Kristen O’Toole I came to Fiona’s because she lives in London, an ocean away from my fiancé. During the day, she takes me to the museums and galleries. Fiona helps art change hands for aliving.The nights are always cold and gray. Not even corners and alleys are ever truly black. Fiona touches my eyelids and asks me what I see behind them, but she won’t let me sleep in her bed. On the couch with a blanket, I ignore the phone and...