The Naked Truth: The Real Story Behind the Real Housewife of New Jersey--In Her Own Words

by Staub, Danielle

  I decided during therapy that it might be healthy to seek out some of these men. I wanted to apologize for hurting them, and hopefully we could both have some closure. Over the next few months, I made attempts to locate many of them and made a lot of trips to Canarsie and Mill Basin—predominantly Jewish sections of Brooklyn, because I dated mostly Jewish men. Jewish men were attentive and treated women extremely well. They also didn’t like girls who quickly jumped into bed with them, which worked well for me. They all also seemed to appreciate that I was pretty, lively, and fun. Sure, I was different from what their Jewish parents might have had in mind for their sons. But as soon as Mom and Dad got to know me and I told them that I was willing to convert to Judaism, they quickly fell in love with me, too.

  When I finally located and met with some of these men from my past, I’d tell them with genuine remorse I was sorry. Some accepted my apology. Others were standoffish. And then there was Robert.

  Robert and I had dated for quite some time. He was a great guy and I would have been wise to stay with him. Robert was attractive, successful, and would have taken care of me for the rest of my life. But I didn’t love him the way he loved me. When I broke up with Robert, I not only gave him back the engagement ring, I also gave him back all the jewelry he ever bought for me. I felt it was the right thing to do. I wanted him to move on, and in a way, by breaking up with Robert, I did him a favor: I gave him the chance to find true love.

  When I met with Robert to apologize for what I had done to him, he told me that he was seriously dating someone. I was happy to hear that. But soon after our brief meeting, he called me up and said my sudden reappearance in his life had rekindled a lot of emotions inside him, and he realized that he was still in love with me. He broke up with his girlfriend and wanted to marry me. Uh-oh. Here we go again, I thought.

  Robert started coming to the clubs I worked at to tell me that I didn’t have to dance anymore, that he would marry me and take me away from this life. What he didn’t understand— and many men didn’t—was that I liked dancing and making my own money.

  In an effort to get him to stop holding out hope, I explained to Robert that my coming to see him wasn’t about getting back together, it was about me making right all the wrong I had done to others—do unto others as you would have others do unto you. I told him that he was crazy to want to jump back into a relationship with me and advised him to figure out why he would want to be with me after I had already hurt him so badly. I asked him, why would he want something or someone in his life capable of doing that? He seemed confused and couldn’t answer me, but I think he finally got the point.

  While meeting up with the men from my past was a good step toward clearing my own conscience, I began to think that maybe it wasn’t good for some of the guys. Maybe it’s better to let it be, I thought. I realized that seeking out these men from my past should, in fact, be a thing of the past. I needed to start living in the present. And the present was finally beginning to look good. I had my freedom and also a new man in my life who treated me well on all levels, even though I was keeping him at arm’s length. It was certainly not something I was used to, but could get used to for sure.

  During this time, I wasn’t pushing Tom away entirely. I honestly kept telling him that he could do better and that I wasn’t right for him. And I wasn’t. But that intrigued Tom even more. A lot more.

  Taking things slowly with Tom was good not only for me but for him. Let’s face it, he met me in a strip club. I needed to make sure that I wasn’t just Tom’s fantasy onstage, but was his fantasy in real life. I had also just gotten out of a dysfunctional marriage and was still on probation. On paper, I wasn’t exactly ideal wife material. I was honest and told Tom that I wasn’t the type of girl you bring home to Mom. His response took me by surprise: “You’re exactly the kind of girl that I’d bring home to my mom.” Clearly, he wasn’t going to give up.

  In truth, by keeping Tom at a distance, I was testing his feelings. Amazingly, he continued to pass with flying colors.

  For a year and a half, Tom consistently courted me. Even though he showed me tons of attention, tipped me extremely well, and never so as much as glanced at any of the other dancers in the club, I felt our relationship was business, not pleasure, and remained reluctant to cross the line. Despite his advances, I continued to keep my distance as best I could. Tom wasn’t allowed to call me or visit my home—he didn’t even have my address or phone number. He knew my schedule, though, and would visit me at work almost every day.

  When the DJ ended the music and I was done with my set, I would often talk with Tom after I left the stage. Chatting with him from behind the bar kept a comfortable distance between us. I worried that at any moment Kevin would burst through the doors of the club, see Tom and me together, and lose control. Staying on opposite sides of the bar kept both of us safe. I found it refreshing that Tom, who was an extremely busy businessman, chose to sit at the bar for hours to be able to talk to me for five minutes. That intrigued me. He was different from anyone else I had ever met, which intrigued me even more.

  Tom kept asking me to go out on a date with him and I kept turning him down. There is something to be said for persistence, though. While I was difficult to get close to, Tom eventually found my weakness: sushi.

  I adored sushi. (I still do!) Through our long talks at the club, I found out that Tom had never eaten sushi before. Here was a well-educated man who could buy himself anything, had traveled around the world many times over, and yet I could still teach him something: how to eat sushi. I found this interesting, and Tom was happy to indulge me.

  Tom and I went on our first date to Kiku, a Japanese restaurant on Route 4 in Paramus, New Jersey. When we met in the parking lot, he told me to wait a minute before we went inside. Then he opened the trunk of his car and pulled out a motorized scooter. He started it up, hopped on, and took a joyride around the parking lot. Look at this guy! I thought as I pointed and laughed. I didn’t know what to think of this grown man riding around on a little scooter like a teenager. Bear in mind that this was the late eighties and nobody had motorized scooters back then. But Tom was like James Bond, always acquiring all of the coolest and newest gadgets. It was endearing and supercute. However, a much deeper message was being conveyed: Tom wanted to show me that he wasn’t just some guy in a bar. He was different. Tom had a quirky, fun, childlike side of him that he wanted to share with me. I have to admit, it worked.

  While I taught Tom how to eat sushi that night, he taught me a few things, too. He taught me how to feel safe again. He taught me how to have a normal relationship again. He taught me how to laugh again. He taught me how to love again.

  One dinner date turned into two, three, four, five, and I eventually lost count in a sea of wasabi and soy sauce. Then, dinner dates at night turned into lunch dates in the afternoon. Tom even began joining me during my shopping excursions to Nordstrom. Gwen, my personal shopper, was a little taken aback when one day Tom reached in his wallet and gave her a credit card while I was in the dressing room. He told her from then on to put everything I bought on his card.

  While I thought it was sweet of him to offer to pay my bill, I wasn’t looking for a sugar daddy. I didn’t need one. I was happy making my own money, paying my own bills, and being an independent woman, so when I emerged from the dressing room, I told Tom thanks, but no thanks. Later on, I found out that in doing so I had hurt his feelings. The next time I saw Gwen at Nordstrom, she set me straight: “Tom is a really nice guy. He doesn’t want to buy you clothes to impress you. He knows you have the money to pay for them. He just wants to do something nice for you because he knows you love to shop. Let him do this for you. Let him be the man.”

  The experience taught me that sometimes you do have to let a man be a man. And boy, did Tom enjoy being the man! He couldn’t buy me enough stuff. Every day a new designer outfit arrived at my doorstep. This was a big change of pace for me. I went from giving the money that I made to a man, to a m
an giving me more than any woman could need. Was this payback for all the pain I went through in a loveless marriage? I wasn’t sure, but as far as I was concerned, it felt pretty damn good.

  Tom took good care of me. I didn’t have to work anymore, but I liked to dance and continued to do so. I didn’t mind sharing my life with Tom, but I wasn’t about to give up my identity. I was a dancer and he was well aware of that. He didn’t push me to leave the business, but was happy to support me if I wanted that, so while he focused on making all the right moves in our relationship, I continued to make my moves on the dance floor.

  One night at work, the manager at Shakers told me that he had heard that Kevin was out of prison. Worried for my safety,

  Tom offered to follow me home from work. I told him that I would be fine, but he insisted, and I finally gave in and told him okay. Let the man be the man, I thought.

  Once we pulled up in front of my place, I waved Tom over to my car. He parked and walked over to the window of my Porsche. Using my finger, I told him to come closer . . . closer . . . closer. Then I kissed him passionately. That was our first kiss.

  The next evening, Tom and I went out to dinner. He got down on one knee and asked me if I would marry him. I said yes.

  “I can’t wait to knock you up!” he exclaimed, which I thought was kind of cute.

  “It would help if we had sex first,” I responded, as I hadn’t yet done anything more than kiss Tom. We both laughed, then Tom gave me a pre-engagement ring, which had a five-carat diamond. It would soon be followed by a seven-carat ring.

  I started crying. Finally, after all the pain I endured, happy tears rolled down my face.

  I couldn’t believe that I was going to marry Tom. We were so different! Tom was well-educated, while I was street-smart. His upbringing was relatively normal, while mine was anything but. He had designer suits in his closet, while I had skeletons in mine. He was the kind of guy parents dream about and hope their daughters marry. I was a parent’s nightmare. However, it seemed that while I was finally looking for something more grounded in my life, Tom wanted to take a walk on the wild side.

  I guess opposites do attract.

  Even though I was engaged to Tom, I continued to work on the strip-club circuit. I still enjoyed being the center of attention onstage. The lights, the crowd, the music—it was a high that I wasn’t ready to come down from just yet. Plus, the money I was making wasn’t too bad, either.

  One night at Shakers, as the music ended and I finished my set, I collected the money off the stage as usual. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a five-dollar bill being offered across the bar in my direction. I reached out and put my hand on the bill and said, “Thank you.” The customer slapped his hand on top of mine, startling me, and didn’t let go. I immediately looked up and, to my shock and surprise, I was face-to-face with Kevin. Staring intently, he told me that this time he wasn’t going to let me go.

  I pulled away and ran back to the dressing room. I didn’t want to leave the club alone that night. Someone drove my car home and I left with another dancer, Missy, and spent the night at her apartment in Hoboken. When I arrived at Missy’s, I called Tom and told him what had happened. I let him know that I was leaving for Florida in a few days to hide out. Ironically, Florida was the safest spot for me to hide until the abandonment papers went through. I didn’t think Kevin would ever imagine that I would go back there.

  Over the next few days, I planned my trip down south. I called my probation officer and alerted him that I would be heading to Florida. While they weren’t crazy about my leaving the state, they understood, considering the circumstances.

  I stopped by the bank and took out some money. I alerted my friends in Fort Lauderdale that I was coming back to town to hide.

  Once again I was running from my past, praying it wouldn’t catch up with me.

  I got into my Porsche and drove from New York City to Virginia. I put my car on the auto train and seventeen hours later got off in Kissimmee, Florida. Then I drove another five hours to Fort Lauderdale, where I checked into the Marriott Harbor Beach Hotel, right on the water. I got a huge penthouse suite and lived on room service and takeout. After I’d been there for two weeks, Tom came down and gave the front desk a credit card and paid for the whole thing. He didn’t stay long, but came back a couple more times to visit over the next two months. I maintained a low profile and kept up with my probation, taking a weekly urinalysis and always coming up negative.

  Approximately three months later the abandonment papers went through and my divorce from Kevin was final. It felt good when it was done, but it had taken so long that I already considered myself divorced way before then. This just legally finalized things. It didn’t make me feel safe, though. At the end of the day, it was just a piece of paper, which didn’t make me feel that he couldn’t still find me or touch me. However, I did have one good consolation: this was an important step in starting my new relationship with Tom.

  With a sense of anticipation, I arrived back home in New Jersey ready to start a new life with my fiancé. After I’d been home for a few days, I stopped by my old employers, Shakers and Satin Dolls, but I didn’t take the stage. I’d already had my last dance. I could feel in my heart that my dancing career was over. Ending it was actually easier than I thought. I imagined I would miss the spotlight, but that wasn’t the case. Just like an athlete who hangs up his jersey and cleats when he retires, I hung up my stilettos for the last time.

  11

  FROM PRADA TO NADA

  After I said good-bye to dancing and married Tom, I quickly made the transition to socialite. I put on a dress that went down to my knees and sensible heels to go to the country club with Tom and his family on weekends and look the Stepford wife part. However, underneath the conservative outfit I was still me. I wasn’t ashamed of being a former exotic dancer, but Tom didn’t feel comfortable when I told people where we had met.

  Tom’s mother, Dorothy, told me that she liked that I was different from everybody else and encouraged me to be myself. She welcomed me into the family with open arms. She had seven children and often told me that I reminded her of Pat (her daughter and Tom’s sister), who had passed away in her thirties and had been the entertainer in the family. Mom Staub loved my spirit and I enjoyed her company. She brought a lot to the table as a woman, mother, and human being, and she taught me so much through our conversations over the years.

  As we settled into married life, Tom kept saying that he couldn’t wait to get me pregnant, and it was almost as if he wished it and it came true. While we both wanted to have a baby, we never thought it would happen that quickly—my getting pregnant with Christine was a complete surprise for Tom and me, to say the least. We were just going about being newly-weds, and then, all of a sudden, we were expectant parents.

  My first pregnancy was rough. I basically set up shop in our bathroom and didn’t leave for the first three months. I laid my pillow and blanket on a gymnastics mat on the floor, which served as sort of a bed. I’d be sick to my stomach in the bathroom when Tom would head off to work in the morning. He’d leave me some saltines and ginger ale to help my stomach, and I’d be sleeping on the bathroom floor or throwing up when he returned home at the end of the day. I was actually losing weight instead of gaining it.

  Despite my discomfort, Tom and I got totally involved in our roles as expectant parents. We were both so excited. We bought lots of baby-name and pregnancy books and shopped for nursery furniture together. We interviewed pediatricians. We even went to Lamaze classes together. As I look back, I think Tom and I were probably the closest during this time.

  One day, I got word that Kevin was living close by in New Jersey. I was going to be a mother soon, and with a new family developing, I had a lot to be grateful for and protect. My husband and I spoke at great length, and we decided to change my identity by legally changing my name from Beverly to Danielle. We contacted my lawyer and he took care of the paperwork for the name change. In April 199
3, I legally became Danielle Staub. Previous reports have falsely claimed that I changed my name to hide from my past in Florida and the people who were involved in my court case. I changed my name to hide from one person only—Kevin Maher.

  On December 4, 1993, our daughter Christine was born. It wasn’t an easy birth, but when the doctor handed me my newborn Christine, everything was peaceful and perfect. I had a roomful of nurses and doctors attending me, but I was oblivious to it. I was holding my miracle, my baby. She was so big— nearly ten pounds—and healthy, and her skin was glowing, just as beautiful as it comes. Tom and I were happy. He couldn’t wait to bring his family home.

  I took my journey into motherhood very seriously. Children are like little sponges, and I wanted Christine to absorb all that is good in life to mold and shape her into a strong girl with a kind heart and a bright mind. When she was born, I woke up eager to begin every day with a new purpose. I now had a little girl who was looking to me for answers and guidance, and I was not going to steer her wrong or let her down. I was, and still am, a very protective mother. For the first eight weeks it was difficult for me to allow anyone to touch Christine, much less hold her. I was afraid that someone might drop her, hurt her, or touch her inappropriately. I was determined to witness everything she experienced because those first weeks of life are so uncertain. Not to mention, this is a bonding period between a mother and her newborn child. That was my time to learn my baby’s sounds and language without words. And most important, I wanted to enjoy every moment and just breathe her in. It was exhausting, but a lot of fun and very important to me. Oh how I adored rocking with my baby until she would fall asleep in my arms.