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It’s the ideal room for napping, having a tantrum or - let’s just say - group sex. Then the six of us all convened in a room called “the soft room.” The soft room is exactly what it sounds like. Pablo thought I looked so nice with my pregnant belly in my red dress, he asked if he could take my picture, and I said yes. We stood on the staircase together giggling in shock: “Dude, fuck art! Look at this place!”

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As struggling theater artists, we both just aspired to live in apartments with windows that didn’t look out directly onto brick walls.

This was in March or something.)ĭidi and I were awestruck. And yes, there was a hot tub on the roof. It was huge even by non-New York City standards, exquisitely decorated, everything was automated and so on. We get to Pablo’s loft, and, like… I guess the hotel business in Argentina is a pretty good gig, because this place was ridiculous. So it’s me, Pablo, Didi, Pablo’s friend Cassie (a reiki practitioner) and a couple we’ll call Rob and Emma. How could I turn down such an auspicious invitation? Again, I’m a big believer in taking advantage of unique life experiences when they present themselves. I just heard the words “hot tub on the roof” and immediately said yes. Pregnant women are not supposed to go in hot tubs.