All That Is Bitter and Sweet_ A Memoir - Ashley Judd [144]
During the photo ops after the news conference, the president kept up his antics. He squeezed me and Salma close to him and made some extremely inappropriate, gendered comments about our bodies. Salma told me she thought she smelled alcohol on him as he talked about “the honey of power.” Did he mean that we were the bees? Or maybe he was calling us “the honeys of power”—I never quite figured out his intention beyond the obviously sexist nature of the remark.
When it was all over, we climbed back in the car and finally let loose with howls of outraged laughter. Again, I was so glad Salma was there. I might have spent the rest of the day fuming over the president’s publicity stunt, but she could find the humor in anything. In addition to being a world-class actor, she’s a natural comedian; my mom calls her the Latina Lucille Ball. All the way back to the hotel she kept up a commentary on the afternoon’s events that had us in stitches. She was wearing a beautiful low-cut dress with a tight bodice that barely contained her voluptuous bosom, to which the president had apparently directed many of his remarks.
“It’s just physics—fee-seeks,” said Salma. “I can’t help it! There’s too much mass to fit in most clothes.”
Salma is so beautiful, she just kills people. You mention her name to men and they emit a little noise. Part sigh or part squeak. I call it the Salma sound. But she manages to deflect attention with self-deprecating humor—a classic thing that women do, but very few can pull it off. “Ashley came to my room this morning,” she said, “and she’s complaining, oh, she has a pimple, she doesn’t feel pretty. I say, ‘Look at you, you’re like this gazelle, with your long neck, so elegant in your carriage, so poised and regal. So simple and classic.’ And then there’s me. I’ve got a big ass, and big tits, on a short frame, and Ashley, I’m vulgar! You know, even when I’m just talking, I’m just vulgar! Look at me!”
Salma is a serious person who simply doesn’t take herself too seriously.
That night, I hosted a cocktail reception with business leaders and diplomats and yet another press opportunity at the hotel. But the part I was looking forward to most was meeting Rigoberta Menchú, who won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1992 for her work advocating with the oppressed peasants of Guatemala during the civil war and championing the rights of indigenous people. Menchú is a member of the Quiché Maya ethnic group and was draped, as always, in colorful handwoven cloth. She was a quiet and dignified person with nut brown skin and a face as round as a harvest moon. We spoke in Spanish; I can understand a great deal but still need some help with translation, which Salma provided. I was blown away when Rigoberta invited me to return to Guatemala to take part in a Mayan ceremony. It was one of those moments when I fully realized the phenomenal options with which I’ve been blessed. I could stay at home in a beautiful, nurturing environment in Tennessee, or I could just climb on a plane and join Rigoberta Menchú for a traditional ceremony. My life could be as big as I wanted to make it.
I have learned that the tragedy of AIDS cuts across the lines of wealth and class and wreaks devastation on the rich and powerful as well as the poor and oppressed. Although poverty and ignorance are the petri dish of the pandemic, no one is immune, not a basketball star or businesswoman, a top model or the son of a president. The disease affects us all. We wanted to illustrate this fact by bringing a film crew from the Discovery Channel, which was making a documentary