One of my favorite gifts ever and one I treasure displaying on my bedroom-wide bookshelf is a vintage pair of tanned buffalo hide high-top Shoshone moccasins. My ex-husband bought them at a museum auction and had them soled for me.
I am past the age of wearing them with a short denim skirt, though I could wear them with jeans. Once I was at the old Hollywood Park race track, with my ex. Friends were with us and we enjoyed a table on the Turf Club mezzanine, overlooking the track.
Between races, I scurried up the concrete steps to place a bet inside and decided to visit the ladies’ room before returning all the way to our seats. Between races, the women’s restroom was generally crowded–no potty parity here–but I was willing to wait in line this time. Approaching the front, one of the stalls opened, and adjusting her black and white skirt—she was wearing white shiny stiletto boots and glamorously scarved—was Elizabeth Taylor. Yes, coming of the race track toilet. You kind of learn in L.A. to leave celebrities alone, at least that’s how I preferred to roll. Besides she was adjusting, a private moment. So I was surprised when she gushed about my boots!
“Darling, those are heavenly.”
Damn she sounded just like Cleopatra.
“Wh-wh-why, thank you,” I managed to dribble.
Can’t remember if my bet won.
