Billie was beautiful, with the kind of unforgettable face you see in old movies—a study in dark and light, pale skin and black eyes, an elfin chin and freckled cheekbones—and she was also an aspiring artist, which of course thrilled me. Four years older than me, she possessed a worldliness that I aspired to. But what I loved most about Billie was her capacity for joy, her fearless abandon.
