Cast: two Australian
journalists, one well-heeled Angeleno (Los Angeles local) with a black Ferrari,
one concierge and a valet parking attendant.
Setting: the foyer and return driveway of the Peninsula Beverley Hills Hotel,
Los Angeles.
Take One, scene One: journalists saunter through lobby of hotel, trying desperately
to look like they belong. After passing through the front doors they take their
positions at the front edge of the entrance portico.
While they wait their turn to ask the concierge to hail a taxi, a Hollywood
type with athletic build, Clayton Franklin sunglasses and Armani outfit pilots
his black Ferrari to a precision stop in front of the portico.
With a callous arrogance but also the grace and flair of a seasoned entertainer,
Armani man jumps out of the car, flinging the keys in the air for the concierge
to catch, who then passes the keys to a valet attendant who struggles with the
ignition as Armani man dissolves into the hotel's classic French Provincial
facade. (Note to director -this whole scene must look like it happens every
day in Los Angeles. You know ... because, like it does.)
Cut to head and shoulders shot of journos mustering all the cool they can before
turning to each other to lyp-sinc their line in unison: ``Yep, we're in LA!''
Take
the Rolls if you like
If you wanted to indulge yourself just once in the lifestyles
of LA's rich and famous, you could try a number of avenues.
One way would be to hang out on the famed retail zone of the elite Rodeo Drive
(a casual stroll from the Peninsula or a complimentary ride in the hotel's Rolls
Royce).
However, minus a blue-ribbon clothing budget, you'll just look like any number
of dopey tourists with their duty-free telephoto lenses craning nervously for
a glimpse of someone famous.
You could also hang at one of LA's ritzy restaurants, but more than once did
I hear the following advice -that you never see stars where they are supposed
to be seen.
They tend to surface, apparently, in unexpected places.
You can, however, immerse yourself on the home turf of La La Land's rich and
powerful -the Peninsula Beverley Hills Hotel.
Make no mistake. You will need a sizeable budget, with rooms beginning at $US374
a night (and hitting a crystal ceiling of $US5000)
but you pay for more than what could be the world's most comfortable bed and
the 9882 Little Santa Monica Boulevarde address.
You get to be part of the scene. And it's not that difficult. Unlike the Beverley
Wilshire where the born-with-a-silver-spoon set hang their hat, the Peninsula
is more for the nouveau riche.
And fitting in is not hard. Just remember to take what seems to be the most
valued asset in LA: attitude.
Staying at the Peninsula is not about looking for the famous, it's about pretending
for a short while that you too are famous - a
movie producer, screen star or publishing magnate.
It's about indulging yourself. It's about being in situ at the hotel's bar and,
with a modicum of luck and a smattering of laissez faire, having someone famous
seek you out instead of the other way around, if only for a casual chat over
cocktails. For this pursuit in particular, reserve a Friday evening.
Otherwise, pull up a banana lounge by the pool on the Rooftop Garden where the
privilege of doing so is a guest's right. And when you're not non-chalantly
pressing the flesh in the hotel bar or lounging at high tea in the Verandah
Room, the rest of LA awaits. Or not.
Yes, you can check out, but you can never leave.