As an only child, the company of hotel staff was like finding a giant family, and I wanted desperately to belong. I folded sheets with the women in the laundry room, asked the concierge and bellmen to see pictures of their families, and made self-deprecating jokes about mine. I tried anything to set myself apart from the other guests, plenty of whom treated the staff terribly. I routinely left the housekeepers half my weekly allowance in a tip envelope so they would know how much I appreciated them. I was also, admittedly, buying their silence. I didn’t want anyone reporting to Daddy about my various adventures, like my makeout session in the parking garage with Russ, an eighteen-year-old valet who, as it turned out, was severely tongue-tied, leaving me with a negative first impression of French kissing.

Daddy and Anna went out weekend nights, either to a screening at the Guild or to one of Anna’s charity events. As soon as they left, Nicole and I would put on our most grown-up clothes, apply scads of makeup, and roam the hotel, looking for boys to flirt with, smoking cigarettes, and pilfering wine from glasses left in the banquet rooms or on the patio. Now, even on weeknights, I barely registered Anna and Daddy’s absences. I felt lucky to have the freedom and new companions. The only worry I had was that their dream house would soon be finished and that would spell the end of the good life for me.

In December with only weeks ‘til the big move, Anna and Daddy decided I should have “input” into the décor of my room. While their last-minute effort to include me in this detail of their project was appreciated, it felt like being asked to climb aboard their bicycle built for two.

Gerard Piccard, the interior designer was a dapper fellow sporting faded jeans, a graying ponytail, and round rimless glasses. He wore black cotton Japanese shoes that went between his big toes. I found his hip style and brusque manner intimidating.

“Purple and silver?” He gazed down his long nose at me.

“Yeah. I mean, not bright purple or anything,” I qualified, already reading his disapproval.

“Mmmmm…hmm,” he said.