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The Ten Lives of Talbert — Barbara Collins
Excerpt
At eight a.m. on Rodeo Drive, the immaculate street was devoid of its native Jaguars, Rolls-Royces and Ferraris. The only vehicles, prowling or parked, were of the dreary domes-tic variety--Ford, Chevrolet, Dodge--but for the occasional Japanese, which were only a marginal step up.
The sidewalks, too, were deserted, except for a few shoppers hovering near the fashionable storefronts, waiting for the doors to open.
Tourists...He hated them.
At eight a.m. on Rodeo Drive, the immaculate street was devoid of its native Jaguars, Rolls-Royces and Ferraris. The only vehicles, prowling or parked, were of the dreary domes-tic variety--Ford, Chevrolet, Dodge--but for the occasional Japanese, which were only a marginal step up.
The sidewalks, too, were deserted, except for a few shoppers hovering near the fashionable storefronts, waiting for the doors to open.
Tourists...He hated them.
