...about twelve-thirty, one o’clock they start arriving. Golden-haired girls in cowboy outfits, Indian gear, boots, backless topless see-through dresses. The wilder the better. Their escorts varying from the long-haired mob of rock groups to the latest young actors. Elegant young debs in full evening dress, with chinless wonder escorts. The older society group. The rich Greeks. The even richer Arabs. An odd movie star. An odd M.P. or visiting senator. Anybody famous who’s in town. Young writers, dress designers, photographers, models. They all come to look and be looked at, to see their friends. It’s like a building excitement — reaching a breathless climax at around two A.M. when the room is so jammed you couldn’t get anyone else in except maybe Frank Sinatra or Mick Jagger.