One thing she’d learned in her years in the spotlight was that sex sells. Sex sells a lot. And she was the ideal spokeswoman.
“Does your father approve, Piper?”
She kept on smiling. “My father isn’t exactly who I built this hotel for.”
More laughter from the press. “Who did you build it for, Piper?”
She fluttered her eyelashes at the Channel 7 reporter. “For everyone who understands that Manhattan is for lovers. People who come to Hush want to explore their sexuality. Hopefully in the company of someone, well, close, but hey, there’s plenty of fun to be had for the single adventurer.”
“A vibrator in every room?”
“Better than a chicken in every pot, right, Elizabeth?”
The crowd of reporters laughed again. Good, excellent. “Okay, if you don’t have a brochure yet, you can pick one up on your way to the elevator. We’re going up to the twentieth floor, to the spa. And I promise, I won’t get started without you.”
Her staff, all in the Hush uniform of black tuxedos with pink ties, ushered the press to the four elevators.
She shivered with anticipation as the photographers clicked away. She’d dreamed this space, and it was now a reality. The glistening lacquered reservation desk with the same shiny surface on the back wall, broken only by the pink neon Art Deco HUSH signage, was perfection. The custom-designed furniture would have been at home in a grand salon of the 1920s. The artwork, vintage works by the likes of Erte and Bernard Villemot, was the pièce de résistance.
No one walking into this hotel would mistake it for one of the Devon hotels. It wasn’t like the Orpheus, her father’s flagship hotel and corporate headquarters, which was opulent to the point of nausea. No, this was a hotel for the young. The rich. The horny.
She stepped down from the podium, ready for the next part of the tour. Janice Foster, the general manager of the hotel, came up behind her, clapping her hands with excitement. “They love it. Oh, God, this is so fabulous. I heard the reporter from Vanity Fair say he’s going to book himself a three-day weekend.”
“What’s not to love?” Piper said, taking Janice’s arm as they walked to the elevator. “By this time next week, there won’t be a soul older than ten who hasn’t heard of Hush.”
“When are you going on Leno?”
“A week from Thursday.”
“What do you think of putting together a basket of the amenities for him?”
“Excellent idea. But then all your ideas are pretty swell.”
Janice laughed, lighting up her whole face. She was young for a GM but she was damn good at her job. In fact, Piper had stolen her from the Hard Rock hotel in Vegas. Expensive, yes, but worth every penny. Janice knew just how to pamper celebrities, and those were going to be Hush’s main draw. Of course, most of them were going to be comped, at least initially, but the paying customers would flock to be within spitting distance of the anointed.
They caught the last ride up, and Piper took a minute to fluff her hair. She kind of liked this new short do. For years her hair had been long, straight and mostly blond. It was still blond, but a lighter shade, and it was spiky in all the right places.
“Let’s just split the room down the middle,” she said, turning to Janice. “You take the first batch through to the private rooms, and I’ll head over to the mud bath.”
Janice straightened her black skirt. She wasn’t in a uniform, but she’d gone with the black-and-pink theme. Her dreamy Prada blouse was just sheer enough to show a hint of her black-lace bra underneath. “Got it.”
The cab stopped and they were met by another salvo of flashbulbs and hot camera lights.
It took a few minutes to divide the group in half. Of course, she would have to take the other half of the press on this same path because, face it, she was the star attraction. She of the wild parties and rock-star lovers. She was the kind of celebrity America reveled in. She looked damn good in front of the cameras, so who cared if there was anything more to her?
It no longer bothered her, at least as far as the press was concerned. It would have been nice, however, if her father, and a few other people who should know better, could see beyond the facade. But screw it. They could kiss her photogenic behind for all she cared. Hush was going to be fabulous. A success no one could possibly ignore. And she’d done it all by her lonesome.
“How about you getting into that mud bath for us, Piper?”
She giggled. And didn’t even roll her eyes. “Not tonight, Jack. But you call me in a couple of weeks, and I’ll see what I can arrange.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that.”
“Now, Jack, I would have thought in a mud bath, you’d want to hold me to something else.”
They were all nodding, thrilled with that juicy little soundbite. Didn’t they get tired of it? She sure as hell did, but not tonight.
Tonight she was the epitome of Piper-ness. The flirty flake, the scandal in high heels. By Friday, her face would be on the cover of every tabloid in the U.S., and many in Europe. She’d made sure she would also be on some of the bigger magazines as well, including Vanity Fair, GQ and InStyle.
As they met once again in the spa lobby, Jason Newman, a stringer from Rolling Stone, called out, “Where’s Logan?”
“Not here.”
“Why not?”
“Logan’s on the road. What’s the matter, Jason, don’t you read your own magazine?”
He gave her the finger, good-naturedly, of course. Hell, she’d known Jason for years, and he’d never failed to talk trash about her. “You two still an item?”
“We’re still…something.”
“Come on, Piper. Give.”
“You’re on my turf now, big guy. And tonight is about the hotel.”
“Not fair.”
“Yeah, well, life is like that sometimes. Now, you want to see the sex or not?”
A smattering of applause followed, and she congratulated herself on another bullet dodged. The truth was that she was incredibly over Logan Barrister, and if she never saw his smarmy face again, it would be too soon. C’est la vie. And he wasn’t even the worst of her exes.
“We’re going to the nineteenth floor, kiddies,” she said as she led them back to the elevators. “Get your cameras ready.”
“Where’s the booze?”
She didn’t have to see where that question came from. “Is that you, Ted?”
Everyone busted up. Ted Staple was from The Daily News. The man never passed an open bar he didn’t love.
“You got it, gorgeous.”
“We’re all going to the bar as soon as the tour is done.”
“Well, then let’s get the damn show on the road,” Ted said, and that was it for another few minutes. She could just stand here, smile for the cameras, revel in her joy.
It actually took about fifteen minutes to get everyone down to the nineteenth floor. She had prepared one of the largest penthouse suites for tonight’s show. The Haiku Suite, designed by Zang Toi, was Asian luxury to die for.
Once everyone was in position, she started at the floor-to-ceiling windows and went from there. “In addition to the home theater experience with digitally delivered high-definition video on a flat panel LCD TV, including surround sound, we have one hundred television channels and ten high-definition channels that are private to the hotel.”
“What