fornia cities. They are, for the most part, ugly imitations … petty and unworthy of this glamorous land. Here and there are lovely natural spots … the hills, the sea."
They entered Hollywood. On the Boulevard were handsome youths and pretty girls.
"I wish I might spend these next few days with you. I should like to teach you what to do and what not to do."
The car entered a driveway and halted before a porte-cochère. A doorman greeted Mr. Lowell.
Within, an old-fashioned mansion, diners in evening dress, a long bar, before which sat elegant women and smart men. Ken thought he recognized movie stars in the crowd. He was too enthralled to speak.
Mr. Lowell stood beside him and ordered two side-cars. Ken, accustomed only to sharp, undiluted grain alcohol served in syrups, drank the blend of brandy and Cointreau with a single gulp.
"Be careful," said Mr. Lowell. "That's a powerful drink."
In cautiously chosen words, the old man pointed out the famous ones in the throng of drinkers: motion picture executives, directors, actors and actresses. He led Ken up winding stairs to the game room, where roulette, dice and black jack attracted groups of players.
"This is the essence of cosmopolitan life in Southern California," said Mr. Lowell. "I seldom come here. These people are too busy thinking about money to interest me. I choose my friends differently. After you know me better, you will understand why."
Again the limousine sped through palm-lined streets, along flower-banked roadsides. Suddenly a steep climb, then a steeper descent to the ocean level.
