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by RONALD J. BROOKS
TO LIZ NOW?
HE tree-lined drive they call Copa De Oro Road extends north from Hollywood in long sinuous curves. It lies in the gently rising foothills of the exclusive Bel Air district and is a street flanked by spacious estates, each set back a hundred feet or more trom the road and each protected by towering hedges and shrubs. Seas of lawns span the distances between the luxurious homes.
No one has a neighbor in Copa De Oro Road . . .
The homes are Spanish style, mostly of white stucco. But one is of rose-pink stucco and has a shingle roof different from all the others. This was the house I was visiting that early spring afternoon.
As I drove towards it I glanced down at the notepad which lay on the seat beside me. Perhaps today, I thought, looking at its crumpled cover, I would at last find the answers to all the questions I had stored inside of it since I had first marked the words “Liz Taylor” on the cover those many months ago when I’d been assigned by Photoplay to do a story on her.
I looked at my watch. It was just five minutes before
eleven o’clock, five minutes before the hour set for my very first personal interview with Elizabeth Taylor.
There was an eerie quietness all around. Not another car came into sight as I drove along, nor did 1 pass anyone walking. Two gardeners, working on the >
carefully-tended lawns of one of the homes, provided the only visible life on Copa De Oro Road.
I took a quick glance back at my notebook, then, as my eyes followed the winding road ahead, I thought about the latest notes I had taken, only a day before.
They contained a detailed account of Liz Taylor’s horoscope. Carefully noting the hour, the day, the month and the year in which Liz was born, the astrologer had given me a wealth of information about Liz’s character and personality, explaining why she believed Liz did the things she did, and what lay ahead. And I planned to ask Liz if she thought the astrologer’s points might be true. . . .
My thoughts were brought sharply back to the present as, to my left, I suddenly caught sight of a pink ,
stucco home, which I knew belonged to Elizabeth Taylor. The moment had finally arrived.
Gently I pressed my foot ( Continued on page 80)