The sleek city streets gleam with a brisk evening’s liquid snow. Tires underneath lustrous, brilliant cabs splash gritty, oily grime upon littered concrete. The surroundings seem statuesque as they extend toward the heavens and ascend upon the sky. Twinkling lights and steady streams of public scuttle about for their eleventh-hour items; Barney’s and Neiman’s, Sak’s and Macy’s, everywhere and everyone, dashing around. All but one. Standing still, calm and cool, draped in vintage; Chanel and Prada, Christian Louboutin’s grace her perfected, pedicured feet when she peeks her leg out of the black Mercedes door, after Roy side steps around the vehicle to unlatch the door for her, giving way to a clichéd, “Anything else for you, Miss-?”

He's interupted.

She speaks in a voice so relaxed and controlled that it’s enough to frighten most – how else would she obtain every whine, whim and demand she verbalizes? Everyone stops to gaze, whisper and fawn.

They’d trade their reputation to be a fraction of her.

They entertain the thought of being in her shoes, boasting her clout and acquiring her exquisite taste in all things materialistic. Silky, faultlessly coiffed hair devoid of any color lands above her ears and brows, with a single tendril that lies upon her forehead. Have you ever witnessed so many jealous and wistful stares? She has.

Back within her comfort zone, she places delicate bare fingers on her spotless white MAC keyboard, most likely typing notes on the latest issue or a rare personally composed e-mail to yet another ineffectual designer - there’s a reason she has multiple assistants. Clean lines and cream walls surround her as she glides behind her contemporary glass desk to look out upon the city beyond her great window… and then she calls for more Starbucks. At her beck and call, multiple employees, all hers of course, scatter around the office – looking nothing less than perfect – waiting for their orders from the extraordinaire herself.

It’s extremely hard to envision someone like her, with seemingly all the power one could muster, anything other than vindictive, demanding and expectant.

But, see her with those she loves, and it gives you an entirely different outlook. Late every night, she glides through the threshold of her multiple-story townhouse. She brushes the hair out of her girls’ eyes, their red locks shining brilliantly underneath their custom made princess light fixtures. She can’t deny them anything. She tucks each into bed, with a light kiss to their forehead, and a lively reassurance that there actually are not any monsters in their undeniably spectacular and sprawling walk-in closets.

She even goes as far as to check under their lavish raw silk comforters – pink for Caroline, blue for Cassidy – and promises not to turn off their bathroom light, and of course she would never dare depart from their rooms before they fall into their slumber.

She sits and watches, like the most proud mother you’ve ever seen. But those fortunate enough to have witnessed this relationship she shares, the true person she is underneath this impeccable persona that is undeniably her, consist of her beloved daughters and the three ex-husbands that exasperate her to no end.

Really, she’s only a lioness protecting her cubs, the only difference; she will tear you apart if you choose to cross her.