Word: plush
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...sliced through a gentle ocean, and an awesome wall of North Atlantic fog closed in around her. But the ship's mood as she neared the U.S. was fog-free and gay. A movie (Foxfire) was running in one of Andrea Doria's four theaters; in the plush, boat deck Belvedere lounge, dancers swayed to the rhythms of an eight-piece orchestra. Their last song: Arrivederci, Roma. In the cardrooms, bridge foursomes pondered hands. On deck late strollers tasted the mist and sniffed for land smells. Below, passageways were lined with baggage already packed and prepared for customs...
...tribulations of a Brooklyn taxicab driver and his girl ("He's the sweetest fella a girl ever went to Florida without"), labors through improbable incidents and even less likely dialogue. The Charlie Farrell Show (Mon. 9 p.m., E.D.T.) takes place at the former screen star's plush Palm Springs Racquet Club; even in that glamorous setting it is corny and witless...
Soon thereafter President Arias took a sidewise look at Ike, tactfully suggested that the President of the U.S. skip the day's final event, a gala reception at the plush Union Club. Ike gratefully agreed, shortly slipped back to his apartment for a night's sleep, plainly tuckered out and no better for the day's wear. By next afternoon Eisenhower was feeling better. It was then that he got his biggest thrill. Driving to the El Panama hotel, where he was to participate in the signing of the Declaration of Panama, he was beset...
...Independence Day Chicago hoodlums and their pals celebrated around a champagne fountain at the plush River Forest home of Mobster Tony Accardo (heir to a strip of Al Capone's toga). The Accardo soiree, an annual affair, had a different spirit this year. Where once his guests had slipped their black limousines into a hidden parking lot on the Accardo property, they now made an open show of their attendance, and the Big Boss's gardens rang with fresh and ominous...
...black Cadillac picked a path out of the traffic along Manhattan's Central Park South one afternoon last week and glided to the curb before the plush and towering Hampshire House overlooking the grass, trees and lake in lower Central Park. From the back seat edged the car's solitary passenger, a handsome, meaty man with wavy silver hair. He was dressed in a businesslike grey summer suit, red and white striped bowtie and soft black loafers. Stepping to the pavement, he turned slightly, tossed the driver of the rented limousine a "Thank you, James." Then David John...