Still, it’s so enjoyable that I want it to go on and on… It’s early evening, the sky is streaked with amber and amethyst, and the spring air is velvety warm with a faint breeze laced with hyacinth. Gavin and I are outside by the pool, visiting with an interesting mix of Hollywood friends, some still living, many of whom have already passed on. But this is my dream and, alas, all things are possible. I am wearing a strapless platinum gown, and I am still young and beautiful. Robert Mitchum, also young and beautiful, is pouring me a turquoise-colored drink from an oversized martini shaker, looking at me with those sexy, sleepy eyes, when suddenly it all begins to crumble—I hear a banging sound and then a ringing. We must be having an earthquake! I sit up in bed, grasping the rough woolen blanket to my chin, and as I open my eyes, I realize that not only has Robert Mitchum disappeared but I am not in Beverly Hills. I look around the small, stark room. I must be back at the horrible Laurel Hills.
