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My memories of Phil are overwhelmingly of a sweet and gentle and loving man, which is not to say that he didn’t have a temper, as anyone who knew him well will tell you. He was a sensitive person, and he was incapable of masking his anger. He would never sit and stew, or leave an argument unresolved. One night, when Cooper was five months old, I left him alone with Phil for the first time to join a friend who had invited me to a Marc Jacobs show. When I returned, Cooper was crying—he wouldn’t take the bottle and had been bawling the entire time. Phil yelled, “You are never leaving the apartment again. I don’t have breasts! I can’t feed him!” Then he handed me Cooper and stormed out onto our balcony for a smoke. A few minutes later, he slunk back in, and we both started laughing.
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