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Gala gaieties to celebrate her birthday at Brazil’s mountain castle hotel, Quitandinha
TO three million sleepy Los Angeles citizens it was just another late winter’s night, warm and clear. But to the two friends walking under the night skies out to a giant airplane at the Lockheed Air Terminal in Burbank, it was the beginning of the great adventure.
All day they had been packing the wardrobes of princesses into their new aii'plane luggage; now, dressed in trim new wool suits, they stood looking up at the Pan American World Airways Clipper poised for flight, ready to sweep them off into the starlit sky toward South America and their royal holiday.
Lana Turner caught her breath with pleasure and turned to her companion.
“At last,” she told Sara Hamilton, “I’m going
on the vacation I’ve dreamed of for years,” and Sara nodded, thinking of the time she had known Lana, first more formally as writer and associate editor of Photoplay, but now more intimately as the friend with whom Lana had chosen to share the golden days ahead.
“First stop, Mexico City,” Lana said softly. They were aboard now, their ears throbbing with the roar of the plane’s motors as they lifted from the familiar ground of California and swung off through the darkness to the south.
Quietly Lana flicked off the light over her seat and sat looking out at the stars that polka-dotted the window. “Tomorrow?” she asked her dreams and, sleeping, awaited the answer.
As if in reply, the ancient winding streets and
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