Dr. Ruth Westheimer, the famous sex advisor, comes to the White House one day, and ends up in my office.  (I never know exactly why.)  I shake her tiny hand and think, Gosh, I didn’t know Chanel made suits in children’s sizes! I guess she must have them custom made.  I guess she must have EVERYTHING custom made!

But when she speaks I realize her size is irrelevant.  At less than five feet tall, Dr. Ruth may look like a child, but she has the charm, forceful personality and intelligence of a fascinating adult.  I’m tempted to laugh at her high pitched voice and thick German accent, so recognizable from radio and TV – but my White House training kicks in, and I simply smile.  We chat for a few minutes, and then she says that she and her two friends are going to the Jockey Club for lunch and would I like to come along.  Sure I would.

The Jockey Club is a very snooty place for very important people to have lunch and pretend not to notice all the other excessively important people dining there.  Like lunching at the Ivy in LA and pretending not to notice Jennifer Anniston at the next table, except that here “Jennifer Anniston” is actually the Secretary of State.  Remember the old saying, “Politics is show biz for ugly people?

I find the haughty attitude funny, because the room was originally decorated by my former Father-in-Law, Ray Bates.  He and his wife, “Toots” (yes, really) pretty much created the design business in Washington, in the 1950s, and this room was a favorite of theirs.  It’s small and dim, decorated with hunt prints on the walls, dark paneling and red checked tablecloths.  Its greatest asset is the maitre’d, who always knows exactly how to seat all these very important people so they can impress everyone in the room without actually having to speak to each other.  This is not the kind of place I normally frequent.

I walk in with Dr. Ruth, who sweetly requests a pillow or phone book to sit on (she really is that small.).  And because everyone in the Jockey Club knows – and plays by- the rules, our entrance barely causes a ripple, even though Dr. Ruth is not your usual Washington VIP.   Political people are pretty much immune to each other’s celebrity, but they will stampede over anything between them and a movie star.  And vice versa.  Social Washington pays no attention to either.

We order our meals (lobster roll for me) and begin to chat. Again, everyone in the room is studiously NOT noticing Dr. Ruth.  Although they are indulging in the socially acceptable random glance around the room without focusing on anyone and never staring or catching anyone’s eye.  Because that would be rude.

So, we’re all playing by the rules, and not only not noticing Dr. Ruth, but they are also carefully not listening to her (our) conversation, which would actually be very easy to overhear in the small room.   Especially with that distinctive accent.  This works for a little while, but then Dr. Ruth begins to explain to me that she is writing a new book, and the name of that book is, “The Art of Arousal.”  Well, when she says “the Arrrt of Arrrousal” rolling out the Rs with her high-pitched German accent, all the proper, sophisticated people in the room suddenly snap their necks to turn and stare at Dr. Ruth.  I swear, most of them probably get whiplash.  Jaws drop.  Eyes bug out.  And then they break the rules completely by turning to stare directly at her, as she innocently repeats the name of her book, with particular delight in the word “arrrrousal,” oblivious to the effect her words are having on the other diners.

And, you know, official Washington is a deadly proper place, so that’s not a word I’ve heard spoken aloud all that often myself, and I’m mildly shocked as well.  But mostly I just enjoy observing the other diners as they choke on their Cobb salads and Perrier, over the sound of the name of that book.

We finish our meal and I ask the waiter to wrap up the remaining half of my lobster sandwich.  Dr. Ruth leans over to me, pats my hand and says, “I am so glad to hear you do that.  I grew up in Germany during the war when we were all starving.  I’m convinced that is why I never grew to normal height.  I just hate to see food go to waste!”  I laugh and say that I can’t promise I never let ordinary food go to waste, but there’s no way I’m forgetting about that left-over lobster.  And I’m thinking, I’m not likely to forget you, either, Dr. Ruth!  What a fun lunch!

After this, Dr. Ruth and I are “friends,” and one evening I come home from work, hit the play button on my phone messages and hear her unmistakable voice, “Hellooooo Melinda!  This is Dr. Ruth calling.  I hope you can help me with a little something …”  I saved that message for months, until the boyfriend accidentally erased it.

I truly enjoyed Dr. Ruth, but she never did send me that book!