toobeguiling  It’s amazing to wake to sunrise on roses, it really is a dream — but you know about dreams — they dissipate with coffee. I’m writing another novel, the one that comes after #itsinhiskissbyvickielester
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There’s a hardware store on Santa Monica Boulevard, just over the border from Beverly Hills in West Hollywood, which sells thick orange rubber gloves named after a famous French courtesan, Du Barry. It was like some aged copywriter on Madison Avenue still envisioned a beleaguered ideal of a woman with a full time job, two kids, and domestic chores scrubbing her pots and pans at the sink, or stripping down an old varnish encrusted piece of furniture, and feeling as sensuous and sophisticated as the woman who romped with Louis XV.

Kind of a nice antiquated idea but it didn’t exactly work out that way in modern Hollywood. Billie Price imagined that when the Du Barry Company originated the brand back in the twenties it had seemed a stroke of brilliance but by 1980 it was old hat, or old glove at least. Despite that, she — at the time a nineteen year-old dreamer about to flunk out of Harvard hard — liked that something so anachronistic, with such a bizarrely inappropriate reference to a naughty historical personage existed just ten blocks down from where she lived. Or, it’s where she lived then.
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