Both of the covers had amazing cutout portraits of me by Michael. He and I went on to do my second book 10 years later. We survived, and our friendship was firmly cemented. But after about 10 minutes he fell fast asleep and all my precious filing methods went to pieces, as the sheets fell through his fingers and onto the floor in a chaotic heap. He heaved this huge pile onto his lap and started going through them, saying, “In! Out! Out! In! Out! Horrendous! You can’t be serious! Out!” and so on. He arrived in New York from London one hot summer’s day and came directly to my office where I had all the tear sheets from my career carefully organized. I then followed that with a book of the same, which Michael art-directed, designed, and edited with me. We first started doing projects together in 1994 when Anna Wintour asked me to do an exhibition of all my work for Vogue, back to when I started there in 1968. And he could never find anything he liked to eat, none of the beautiful fresh fruit or vegetables available in the Hamptons in the summer-no sweet tomatoes, no delicious white corn, just peaches, marinated in lemon juice with a little sugar, which was his diet for his entire stay. He never ventured into the garden or into the pool. He had an aversion to bugs, which he claimed were in hordes outside my front door. Michael could also be infuriating to the point that I would have to get in my car, drive down the road out of earshot, and scream and scream.

This vicious grace book