IV
WINE was being served.
"This is Lachrymae Christi," Mr. Lowell said. "An Italian ship's master brings it to me from San Pedro." Kari poured and Ken sipped. At this moment, half past ten, he was one of seven men in correct evening attire, who lounged in the solarium next to the game room. Judge Wardell faced Mr. Lowell. The judge was older than his host. His face was shrivelled and he spoke with a thin, crackling voice. He seemed to have something in common with Mr. Lowell, some characteristic expression, as if both thought the same thoughts.
Gaston Powers, the artist, was tall, blond, with a concave face, hollowed by its high cheek bones. He painted murals, and was responsible for the pleasing modernistic effect of the music room. Pierre Fortand, the Hollywood dressmaker, had come with Powers. Pierre created styles more advanced than those of the Rue de la Paix. His circle of fashion devotees rivaled those of Chanel, Worth or Poiret. Privileged to drape rich fabrics on the slender, original forms of the stars, he performed this duty with ceremony and a faraway expression.
Pierre ventured occasionally into the realm of interior decorating. He indulged a rare and exotic flair for personality in rooms, as a result of which Hollywood was blooming with such salons and bedchambers as no one but Pierre could imagine.
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