Etta At Night

Etta at NightIt's not often that I resent beauty in a woman, but I resented it in Etta Fleger-Hollmann, and please don't forget the hyphen. She was about 30, mein hostess of that ritzy Kitzbühel weekend; she moved in a black ski-pants-and-sweater outfit which, without trying or stretching at all hard, defined lazy grade-A curves; her cheekbones were the kind that don't ripen so sensuously until a woman is beyond her 20s; her blue eyes hit yours at a direct and yet noncommittal angle; she had the...