The thing with Julian and me was that, as much as we adored and lusted after one another, and I consier him my first serious boyfriend, I can't say that we were ever deeply in love. It was more like we were ideal traveling companions on a really fun and instructive adventure. One of the reasons Julian had been so successful as a prostitute was that he was very drawn to older men emotionally. So there came a day when he met an older man and fell in love. His great love turned out to be a French man named Pierre, who basically offered Julian the world to move to France and live with him. Pierre was very well connected in the high culture world of Paris, and said he'd get Julian gigs playing with the top orchestras, support his dream to compose serious music, and, really, do anything Julian wanted. Of course Julian jumped at it. I wasn't heartbroken, but I missed him when he moved to France. We said we'd stay in touch, but, in the pre-internet days, that wasn't so easy for wild, undisciplined teenagers to do, and we didn't. A few years later, I managed to track down Pierre's phone number and called, hoping to talk to Julian. Pierre said Julian was on a European tour with some orchestra, and he would pass along my message, but Julian never called back, and I never heard anything about him again. There's always a chance I'll be walking down the street in Paris one day and see what I'll be able to distinguish as a fiftysomething year old Julian, but I wonder if I'd recognize him or him me. Mainly, I hope he lived through the apocalypse of the early AIDS crisis and is still around somewhere being his fantastic self. Considering Julian's love of no holds barred sex, and even though time has rendered my long lost friend into a near abstraction, I worry about that.