Rachel DeLoache Williams - My Friend Anna

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For my parents

and

in loving memory of my grandparents

Ruth DeLoache Thompson and Fletcher D. Thompson

You are here to read about Anna Delvey, and I dont blame you. I, too, found her charmingwhile we were friends. The best villains are the ones you cant help liking despite their malevolence. That was Annas power. I liked her so much that it took me six months to realize my dear friend was a con artist. The truth was right under my nose.

From the outside looking in, people may think they comprehend the story of my friendship with Anna. It may seem easy to presume my motivations or assign blame based on stories in the news. But nothing about what I went through with Anna was simple. By telling my story here in all of its detail, I hope people will come to better understand what it was really like to live through this experience.

Ultimately, I believe that its natural to want to trust people. Im not sorry about that. Having this impulse doesnt make a person stupid or naive; it makes her human. In my opinion its a mark of good fortune not to have developed the type of cynicism that comes with so-called street smarts. If youd asked me before I met Anna, I wouldnt have thought I lacked this type of common sense. I was skeptical of strangers, suspicious of new people. But I didnt see Anna coming. She slipped through my filters. You read about those characters in books, you see them in movies, but you dont expect to meet one in real life. You dont think its going to happen to you.

If you havent yet had the experience, I can tell you: it is deeply unsettling to learn that someone you care about, a person you think you know well, is an illusion. It messes with your head. You replay the scenes, the words, the implied understandings. You pick them apart. You hold each bit up to the light and ask what, if any, truth it contains.

Regret is an unproductive emotion. Whats done is done. All any of us can do is choose how to react in each momentinformed by the past, we decide how to move forward. I dont have regrets, but I can see how this happened. And there is something to be learned from that. I say something, which is vague, because what I learned seems to evolve and expand with time. Ive processed this ordeal in waves, privately and publicly. Looking back on different parts, I feel a long way from myselffrom the way I used to be.

This is my story.

T he three of usKacy, the fitness trainer; Jesse, the videographer; and me, the friendhad come to Marrakech at Annas invitation. She had offered to pay for our flights, a luxurious private riad at La Mamounia, complete with three bedrooms, a butler, and a pool, and all of our expenses. It sounded like a dream. But my last full day in MoroccoThursday, May 18, 2017got off to a rocky start.

I had woken up to three new messages on my phone. The first was from Kacy, who had succumbed to a stomach bug and wanted to go home: Morning Rachel. I think I need to leave today, it read. The other two were from Jesse. He had gone to the tennis courts to film Anna during her private lesson, but when he arrived, she wasnt there. She was asleep beside me, in the room we were sharing.

Anna, I whispered. Dont you have tennis?

Humphno, I postponed it, she said groggily, then turned away and fell back asleep.

Anna said she postponed tennis, I texted Jesse. Evidently that was news to him, and he sounded annoyed: K. Yeah, I went to tennis and the trainer was there without Anna, he wrote backand a hotel manager had come by looking for her, he added.

Wanna go to breakfast with me? I asked.

Yea, he replied. Give me 5. Ill meet you in the living room.

In the meantime, my focus returned to Kacy. She hadnt had the energy to make any travel arrangements, shed told me. I did a search on my cell phone and sent her a screenshot of a 12:40 p.m. flight that looked like it might work, although it was already a little past ten.

If u could help me pack I can make it, Kacy wrote back.

Before I could respond, I got a text from Jesse. Ready, he said.

Start packing, I told Kacy. Ill call the concierge [for a car]have you booked [the flight]? I think you need to leave within about 15 minutes to make it! Calling the concierge to see if they think its possible.

I used the landline next to my bed. Awakened by my voice, Anna sat up to reach for her cell phone. She blinked rapidly before using a fingernail to separate the long lashes on the outer corner of her right eye.

Kacys leaving, I said, hanging up the phone. I need to help her pack.

Why? asked Anna. Youre not her maid. She shouldnt be asking you to do that.

Yeah, but shes sick, I reminded her.

Anxious about Jesse, who was waiting for me, and Kacy, who needed to hurry, I swiftly changed out of my pajamas into a cotton dress. When I grabbed my cell phone from the bedside table, I saw that Anna had fallen back asleep.

I met Jesse in the living room. Hey, you should go ahead without me, I said. Ill meet you there. The breakfast buffet was next to the pool, about a five-minute walk from our riad. Jesse seemed aggravated by the mornings disjointednessfirst at the tennis courts, waiting for Anna, and now here, waiting for me. I was in too much of a hurry to pay him any mind.

Okay, he said brusquely before leaving.

When I entered Kacys bedroom, on the opposite side of the riad from mine, the air felt stale and smelled faintly of coconut. She was lying on the bed, where she had spent most of the last two days. I stood beside her and pulled up a travel website on my phone. Kacy got up slowly. After finding her wallet, she gave me her credit card and I used it to purchase her ticket. Noting that her car hadnt arrived, I called the concierge for an update. She really needs to leave, I implored. I frantically helped her pack.

Kacy was out of sorts, and her movements were labored as she ambled around her bedroom, picking up clothing and shoes. After helping for about ten minutes, I paused to see if her car was out front. But one step into the living room, I saw two men standing across from me. Their patterned silk jackets with mandarin collars told me they were hotel management.

Where is Miss Delvey? the taller one asked, his tone stern. The mens faces were familiartheyd spoken with Anna the night before, toobut they didnt look friendly.

There had been an issue with the debit card Anna had given the hotel to pay for our stay, and after two days of polite but firm pressure from the management, she still hadnt fixed the problem. Anna resented institutional authority and seemed to shirk rules and regulations as a matter of principle. The hotel made it very clear that they needed to have a functioning card on file, but Anna answered their entreaties with flares of condescension and flashes of anger. How dare they interrupt her vacation with such unpleasant badgering! Anna had always expected special treatment because of her wealth, but this time she had gone too far. I had seen touches of this before Morocco, and liked her despite it, but never before had it involved me so directly or to such a degree. Now that we were in Marrakech, an ocean away from Manhattan, where our friendship was born and based, I saw Annas aloofness in a new wayand it unnerved me.