I've been a secret admirer of Julie Newmar in her guise as the Catwoman for nearly my entire life. I have very few memories of my life before age three, but some of the most vivid concern the Catwoman. Sure, I have vague images of playing with Major Matt Mason while I sat in the tub being bathed by my mother, or of the time my sister trashed our bedroom with baby powder, and blamed me (before I could talk!), but I most remember hearing the Batman theme song, and dashing wildly into the living room to watch my favorite show. And when it was a Catwoman episode (Eartha who?!), I was absolutely transfixed. As soon as Julie Newmar would appear, with that wicked little purr and claws bared, I was mesmerized and absolutely transfixed. At what age can we truly be said to have sexual desire? Certainly a toddler can't understand these feelings, but I knew somehow that the Catwoman made me feel different; giddy, yet quiet, hushed, and reverential.

I'd entertain little fantasies about the Catwoman for years; nothing sophisticated or perverse. I'd just imagine hanging out with her, impressing her with my charm and ardor. And I'd vividly picture that costume, that shiny "astravision" sparkle...wow! The Batman was a strong man to resist her feline spell.

Years passed. I grew into adulthood. From time to time I'd catch a Batman episode, and enjoy the kitsch, and notice how clever the inside jokes and double entendres were. As a child, I would feverishly be caught up in the drama, and on the edge of my seat for the fight scenes. But in my maturity, the show was far less riveting, just good for a laugh or two. Except when Julie Newmar made her entrance; my feelings were no longer mysterious to me, but just as transfixing. I realized I was viewing a gorgeous, clever, powerful, terribly sexy woman.

Through the years, my tastes have evolved and matured. Yet Julie Newmar in her guise as the Catwoman has remained an ideal; next to Louise Brooks, the supreme archetype of allure, charm, class, and sex appeal. But I never knew how ultramagnetic the actual Julie Newmar was until a few years ago.

Living in Atlanta, I happened to turn on a local news program on which she was being interviewed. She seemed sharp and bright and funny, and stunningly beautiful. I was also pleased to note she came off as mildly eccentric, which I usually read as a sign of unique intelligence...something in her timing and distracted replies to the mundane questions of the interviewer just seemed different.

I was overjoyed to learn she was appearing that night at a trendy club to receive a "lifetime nightlife award" (!). There was no question I'd be there. As I drove to the club, I whipped myself up into a fever pitch, imagining meeting her, confessing my love and devotion since toddlerhood. She'd be so impressed with my sincere affection, she'd whisk me off to travel the world and mingle in sophisticated circles with her.

In my anticipation, I arrived at the club at the dreadfully unfashionable hour of 10:00. I wound up skulking about for hours, with no sign of Ms. Newmar. Exhausted, I sat in a chair with my head down. Some time later I looked up a bit, and noticed a line had formed for the ladies' room just in front of me. I saw a superb pair of loooong legs not a foot from me. My eyes crept up slowly, and I was greeted with a fabulous figure. I ventured to look at the face. My God, it was JULIE NEWMAR, inches away! I literally almost fainted. I was in shock. To be confronted with such a powerful archetype was nearly unbearable. To this day I regret not even managing a timid greeting. Who knows, maybe we'd be in Paris right now, sharing a laugh at how strange fate can be. (Yeah, as if!)