Stefanie in a Chiave piece, with a design assistant.
Friends say that the divorce dealt a real blow to Saperstein and that her recovery is not yet complete. The details of the settlement, finalized last year, remain sealed. But among the things she got in the breakup, in addition to the house (now for sale at $125 million) and its contents, was a new attitude. “The key to success in life is how you handle plan B,” Saperstein says. In her case, that plan includes several new passions and business ventures, ranging from two clothing lines to a same-sex dance studio in West Hollywood. Remarriage? Not in the cards, she declares, but it’s clear she’s not getting herself to a nunnery, either. “Right now I want to have fun,” she says. “I want to wake up in the morning and have a smile on my face.”
That might help explain one of Saperstein’s current addictions: competitive Latin ballroom dancing, an arena where smiles are not just welcome but mandatory. Last fall Saperstein, an avid viewer of Dancing With the Stars, noticed that the show’s contestants were having fun and losing weight at the same time. So she did what any enterprising multimillionaire would do: She hired one of the show’s choreographers, Christian Perry, as her private instructor. After two months of intensive daily practice, she and Perry entered their first pro-am competition, in Long Beach, California. Saperstein says she didn’t tell anyone about it except for her 87-year-old mother, Anna, who came to watch.
If you’re guessing that Saperstein won the contest, you’re correct. “It was absolutely amazing,” she recalls, insisting she came in first place only because her competitors, in the beginners’ division, were terrible. Still, she says, “I couldn’t believe it when they said my name!” A few months later she entered a much larger contest at an airport Hilton. After 36 rounds of cha-cha, rumba, samba, jive and paso doble, she snagged first place again, this time in the bronze division. (She has now progressed to silver.)
The night after our lunch interview, Saperstein takes me with her and Roselli, plus Perry and a few other friends, on one of their regular outings to an L.A. salsa club. We arrive at the Mayan, a massive pre-Columbian-style nightclub, where a security guard is frisking people at the door. When it’s Saperstein’s turn, she excitedly throws her arms in the air, but the guard only wants to look through her handbag. “Damn it,” she says, laughing. Inside, although she’s practically the only blond in the crowd (and surely the only one with a net worth in the nine figures), Saperstein blends right in on the dance floor, twisting and twirling with Perry to the rhythms of the live band. Later she and Roselli sit on a balcony, kissing.
Comments
Post a Comment