I'm one of those who believe they don´t make women like Ava Gardner anymore. Whoever called her "the world's most beautiful animal" was not exaggerating. Or maybe just a little bit. Ava Gardner could look at any man in the eye and make him go crazy; abandon family, job and everything for just one more glimpse of paradise. Follow her to perdition and be happy about it. I don't even care if she was a good or a bad actress.
The other day I was having dinner with some friends at a very old restaurant in Madrid. While we wolfed down a stew of bull's tail, the owner was telling us stories about the restaurant in the 50s, its golden era, when it was a meeting point for bullfighters, then demi-gods in Spain, and their friends and admirers. Among them the ubiquitous Ernest Hemingway, of course. Ava Gardner, who enjoyed very much the company of bullfighters, was usually there too.
Our new friend, the owner, was reminiscing about the parties they organized for these people, when he was just a shy teenager full of zits, recently landed in the big city and working at the restaurant as an apprentice waiter. An old signed photo of Ava Gardner followed our discussion from the wall, big tell-story rings under her eyes. "She knew how to party" he said looking at the photo, a sudden spark in his tired eyes and his mind flying back more than fifty years. "I remember seeing her dance in the center of this room". Small pause. "The way she flashed her thighs".
Long pause.
"Those were the very first woman thighs I had seen in my life".
Not a bad start, we all agreed.
No comments:
Post a Comment