(Photos by Hans Eric Olson)
“Oh, thank God you’re here! I’m parched!”
Angelyne pushes past me in a mini-dress amplifying her notorious cleavage as she announces to the entire French Market Place—one of her favorite West Hollywood hangouts—that she needs the “pink drink” right away.
“The blackberry lemonade, perhaps?” the waiter asks, appearing from nowhere.
“Yes, the pink one!” Angelyne demands.