The first thing I unpacked and put on the bedroom vanity was my half-empty bottle of Panache. The word itself was first used, ever, in Cyrano de Bergerac. When Empire made the talkie of the play in 1931, the year I was born, Leon commissioned a Beverly Hills parfumier to create this cologne, Panache, as a gift for Julia to celebrate. It’s an intoxicating fragrance; the top notes are citrusy, the lower notes an earthy bergamot with a hint of vanilla. This cologne was Julia’s signature; only she could wear it. On my fifteenth birthday, she gave me my own bottle, declaring that we both had panache. I felt very grown-up. That same day she drove me to the studio of Empire’s makeup maestra, Violet Andreas. She sat me in the chair and told Violet I needed some lessons in what could be done with the artful application of makeup to conceal the blemish on my cheek, lessons I have used to my advantage every day ever since.

From Malibu I drove to the parfumier in Beverly Hills and collected his condolences when I ordered a new bottle of Panache. That same day I visited other boutiques where my name sufficed for credit. I ordered bedding, fine cotton sheets, dishes and silverware, and a set of cookware (though I’d never cooked for myself) to be delivered. My place was far from any restaurants, so on my way home I went to the small local market and stocked up on eggs (how hard could it be to scramble an egg?), TV dinners, fruit, potato chips, beer, champagne, and boxed donuts. The checker gave me my change and a sheet of something green.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Green Stamps,” he said. “Everyone saves Green Stamps. You know,” he went on patiently, “you get these stamps when you shop, and you paste them in the little books and then you take them to the Green Stamp store and buy stuff.” He looked pleased.

I just laughed. “I’ll never lick a bunch of stamps and paste them in a book! That’s ridiculous. Here.” I gave them to the woman in line behind me and left the place amused.

To cover the bare walls I called up the librarian at Empire’s archives and asked for half a dozen movie posters, films from the old days. I specifically said nothing with Denise Dell in it. The librarian found for me the pièce de résistance, a gaudy poster from the 1931 Cyrano de Bergerac that I hung above the fireplace. As a child at Summit Drive, I would sometimes watch Cyrano in the screening room all by myself just to see my father. I was jealous on Rowland’s behalf when José Ferrer won the Oscar for Best Actor in ’51 for playing the title role. My father was far better.