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MAMA MIA!

These Are the Toe-Curling Secrets ‘Sugar Mama’ Kimberly Guilfoyle Told Me

And she whispered the very intriguing reason for leaving Gavin Newsom.

A photo illustration of Kimberly Guilfoyle and Gavin Newsom and San Francisco.
Opinion

Photo Illustration by Thomas Levinson/The Daily Beast/Getty/Reuters

I’ve known Kimberly Guilfoyle longer than most people in the news business: We go back to the Bay Area in the 1990s, where we both went to law school and practiced criminal law, though on opposite sides of the bar. She was always a kind, if not the smartest, district attorney at the Hall of Justice.

I admired her scrappy ambition—Guilfoyle had worked as a lingerie model to pay her way through college and law school, and later married the handsome, ambitious Gavin Newsom. (At the time, Kimberly said she was ready to have Gavin’s children, calling herself “a very fertile Puerto Rican.” But she never would.)

San Francisco mayoral candidate, Supervisor Gavin Newsom, walks with
his wife Kimberly Guilfoyle-Newsom as he leaves a polling station after
casting his ballot in city-wide elections, in San Francisco on Nov. 4, 2003.

San Francisco mayoral candidate Gavin Newsom walks with his wife, Kimberly Guilfoyle, as he leaves a polling station after casting his ballot in elections in San Francisco on Nov. 4, 2003.

Lou Dematteis/Reuters

She was already on the rise from local to national fame thanks to her prosecution of a San Francisco couple over the “dog-mauling death” of lacrosse coach Diane Whipple. The sensational case garnered nationwide attention—members of the Aryan Nation had bred the two Presa Canarios from prison as part of a dog-fighting ring; by the time they attacked Whipple, each weighed over 100 pounds—and though Guilfoyle had technically served as a second chair prosecutor, she walked away with most of the acclaim.

Kimberly Guilfoyle-Newsom and Jim Hammer in 2002, as jury selection began for Marjorie Knoller and Robert Noel, whose two giant Presa Canario attack dogs killed 33-year-old Diane Whipple
arriving at the Criminal Courts building in Los Angeles, California on
January 24, 2002

Kimberly Guilfoyle-Newsom and Jim Hammer in 2002, as jury selection began for Marjorie Knoller and Robert Noel, whose two giant Presa Canario attack dogs killed 33-year-old Diane Whipple arriving at the Criminal Courts building in Los Angeles, California on January 24, 2002

Adrees Latif/REUTERS

She subsequently turned up in New York City to host Both Sides on Court TV—she’d left everything, including Gavin, behind to move cross-country. (She called herself his “sugar mama,” which I found funny and, dare I say, feminist.) I was also at Court TV, and happy to see Kimberly; our San Francisco acquaintanceship morphed to friendship in the heady early days of our television careers. We shared a makeup artist and personal shopper. We stood together in stilettos on red carpets, and took town cars to and from events.

Kimberly Guilfoyle (second from left) and Jami Floyd (right) are pictured at a gala event at the Plaza Hotel on March 8, 2005 in New York City.

Kimberly Guilfoyle (second from left) and Jami Floyd (right) are pictured at a gala event at the Plaza Hotel on March 8, 2005 in New York City.

Thos Robinson/Getty Images

On one of those rides, she told me about losing her mother to leukemia as a child. This endeared her to me, but I didn’t fully appreciate the hole it had left in her life—and what the lack of a strong female role model in her childhood home might mean.

On another ride, she announced her intention to leave Gavin. I gave my unsolicited protestation—he was going places, could be president someday, she could be first lady. To her credit, Kimberly was introspective: “There is only room for one big ego in any marriage,” she explained. They were divorced soon after.

Kimberly left Court TV for Fox News in 2006. I became a frequent contributor there too, and so we remained friendly through her second marriage to businessman Eric Villency and the birth of their son, Ronan. But over the years we lost touch. From a distance, I worried she was changing. Her face, her personality, her politics.

(L-R) Eric Villency, Ronan Villency and Kimberly Guilfoyle Villency attend KRUG Escape Artist Trunk presented by Eric Villency at One Central Park West on Dec. 14, 2006 in New York City.

Eric Villency, Ronan Villency and Kimberly Guilfoyle Villency attend an event at One Central Park West on December 14, 2006 in New York City.

Neil Rasmus/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images

We had our last solid conversation in 2009. I was wall-flowering at the Plaza Hotel when Guilfoyle, still radiant in Chanel and Manolo Blahniks, waved a manicured hand and approached from across the lobby. I braced myself, but there was no need: here was the same warm and charming Kimberly. She offered a hug, and we fell into our old give-and-take about TV news, mutual friends and, now, kids. I was pleased our mutual affection had survived her first wave of reinvention. But fame, money, and power are corrupting, and while I can’t pretend to know what was going on in her head and heart, I know what I’ve seen in the seventeen years since.

Kimberly Guilfoyle speaks during the first day of the Republican convention at the Mellon auditorium on August 24, 2020 in Washington, DC.

Kimberly Guilfoyle yells during the first day of the Republican convention in Washington, D.C., on August 24, 2020.

Olivier Douliery/AFP via Getty Images

Kimberly Guilfoyle and Donald Trump Jr.

Kimberly Guilfoyle and Donald Trump Jr. had been together since 2018.

The Washington Post via Getty Images

What happened? I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, more than most people, I’m guessing. As Fox News took hold of the political zeitgeist and Donald Trump took power, it seems she saw another opportunity for reincarnation. “The best is yet to come,” she infamously cackled at the 2020 Republican National Convention. But did she really believe it? Did she really believe in Trumpism? Has she ever believed in anything?

One Court TV incident that became network lore is more than entertaining; it reveals the depth of the problem—or the lack of it. The director, producers, and floor crew were all stunned when Kimberly began reading the anchor cues embedded in the script on air to viewers: “TURN TO CAMERA B,” “ROLL SOT,” and “TOSS TO REPORTER.” People have loved to tell this story over the years, but I thought it unkind—until I realize what it revealed: Guilfoyle’s talent was just reading a script rather than thinking about the content she was delivering.”

As her downfall has played out in recent days, fired by the Trump administration from an exile abroad after being abandoned by the Trump family, my phone has been flooded with messages from college friends and broadcast news colleagues alike, all wanting to dance on Guilfoyle’s grave. But despite all she has done to engender these feelings of schadenfreude among my left-leaning (and even some conservative) friends, I’m left feeling sorry for a woman who once had real promise. She remade herself in the image of others one time too many.

And somewhere along the way, she lost herself.

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