It was at a crowded art opening in a small bookstore. She was dressed in black and wearing the signature sunglasses. They function as an optical barricade; it's as if she's within a dark-glassed limousine at all times, even when she isn't. I wanted to tell her how much I liked her work. I wasn't even going to talk about her husband, the second one, who was part of that quartet named after bugs. Instead, I stepped on her toe. Accidentally.
She wore pointy black shoes or boots; I couldn't tell which, because her black pants covered their tops. Read more