By the mysterious code of the mysteriously well-connected, the shabby, fly-infested Hotel Tahiti in Saint-Tropez on the French Riviera is the place one goes to if one is too rich to bother with the Taj Mahal. Last week, amid the wandering beer barons and compliant courtesans, a newcomer dashed in and out in a bright succession of tight slacks and V-necked blouses, occasionally pausing to effulge a visitor with her smile, occasionally cutting out of the creepy joint in her baby-blue Ferrari.
Jane Fonda didn't need the Hotel Tahiti to convince anyone else that she'd made it big, but maybe...
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