Suddenly the door gusts open on a blast of testosterone, and [Michael Fassbender] the hottest actor in London, wearing jeans, a peacoat, and a wide, toothy grin, walks two steps, shakes my hand, and orders tea. Everyone’s head snaps up.
He is so physically arresting (handsome face unshaven, light eyes dancing) that he sucks all the air out of the room, mesmerizing even the preschoolers in strollers (whose little, wondering voices fill my recorder.) [….]
His voice is as deep and gravelly as Harrison Ford’s, his carriage as upright and intense as Daniel Day-Lewis’s, the blue/green/gray eyes as attention-grabbing as Paul Newman’s. The entire roomful of women is Not Staring and Not Listening so comprehensively, politely (and Englishly), that I become unhinged and drag him outside to sit in the cold at the single, solitary pavement table.

Your penis was a revelation,” she said to the howling audience. “I’m available to work with it any time.