Elizabeth walked toward the large, iron gate complete with the Charles Foster Kane cursive “AG” set in the middle while Simon paid the cabbie. She wrapped her hands around the cool metal and pressed her face between the bars for a better view. Last night, she'd been too tired and a little too tipsy to take it all in. It was as if someone had taken a large Southern plantation and plopped it down in the middle of Beverly Hills. At the end of the long drive and beyond the weeping willows and tall oaks, the broad elegant façade of the antebellum South looked back. It was odd and out of place and yet, made perfect sense. It was one of the things she'd always loved about California and Los Angeles especially, the diversity. She heard what sounded like a goose honking in the distance and pushed her head harder against the bars to try to see around the side of the hedge. “Were you planning on squeezing through?” Simon said from behind her. His hand rested on an intercom box a few feet away.
