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March 7, 2007
“What’s champagne in Spanish?” The shoulder strap of her gold cocktail dress dangled at her elbow as she wavered by the counter. “In Hollywood it is not easy to become a movie star.” The bartender nodded at her, swabbing her fingerprints away. “Tempestad, torrente, rafaga….” Lindsey pounded her fist on the counter, “What’s the word for champagne?” The bartender shrugged, “No hablo ingles.” Lindsey spun around, her knees locking and her heels tipping at odds. A gentleman in suit like Bogart stood before her. “I couldn’t help overhearing,” he said. Lindsey hiccupped. “The word you want,” he said, “is ‘champán.’”