She could walk into a lion's den and come out with the cats licking her palms. Personable, poised and in possession of an uncanny sensitivity to the emotional needs of others, she was something of a social prodigy. She just instinctively knew how to make people feel good and was able to infuse them with confidences they had never before thought were theirs. From wall flowers enticed to bloom to shells shucked or raving narcissists humbled, she was able to reach in massage and tease out the better qualities of people with a talent that not only allowed but uniquely encouraged engagement. These same properties also worked equally well when caregiving or taming the more contrary of contrarians. In sum, she embodied a magical mix of eye-catching good looks, frank sensuality and a charismatic presence that energized pretty much everything within her compass.

I recall one evening in particular when we were attending a casual after-seminar gathering. The venue was large and the sixty or so people there had dispersed into small conversational clusters. We entered the hall together and by the number of abruptly raised eyebrows it was obvious she had become immediately conspicuous. Of course part of the focus owed to her cover girl features, but more than that it was the platinum blonde hair and admittedly suggestive attire that ignited sporadic kibitzing about the little bombshell who had just arrived. Evidently, she had young Marilyn Monroe in mind when choosing her outfit for the evening. Having poured herself into a pair of slim-fit jeans, she topped them off with a thin white pullover v-neck sweater, the tightness of which accentuated her normally modest breasts into looking distractingly more ample than usual. A black mesh kerchief tied high around her neck and bright red lipstick outlining her expansive smile, it seemed as though she just stepped out of a "River of No Return" remake.

Asked to have a word with our executive director, I left her to mingle as I knew she would. Walking along solo the streetlights streaming through the hall's high windows glanced off her lilting hair, creating a silken silver sheen. Her slightly abbreviated stride hinted at that disarmingly side-to-side Chaplinesque gait she frequently adopted when excited or signaling good cheer. Black stiletto heels clicking lightly on the parquet floor she gravitated toward the middle of the room. Centrality was favored because it afforded the best position for identifying persons of interest. Her progress unraveled a trail of swiveling heads. Men with tingling in their dingling ogled blatantly. Agog others, when discovered by their partners, simply shrugged a "Yeah, you caught me," smirk. Shyer guys, overwhelmed, averted their gaze altogether. Older women rolled their eyes and younger ones went back and forth between glaring daggers and trading exaggerated looks. She was nothing short of a goddamned glittering ornament.

As was all too frequently the case, when she arrived at mid court a big bad ego wasted no time swooping in like a peregrine falcon.

"Getting kinda warm in here, don't you think?"

Steeped in fielding all kinds of advances while beautifying everything from Mercedes automobiles to taffy truffles, she reflexively morphed into her mental martial arts mode. In a gesture of greeting she extended her left hand, a tactic she used to detect wedding rings when they weren't overtly apparent. Rings offered inquires into wives and children and sometimes even disarmed hitters enough to have them produce wallet photos. From across the room, the left-hand shake tipped me off as to what was transpiring.

"Hello, I'm here with Main Street Community Residences."

Right away she established herself as having a professional purpose.

No ring on this jamoke unfortunately allowed him the next line.

"Why don't we go outside where you can take that hot sweater off and be more comfortable."

Her reply came crafted to remain polite, demonstrate savvy and at the same time recruit a little levity in an effort to avoid any of the defensiveness that an embarrassment might incite.

"Hey, don't I remember seeing you at that sexual harassment training a few months ago?"

That put a smile on Bozo's face as well as causing him a moment's pause, the cunning brush back rocking him to his heels slightly.

Seeing her chance, she moved in to deliver the second of the old one, two.

"I've got a joke for you. Knock, knock?"

"Who's there?", he conceded.

"Boo."

"Boo, who?"

"Please don't feel bad. I know that in a way you're kind of paying a backhanded compliment. Another time, another place.... but this ain't it! Right now I'd really appreciate it if you'd just not." With that, she turned her back and made comment to a middle-aged lady nearby.

"I really like your hair. Where did you have it done?"

Guilty of misjudgment but self-esteem intact, the predator retracted his talons and strolled away.

"Gee, you look so fit too. Do you do Pilates or yoga or something?"

"Oh, thank you my dear, you're so sweet. No nothing like that, but my husband and I are ballroom dancers."

"A dancer! Well, that explains those gams."

Within minutes the woman was relating as though she had just run into her long-lost niece. In a bit, she invited a few friends over. After that more ladies joined the huddle and soon daughters and other youngsters were summoned to meet the new acquaintance animatedly charming them all.

Before the evening was through she had coupled a pair of awkwardly solitary souls, held court with a trio of guys virtually holding paws up begging for her attention and in finale walked out of the event arm-in-arm with two of the youthful ladies whose earlier jealousy would've burned her at the stake.

The takeaway from this clinic in sociability was the fact that though she could clearly have her pick of countless folks to focus on, she was instead zeroing in on yours truly, a phenomenon fraught with the uneasy sense that should this good fortune cookie be opened the message might read, "Too good to be true."