She began as a topless showgirl in Las Vegas, dancing through cigarette smoke and neon, before an accidental encounter with an agent hurled her into Hollywood. With Lenny, she went from casino stages to Cannes glory and an Oscar nomination, then became immortal to millions as Lex Luthor’s sultry accomplice in Superman. She wore the “sex goddess” label on her own terms, insisting she was never anyone’s object, only ever her own force of nature.

Parkinson’s slowly stole what fame had given her: mobility, independence, and finally, her savings. Yet friends recall she never complained, meeting confusion and pain with a crooked smile and a perfectly timed joke about karma. In the end, her final wish to rest in Hollywood Hills revealed a cruel truth about how quickly the industry forgets its icons. What remains is the legacy of a woman who refused to apologize for who she was, right up to her last breath.