My mother called again the next night, and the next night and the next, each time leaving terrible messages on our answering machine until my father changed our phone number. I was relieved, but I also felt unmoored. What if something happened to her? How would we know? Or what if one day she got better? How would she ever find me?

INT. BEVERLY HILLS HOTEL

OCTOBER - DECEMBER

1983

Who didn’t recognize that iconic green sign with bold, white cursive lettering perched high above Sunset Boulevard? The Beverly Hills Hotel was as famous as its famous guests; from John Kennedy to John Lennon to the Queen of England. According to Daddy, our own spacious suites had once housed Howard Hughes and his staff for an entire year!

The lease in the flats had ended but completion of our new home was delayed because the builders had ordered the wrong marble for the floors. So, with most of our belongings in storage, we settled into two of the hotel’s coveted bungalows while we waited for the replacement stone to be blasted out of a quarry in Italy.

On Saturdays, Nicole and I would lie at the famed pool, sipping Cokes, and spying on celebrities from behind our sunglasses. Once, we saw Sally Field, Liza Minelli, Dudley Moore, and Richard Gere all in one afternoon! At fourteen, we were too cool to pull out our autograph books, a hobby we’d had back in the Malibu Colony days.

While working on our tans, we drooled over the latest heartthrobs in Tiger Beat Magazine, and poured over articles in Cosmopolitan like “Tips to Please Your Man.”

All we thought about were boys. All we talked about were boys and sex; how sex would feel and when it would happen. Nicole said she wanted to just get it over with. I’d only made out with a few boys, but Nicole had gotten pretty far. She’d grown to five foot eight inches and with her long blonde hair and amazing figure, she could easily pass for eighteen.

“Steffi says you don’t start enjoying intercourse until the third or fourth time,” Nicole said. Her mom was our expert in all things men-related.

I planned to wait until I was seventeen or until I had a serious boyfriend. Whichever came first. Both of us had a list of our ideal matches.

#1 - Cute.

#2 - Good kisser.

#3 - Nice person.

#4 - Preferably actor and/or singer.

I loved everything about the hotel; its flamingo-colored exterior and landscape of palms and emerald lawns mowed to ridiculous perfection; the infamous Polo Lounge where after sunbathing Nicole and I would giggle our lunch order to stoic waiters while trying to act sophisticated. I loved the bungalows and their boxy, motel-like informality that masked the opulence within its stucco walls. I especially loved the hustle and bustle.