It’s early evening when I make my way through a sprawling, steel-and-concrete residence that sits incongruously in one of Beverly hills’ most coveted enclaves.
I walk past the expansive, circular courtyard and crenelated walls. Past the photographers snapping shots of some of the night’s best-dressed guests. Past the waitstaff in crisp black shirts and ties balancing trays of martinis. (I shake my head and smile when one of them offers me a drink. Not now — maybe later, I’ll come back.)
As soon as I step through the indoor-outdoor central lounging area, a heart-shatteringly beautiful scene unfolds: an infinity pool that overlooks the entirety of Los Angeles, from downtown to the ocean. Is there anything that spikes the heart quite like a good view? Beyond the vanishing edge of the pool, behind the golden letters arranged to read “Jimmy Choo,” I notice the early wisps of sunset pinks stretching across the sky. In awe, I watch the city below glint and glow. Unsurprisingly, so does everyone else.