Cirque Du Salahi: Be Careful Who You Trust (4 page)

“I was born blonde, a really blonde little child,” Michaele says. Her mother backs up that daring assessment. “But as I got to be about ten,” Michaele continues, “my hair turned to a darker blonde, then to reddish brown—auburn I guess you’d call it.” And so it was at that point in her life that she became submerged into the less photogenic depths of the brunette world. She had joined the Second Kind and become part of that grim parade of
they whose hair does not glint
.

Her tresses were already naturally thick and shiny, with a twisty curve and curl that could take on any shape. But you know how it is with hair. We all know how it is with hair—she longed for something different.

She reached the age of 25 having recently tasted defeat at the Miss USA Pennsylvania contest, on top of enduring a breakup with the man she and her family had thought she would marry. She felt restless and impatient to make a more serious try for modeling work. So she spoke to her parents about her goals and with their approval then set out to arrange for auditions in New York, with higher stakes and better pay.

She had the height to be a popular model. At 5’10” she stood taller than most other women. Still, she realized that she didn’t quite have “The Look.” Not yet. To maximize her chances, she needed to work the whole package and kick it up a notch—or two.

Since she already had a good rapport with photographer Alex Marciak, who had used her for a lot of wedding shots and catalog work in New York, she turned to him for advice. He strongly suggested to her that she see a man named Oribe, a hair stylist said to work with all the top models of the day. For Michaele it was like being told that see needed to see “The Wizard.”

Oribe worked his magic at the Elizabeth Arden Red Door Salon on Fifth Avenue in midtown Manhattan. So she made the appointment, gathered up her mom for moral support, and went off to see “The Wizard.” After a brief consultation with him, she heard his verdict. Oribe was
so
impressed with her that he was sending her off to see yet
another
wizard, thus apparently strengthening her persona with two full levels of Wizardry.

He got her an appointment with his colorist, Brad Johns. “I decided to make the big change in about 1991,” Michaele recalls. “Brad took one look at me and said, ‘Trust me, there’s a blonde in there!’” Thereafter, she traveled regularly to New York City in order to climb back into Brad Johns’ chair and lighten the hair another degree or two. She gradually came to agree with his assessment that, “Blonder is Better!” Michaele went from her natural auburn color to a honey blonde… then to ash blonde… until she finally took the complete plunge. And with that, another full-out platinum blonde stepped out into the world.

Mom didn’t love it. Rosemary had always supported her daughter, but also frequently mentioned that she liked Michaele in her natural state. Michaele just laughed and hugged her mother. There was no changing her mind at this point. She had a dream of cultivating a profession in beauty and glamour. “While many of the people my age were spending their money on partying and alcohol, I was spending mine on fashion and my hair,” Michaele explains in a matter of fact tone. She worked to polish her persona with the same attention and care that a devoted mechanic puts into tuning up a racing engine.

When she looked at the way her new hair color set off her features; it seemed clear to her that more was needed. Michaele set about changing her style from head to toe. “I came to realize, while I made my hair lighter and lighter, that my spirit has always been blonde. It’s just, well—brighter! It suits me and it fits my personality!”

In her modeling work, she was feeling the dawn of that unfortunate fashion era of so-called “heroin chic,” when the primary theme in couture was all about black-and-white fabrics draped over desperately thin models with painted black-eye circles and pale complexions. The desired illusion was that of gorgeous heroin addicts—a toxic low point in the fashion industry.

Michaele’s natural thinness was augmented by a disease that was fomenting inside her body—and not by drug addictions or eating disorders. But nobody knew that, not even Michaele. With the fake pallor and the painted “black eyes,” she was costume-ready to make an entrance as the most brightly fetching pseudo junkie on the catwalk.

A funny thing happened in her non-catwalk life. She couldn’t help but notice that all of a sudden, now in her mid-twenties, more men were noticing her than ever before.

How could they help it? Male or female, the Second Kind is hardwired to notice the First Kind. Of course we are all supposed to pretend that it’s not true, but all anyone has to do is look at a photograph of a crowd shot.

Michaele fully intended to set up a permanent home in the land of the “First Kind,” home of the uncommon natural blonde and the less rare blonde-by-choice.

As the year 1993 arrived, Michaele’s life situation felt ideal to her and everything appeared to be moving in a positive direction. However, appearance being what it is, life was also busy underneath the surface, whipping up a truly nasty surprise for her. She was carrying a life altering shocker inside her nervous system.

In the spring of 1993, Michaele began to feel unwell, “just different” as she describes it. She frequently talked with her mom about whatever was going on in her life, and it wasn’t unusual for them to trade multiple calls in a single day. Once her condition got to the point that she had to admit to herself that something wasn’t right, her first phone call went out to her mother, telling her what had just happened to her.

She was at a local swimming pool when she was struck by the frightening sensation of losing control of her body. Even though she was able to recover and get home on her own, she was deeply frightened. “I told Mom that it was such a strange feeling. I felt weak and funny and I had, like, pins and needles in my arms and legs. It was hard to stand up and I’d lose my balance for no reason.”

Rosemary consulted medical books and then took Michaele to a doctor who told her he believed it was likely just a pinched nerve. But acting out of caution, he arranged for Michaele to see a neurologist. Soon the Holt family’s worst fears were confirmed. Michaele Ann Holt was diagnosed with a progressive disease for which there is no cure—multiple sclerosis.

At first the news was so surreal that Michaele couldn’t get her head wrapped around it. She wanted no one outside the family to know. She was so stunned and upset by the diagnosis that she couldn’t even bring herself to tell her best friend Susan or her mentor Trish McEvoy. Waves of pervasive exhaustion began to wash over her, making simple chores difficult or impossible. After taking eight months off to recover from the initial wave of symptoms, when she returned to work she asked for a transfer back to the lighter duties at the Chanel counter. She and her mother have both affirmed that McEvoy was furious over losing a valued employee, someone she had so carefully groomed. The reaction was sharply magnified because Michaele still couldn’t bring herself to explain her condition to others while she was struggling to accept it herself. It was as if public knowledge of her new limitations would somehow amplify their effect and define her in terms of her illness. She was still struggling to understand her illness in terms of the countless ways it would challenge her and impact daily life. Michaele was determined to find a way to live within her new limits of strength and energy, while still maintaining a normal and healthy appearance.

She was just 28 years old.

Tareq Dirgham Salahi

There was nothing conventional about the childhood of Tareq (pronounced “Tar-ek”) Salahi. His mother, Corinne was from Belgium, but spent part of her early life in the Belgian Congo. His father, Dirgham, grew up in Jerusalem as one of the vast numbers of “stateless people” who dared to live in Palestine back when it was a British Mandate. Both found their way to the east coast of America, and as young adults they met at a function at the Belgium Embassy in Washington DC in 1961. The energetic and charming Dirgham was a widower with a young son, Ismail. Their mutual attraction carried them into marriage, and soon they had a son. This was Tareq Dirgham Salahi, born on May 26
^th
, 1969.

Tareq grew up essentially as an only child; brother Ismail was years older and spent most of his time away at boarding school, then upon graduation went straight off to study medicine. The half brothers barely got to know one another. Both parents had careers that consumed them, so in many respects, Tareq Salahi raised himself.

In the early 70s his father and mother established one of the country’s first Montessori Schools in Alexandria, Virginia and the family lived in an apartment above the facility.

But Dirgham, who trained as a geologist and micropaleontologist always had a passion for the land and the art of winemaking. In 1976, he found the 75 acres of land he was looking for in rural Virginia, near the tiny town of Hume, about an hour drive southwest of the nation’s capitol. After clearing the corn field and cattle range this is where Dirgham would start his Oasis Vineyards and winery and begin building the family’s French country style home—looking out onto the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. There were only four other wineries in Virginia at the time, but Dirgham could see a real future in the region.

The climate, the soil, and the rural hillsides challenged him to emulate the success of great wine regions around the world. He may have already known that two centuries earlier, Thomas Jefferson was dreaming of creating a wine region in Virginia that would rival those of Europe. Still, up until that point, it had not yet been done.

The Salahis decided Corinne would remain in charge of the day-to-day operations of the school and spend most of her time living in Alexandria while Dirgham would seek their fortune in the soil to the south. He took Tareq with him, and the boy was pleased to go.

Tareq expresses happy memories of that part of his childhood. Although he was still very young, he helped plant the first Cabernet, Sauvignon Blanc, Merlot, Chardonnay, and Riesling Cabernet, Pinot Noir, Merlot, and Gamay vines with his father. Their grapes would later yield award winning wines, but all he knew in those days was that he was eager to jump off of the school bus every day and get down to the vineyard. He worked shoulder to shoulder and down on his knees helping build the family’s legacy and feeling how good it was to work in tandem with his father for a common goal.

By the time Tareq was eight years old he was already learning to shoot guns and rifles. He operated some of the vineyard machinery, even though his feet barely reached the pedals, and he taught himself how to drive the tractor. He was also very much at home on top of a horse, leading him to love the sport of polo with an early and enduring passion. The vineyard’s wide open spaces became his playground. He came to know every inch of the property. His father imparted their common dream for this land and in those early days, they bonded by walking around and making plans about which buildings would go where and what piece of machinery they should buy next.