We were looking at spaces to open a store and meeting with manufacturers and backers. We went sample shopping and brainstormed on the direction of the new company. My father was going to be our head guide and possible backer. We called him Big T.

  After a few weeks of running around, however, I began to get tired. I was still seeing Manganaro and he suggested that I take it slower. I needed to rely on my instincts to do what was best for my body. One of the pluses of battling Lyme disease it that you learn to rely on your gut, and my gut was telling me that a partnership with Tara, as wonderful as she is, was not in my best interest healthwise.

  Needless to say, Tara was disappointed when I pulled out of the partnership. What probably made it seem even worse to her is that I quickly decided to open my own clothing company and have Nary come on as partner and head designer. Of Laotian descent, Nary grew up on the streets of Columbus, Ohio. Literally. A Christian mission brought his parents and grandparents to the United States from Laos. One day Nary came home from school to see all of the family’s belongings piled up on the sidewalk in front of their home. They’d been evicted, and his parents were nowhere to be found. They’d basically abandoned him, his twin brother, and his little sister.

  The children began sleeping in a Dunkin’ Donuts, and a park, and then in the local high school. Eventually, the principal of the school caught on and offered some help. Nary put on his own fashion show at the age of seventeen and homeless, after picking up a Vogue magazine in the donut shop and teaching himself how to make clothes by reading books on sewing and pattern-making in the public library.

  In Nary, I saw another young talented Asian designer like others who had begun to populate the fashion world, people like Phillip Lim and Alexander Wang. From a business perspective, he was a solid choice even if he wasn’t as established as Tara.

  But the main reason I went with Nary was that the energy just felt more manageable with him. I could take my time making decisions and not feel overwhelmed by having to live up to Tara’s great reputation. I felt safer with Nary and knew I could fail and just try again. I knew partnering with him was the healthier move, and I wasn’t about to do anything that would risk my health.

  As it turned out, I got Nary—or he got me—just in the nick of time. His main backer experienced financial issues and had quit the partnership after Nary’s most recent show. When I called him, Nary was in Delaware at a friend’s house lamenting his situation. He later told me that the words “I don’t know what I am going to do with my life now” were coming out of his mouth as the phone was ringing.

  My father was on the phone with me and suggested we work together to start a new line. He told us to get to a fabric store immediately and come up with a concept for our new clothing line. All brands must have a focus, said Mr. H. I agreed. It makes for a more creative process. I truly believe that the more restrictions you have, whether it be financial, a color palette, a fabric choice, or making the same one design over and over again, the more creative you can become.

  Working on the line was a miraculous adventure and challenge. When I was in Paris, I bought a simple black-washed silk shirtdress. It was brilliantly versatile and chic. We decided to base the clothing line around it.

  And so we were off. We went to Mood, the fabric purveyor of Project Runway fame, to get inspired and buy some fabric for sampling, and started designing. We worked out of my apartment next to Don Hill’s at first, and then soon moved into a small studio space on Thirty-Ninth Street in the Garment District, which was attached to our sample maker’s factory. Things couldn’t have gone any better. Nary and I came up with a name for the brand by putting our initials together, which formed the word NAHM. Nary-Alexandria-Hilfiger-Manivong. In Laotian nahm means water, and the concept of water is known to be very healthy for a business.

  Before our first fashion show in February 2011, Bridget Foley, who is one of the cornerstones of Women’s Wear Daily, called us. After the interview, we were directed to go downstairs to their photo studio to shoot some pics.

  The next day, we woke up to find a photo of Nary and me on the cover of Women’s Wear Daily. I cried. Nary cried.

  I just couldn’t believe it.

  The Lyme was gone and all my dreams were coming true.

  twenty-seven

  THE MAN ALL IN BLACK AND A WIDE-BRIMMED HAT

  “Love is a gift of one’s inner most soul to another so both can be whole.”

  —BUDDHA

  Oh, wait a minute. Something else really big happened that I forgot to tell you about, but to do so I must take us back a couple of months, to December 13, 2010. A friend of mine was curating an art show in the Meatpacking District, and another friend, Francesco, was deejaying the event. They invited me to the show, which was on a Saturday evening.

  At the time I had a housekeeper named Iris who would come to my apartment on Saturdays. I was still trying to master this whole work-health balancing act, and my Saturdays were usually spent in bed recharging my battery. Iris was always bugging me about being single and working all the time or resting in bed. “Get out and have some fun, Miss Ally,” she would plead. “Have a man in your bed, it will make you happy and your life full.”

  Basically what Iris was telling me was that in order to be content I had to be a slut, but she always made me laugh. I didn’t have time for men. Any dates I went on turned into disasters. I knew deep inside, however, that Iris was right. I wasn’t going to have a full life all by myself.

  A few weeks before, a friend had given me an antique Afghanistan prayer necklace, which had a small compartment in it that I assumed was meant to hold a little prayer. I decided to write a letter to God (whatever God meant; every day it changes for me). It went something like this:

  Dear God,

  Thank you for all you have given to me in life, and the way you have guided me. Please help me remain open to the lessons you have in store for me, so that I may follow my divine path and do what I am meant to do in life. Please keep me addiction-free, open, and always willing to learn and grow.

  If it is in the plan to meet a man, please have him be on a similar spiritual path, healthy, open, creative, honest, kind, funny, fun, adventurous, have good taste, and be happy. May he come from a good and kind family who have similar morals and values to mine. And please, make sure he has a job.

  I turn my will and my life over to you, and remain open.

  Love,

  Me

  I rolled the little piece of paper up and slid it inside the necklace. I wore the necklace and ten days later, something magical happened, and after that, the necklace broke!

  On this particular Saturday, I was coming down with a cold. I was in bed all day. Iris came and urged me to attend the art show. I didn’t want to be a flake with my friends, so I rallied, picked up an Emergen-C vitamin mix and a bottle of water, and headed to the party. Going by myself didn’t bother me at all—I was used to it. I meet people rather easily, and I’ll talk to a mannequin.

  I went to the party wearing a mini fur vest, which I got at an antique shop in Peru, a burnt orange skirt that I had made into a dress, and piles of my Pakistani and Afghan jewelry. The outfit was quintessentially me. Gypsified, if you will. As soon as I walked in, I saw a guy walking across the other end of the gallery who was dressed all in black. He had long dark hair, a dark beard, and a wide-brimmed, black hat. I was instantly transmitted in my mind to another century. I pictured this guy on a rolling library ladder in an old apothecary room, surrounded by taxidermy and maps. I was fascinated. I wanted to speak to this person who had aroused this connection in me. I wanted to ask him questions and learn from him. Don’t ask me why. These are just the first thoughts that ran in my head when I saw him.

  In addition to being attracted by his mysterious aura, the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous might have also crossed my mind. But when he disappeared through the crowd I thought, Oh well. He wasn’t going to talk to me anyhow. Way too cool. And I am a total dork.

  I found my friend Francesco upstairs working the decks from a balcony and hung with him for a while. Then, out of absolutely nowhere, my mystery man looked up and waved to Fran.

  As the wide-brimmed hat guy climbed the steps, I nearly pushed Francesco off the balcony with excitement.

  “You know that guy!?” I asked. I made Fran promise to introduce me. “I have never felt so strongly about someone in my life,” I said, nearly breathless. “I am smitten.”

  “Ally, I forgot his name,” Fran said in a rather uninterested manner that didn’t capture the electricity of the moment. “Just help me out when I introduce you.”

  I hastily applied some Chapstick (I don’t care for lip gloss) and nervously started chewing on a cinnamon toothpick, which was my crutch for quitting smoking, which I did during the German protocol.

  “Don’t worry,” I assured him. “I forget people’s names all the time. I know what to do.”

  The man in the hat emerged from the stairs and our eyes met. I put out my hand and said, “Hi, I’m Alexandria. What’s your name?”

  “Steve. Nice to meet you.”

  A very tall guy had come upstairs with my mystery man, and he was rather intimidating. Anyone over six two is a little bit alarming to me. The tall friend of Steve’s put out his hand and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Eric.”

  Steve and I had a brief and funny conversation about cinnamon toothpicks. He had an uncle who made homemade cinnamon toothpicks back in the day. This delighted me. We had something in common.

  Later we found each other again in the dense crowd of art folk. We spoke for a long while, as if no one else were around us in the gallery. It felt so natural and comfortable, like talking with an old friend (maybe from a past life?). A photographer approached and remarked, “You make a really adorable couple.”

  I played along and made up a random story just for fun. “We are not officially together, but last night I decided it would be fun to paint his whole body hot pink with a powdered paint pigment. He woke up in the morning shocked but intrigued!”

  Spontaneous? Definitely. Kooky? Zany? Positively.

  A few other people commented on the fact that we looked good together. It’s one of those comments that both make you blush and get you all hot and red and sweaty and embarrassed. I couldn’t deny that what they were saying was true. It didn’t occur to me, however, that we would possibly go any further in any sort of romantic way. There is no way this guy is single, I thought.

  I left him with my phone number and he gave me his, and we parted ways. I kept my expectations low. I thought he might be a new friend or perhaps we might work together in some capacity one day, or that my father and uncle would work with him. Steve was then the creative director at Warner Music Group, and my uncle Andy and my dad were involved with a lot of music and merchandising licensing deals with celebrities. There was a future with this guy. I just didn’t know exactly what it was.

  When I got home later that night, I saw a text from Steve. It said something like, “It was so lovely meeting such a wonderful woman… let’s hang out this week.” I had ended a relationship with an ex-boyfriend named Tim about a year before.

  Over the previous months I had gone out on a few dates with different types of guys; some were setups and others were with guys I knew. After a while I became discouraged. I was just dating the wrong people, guys who were looking for the next cool thing or place to be. None of them seemed to want to commit on any level, let alone with someone who had all the baggage I had on my train car. So I decided to keep my expectations low with Steve.

  The following week, we went out three times. The first night we were together was something of a spontaneous act out of loneliness on my part. We had set our first date for the following night, on Tuesday. But the Monday before I was going to an art show downtown and didn’t feel like going alone. So I just called Steve to ask if he was available. We ended up spending most of the evening together.

  Our first official date, on Tuesday night, he asked if I wanted to go see the Christmas windows at Bergdorf Goodman. I have to say, it was a good start on his part. It was exactly something that I liked to do. It was bitterly cold night, though, and I mean frigid. I wore this 1970s-era black print, silk chiffon dress with a big frilly collar, billowy sleeves, and buttons down the front, but underneath it I wore two pairs of leggings: a pair of wool tights, and silky leggings over those so the dress wouldn’t stick to the wool. I also wore two long-sleeved T-shirts under it, both low cut enough to match the neckline of the dress. I wore a brown suede and shearling aviator jacket from Ralph Lauren that I got for Christmas years before, which I never wore around my dad. I had on high, high-heeled booties and a wool hat and mittens.

  After the windows, we ended up in a Japanese teahouse in Midtown, almost frozen stiff. We were at ease with each other instantly.

  The third consecutive night he asked me to meet him and his friends at a bar in the Lower East Side. We ended up making our way to Don Hill’s.

  On the dance floor at the club, the song “Space Oddity” by David Bowie blared over the speakers. It was the perfect soundtrack for a first kiss. I felt as though I were floating in space. I couldn’t even feel the pain from the six-inch, pony-skin stilettos I was wearing.

  After Christmas, Steve went to Costa Rica with some friends for a surfing trip. He casually invited me to join him, not expecting that I would actually do it.

  From Mustique, after our family Christmas, my brother Richard escorted me to meet up with Steve. There was no way he was going to let his big sister go alone to Costa Rica to meet up with some guy. I arrived with that same burnt orange skirt worn as a strapless dress, strappy sandals, and a huge black felt sunhat with lots of silver bracelets piled up on my little wrists.

  When we landed, Steve, Richard, Eric (the tall intimidating friend), and I all went to lunch together. Once lunch was over, Richard 100 percent approved of this mystery guy and got on the next plane out. He knew I was in good hands.

  I fell in love with Steve in the Monte Verde jungle of Costa Rica. We got lost in the rain, had two flat tires, were stranded, and had to stay in a random motel, and we had the time of our lives. We laughed so much my stomach hurt, but this time in a very good way.

  I didn’t want the trip to end and it seemed the universe didn’t want it to end, either. As it happened, the northeastern United States was buried under a major snowstorm, and I was flying standby on JetBlue as it was, so there was no way we could fly into New York. Instead we got a flight to Miami for a connecting flight to Barbados. From Barbados we hopped on a plane to Mustique.

  We spent New Year’s on the island, where he met my entire family: my mom, her husband, my dad, his wife, her ex-husband and his girlfriend, all the kids, my aunt, my uncle, and their kids. It was nuts. If Steve could get through this, I thought, we really did have a shot.

  When we got back to New York, the second of January 2011, we officially decided to date exclusively. Steve’s parents and sister were in town waiting to see him for the New Year, and he followed my lead by inviting me to meet his family for dinner that evening. I was nervous as hell, and definitely not as calm, cool, and collected as Steve was meeting my family.

  It seems completely mad that we met each other’s families so quickly, but it just felt right, and we knew we were in it for the long haul that New Year’s Eve. We just knew.

  twenty-eight

  EAST MEETS WEST AND CLOSES THE DOOR

  “I find hope in the darkest of days, and focus in the brightest. I do not judge the universe.”

  —DALAI LAMA

  Here’s something about Lyme disease you might not know: It hates happy endings.

  If I had been on a roller coaster, I was finally at the tippy-top, loving every second, with NAHM and Steve and life in general. Steve’s thirtieth birthday was approaching and I was planning a big two-part surprise party for him in New York. I had a lot of tasks at hand in the office and with the party.

  One day I found myself at my desk at the NAHM office on Thirty-Ninth Street on the phone with three notepads and two laptops in front of me, trying to juggle about five different things at once. All at once, I had cartoon brain. Remember when the safe fell on Wile E. Coyote in the Road Runner cartoon and he wobbled around in circles with a whirling halo of Tweety birds? Yeah, that’s the one. My brain just stopped working. I grabbed my coat and raced downstairs to get some air. I was hyperventilating. This can’t be happening, I said to myself. It can’t be back, it can’t be back.

  I knew that I had felt a little off, but I chalked it up to the stress of our last fashion show. I walked out of the building without a plan or destination. I came upon a church and walked in. It had been six years since the Christmas Eve at the church in Bedford Village where I fell on my knees and asked the priest to grant me sleep, and the memory of that night came flooding back. Here I was again, surrounded by stained glass and statues, at the end of my rope. This time, however, the church was nearly empty. There was the faint scent of incense in the air. I knelt in a pew with my face in my hands, the way my mother used to do, and prayed for help.

  Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Nary. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “Not okay,” I texted back. I wrote that I was in the church down the street.

  By the time Nary arrived I was a mess, with mascara trails and hair stuck to my face. I couldn’t stop shaking. I felt weak and limp. I could feel the hot blood pulsing through my veins and my joints swelling up like balloons. I had been feeling more rundown than usual the past couple of weeks but thought it was just because I was working so much. I thought the last treatment had taken away my symptoms for good and that I never ever would have to shut down again. I didn’t continue following the German protocol after I was treated, for more than seven months. I became lazy, and work and life took over. My strict diet became more and more lenient. I didn’t even take any drops to keep my toxicity low. I didn’t think that I really had to because of how well I felt after the German treatment.