Beverly Boulevard practically spans the length of L.A. But I'm not
ready to go there, not yet anyway. From Rodeo, I turn right on
Wilshire and pass the monolithic honor guard of megaretailing, all
obediently lined along the street: first NikeTown, then Barneys New
York, then
Saks and, finally,
Neiman Marcus Beverly Hills, the
setting for much of Martin's first novel, Shopgirl, the story of a
lovelorn young woman who works at the glove counter of Neiman
Marcus. (The soon-to-be-released Shopgirl movie is set in Saks
Beverly Hills, not Neiman's. "It wasn't that big a difference,"
Martin says.
But as I cruise the streets, Martin is imploring me to look deeper.
Beverly Hills is more than glitz; its heart isn't a cash register.
The place has a soul.
"The landmarks are now big clothing stores. I don't think of them
affectionately or I just don't really notice them anymore. It's
like stores changing all the time. Now it's Prada, Armani, and
everything. Especially on one or two streets; those aren't my
landmarks. The landmarks to me are the Beverly Wilshire Hotel,
which has a beautiful, beautiful facade, and, of course, the
Beverly Hills Hotel. That's from a period I call 'Hollywood
heyday.' "
Since Beverly Hills has the dimensions of a small town, you can see
everything in a half hour. I begin the tour, as Martin instructs,
with the
Beverly Hills Hotel, a pink-and-green edifice whose every
inch is the essence of Southern California, and then move on to the
Peninsula, in the heart of Beverly Hills. ("Very, very nice. It's a
good place for tea or lunches. It's very good
food, really nice.")
It's next door to the I.M. Pei-designed Creative Artists Agency
building. Then, on the other side of the city limits, bleeding into
West Hollywood, is the Four Seasons Beverly Hills, whose lobby and
bar are always a mélange of A-list actors, rap stars, and wannabes.
Whether it's actually in Beverly Hills or West Hollywood is
something that locals like Martin don't even know; it's of no
matter. It's the Four Seasons Beverly Hills. Fiction is always much
more important than facts in
Beverly Hills.