot details or iPhone pictures that killed our exclusivity. It was a sore spot for me, which made my reaction uncharitable, especially since Neff did not have my experience with closed sets.
Considering i had to chase to get her vacation dates one day past the cancellation deadline, Anna continued.
Yeah. That’s annoying, I said.
Thats my problem with all these ppl, Anna complained.
I interpreted her statement as a broad missive against people who were more talk than action.
Anna also wished that Neff had waited to actually make the film before posting about it. It would be so embarrassing [for her] if this trip [doesn’t] happen, she wrote. Then inviting randos from twitter when you 100% know you aren’t in a position to invite anyone. I mean i like her in real life. She seems like she works hard. [But] this psychotic desire to show off is such a turn off for me.
She went on to say that she’d offered to pay for Neff’s rental equipment. According to Anna, Neff had said that she’d go to the camera store to look at lenses, but it never happened. I mean what am I supposed to be doing that now[?] Anna fumed. I’m not the one who wants to be the filmmaker here. Plus i have better things to do. I’m also not supposed to be chasing you when you are invited for a free vacation. You cant really have that attitude in any of the creative jobs.
You have to be scrappy, smart and self-motivated, I agreed.
I guess she wants to come across as someone like this, Anna said, but there are so many discrepancies between talk and action. It’s hard to look past it. I get it, she has this job for money, but no one has it easy.
* * *
On the evening of May 1, I joined Anna for dinner at Le Coucou. Kacy and her friend, who happened to be a Swedish pop star, joined us, too. This was a dinner that Anna had actually made a reservation for. There was an air of expectancy in the room, and the waiters were preemptively giddy as they awaited news from the James Beard Awards, in Chicago. When they got the call, a huge hurrah exploded from the kitchen: Le Coucou had been named the year’s Best New Restaurant. The staff hugged each other, joined in a circle to applaud, pulled down the top-shelf alcohol, and toasted in celebration. By the evening’s end, Anna and I were the only guests left, unofficially part of the family. It was one of those rare occasions that I experienced as if from above: swirling in ephemeral revelry, I knew then that it was special, to be with these people, gathered by chance, for this moment in time.
In the back of my mind, I also knew that in less than two weeks Anna and I would be in Morocco. This evening in Le Coucou reminded me that, despite any misgivings, Anna had a magical way of looking to the horizon, understanding potential, and knowing exactly when to be where.
* * *
Anna didn’t dwell on her frustration with Neff, who removed the offending tweets as soon as she’d been asked. But exactly one week before the trip, Neff had a change in plans. It was the day before Anna was traveling to Omaha for the Berkshire Hathaway Annual Shareholders Meeting. Anna had invited me to come with her for the weekend, but I was attending the 53rd Annual SPD (Society of Publication Designers) Awards Gala with my colleagues from the magazine’s photo and art departments on Friday and an engagement party on Saturday.
Neff sent a text to Anna, which Anna forwarded to me. If we were still going to Morocco, Neff said, she could be there only from Friday to Wednesday, not for a full week like the rest of us, because she needed to tra
vel to Los Angeles for a video shoot with her boyfriend. Neff was going through a hard time in her relationship, so I wanted to cut her some slack. Anna did, too, at first, but the more she texted me, the angrier she sounded. She told Neff that it probably didn’t make sense for her to come, since we would be arriving in Morocco on Saturday afternoon, and staying only until Wednesday didn’t seem worth the expense. Neff backed out without offering an apology, and Anna was upset.
The situation ended strangely. Since Anna was preoccupied chartering a private jet for her travel to Omaha, she asked me to speak with Neff, to explain that her feelings (or was it pride?) had been wounded. It’d be great if you could call her tomorrow, Anna texted. I feel like she doesn’t understand how big of a deal it is.
The trip aside, I knew that Anna was unlikely to handle such a conversation gracefully. Still, the triangulation was awkward. I spoke to Neff on Monday morning. While sympathetic to her situation, I did as I was bid. To Anna, this trip was a big deal, I explained. Even though she seems unbothered, she’s actually pretty upset. Anna’s more sensitive than she seems, I said.
Neff was lovely. She totally got it, and she promised to follow up with Anna to express her gratitude and regret. The conversation itself actually felt perfectly normal. I think I was the only one who experienced discomfort at having been thrust into the middle of tension between friends. (To me, it felt like a scene from Mean Girls—Anna was Regina George, and I was her pawn.)
But there was something else about the situation that didn’t feel right. When I hung up with Neff, I paused to reflect. It was something about Anna, the way she appeared neutral with Neff, even when angry. She had forwarded me their text exchange, meant to show that she was annoyed:
My Friend Anna Page 9