Aaron Tracy

He's studying his surroundings, taking mental notes, a habit he found useful both as a spy and a writer.

He's watching his actress wife, Patricia Neal, float through the room, working her magic with a kind of effortless charm.

It is, after all, the wrap party for her latest film.

She thinks it turned out well.

You may have heard of it.

It's called Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Dahl is very much his wife's plus one tonight, which he always hates.

He hasn't enjoyed a Hollywood party since the one Walt Disney threw in his honor decades earlier.

Dahl can't stand actors, especially the ones always coming in and out of his house, being loud and emotional, disturbing his work.

And he really can't stand the phony, unsophisticated producers who continue not to see his brilliance.

He's still several years away from getting hired to write James Bond.

But then, scanning the room, he spots something that intrigues him, an incredibly beautiful brunette delicately perched on the back of the couch.

Audrey Hepburn is in the middle of a story to her captivated circle of admirers, her giant eyes flashing.

Despite himself, Dahl moves toward her, as if helplessly pulled in by a movie star's gravitational force.

He listens, transfixed, as Hepburn recounts a story from her youth.

She was 16, she says, living in a small village in the Netherlands, which had been invaded by the Nazis.

During the occupation, her uncle was shot and both of her brothers were forced underground.

All Dutch civilians faced severe food shortages, regardless of whether or not they were Jewish.

It became especially dire in late 1944 when Audrey and many others nearly starved to death.

She weighed about 80 pounds and suffered from severe anemia and edema.