Saturday, April 18, 2009

The Secret Life of Billionaire Ira Riklis, by Kirby Sommers

(pic is part of a series I gave to Ira Riklis (photo) for his birthday on October 2, 1992)

The Secret Life of Billionaire Ira Riklis, by Kirby Sommers

What happens when a billionaire with the mind of a sex-starved teenage boy and no personal restraints sets his sights on one woman? Under normal circumstances the answer would be marriage. But, what if the billionaire is already married and is a closet sex freak?

The kind of freak who has a tissue box at the ready whenever a new issue of Victoria’s Secret arrives in the mail, has a stash of girlie magazines neatly stacked away in his office safe, and indulges in prostitutes a-la-Spitzer.

A pathetic loser, you might say.

Think again: it’s Ira Riklis, 54-year-old mega rich son of corporate raider Meshulam Riklis. Riklis is also a long-time friend and political contributor to Vice President Joe Biden, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell, former President Bill Clinton and disgraced New York Governor Eliot Spitzer, to name just a very few. And if birds of a feather ever flocked, then the last two names on this short list proves birds do.

Ira is the principal of Sutherland Capital Management, Inc., a private holding company primarily involved in the home-security market. A portfolio company, C.O.P.S. Monitoring, is the second largest wholesale monitoring company in the country. Combined with sister company, SafeGuard Security (an alarm installation, service and monitoring company), the recurring monthly revenue would rank in the top 50 companies (out of 15,000 companies) in the U.S. Additionally, stakes are held in other companies involved in home and commercial alarm accounts. Other investments include SNIP, a telephone and internet service provider, a hedge-fund consolidation company, a ladies-clothing designer and marketer, a ski-equipment rental chain, various real estate partnerships with an emphasis on strip-shopping centers, in addition to being part of his infamous father’s businesses such as Rapid American Corporation.

Some 20 plus years ago I was the woman Ira Riklis preyed upon, spied on, and coerced into becoming his sex slave. He did this to me at a time in my life when I was the most vulnerable. And he knew it. That is how predators find their victims. They peer into your soul and find the holes. Then they fool you into believing they can fill those gaps for you. They seek out women who may have been sexually abused as children, have absent fathers or who are going through periods of low self-esteem. In my case, all three factors were present. If I had been an apple, I would have been the ripest victim apple on the tree.

Before ever meeting Ira, I was viciously date raped at a time when no one went to the authorities and when both the blame and shame fell on the woman’s shoulder. Adding to my already distressed state I discovered the rape left me "with child". What on earth was I going to do now? I come from a poor family with a single mother who had her own struggles trying to raise five children. There wasn’t anyone I could go to.

The small publishing company I worked for picked up and moved to Connecticut leaving me without a job and the small clothing design company I launched to replace my job hit a brick wall. In short, I was broke.

Penniless broke. Barefoot and pregnant broke. Cliche, yes. But all too real.

I frantically sold off some samples, but still did not have enough to pay my bills or, more importantly, get an abortion – which I naively believed would be the answer to at least some of my problems.

My life changed forever based on the fact that I needed $200 for the abortion.

A woman I knew suggested I make the money at a whorehouse and before I could make sense of what was happening, I found myself working as a prostitute in one of New York City’s illegal brothels.

New York City, mind you, is the capital of sex. More so than Nevada or any other city in the country – in Walt Whitman’s poem “City of Orgies” he writes, “but, as I pass O Manhattan! your frequent and swift flash of eyes offering me love.” At any given time of day, and really any 9 to 5 type of day when your white-collar guys are supposed to be in their offices, the phones never stop ringing and the guys never stop coming.

“Once in, never out.” The Johnny Carson look alike with a cigarette the size of a small brown stump dangling from his lips is giving me the once and twice over. He purses his lips and the brown stump looks like it's about to pop out and hit me in the eye. I am now officially merchandise and it doesn’t feel good at all.

I try not to fidget as I stand in what looks like someone’s apartment, in a living room where the furniture is still new and unused. Except this isn’t anyone’s home. It’s a bordello similar to hundreds of other make believe apartments neatly tucked away across the city where women sell themselves everyday and where neighbors never suspect anything of this sort is happening right next door.

My heart is going thumpety, thump, thump. It’s almost in my throat. My palms are clammy and I wonder if I’m going to make it through the interview. I take another look at him. He’s wearing a V-neck striped preppy sweater vest under a white shirt with khaki pants. And I find myself rechecking my reality at the door. I mean who knew pimps looked like someone’s dad? Didn’t they all wear huge hats and flashy jewelry? He even bears a striking resemblance to Johnny Carson and come on, who doesn’t like Johnny Carson? So now I’m hoping my situation is so absurd that it’s really just a bad dream and I’m going to wake up any moment. Because after all when did Johnny Carson become a pimp?

Except it wasn’t a dream and fast-forward 20 plus years later, I’m still trying to come to terms with everything.

The Johnny Carson look-a-like is saying something, but the only words I hear are: “Once in, never out.” They bounce back and forth in my head: "Once in, never out." Not for me. Not for me. Not for me. I’ll get out. Not for me, I protest silently.

“How old are you anyway? I don’t sell kids.” He says, his eyes burning through my clothes.

“Old enough,” I retort in an out of body kind of half hallucinatory state. This could not be happening to me. I am practically a virgin. I know the names and the dates of the guys I have slept with, including the one who raped me. I can count them all on one hand. I mentally rename myself the virgin whore.

To my surprise he hires me. I am both relieved and repulsed.

Johnny Carson’s twin is now officially my pimp and he’s given me the endearing name of “Greenhorn”. I still haven’t been able to figure out how I’m supposed to have sex with a guy I don’t even know and somehow the moment arrives and there’s no turning back. A parallel universe has taken the place of the world as I knew it. Everything right is suddenly wrong and vice versa. Nothing makes sense, but I float on anyway, away from the core of the woman I had begun to actually get to know and like. I examine the word “greenhorn”. The horn of a newly slaughtered animal and know it’s true in more than one way -- I am already fragmented.

My life becomes unrecognizable to me. For a long time after my first encounter with a client, I wake up every morning with the weight of a deep mournful sorrow one usually feels when someone you love has died. You know, that 'something-is-missing' feeling you can’t quite put your finger on. For a fraction of a second I’d blissfully forget. But only for a tiny little bit, because then darkness would wrap me in its cloak and settle into the pit of my stomach bringing with it an overwhelming sense of loss and I know as I am feeling this that it is my own death I am mourning.

By comparison, even that was better than what happened after Ira Riklis hunted me down. At least I slept even if I did wake up to a nightmare. After he insinuated himself into my life, sleep would forever elude me. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Ira wrote me this note and included it in a bouquet of flowers delivered to me by Renny on East 64th Street

I'm inextricably, undeniably lost. Whatever strength I possess is gone. I cannot go back to being whomever it was I used to be. The shame is immense; at least it was for me. So I push myself away from both family and friends. I no longer have anything in common with anyone. Not even with the other call girls I meet during that period of my life. It was like trying to walk through quick sand. I couldn’t move forward and I couldn’t get out. Whatever small part of me held out hope that someone, anyone - my ex-boyfriend, my mother, my sisters, a stranger on a white horse would somehow rescue me have faded.

I slip further into a life I never knew existed. I decide if I can’t go back to being me, if there is no me to be, I certainly won’t stay here in a low class whorehouse with three other girls and a pimp. I get my own working place and up the fee. To avoid intercourse, I teach myself to strip, I teach myself to listen, and I teach myself to talk to these rich and powerful men who patronize girls like me. I become the most sought after call girl in New York City; as well as the most reclusive person on the planet, so much so even my clients can't reach me.

And that’s when I met Ira Riklis.

As a client he was fairly easy, but that couldn’t be said about him afterward. Perhaps Ira kept things somewhat normal because he knew the drill and believed there was a possibility of other people lurking around somewhere in the apartment. I only saw him about 3 or 4 times before I plucked myself out of the absurdity of that faux life. I only wish I’d never met him because during those 3 or 4 times he saw beyond my polished exterior to the broken person I had become. Unbeknownst to me, his claws had already pierced through my young flesh where they would remain embedded for decades.

Ira Riklis seemed like the nicest guy who no one would ever suspect of doing anything malicious or truly sick. As I write this, the Craigslist killer Philip Markoff has just been caught and everyone is surprised that a nice, clean-cut well educated guy can commit the heinous crimes he’s allegedly guilty of. I can relate to his victims because even at a time when I relied on a higher state of awareness to keep me safe, I didn’t see any red flags.

Unlike Eliot Spitzer with his call girl du jour Ashley Dupre, Ira wanted me to know who he was.

“Have you ever heard of Meshulam Riklis?” He asked during his second appointment.

“No.” I replied acutely aware with the familiar weapon some johns have of trying to impress. It didn’t matter to me who he was. I’d already met people I never thought I’d meet. Plus, by this time I had already played out the Julia-Roberts-Pretty-Woman fantasy (before the movie even came out) with disastrous results and no way was I going to repeat it.

Even though I read The Wall Street Journal, Barron’s and Forbes, I really had no clue. Financiers Michael Milken and Ivan Boesky had yet to be busted and Google wasn’t even a pipe dream.

Ira tries again. “What about Pia Zadora? Have you heard of her?”

I’d seen the atrocious “Butterfly” starring Pia Zadora and had read enough gossip columns to know she was married to some rich old man.

“Yes!” I said trying to sound enthusiastic.

“I’m his son. And, you know, I don’t even like her.”

He also opened up about his troubled relationship with his father Meshulam Riklis -- once known for being the "most sued man in America". Was Ira purging himself to find common ground with me? In hindsight, I see him for what he is: a manipulator trying to find his way into my soul.

Our sessions were quite simple. Pretty much all I did was wear something sexy, take it off, keep my lingerie on and crawl all over him. He loved looking at my vagina, and in the early days, I didn’t think it was too weird. Later it changed. But at the time, he was pretty easy to get off. I’d dart my tongue gently across his penis and off he went!

Ira’s full face beams as he languishes in my bed. Slightly overweight, his full cherub checks inflate as he smiles making an adult case of mild acne even more noticeable. He pushes a long strand of hair away from my face. “You need a vacation. Why don’t you accept a gift from me and go on a cruise?”

“No thanks, I’d be bored being on a ship with the same people day after day.” But what I really meant was that I wasn’t going to be taking a gift from him or any other of my clients. I didn’t want to feel indebted to anyone. I saw who I wanted to see and when they became too difficult I’d stop seeing them. Taking gifts makes a girl sloppy and closes off her options.

“I insist. Really it’ll do you good. Carnival Cruise Lines is part of my family business, so I’ll be giving you something while keeping it all in the family at the same time.”

Even in the mid 1980s Carnival wasn’t high on anyone’s list and I was somewhat put off. Frankly I would have said no to a cruise on the Queen Mary, but Carnival definitely had an ick factor.

“No thanks. So where are you off to now?” Which was my way of saying “time’s up”.

During his next visit Ira changed his strategy.

“I wanted to give you a gift, but I didn’t know what kind of jewelry you like. Why don’t you let me open accounts for you at Harry Winston and a few of the other jewelers on Fifth Avenue? This way you can just go in and pick out what you like.”

I raise my arms and show off my bare wrists then I run my fingers across my bare neck. “I don’t wear jewelry, but thank you for the lovely offer.” In hindsight it must have seemed a little strange to him to have a call girl turn down cruises and diamonds. But, I was never your ordinary hooker.

While he’s getting dressed he stops, gives me a deep look, forgets about buttoning up his crisp white shirt and pulls me close to him. Hoarsely, he whispers into my ear: "I love you. I never thought I feel this way about another woman but I do. I love you.”

“You’re married,” I push him away reminding him of the obvious.

“Yes, and I’ve known Diana since I was fourteen. I never thought I would meet someone I’d leave her for. You know, when my father left my mother and married Pia I was so angry with him. It was more than the divorce. It was marrying outside the Jewish religion. But I can see why he did it now. I understand it because of you. I’d leave her for you, if you’d have me.”

And somewhere between his professed love, possible marriage proposal, and our next appointment I summon up the courage I need to bolt out of the life of red lipstick and lies.

Six months later I’m back in school and am working part-time. I’m studying for midterms when on a particularly cloudy October afternoon in 1986 my intercom rings. It doesn’t just ring once. Someone’s finger is on it and the piercing sound is jolting. Not expecting anyone I ignore it and try to remain focused on the oversized art history book on my lap. I’m sitting crossed legged on my sofa and am surrounded by over a dozen books. Almost ten minutes later the buzzer is still ringing. Exasperated, I push my books aside and get up. Quietly, I tiptoe to the front door, and stand in front of the intercom.

“Who is it?“ I bark sharply.

“It’s me, Ira.”

I let out an audible gasp. I take a quick look at my apartment because I have to remind myself that I’m in my home, not in my working place which doesn’t even exist anymore. I’m baffled: Ira doesn’t even know who I am, I never told him where I lived, he’s married, I don’t “do that” anymore, and somehow he’s standing in the tiny vestibule of my apartment building. My two worlds have collided and like a deer just about to be run over by an on coming truck, my feet have melted into the hardwood floor beneath me. I cannot move.

The flashbacks begin and I begin to hyperventilate.

“I’m busy, go away.” I barely have enough air in my lungs to breath.

“It’s taken me six months to find you, just give me one minute.”

“No.” My body is trembling and my index finger is shaking as I hold down the small button. I feel like a trapped animal and indeed I was. Flash forward to 1991 and a similar scenario would play out in the very same apartment when someone broke in and tried to kill me. Someone I believe sent by Ira.

“Just let me speak to you for a few minutes, please.”

“Give me your phone number. I’ll call you in a few days. I’m studying for midterms.”

“No, give me your number and promise to meet me for lunch at The Plaza on Thursday. Do that and I’ll go away.”


“Promise,” he echoes.

So, like an idiot because I can’t think, I give him my real phone number, and less than one minute later my phone rings.

“I couldn’t wait till Thursday,” Ira chirps smugly.

“How did you find me?”

“I hired a retired police officer I know, believe me I gave a lot of money to their police functions. And, I trust him to keep this quiet, so I paid him $150,000 to have him find you. It took him six months. I’ve missed you. I love you. See me please.” (The person he paid was David Carter, who he referred to as Dave, and who installed an alarm system at my store in 1991).

I’m too dumbfounded to say anything. The whole thing was so invasive. I mean knowing someone has paid a ridiculous amount of money to have you hunted down. A hundred questions came to mind, but like a ferris wheel my mind keeps going round and round: how did he find me, how did he find me, how did he find me? I felt violated. I remember thinking about Rita Hayworth and her comment about Gilda: “Every man has fallen in love with Gilda and has awakened with me.” I wasn’t the vamp he met when he paid for sex. I was just an ordinary girl.

What I will not know for years to come is that Ira has been spying on me. He already had my phone number. Asking me for it was just a ruse and I’m being followed wherever I go. Two days later on Thursday I meet him at The Plaza when it was still The Plaza before Donald Trump bought it.

I follow him quietly to the Oak Room. He never orders lunch. I spot two other men walk in behind us and sit down immediately to our right, which I think is weird since the whole place is empty. Nothing feels right and I simply want to leave. And then Ira gave me a good reason to do just that.

“I want to see you exclusively,” he tells me in a monotone voice as though he's ordering a glass of water. “Just see me, no one else. I’ll pay you.”

“I’m not for sale! The girl you met and the girl I am are two different women. I’m not interested!” Flush with anger and completely insulted, I storm out.

I will not know when I ride my bike through Central Park in the following days, weeks and months to come and bump into Ira on his own bike that it was not coincidental. He is, in fact, spying on me. He has become my stalker. Someone has told him I'm in the park on his orders so he can zip on over and chat me up. He is priming me by making me feel he is becoming my friend. I will not know for years to come -- even after I become his mistress of many years that my phones are tapped and every single move I make is being recorded for him. Someone else is writing my diary for the sole purpose of one man's folly. In time I will succumb. But for now, I'm merely being spied on by the man who will turn me into his sex slave.

Copyright 2009-2014 Kirby Sommers. All Rights Reserved
*Kirby Sommers is an author/writer, real estate expert, human rights activist, social commentator and a survivor of sexual exploitation. She’s been hailed an American hero for her housing efforts on behalf of Hurricane Katrina survivors. 


Anonymous said...

I recently stumbled upon your story regarding ira riklis. I used to work at his security company years ago and always was under the impression that he was a scumbag but wasnt sure why. after reading your story and doing some research on the family business, my suspicions are finally confirmed. i am still in contact with many long time employees at the company who apparently were previously unaware of his background. youll be happy to know that the story is currently circulating among the employees who, up til now, think of him as a very generous person and not so much as the deviant that he really is. Stay strong!

Anonymous said...

You're a talented writer and this is a powerful story. Ira Riklis should be in jail. As the head of "security" companies Mr Riklis is aware that he is in violation of some pretty serious offenses. I hope all the various government agencies take a close look at his activities and punish him accordingly.

Anonymous said...


This is a fascinating read. It opened my eyes to the reality of not knowing who someone really is. Just this morning the Craigslist killer Phil Markoff was described as a really nice guy who was to be married in the summer. Yet he attacks, rapes and kills women. I don’t see a difference between the Craigslist creep and this Ira Riklis. Frankly, I don’t see a difference between your tormentor and Jack the Ripper, who might be a better comparison if we look at financial and social status. Although Jack the Ripper’s identity has never been truly revealed, you have unmasked your own attacker. Kudos to you for being brave enough to stand up and tell us about your painful experience.


Anonymous said...

sociopaths come in all shapes, colors, and economic backgrounds

Anonymous said...

creepy. ira riklis stalking a helpless woman. he did his father proud.

Anonymous said...

WHAT ELSE is this guy hiding?

I KNOW that people often live double lives and fool those closest to them. I wonder if his wife stayed like Silda Spitzer or if she left the jerk.

Creeps come from all walks of life and this one abused his power in so many ways.

Kirby I hope you finally get justice after what happened to you.

Anonymous said...

I agree I've done some poking around on the Riklis family businesses and these guys are filthy crooks. they must have bribed alot of people to stay out of jail. Happy to see you are telling your story and hope Ira Riklis gets what he deserves. NO ONE SHOULD BE BUYING SECURITY from a sleazebag like this one. Your story will help other women so keep writing!

Anonymous said...

Kirby, i've followed your Katrina work and thought you were an exceptional woman. Now I know you're exceptional. Sorry about all the pain you've gone through. You deserved better. Great read though, write a book and get some justice.

Anonymous said...

Kirby I have read the small segment of your life and this book
Is so compelling. I have never gone through Sexual abuse but your
Story and how its written makes one feel like they are there sitting with
You, watching your life unfold and unfortunately not able to help you.
I am a survivor with Physical abuse from a boyfriend and have had
Countless threats in my past, so hearing some of your story makes people feel
They are not alone. It is a shame how powerful people feel they can
Manipulate those that are at their weakest and feel they are above the
Law. Continue to tell your story so that Justice can prevail for you, and
So that others can know they do not deserve to be rapped, abused and/or
Held hostage to a life they do not want to be in. You are truly an inspiration
To all because you have been through the worst and have come
Through the other side stronger and successful and continue to help those
That can not fight their own battles - (The Underdog).
Stay Strong – You Strength will empower Others.

Anonymous said...

Kirby, I applaud your forthrightness in telling your story. Ira Riklis is man who thinks he is above reproach. He has cleverly been able to keep his Jekyll and Hyde persona well hidden…until now! Kudos to you for piercing the dark silence and illuminating the truth about him. Upon reading your riveting story, I can’t help but ask…“How many other faceless Ira victims are out there?”

Dredging up the past and revisiting old wounds can't be easy, even though the SOB deserves a painfully public flagellation. I hope the story gets the attention it deserves and that the higher ups take notice that “Golden Boys” do indeed tarnish! I look forward to reading the rest of your story in its entirety.

As a sexual abuse survivor myself, I recognize the pain and shame that we wore as an undeserved scarlet badge. You are a woman of substance that others can aspire to. Speaking out about sexual abuse and its’ insidious disease is a brave act. You are a 21st century role model who has walked through a Machiavellian fire and has come out stronger. Brava…Brava…Brava.

Anonymous said...

Ira Riklis today is your anniversary - so Happy Anniversary to you!

Remember when you spent the afternoon with me, dallying around, in my bed and then went home to Diana and the children and took your wife to Paris on this day, some years ago?

Greg said...

Ms. Sommers:

Your writing is somewhat bland, even for fiction. I read your story (at leas the parts I wasn't scrolling past because they were so full of cliches), and found myself chuckling, mostly.

I worked with Ira many years ago and helped him build Safeguard Security into a successful company. I have also met his family on many occasions. Not once have I ever found reason to believe that anything you have written could in any way be true.

Attacking his credulity and reputation in this way only reveals the desperation in your efforts to bring substance to your life.

Plus, plastering Ira's name all over, again and again, even if it were true, becomes a little bit boring. Try to maintain a little mystery, hint at darker secrets to be revealed, and maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't be wasting *my* time writing, and would still be reading...

-Greg Kanczes

Kirby Sommers said...


I visited your website and see you have Ira listed as the first reference for your business. I also noted the dates of your working relationship with him and if the starting date was indeed April, 1993 – then I must say your talent indeed is in the technical arena and not in people skills.

If you knew anything personal about Ira, you would know that in May/1993 he traveled to Los Angeles to visit me. Whatever excuse he gave to Diana must have been sloppy because it was during this trip that she had him followed and discovered I existed.

I didn’t learn about this for several months to come. When I plucked up the courage to leave him later that year – in October – only then did I learn of this. Only then did I discover that Diana hired a team of people to follow me/spy/talk to people I knew on both coasts. An invasion into my privacy which continued for years.

Something, no doubt, she learned from her husband who stalked me years before.

If you knew Ira so well, then you should have noticed he was going through a difficult period because his secret became somewhat exposed. I'll keep it at "somewhat" to give you that "hint at darker secrets to be revealed."

To write about the painful experiences in my own life is difficult. I don’t expect to receive a literary prize. What I do hope, however, is for other women who have been sexually manipulated and exploited to know they are not alone. Hope exists. Facing the past openly allows one to move forward.

In closing, I’ll say you owe your job at Sutherland to me. Ira started the home security monitoring business as a direct result of having Gary find me for him. “I owe you a finder’s fee,” he promised me when we talked about his new business venture. A finder’s fee I never received from a man who stole more than just my youth.


Kirby Sommers said...

Correction: The name Gary should read DAVE. -Kirby

Anonymous said...

Kirby you are just another nobody trying to write a tell all book and get your fifteen minutes of fame. I do work for Ira and i must say he is not anything like what you say. Also how could he so sneakily see you so much when he is a billionaire. He lives in Manhattan obviously someone would notice him with you on an outing. You probably have no proof of any such engagements. Stop tarnishing Ira's name and get a real job.

Kirby Sommers said...

To Mr Anonymous who just sent me this comment:

Yes, he is a billionaire and yes this man was in my life for 8 years and yes we went out in public and yes people saw us.

Even his wife, Diana. How? Because Ira took his family (including his 2 girls who were little at the time) and myself to San Francisco.

Guess what: we were all sitting alongside each other in first class.

Know this about Ira: the one thing he would continuously complain about were the "yes men" he was surrounded by. People who yesed him to death because of his money.

You seem to be one of those guys and I'm sure you're getting the kind of respect Ira reserves for his yes people.


Kirby Sommers said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Anonymous said...

Having worked at COPS, I have absolutely no problem believing this story.

Anonymous said...

This Ira Riklis is a stalker! Other men go to jail for stalking and victimizing women. Why is this man in the home security business or even allowed to walk the streets? This man should receive a one way pass to jail. I'm disgusted to see all these men get away with such abuse towards women. Kirby, you keep writing and maybe someone will listen and put this creep away.

Kirby Sommers said...

Open Letter to Everyone who has sent me emails with questions and comments about my “relationship” with Ira Riklis.

The very first post on my blog was written on March 8, 2007 and it related to my probono work on behalf of Hurricane Katrina survivors. Three years later I continue to write about injustices that happen to other people.

One year ago I included my personal story of abuse and injustice when I published: “The Secret Life of Billionaire Ira Riklis.”

I want to make something perfectly clear. I am a survivor. I am not a victim. Not anymore. And when I helped Katrina survivors, it was done because I recognized a pain so deep that only someone who has felt a similar pain can empathize with. It is the pain I once felt at the hands of this man, Ira Riklis, who years ago pushed and plotted his way into my life.

Although my book will be available shortly, I will give you all a sneak peek as to why I felt the need to write anything at all about this devastating period in my life.

1. Someone tried to have me killed in 1992 and I strongly believe that person was sent by Ira.

2. Although Ira claims to be a supporter of education, he pulled me away from completing and getting my BA – because, after all, why have me spend my time studying and improving myself when I could be with him?

3. I had an abortion because of Ira – this abortion left me unable to bear a child. So while he already had 2 children and is now a grandfather, the ability for me to have my own family was ripped away from me.

4. He took advantage of the fact, that at the time, I was terribly vulnerable and slowly he turned me into something I never wanted to be. You might call it “the other woman.” I call it a sex slave.

5. He controlled me by making sure I didn’t have any money to leave him. And after years of psychological manipulation, I walked away with less than $100 to my name. I was finally free.

There are many other things this cowardly man did to me that I won’t delve into here, but which I cover in my book.

I have dated other rich and powerful men. I have been married. And I have talked about no one but this one man who committed crimes against me and was able to get away with all of them.

The re-telling of my story has given other women the courage to fight their own battles. It has given both men and women the strength of knowing not to give up. My motto: never quit!

Kirby Sommers

Anonymous said...

I've done some research and Ira has hired a reputation damage company to bury this story. Which makes me believe this is a true account of what actually happened. -David

Anonymous said...

"Flash forward to 1991 and a similar scenario would play out in the very same apartment when someone broke in and tried to kill me. Someone I believe sent by Ira."

then you wrote:

"Someone tried to have me killed in 1992 and I strongly believe that person was sent by Ira."

seems to me that someone can't even get her story straight, yet you can write and trash someone else's name with such you shouldn't make such mistakes when trying to get everyone on your side. im not saying that this isnt true or that i dont believe parts of it. im just saying that i believe u were more willingly involved then you lead your readers to believe. I have worked at cops and still know employees there, Ira gives alot to his employees, maybe it's just who he is today, i don't know. All we have is what you say and what you can hope to make us believe about him, there are two sides to every story...

Kirby Sommers said...

Those two comments mean the same thing: Ira tried to have me killed.

Read them again. Sorry to hear you work for COPS and for Ira.

-Kirby Sommers

Anonymous said...

yes they do say the same thing, except the different dates? did he try to have you killed twice, or you just can't remember what you wrote in your book/blog? Also cops is a good employer as long as you do your job right and follow their protocol you should have no problem there. Also Ira takes pretty good care of the employees at cops, the raises are frequent and its secure as long as you dont mess up. Ira rewards loyal employees, employees will recieve items from Ira for being with the company for 10 years, I believe this anniversary is a Rolex. Every year he chooses an incident that happened during one of the alarms and rewards the employee for exceptional service. Along with many other rewards. So working for COPS isn't as bad as being, o say a hooker... so don't be sorry that I worked for COPS or that people work there now...cause honestly we aren't looking for sympathy unlike yourself. Again I don't know how much truth lies in your story only what I can read about you and Ira in your book, about you on the web, and how I judge Ira from working at one of his companies. Im not trying to fight with you or tell you that your a liar, because I believe that you would not have put yourself thru such humiliation had you another choice, but your pretty smug about the whole ordeal.

Kirby Sommers said...

To Anonymous,

You sent me this:

"Flash forward to 1991 and a similar scenario would play out in the very same apartment when someone broke in and tried to kill me. Someone I believe sent by Ira."

then you wrote:

"Someone tried to have me killed in 1992 and I strongly believe that person was sent by Ira."

And now, you’ve sent me another comment. I think it somewhat unfair that you write anonymously, while I write without hiding. My name is out and center.

Let me make something very clear. I am not looking for sympathy from anyone. I only want to tell my story. It’s an important one to tell. It reveals things about a man, in this case: Ira Riklis that should be told.

He broke the law. Many times. However, I will only speak to what he did to me personally. There is a law against stalking. There is a law against illegal phone and wire taping. There is a law against paying for sex. There is a law against attempted murder.

I made a mistake, so I do thank you for bringing it to my attention. It wasn’t 1991. It was 1992. June of 1992 to be more precise.

A man broke into my apartment. The details of this are in my book. So I won’t do a step by step here. I will tell you that I was held at knifepoint for five days.

On a the fifth day, a Thursday, I managed to convince the man who was holding me hostage that I needed to go to my store on Columbus Avenue. Otherwise my staff were going to be concerned and I needed to show myself. I told him I would be back in one half hour. He let me go, but told me if I did not return he would go to the store and kill me, along with my employees.

The moment I walked into my store, I called Ira. I told him what had happened. Knowing he had a bodyguard and that the security companies were in full swing, I asked him for a bodyguard.

He told me: “It is too late.”

I didn’t get that at first. I was panicked and confused and afraid.

Ira then told me to stay put in the store and that he would be right over.

Stupidly I was afraid something would happen to him. I was in this part of my life with him completely brainwashed. And didn’t want to endanger him in any way.

Within 10 minutes he was in my shop.

There was (and still is) a small loft area upstairs where I had an office and where I kept some inventory. He held me and told me I had to leave New York City right away.

That surprised me. Here is one of the more powerful men in the world with all these political connections, with all the police connections, with all the money and power and he is telling me I have to leave NYC and I have to do it now.

Ira then hands me $1,000. That’s it. One thousand dollars. He tells me I am to go to the airport, I am to get on the first flight that is going anywhere. He then tells me I am not to stay on that flight, that I should change flights and then get on another one.

When I ask him why, he tells me just in case this man should follow you. I am somewhat confused but I am in shock as well and all I could do at that moment was listen to who I believed had my best interests at heart.

Ira was adamant that I not go to where I knew anyone.

He insisted I go somewhere that I had never been to before.

He told me once I arrived to wherever I was going, that I should NOT call him.

He insisted I should NOT tell him where I was.

Fortunately for me, I did not follow all his suggestions. And did go to where I had friends.

But…how far do you think I would have gotten with a mere $1,000? Not far at all. Because as the years went by and I pieced together a ton of other stuff, I realized I had been set up. It started in 1991 and the culmination was to have been on those days in 1992.

And after many years of telling the police, friends, and anyone who asked that Ira had nothing to do with it. That instead, he saved my life. After a long, long time, I realized he in fact was the one who tried to have me killed.

Anonymous said...

Dave Carter aka David Carter in North Carolina. These fellas stick together. Doesn't surprise me.