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...call me Octopussy," the woman murmured. She was, of course, gorgeous, her thin yet voluptuous body sheathed in a simple, expensive dress. Bond could sniff the perfume of her danger the moment they met. From there to bed had been the matter of a few glances between professionals, and the act itself had been high sport, the Wimbledon finals of sex. Now the match was over, and Bond, instead of steeling himself for a stray tarantula under the sheets, found himself ruminating. Was she the good woman or the bad one? In each of his assignments, it seemed, there...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Cinema: The Bond Wagon Crawls Along | 6/27/1983 | See Source »

...fashion of the '80s is not to wait past May to sniff that none of these goats is Secretariat. It is quite enough to be Sunny's Halo...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Sport: A Halo on a Rainy Derby | 5/16/1983 | See Source »

...Fleet Street, other editors pounced on Stern and the rival Sunday Times with a vengeance that in this instance seemed justified. "It was the day the thunder of the Times turned into a whimper and the Sunday Times was forced to sniff the stench of self-deceit," crowed the Daily Express. Its story accused "the executives" of Stern and the Sunday Times of having committed "the biggest journalistic blunder for years...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Hitler's Forged Diaries | 5/16/1983 | See Source »

...Mailer: "I want to see how much of my head is left." It has been years since he has subjected himself to such a long haul of academic rigors. At each session, he tries to sniff out potential enemies and attackers; he chiefly scents respect and even reverence. This is a fairly new phenomenon in Mailer's tempestuous performing life, and it seems to puzzle him. Early in the week, he offers to pay $5 for the rudest question he is asked. At the end, he judges none worthy of the award. Fireworks are predicted when he visits...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: The Impish Iconoclast at 60 | 4/18/1983 | See Source »

...three-mile run, and his sex life sizzled. "I could be the macho man I always dreamed about." Soon he was spending $1,000 a week, snorting two grams a day with only minutes between "toots." "Even when you drive, you can pour a little sniff on your hand," he says. After a year of cocaine use, Trop discovered freebasing, and the social highs turned insidiously antisocial. "In the beginning, I felt I was communicating with God," he says with a wry smile...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Fighting Cocaine's Grip: I Thought I Was God | 4/11/1983 | See Source »

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