Lucky Blackout
In the mid-seventies I was an airline stewardess (back when that was the accepted term) on international flights, stationed in Chicago. Like most of the girls I was never in one place long, so we shared a top-of-the-line condo. There were five of us girls full time and four part time, which meant they only paid when they spent the night. Barbara Ann was one of those, born in the Virgin Islands from a native mother and British father. She was drop dead gorgeous, one of those who made the women take notice when she entered a room, much less causing the men to fall all over the place. Barbie was average height, but that was the only thing average about her. She was dark skinned, long black hair and the dreamiest of brown eyes. …