One bright, beautiful summer Saturday when I was twenty-eight I was at a party in the Hollywood Hills. My friend's pool was once Walt Disney's, though this contemporary house had been built between Walt Disney's actual house and the pool so we were not in the same rooms that Walt used to walk. The house looked over the whole of Los Angeles, and since there were only about twelve people at the party, all of us familiar with each other now for a number of years, there was a more intimate feeling than usual L.A. pool parties.

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