Some Girlfriends Have Extra parts

Meeting girlfriends is like dating. In fact, I believe this may be the learning ground for many of our future initial contacts with men. You can meet a new best friend anywhere. Many women begin lifelong friendships in grade school or college. Some meet at an office or through other acquaintances. You can meet at a party, or through a club or organization where you both hold the same interests. It doesn't matter. You can't go looking for a girlfriend, other women smell desperation a mile away. No, it must be by chance.

You'll know the very minute you lay eyes on a woman that you're going to be fast friends. It's just like meeting your 'soulmate.' There's an unmistakable connection even before you say hello.

I've met a couple of my friends by chance. Take Jenna, for instance. She was dating the brother of a man that I was dating, both successful music execs. We met at a Hollywood club one night as we were passing each other at the front door on the arms of our dates. My first thought was, 'oh now she looks interesting. Hmmmm, maybe we could be friends." I didn't see her again though until several weeks later at the Federal Building in Los Angeles. We were both in line at the Passport Office. I was deep in thought when I heard an unfamiliar voice.

"Hello?" Jane?

I looked up and saw this woman with big beautiful eyes and the warmest smile you've ever seen.

"Yes?" (I didn't recognize her)

She was dressed very simply and wore no make up. She carried a book in her arm.

"It's me, Jenna. We met a couple weeks ago at the Troubador." You were heading out, I was coming in?" Me, Wes....

"Oh, oh. Yes! I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you. Hi, how are you?"

"I'm great, thanks. And you?"

"Can't complain."

"Hey, it looks like we're both heading out of the country," she said as she held up her passport application.

"Oh, yeah, I guess we are...uh, I"m meeting Bill in Cannes at MIDEM and then vacationing in the South of France, and you?"

"Moving to Paris. Tom and I are taking a break."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to.....

"NEXT!" "Next in line, please!" shouted the man at the pick up window.

"Oh, that's me," I said taking a step backward. "Well, maybe we'll see each other again soon?" Hey, maybe even in Paris!"

And off I went. I new right then that we'd be friends. It was just a matter of time.

A couple weeks later, after Bill proposed marriage to me on the balcony of our hotel room at the Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo, (I declined. He got attitude. It's a another story) we arrived in Paris. We'd just settled into our hotel room when the phone rang. It was Jenna; she was in the lobby. Could we join her for dinner, she begged. She was very lonely for a familiar face. Bill put his bruised ego aside and off we went to the brasserie downstairs to share some wine and laughter.

After dinner, Jenna and I felt like an espresso and some people watching at a sidewalk cafe down the street. So we paid the check and left Bill to continue pouting in the hotel room. We talked for hours. When the cafe waiter started folding the chairs for the night, we decided to go for a walk. We walked for hours through the streets of Paris until the sun was up.

Later that day Jenna and I met again and walked along the Seine, marveled at the Louvre, and shared a simple handmade truffle from Fauchon while staring silently in awe at the Cezanne stained glass dome in the Paris Opera House.

A few nights later we joined my newly jilted lover and a friend of his for dinner. We whizzed in the Porsche down the rain soaked streets, past the the Eiffel Tower in all its glory, down the Champs-Elysee, around the Arc de Triomphe, and down a dark narrow street stopping abruptly in the middle of the block. Valets rushed out of nowhere and hurried us to the ornate front door under the cover of huge umbrellas. Once inside, our eyes had to adjust to the extravagance of the room. It was as if we'd entered a Faberge egg. The 16 foot high walls were covered in deep turquoise silk, diamond-tufted in gold metal with large, carved gold buttons at each intersection. The chandeliers were like bare trees in winter with icicles dripping from every branch. The tables were layered with deep green, turquoise, yellow and blue damask, silk and hand embroidered brocade. The place settings were heavy silver, the china; porcelain, the crystal wine glasses, Baccarat. It was breathtaking.

My new best friend and I breathed in the anticipation of a perfect evening, and it was -- except for the dog. I didn't know at the time that it was customary in Paris for your pet canine to accompany you into any public place, including a five star restaurant. So, there we were and there 'it' was -- the dog -- who apparently was experiencing a violent disturbance in its digestive tract. Yes, Gigi had gas! It was deadly. Oddly enough, no one else seemed to be reacting to the foul smell but me. No raised eyebrows or whispers. I looked at Jenna. She looked up from her menu at me and shrugged her shoulders. There were no other signs that anyone other than Jenna and I were smelling the offensive olfactory assault on this otherwise magical evening.

That night at the hotel we laughed until we cried. We knew right then and there that we would be friends forever. As I look back, now 26 years later, I'm certain that because I was the only one in the restaurant with a panicked, sick look on my face that the other diners - maybe even some at my own table, thought I was the foul smelling offender that evening. It makes us laugh every time.

Oh and yes, we are still best of friends, sisters in fact. We will finish this life in each other's lives, through the thick and thin - and we've had both (stay tuned).