I still remember the day that I met Barbara about twelve years ago. We were backstage at a fashion show in Vegas, sent by our LA agent, and I’m not sure if it was the beret, but I just knew she was French. Those skeptical blue eyes searched mine, wondering if I was like everyone else in Los Angeles—full of bull. We sat alone on opposite corners of the room, peering over our books and intrigued by what the other was up to.  Meanwhile, the other girls entertained themselves, touching up their hair and makeup, flipping through gossip magazines, and giving each other less-than-stellar advice—no, it’s him not you, Girl. Even though I was surrounded by entertainment, the beret-wearing girl with the soulful eyes, then and still to this day, captivated me…