Apollo’s City

New York | Gemini Season

I returned to New York to find Apollo’s season was in full swing. I had much research to do, and I was reaching for the grapevine. I had premiered under a spotlight and had never left the Village before my independent studies in Paris. Having pinpointed my line in the realm’s history, I was in search of an advisor. Before one ever steps into the light, they find their footing in the shadows. While Paris had a bit of overcast, New York’s sun was shining. I dusted off my loupe, curious to see what unexplored paths in the realm remained. People across the field had a variety of specialties. While there was much work to do, the social calendar ruled.

Fridays with Apollo were observed, and the city’s circles began to orbit—waiting for the inevitable collision.

~

New York | June

An afternoon in Soho with Maison Valentino

It was a sticky afternoon in June outside a private viewing of Maison Valentino’s Fall 2025 Collection in SoHo. Three bonus cousins, an introduction, and designer milkshakes were on the itinerary to welcome in a fourth member. At the head of the family was the girl to know in Soho. Fabulous, artsy, with a lot of grit that only comes from having seen and heard just about everything. Private viewings were the perfect setting to discuss Alessandro Michele’s tasteful departure from rock studs to ball studs, weekend getaway plans, industry whispers, and personal projects. The afternoon concluded with a stop in a circus of an art gallery & the neighborhood’s most expensive grocery store, and plans for the rest of the summer.

~

New York | June

The Venue:

Jeany in a Bottle

The Outfit For the Night:

A Backless Nanushka fringe top

Vintage Express shorts

Black strappy sandals

Vintage Chautmet to balance a stack of Atlas rings

Essence of the Night:

YSL Babycat.

The table was made with a constellation of Brazilians and CA kids. Half of the degrees were stamped in Boston. All gathered to celebrate one very special Brazilian princess. Proof that angels really don’t age. The prominent industry for the night was jewelry. The early days of fashion were long over, and we spoke of it like it was child’s play.

The loyalties present ran deep; the watches at the table were mere accessories. Matches were made freely, and opinions were given with discernment. The children of the old economy had found themselves somewhere between legacy landscapes and the AI/creator/entrepreneur frontiers. Markets were spiraling, and we were constantly on the brink of war or collapse. New tariffs were to be implemented, and the same tariffs were to become exempt. This is the news the New Age generation would grow to know as it echoed into their early adulthood.

The food exceeded expectations, and when the neon green and red clock struck 1 o’clock, the music got a little bit louder.

~

Days and nights passed through summer whites on the coast of Connecticut and city rooftops with views. Some spoke in numbers, others spoke in titles, and others spoke in visions. Obscurity was a quiet comfort as mornings started with tea before coffee and a chosen textbook or scroll. Afternoons were spent on racquet courts, pilates reformers, strolling the art galleries of Soho, and learning about the latest in modern tech-leaning labs. Evenings included cold glasses of wine with friends in backyards and studying the backgammon and chess perspectives. Tennis tournaments had arrived, and the city’s residents were eager to host.

A midsummer gathering hosted by a table that started with ten chairs and girls next door, had me in a silk Fait Par Foutch mini skirt and seriously contemplating joining for an annual summer party at sea for an evening. I had heard about the celebration the year prior and had made sure to keep it in mind. I had a full day with a racquet sport and pilates, and planned for a two-part night. I dressed for the second, in a shimmering gold.

On deck with growingly familiar and friendly faces, I saw him from just over my shoulder, and my heart became very loud. I had made myself busy enough to distract from the quiet. On a night of things to do and people to meet, two winds and the sea. The sun broke through the afternoon clouds as we drifted past Lady Liberty. The soundtrack of new friends, laughs, camera clicks, and just the right tune to make my heart sing. My head turned to find his hands behind the tunes, and it took everything not to say,

“Oh, I’m so in love with him.”

My path and my feelings were up in the air. The deck glowed as the sky turned to night. I made my way to the stern, and Neptune had us facing each other once again. The air was toasty, the deck fell faint in a buzz, and he was warm to the touch. His band of Alley Cats was calling, and I was in desperate need of cooler air. He was looking at me the same way he always did, and I wanted to take a picture. As I sat to admire the night, my head turned to the deck below was rowdy in good spirits. A film photographer stood at a short distance, capturing a charming girl in the night. I had many duties to tend to on land, and I was happy to take a moment away at sea. I looked to where he stood in the crowd and had the most lovely and terrible thought,

…Who wouldn’t be?

For me? Him? Yes. In a heartbeat. Even if only in a tune, carried by the winds.

My mind was in a million places: on land, in the air, at sea, and adrift in the night.

~

When the time is right, a coffee will be shared with a Mentor. One found not through craft or specialty, but through time and a shared homeland. We had crossed paths in uncharted worlds and terrains. My time of preparation included a shared ritual of three o’clock miniature Diet Cokes and tokens of knowledge from life and shared memories of a land that lay West. She arrived with shared dispositions and invaluable insights. As we sat together on a drippy summer afternoon, she shared tales of her journey to closer coasts with her husband, and I spoke of my trip across the sea. She offered a hand with encouragement in a realm she once navigated herself. As we laughed, she then asked,

“So… He’s from California? Sounds familiar...”

She teased with a knowing smile as she had done when she first heard of him many months prior. Her husband was from my hometown, and she had grown up just South of us; we reached for each other at the beginning of the year, when Eaton had taken the Palisades. For the bond of the children of the land reached multiple generations, and our landscapes were far and wide. She had honored our bond in texts and on her wrist, and I would continue to celebrate her through the end of time. Sitting on the West Side of the city, I sighed,

“Yes, well, we’ll see. Things will be up in the air through summer, but it would be nice to see him again.”

~

A community started with ten chairs and girls next door, friendly and kind through rain or shine, gathered on a rooftop where views of the city lay on the west side. The Tennis Greats and Legends were in the city’s arena to practice their religion and fight for their place in history. I walked in to familiar faces and the sound of tunes that made my heart skip to the beat.

As I said hello to growing acquaintances and friendships, stories of the summer were shared. A warm hug and afternoon chatter had me stepping away to read messages from my dad. We loved to swap commentary on a match. During the eras of Federer and Nadal, I once asked him to explain the method behind the madness that was tennis tournaments. He compared it to that of the Roman Gladiators— Solo combat, mental/physical endurance, and spectacle. Grand Slams were like tournaments in the Colosseum. If the players were unbeatable for long enough, they become one of the Greats, a Tennis God. Beat one of the Greats, become a Legend. Battle one and lose? Still considered an honor.

When a generation of Greats starts to age out, the next has a small window of opportunity to battle for glory, money, & history. Think about it… an entire generation with the opportunity to become Legends or join the Greats. They’re all hungry for it. Who has the talent and skills to do it? Realistically, most players also have to get paid to continue playing. Without them, the sport dies. The thing I loved most about tennis was the love for the game that all the players seemed to have. Many of them spoke about it as if it were their religion. They choose to walk the path of their talent and push to be the absolute best, to contribute to the sport and keep it alive.

As the Legends and Greats performed on the world stage, hands spun a tune, and my name was on it. Drifting in the wind, through the grapevine, it arrived at the doorstep of a Titan.

New York | The Village

As I sat in the living room uptown for an annual get-together with couples who have started building lives together. Updates on family, friends, trips, and long-term planning. Laughs about the Red Zone, mid-party decorating, homemade food, and all things that make a home. The kind of friends that make you believe and keep you grounded.

The ones that won’t hesitate to say,

“That is not normal.”

And ask,

“How do you make that big of a choice?”

The ones I could plainly tell,

“No idea. Trying to figure that out. I crashed out a bit…”

Nothing made me feel more sane than drinks with my friends who are in long-term relationships.

They looked at me, slack-jawed, as I detailed my latest journeys. My best friend—a friend from before rank—and the man I respect, who respected me in return. They were blessings I had received early.

“I don’t know. I’m so New York. Lo raised for sure, and it’s obvious at times, but I feel like I’m a New Yorker.”

“You are. I’m a New Yorker, and you ARE a New Yorker at this point. No one gets me quite like you do. You know I’ll always take an excuse to hop away, but I need you here. This might sound woo-woo, but I’ve known you long enough to know, and something I’ve always admired about you: You’ve always had the belief and intuition that if something was meant for you, it will come. And it always has. If that’s your innate reaction… You already know.”

New Yorkers are protective of their own. I am lucky enough to be considered a part of what they protect. My best friend, who always knows best (and calls things early, often with tough love), will be asked by her chosen future husband:

“Do we like him?”

“We do! We haven’t heard that name in a while. I think he’s a good fit for her. They’re from the same home state. She always has a good time with him. We like him! We’re rooting for him.”

Her future husband raises his beer with a smile. “Well… a sailboat does sound pretty romantic… Can’t wait to meet him. Does he like golf?”

That’s a lot coming from a New Yorker.

And it is the greatest honor when he asks me, for the first time, about rings. After shooing eavesdropping ears to the bathroom, he says, “Well, I’ve always planned to come to you for this. You’re a literal expert.”

I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to that. “Well, thank you. She’s going to be so excited—it’s going to be so much fun! I promise, you’ll be in good hands. So, what is she thinking?”

“Well, I’ve seen all of her dream boards…”

She and I had always mentioned it—when the time comes—and now, it seemed, the time had finally come. There was always joy to be had in the village, and I was so proud to be a part of New York’s village.

The first thing her mom said when she heard about the tower: “16D?! 16D is a good one! 16D is a lucky number.”

Turns out, she raised her daughter—a true New Yorker—in a 16D.

When I had left my premier House, I had never truly been with a guy I could see myself building a home with. Too young and too in love with the feeling of floating with the wind. But under Apollo’s sun, just the year before, on an afternoon in the middle of July, I took a stroll in a hat labeled ‘Honey’. On the edge of the sea, the wind blew me west, as it blew a guy East. Dressed in all black running gear and Oakley sunglasses, his head turned as mine did, and I wondered if it could be him—the guy who I had witnessed a smile from the Gods with, just a few nights prior.

~

A Great Mentor of mine is leaving the city. She’s returning to the West with her husband, to our homeland. I am forever grateful to her for her spirit and guidance in a time when I felt a bit lost. It’s not really a goodbye, just a,

“See you around! I’m sure of it.”

It was worth it to slow down and head uptown for an hour to wish her luck on the new chapter. She and her husband have always been a guiding light. It was a sad day when New York lost a little California, but they have a dream setup. It was a specific rabbit hole that her husband had set up shop in…. the right guy had once told me about it. When he explained that realm, I marveled at his mind while looking up at the light that came through the window of my bedroom, before reaching for his arms and confessing in a whisper,

“You’re so smart. I love it.”

The scariest thing I faced that summer wasn’t a talent. It was admitting—I thought I had met him.

That guy everyone vaguely says, “When you meet the right guy…” about. The guy who makes you believe again. Maybe even at a time when you’re questioning it yourself.

Romance? Fate? Serendipity? Perhaps someone could be just around the corner, and it’s only a matter of time.    I looked at the original page that I had written, which contained my blueprint. The one I’d always give when someone in the East asked where I was from.

“A quiet town—just north of LA, just south of Santa Barbara—that’s us, right where they meet on the map!”    I had met him on a completely different coast. The guy who grew up looking at those exact coordinates, living just around the corner.

I thought about his California kid smile, when his vowels got kinda round from the valley, and all the moments when he made me want to take a picture.

Him? Yes. In a heartbeat. Mine is always just a little bit louder when it gets to him.

His version of flowers echoed through time and speakers, and I couldn’t believe there was ever a story where we didn’t meet.

It was pretty inevitable, just around the corner, and I thought, it must’ve been the Fate, or something of the sort.

Written with Honey