The Beginning, Not the Middle

When I was in my early teens, I was at my friend Claire's apartment one evening. We were getting ready to go out, and Dina, my friend's mother (who passed many years ago) was watching. It was the Sixties, and I was a hippie-type, not in the least familiar with make-up or anything that smacked of the "establishment." Dina was Cuban and extremely glamorous. She had gorgeous, long legs (something I never had and always wished for) and a beautiful figure. She used a cigarette holder, wore...