The clubs are hyped as invitation-only lairs for the young, talented, and fabulous. In reality, invitations are generated by member recommendations, and ability to pay is the main qualification.
Milo’s assumption about a patient inviting me there was wrong. My dinner host had been a young, newly appointed family court judge who appreciated my assistance in helping her maneuver a big-ticket film-biz divorce. She’d brought her boyfriend and I’d brought Robin. Technically, I could’ve talked about it, but I keep my work in the “other” world buttonedup.
Robin and I had gone there expecting a dim, luxe, exclusive vibe heavy on décor, possibly soured by a snooty front desk. Wrong on all counts. The hosts were young and bland, the ambience bright and architecturally undistinguished.
The main room was a vast space surrounded by glass. Despite the sweeping dimensions, the place was crowded and noisy, mostly occupied by twenty- and thirty-somethings in designer leisure-wear perched at cocktail tables or sprawled on long couches.
Meager conversation as nimble fingers played laptops. The noise came from piped-in music. Soft-sell hip-hop, the type parents didn’t mind.
As we neared our table, Robin said, “College dorm for the privileged. But the view’s amazing.”
—
I arrived five minutes early on Thursday for the meeting with Bel Geddes and Heck, found parking on a nearby side street, and entered the black glass structure. A sleepy-looking security guard passed me through to the direct Penthouse Elevator after a two-second look-over.
A quick, silent ascent deposited me into the massive room. In daylight, astonishing view on three sides. The same tables, chairs, couches, and several bars, one staffed by a guy washing glasses. The only other people were two men in maintenance uniforms operating humming carpet sweepers and a young woman sitting several feet behind the host lectern, captivated by her phone.
Chelsea’s hours were generous: nine a.m. to midnight. But at two p.m. the lunch crowd was gone and the cavernous space had the bereft look of abandonment.
The hostess saw me, scrolled a bit more, then got off her phone and walked to her station wearing a programmed smile. Young, lovely, perfect body. I wondered how many auditions she’d been on recently.
I told her why I was there.
She said, “Yes, Alex, that’s in the Thames Room. You’re the second to get here, I’ll take you.”
“Taking” meant walking me halfway and pointing to a door.
I opened it on Milo, sitting on the left side of a pale-wood, surfboard-shaped conference table and listening to his phone.
Plain-wrap meeting place, maybe fifteen by fifteen, with white walls and bland nature photo-posters mounted on each of the four walls.
No view here. Windowless.
I sat down next to Milo. He listened for a few more seconds, said, “Thanks,” and put the phone down.
“Anything interesting?”
“Alicia’s back at Martha’s going through the rubble again. She found some more money but nothing huge. Coupla hundred. The fact that Martha hid it all around is interesting.”
I said, “Maybe there was a bigger stash that the bad guy took.”
He nodded and waved a hand around the room. “Glamorous, huh? Think Bel Geddes is trying to tell me something? Panoramas are for the good guys, you get stuck in a closet.”
“Big closet.”Especially for you.
“Funny thing,” he said, “it actually was a closet back when Delaney owned the building and this was his penthouse. Maybe he kept his shoes here.”
“You knew Delaney?”
“Knew of him,” he said. “Unsubstantiated rumors.”
“Nasty stuff?”
“Financial stuff.” He waved a hand dismissively.
The door opened and the hostess ushered three people in. They’d merited a complete escort.
Dr. Wendy Allemande didn’t lead the pack but your eyes go to who you recognize and she looked exactly as she had when I’d seen her at a faculty meeting last year. Five-five, late thirties, pretty and zaftig, with curly brown hair and an open, lightly freckled face. In the classroom, she went for jeans and simple tops. Today she was dressed for the courtroom in a charcoal pantsuit, a white silk shirt with a ruffled front, and gray suede shoes with two-inch heels.
