“As Zsa Zsa herself once wrote, “What woman is ever 50 years old?” That is not an idle question, for age, even more than opposing divorce counsel, was the Gabors’ one genuine enemy, the only predator they truly feared. But their way was not to fret over accumulating years like some commonplace cow of a dieter stepping gingerly onto a scale—at least not in public. No, the Gabor way was to face the music sideways, to celebrate your birthday at the Stork Club posing for photographers between your two sisters, a bowling-ball rack’s worth of décolletage looming pendulously over a cake decorated with candles in the shape of a question mark.”
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