Jetting to Martinique for a modeling assignment with three of Europe's hottest magazine photographers-Gustave, Fabian, and Leon-should've been easy, breezy beautiful. Never did I expect to look up and see a hole in the ceiling of our plane that was bigger in size than my Birkin bag. Shit We're nose-diving toward Eden Island. I pictured how my New York Times obituary might read when I'm gone, "Taddy Brill, Manhattanite, dethroned descendant of the...