IT WAS ONLY minutes before they were at the entrance of the Hotel Metropole. It was near dusk and it looked like the light had been turned on a dimmer switch. The air was warm and thick. Gray-jacketed porters in hats took their bags and cheerily greeted the quartet of actresses.400Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9KsutCptvO
The hotel was fabulous. They walked through an ivy-covered granite archway that made her feel as if someone should be trumpeting their arrival. The patterned stone path was lined with candles in ornate glass holders, potted Chinese plants, and tall, manicured pine trees that probably had a fancy name but looked like anorexic specimens to Mischa. The hotel loomed before them, basking in the low light. The next thing Mischa knew, she had a cigarette in her hand and the smoke tickled her throat as she puffed and walked. Someone from the hotel was explaining about a recent remodeling, someone named Jacques Garcia, and she nodded impatiently and said, "I love his work," even though she had no fucking idea who the guy was. Rihanna was sashaying in front of the pack, singing one of her hit songs and waving her arms, probably attracting the attention of all the male porters in her tight green sundress.
"This is so exciting!" Lindsay hugged Mischa close, and she lit the other woman's cigarette with her Bic.
The large, airy lobby smelled and looked like money, from the checkered floor tile to the skylight to the elaborate lamps hanging from the ceiling---picture candelabra covered with tents----to the guests, the men in tuxedos and many-thousand-dollar suits, the women in evening gowns and pearls.
"I could get used to this," said Mischa.
"Lohan," said Lindsay to the man at reception.
The man hit a few keys and said, "I'm sorry, but that room is reserved for one Monsieur Egor Tarabasov."
"Egor Tarabasov?" The three other women said it in unison to Lindsay. Egor Tarabasov was her fiancé. Think: Russian, rich and dull. Nice enough, Mischa guessed, though she never saw the connection between those two.
Regardless, the point was that four famous actresses were escaping this weekend. Four days, just for them----meaning no boyfriends. That meant something different to each of them, Mischa thought, but something nonetheless.
"Buzz kill," Rihanna sang.
Lindsay laughed. "His assistant booked it for us. Force of habit, putting Egor's full name down."
"I can't wait see this room," said Nicole Richie.
"Screw the room," Lindsay clapped her hands together. "We're goin' to the casino! I feel lucky!"
"Screw the room?" Again the three other women, almost in unison. They overruled her. They wanted to see the suite they'd heard so much about.
"Wow," Mischa said, as if it were a two-syllable word. The presidential suite, a double penthouse called the Carre d'Or. It sounded like a perfume. It looked like a king's palace. Fresh roses everywhere. Complementary Champagne, macaroons and cigarettes. Expensive artwork. A view of half of Monte Carlo.
It was true that Mischa came from money (her father was, after all, Paul Marsden Barton, the world renowned foreign exchange broker from Manchester, England), but she and money seldom mixed. She and her boyfriend, 28 Days Later actor, Sebastian Knapp, were perfectly comfortable---but they had no summer villas, no private jets. Still, it differentiated her from the others. Rihanna was born in Saint Michael, Barbados, her mother a retired African-American accounted, her father a warehouse supervisor of Afro-Barbadian and Irish descent. Nicole Richie (actually Nicole Camille Escovedo) moved in with her father's band mate, the famous singer Lionel Richie and was later adopted by him. Lindsay Lohan was a child actress and model before her breakout performance in the Tina Fey-scripted film Mean Girls. She also released the pop album Speak (2004), which went platinum. In November 2012, Lohan starred as Elizabeth Taylor in the TV movie Liz & Dick. Since becoming a celebrity Lohan had had problems with drug and alcohol abuse, as well as other controversial antics that were been well-documented in those damned tabloids.
This is not to say that Mischa's friends had never seen penthouses like this one before, though the way they scattered like cockroaches to explore it, maybe this one was above even their everyday pay grade.
It was the most opulent thing Mischa had ever seen. The lounge area, probably suitable for a helicopter landing, was all dark parquet with rich gold and maroon highlights. The floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the Mediterranean and a terrace that called out to her. First, she took a peek into the bathroom----marble and sandstone, a delicious ivory-colored tub, a shower big enough for a small family----"Yes, that'll do," she decided.
Then she looked into one of the bedrooms, the front one, twice the size of hers in Salzburg, the walls decorated in flowers and light shades of green and opening to reveal a dressing area and table on one side. She directed the bellhop to drop hers and Rihanna's bags there; they'd be sharing this front bedroom, while Lindsay and Nicole Richie would share the back one.
Then to the terrace. Rihanna was already out there, cutting a magnificent figure as she looked out over the Monte Carlo Casino, the Mediterranean, and the pink sky beyond. The breeze carried her dark hair off her back.400Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ41CRBiUqYz
"The terrace, alone, is bigger than my first apartment in L.A.," said Mischa. "Twice the size."400Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSc69aRGZan
"I know, lady. It's just lovely. Rihanna turned and opened her arms, as if she were showcasing herself. "Hello, Monte Carlo!" she said.400Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM25ZU9l01X
Lindsay popped her head into the room. "Get dressed, ladies," she said. "We're goin' gambling!"400Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG67UCZWqT1
