A night view from a Coldwater Canyon mansion
We were at the Polo Lounge. I was laughing to myself because the orchids, the players , the hyper-polished woods, the dress sense, the body language and the conversation was every cliche you ever wanted from a Beverly Hills power lunch venue . Thank god for a consistency of line! Our party consisted of our stealth Overlord with fingers that tap between the talent , real estate and nightlife industries, as well as a certain legendary television magnate who by the mere mention of his name got the hostess to spin you straight to his customary corner booth. Flanking him was his lieutenant in arms, a very sharp legal eagle and his new business partner: one of those tech whiz types whose standard dialogue combined business-speak with tech slangs that just turned musical to my untrained ears. Later on, the Magnate's overwhelmingly charming wife , a former Bond girl, swept in to join us. I loved the team work these two executed through the room. Though I did not know who anyone was gathered at the coveted tables, it was clear that this was a very clubbish room marked by a very discrete form of table hopping. One Beverly Hills dowager came over to say hello, giving us the newsflash that the Roberto Cavalli line had sold out in less than half an hour that very morning and that the inventory was so controlled, not even her best friend Roberto or his wife could get the extra pieces she desperately wanted "Very smart! Those people at H&M" she announced before returning to her booth.



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