I had the good fortune to meet Jackie Collins, Joan's scandalously successful scribbler sister, four years ago. It was a treat because I'd read some of her unapologetically salacious novels as a kid (rummage sales were a great place to find 10-cent copies of The Bitch or The Stud, but I was first in line for the tacky-fab Hollywood Wives) and because in person she turned out to be a down-to-earth doll.
Jackie was the picture of health four years ago.
Collins, who died after a mostly secret battle with breast cancer yesterday at age 77, was just one of the girls, in spite of the glitz and glamour that were her milieu. She talked about binge-watching all the latest buzzed-about TV shows at the event I attended, and proudly introduced us to her GBF.
Joan was my age (!) when she made this deliciously shameless flick!
The author had decided not to go public with her cancer battle until the past month, when she felt it couldn't be hidden, which is in stark contrast to the push public figures get to be open and honest about disease to help raise awareness. I think we are all aware of the scourge of breast cancer, which has robbed us of countless women and not a few men, so I respect her decision not to admit she was afflicted in order to live her life instead of living her death.
Hollywood Wives was a precursor to IMDb!
A great dame ... and it doesn't hurt that she was a huge Madonna fan who kept her sister making movies in the '70s. As Sandra Bullock says of her: “Heaven, watch out!”