I excused myself and went to the French doors, searching for Jonathan. I saw him down there on the second terrace surrounded by a bevy of the young, beautiful, and ambitious, some of whom frequented Casa Fiesta, though they were certainly better behaved here, and better dressed as well. I meandered down to them, and came in the midst of Diana Jordan raging against her agent, Irv Rakoff. Diana had a raw energy about her, a sort of sexual swagger few women would dare to parade; not perhaps what Julia would have recognized as panache, but unmistakably brassy charisma. Given this venue, she was more restrained than usual. “As soon as I can get rid of Irv, I’m coming to you, Roxanne. I want a woman agent.”

“I only handle writers. Writers are easier than actors, not as needy. More grateful,” I said as all these actors laughed out loud.

“A woman agent?” chuckled Rock Hudson, still glowing from his starring role in Magnificent Obsession (which, for all its magnificent profits, was a corny, one-hanky weeper). “What’ll they think of next? Women directors?”

“And why not?” I retorted.

“Men don’t want women ordering them around.”

“Well, I have two words for you, Rock,” I said. “Ida Lupino. She is a genius. She directed The Hitch-Hiker a year or so ago. Didn’t any of you see it? That’s no teatime drama. She directed that picture with such a sure hand, it gave me nightmares for weeks—oh, and it was an all-male cast too, in case you missed it.”

“Women lack authority,” Rock insisted.

“Don’t get Roxanne started,” Jonathan warned.

“Where is it written in stone that just because we have ovaries, we have no balls?” That got a laugh, and I might have gone on being outrageous (and, of course, amusing) but Clarence interrupted us with a white-gloved tap to my shoulder.

“Miss Roxanne, Mr. Greene would like you to join the family on the gallery for the toast.”

I excused myself, and returning to the salon, I could hear the musicians hurrying through “Three Coins in a Fountain” so fast it sounded like a polka. I lifted my luscious red skirt and went royally up the stairs to where the family had gathered, along with Vic Hale, Banner Headline’s writer; Phil Tobin, the director; and the leading man, a harmless hunk.