Woman to Woman

A husky laugh, a come-hither head toss--tumbly curls glossed her shoulders.

Kathleen Turner.

Fifty-something, drop-dead gorgeous, and whip-smart. At the Planned Parenthood luncheon, I briefly spun in her orbit, close enough to smell the wine on her breath...and, yes, to feel her body heat. She was aware of precisely that moment when I'd start holding my own breath as she wound up a story, and could hear me laugh at her punchlines, could feel my release. (I think she was aware of all of us in that way; stars of her stature always know the effect they have on their audience.)

"Yes, if she were St. Joan, I'd follow her to the death," thought I. Not that I needed a girl crush to convince me to campaign for women's rights. But it certainly didn't hurt to have an Amazon blazing through the village, romancing the troops.

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