Henry wore his brown hair long, casually brushing against his famous work shirt collar. He was probably about forty when I met him, debonair and confident with clear gray eyes. He was the type of person at home in a castle or a pub. In fact, after we became close, he told me once should we be in England and meet in a bar, it wouldn't be like it was here in Dallas. He'd look at me from afar and couldn't or wouldn't join me publicly. Things were different over there. I didn't understand at the time. And, it didn't bother me. In my own way, I was as bold and self-assured as he was.
He was married to money, but and had an art studio in Oak Lawn. He wanted to paint me and I was cool with it. We'd meet there in the afternoons where I'd pose. He had me squat for the series of photographs much like the one used on this book cover. He took tons of them, wanting to get my eyes just right. He loved my eyes. He said there was something between terror and kindness in there and it was almost impossible to catch.
He gave me things. A black leather Engish motorcycle jacket that fit me like a dream. A bottle of perfume. He liked me in Elixir, the Clinique scent. Some jewelry. A bracelet that I lost. It still pains me to think about it, so beautiful, silver with a tiny charm. Wouldn't you know, a butterfly with what looked like an 's.' A butterfly like my old friend, Papillon.