STAR TURN IN TINSELTOWN
LOS ANGELES I stop in the city of silky monsters en route to Micronesia. Here I discover I still got it.
I can make every head in a swank hotel lobby swivel. Oh yes.
Mainly by wandering through a wedding reception in a sarong and Speedo...*
My job travel writing often leads to such wardrobe dislocation. I once froze a convention in Hong Kong, disembarking the elevator on the wrong floor. Puddling chlorine, I brindled in my bathrobe. "You poor suits," I tried to telegraph. "We're all working, but my job is to play."
The finer philosophical implications may have been lost in translation.
*The pool proves pitiable, however: a sandbox-sized splasher. More sinkhole than swimming venue, it serves only two functions: to disinfect toddlers and concentrate bikinis for easy viewing. Ever sensitive to native customs, I retreat to the bar.