“Anyway, let’s assume the position. I want to avoid as many reporters as possible.”
The limo came to a stop. Lex popped open the door and put one foot on the pavement. Then, counting off five seconds, she emerged into the barrage of camera flashes and screams and took three steps forward. She plastered a broad smile on her lips. A few precise seconds later, she felt Park brush up against her.
“Lexington!”
“Park!”
They stood side by side on the red carpet leading up to the gold front doors of the club. Two beefy security guards rushed toward them, flanking them on either side.
“You’re blocking me too much,” Lex called out to one of them. Stepping past him, she grabbed Park’s hand and made the brisk stride up the carpet. The chorus of voices calling out to them was like a clap of thunder.
“Hurry,” Park said loudly into Lex’s ear. “I’m not stopping to answer any questions.”
On cue, Lex took a few more steps, then turned around to face the crowds again. She counted off five more seconds, giving every photographer a chance to snap flattering pics of her dress.
The chaos of the press and hundreds of screaming fans was instantly replaced by the blare of deafening music as they walked into the club’s massive vaulted entrance. Lex spotted Justin, Paris and Nicky, Lindsay, Kanye, and Orlando. She waved warmly. No sign yet of Donatella or Zac yet.
“It’s absolutely phenomenal,” Park said, looking up at the four stories that had been constructed in a perfect circle over the wide main dance floor.
“Even better than I expected,” Lex agreed. “This will pull in at least twenty mil a year.”
“Oh, it’ll pull in more than that.” Park calculated all of the elaborate space. “Especially when you consider how many special events it’ll book, and how many movie studios will want to rent it out for location shoots.”
The interior of Cleopatra was customarily dark, but rows of spotlights and crystal chandeliers brightened the long bar areas and little nooks where guests could recline. Dozens of crystal sconces blazed with tapered candles. At the very back of the first floor was a stunning fifty-foot waterfall that spewed sparkling streams of water. But the most astounding corner of the club was the full-service on-site salon that invited guests to freshen up between sets of music and dancing. There were three stylists on hand, as well as two massage therapists and a makeup artist.
It made perfect sense. Lex couldn’t remember how many times she had stepped off a dance floor drenched in sweat, her muscles aching. She wouldn’t have that problem anymore, and neither would anyone else. Now, when quick primping was in order, or when makeup smudged from too much exertion, the most seasoned Manhattan nightlife-goers would have a place in which to take refuge and freshen up.
Every floor of Cleopatra was teeming. On the main level, guests were enjoying a somewhat relaxed mingling scene, complete with gorgeous waiters and waitresses—probably out-of-work actors and models—passing out champagne and caviar. The second floor was reserved for those who wished to socialize off the dance floor: the décor was decidedly ornate, yet the clean lines suggested a magical translation into modern design. Recalling the magic of the ancient Egyptian era, the space boasted statues of pharaohs, a gilded bar, and rare works of art purchased directly from Sotheby’s. The third and fourth floors were strict dancing zones. Madison had hired the MisShapes kids to DJ, and the huge speakers pumped out their mix of old and new while strobe lights flashed over suspended cages.
It was this last sight that worried Park. She had never liked those big iron cages that lifted dancers almost to the ceiling and allowed them to boogie in the air. Looking at them now, she was reminded of Jeremy’s stunt earlier today. Too dangerous. What kind of birdbrain would risk her life just to dance in a suspended
The limo came to a stop. Lex popped open the door and put one foot on the pavement. Then, counting off five seconds, she emerged into the barrage of camera flashes and screams and took three steps forward. She plastered a broad smile on her lips. A few precise seconds later, she felt Park brush up against her.
“Lexington!”
“Park!”
They stood side by side on the red carpet leading up to the gold front doors of the club. Two beefy security guards rushed toward them, flanking them on either side.
“You’re blocking me too much,” Lex called out to one of them. Stepping past him, she grabbed Park’s hand and made the brisk stride up the carpet. The chorus of voices calling out to them was like a clap of thunder.
“Hurry,” Park said loudly into Lex’s ear. “I’m not stopping to answer any questions.”
On cue, Lex took a few more steps, then turned around to face the crowds again. She counted off five more seconds, giving every photographer a chance to snap flattering pics of her dress.
The chaos of the press and hundreds of screaming fans was instantly replaced by the blare of deafening music as they walked into the club’s massive vaulted entrance. Lex spotted Justin, Paris and Nicky, Lindsay, Kanye, and Orlando. She waved warmly. No sign yet of Donatella or Zac yet.
“It’s absolutely phenomenal,” Park said, looking up at the four stories that had been constructed in a perfect circle over the wide main dance floor.
“Even better than I expected,” Lex agreed. “This will pull in at least twenty mil a year.”
“Oh, it’ll pull in more than that.” Park calculated all of the elaborate space. “Especially when you consider how many special events it’ll book, and how many movie studios will want to rent it out for location shoots.”
The interior of Cleopatra was customarily dark, but rows of spotlights and crystal chandeliers brightened the long bar areas and little nooks where guests could recline. Dozens of crystal sconces blazed with tapered candles. At the very back of the first floor was a stunning fifty-foot waterfall that spewed sparkling streams of water. But the most astounding corner of the club was the full-service on-site salon that invited guests to freshen up between sets of music and dancing. There were three stylists on hand, as well as two massage therapists and a makeup artist.
It made perfect sense. Lex couldn’t remember how many times she had stepped off a dance floor drenched in sweat, her muscles aching. She wouldn’t have that problem anymore, and neither would anyone else. Now, when quick primping was in order, or when makeup smudged from too much exertion, the most seasoned Manhattan nightlife-goers would have a place in which to take refuge and freshen up.
Every floor of Cleopatra was teeming. On the main level, guests were enjoying a somewhat relaxed mingling scene, complete with gorgeous waiters and waitresses—probably out-of-work actors and models—passing out champagne and caviar. The second floor was reserved for those who wished to socialize off the dance floor: the décor was decidedly ornate, yet the clean lines suggested a magical translation into modern design. Recalling the magic of the ancient Egyptian era, the space boasted statues of pharaohs, a gilded bar, and rare works of art purchased directly from Sotheby’s. The third and fourth floors were strict dancing zones. Madison had hired the MisShapes kids to DJ, and the huge speakers pumped out their mix of old and new while strobe lights flashed over suspended cages.
It was this last sight that worried Park. She had never liked those big iron cages that lifted dancers almost to the ceiling and allowed them to boogie in the air. Looking at them now, she was reminded of Jeremy’s stunt earlier today. Too dangerous. What kind of birdbrain would risk her life just to dance in a suspended
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