“Helpless and hopeless”I had texted the uber driver from India. But as I exited the Mort Inn, the sky seemed bluer than the day before. I don’t quite know why. I looked up at a clump of three palm trees and took note as they reached skyward with their unbalanced anatomy. Then I threw my shoulders back and walked with a new-found sense of confidence to where the driver was waiting outside his car. He jumped to attention and opened the car door for me.
“I like the new hair,” he said. “It works for you. Are you going to the Griffith Park Observatory, ma’am?”
“Thank you,” I said. “I might go to the Observatory later. But first I want to go to the Beverly Hills Hotel.”
“Yes ma’am, I will take you wherever you want to go,” he answered.
I caught him looking in his rear view mirror more freque
