Harold Hoskins does everything a handsome and wealthy and well-endowed modern young man should do -- from bar girls to hustling an old pal of daddy's (in down-and-out Paris following a chic Harvard dropout) to endless one-nighters with budding actresses enamored of an up-and-coming young director -- but what he really wants, of course -- in this reassuring novel about the domestication of the psychedelic era -- is that sweet, relatively innocent girl most mamas, though not his, always wanted their son to marry. It's a reverse of the usual gift-hooks-boy tale, because among the swingers and the politically emancipated young women poor Harold can't find anyone with whom to have a nice quiet relationship. The brittle dialogue (""We're emulating Ike,"" said Harold. ""Wind us up and we do nothing at all"") is compensated for by a breezy lighthearted romp throughout Europe and New York, full of expensive restaurants and a tinkly glitter that is too good-natured to be truly offensive, with lip-service to the Relevant Issues of the Day. A mild pleasure.