At parties she charmed everyone with her bizarre naivety about nearly everything. The coolest of cool New York thought she was the most adorable thing ever, and fought amongst themselves about who got to give her drugs, cut her hair, snap her picture, or take her to bed. Everyone loved Marie and Marie loved everyone back.

Andy kept promising to do her portrait, put her in movies, make her a real star, even outside of the hipster scene; but the tides were changing, and Andy soon found a new muse named Edie, whom he showered with attention while Marie was put quietly on the back burner.

Dejected, strung out, and even rather bored, Marie made up her mind to go somewhere, anywhere that was not New York. She was nearly twenty and had never even been out of the city. She was determined to see trees that hadn’t been precisely planted, to see the Pacific Ocean. The day before she left, Edie stole of her shoes. Andy found this hilarious. Marie packed her bags and made the bus trip to Washington barefoot. She never wore a pair of shoes again.

Marie had heard in passing of an isolated island commune on Puget Sound where the citizens handcrafted goat cheese and spun sheep‘s wool to sell on the mainland. They rarely lived in harmony, sharing everything with one another. Her mother’s communist teachings still vivid in Marie’s mind, this sounded to her like heaven on earth.

She spent the very last of her money chartering a boat to the island. The residents were surprised to see her, though not because they recognized her from the gossip and society pages of the New York Post, but simply because outsiders rarely appeared on their shores. Marie’s sweet nature and her travel-worn, rather pathetic appearance, soon won them over. A potluck and bonfire were thrown in her honor, and construction on a cottage just for Marie was planned.