Sitting down heavily on his doorstep, Ian began to think about himself and Margaret, picking up their history at the point when she left Paris.

Margaret had been the reason that he’d moved to the States. He’d kept in touch with her and continued to see her whenever he could, which was about three times a year. Because of what she’d experienced on her last night, Margaret left Paris a changed woman and in very short order had jettisoned Mr. Boyfriend along with all the trust and stability associated with a committed relationship. She neither requested nor expected a commitment from anyone, including Ian. Out of this came the ground rule that permitted—and to a great extent encouraged—openness about their myriad involvements.

At the time, Ian thought he was being cool. But as he sat on his doorstep, thinking about his past with Margaret, he realized that they’d done this to avoid dealing with the wedge that had been driven between them when he’d participated in her violation.

He would fuck her friends. She would fuck his. He would talk about his kinky experiences, she would talk about hers. And over time they succeeded in burying each other beneath the dirt that they shared, creating a thick coat of crusted muck that made it difficult for them to really touch.

Margaret’s departure sparked a creative explosion within Ian that set off a chain reaction of commissions, media hype, and skyrocketing prices throughout Europe. Striding confidently between the classical, postmodern, and primitive, Ian was on his way to stardom. What was not known, however, was that all his work—his grand statues in expansive plazas and detailed architectural friezes on public buildings and exquisite accessories in expensive homes—was an attempt to win the love of Margaret Weir. All his work, in his heart, was dedicated to her.

It didn’t matter to him that she had never made it as a musician, or that she had made only a minor success of herself in broadcasting. He knew what it felt like to love her, and he wanted to love her again. And he wanted her to love him—at least initially. But once he began to believe that winning her love was futile, he tried not to love her. He decided that it would be a bad thing. Whenever he found himself coming too close to loving her, he intentionally screwed things up. But still, he needed her.

His decision to move to New York came one night when he attended a party at the Factory—the kind of party where a rum and coke was an unchased drink and some powder, and a girlfriend was more likely to be a friend than a girl, even in those days of shallow relations.

Contrary to his reputation, he was quiet that night. He was just interested in smoking as much herb as he could, and wasn’t talking much. Freddie Mercury came over and tried to make conversation, and as they talked, Keith Haring joined them with Sylvester and Diego Peña in tow.