It all started when my 2-year-old son Charlie was taking a nap. Taking a quiet moment to check my Facebook page, I noticed Jacquelyn Mitchard had posted a link to a contest from Good in Bed author Jennifer Weiner. She encouraged everyone to “like” Jennifer’s page, and write a short essay (175 words!) about a memorable moment in the last decade to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the break-out novel. Someone was going to win an AMAZING prize.
Which brings us to my friend Jane and me. Former co-workers, we are women in our 40s with to-do lists and carpools and wonderful kid, demanding jobs, and lots of responsibilities. We are busy. We don’t call each other in the middle of the day just to giggle. Or, we didn’t, until we found out I won the contest and we were going to Beverly Hills.
The next week was filled with dozens of giddy emails containing research on restaurants, Hollywood tourist sites, and what one should wear when walking along Rodeo Drive. For two women from the Midwest, this was going to be an incredible experience!
Day 1
Finally the big day arrived. Jane and I took our seats in first class on our trip from Madison to Minneapolis, then Minneapolis to Los Angeles, and once again the giggling commenced. Veterans of coach seating, we were amazed by the “star treatment” we received -- hot towels distributed by flight attendants, free drinks in real glasses, and a lovely lunch served on china. As we reclined in our large, leather clad seats, we marveled at the extravagance, enjoying every second of the luxurious service.
When we met our driver at the airport (also a new experience), he was surprised that we had only two small carry-on bags. (I suppose his regular clients are Hollywood starlets lugging tons of designer suitcases wherever they go!) From the backseat of the enormous black SUV, our driver pointed out landmarks that we had only seen in movies and on television before. Palm trees lined the streets and mansions dotted the hills in the distance. Everywhere plants and bushes were exploding with exotic-looking flowers in purple and red. Finally we pulled into the private drive of the Beverly Wilshire, the hotel made famous in the movie Pretty Woman, behind an orange Lamborghini. Doormen rushed to help us from the car and whisked our luggage away.
After the long flight and a two-hour time change, we wandered into the lobby of the Beverly Wilshire a bit dazed, but determined to take it all in. The entry was so much more grand in person than it appeared in photos on the website – the huge crystal chandelier shimmered above a central table festooned with flowers in vases of varying heights. This centerpiece was off-set by towering columns, dark wood, and an in-laid marble floor. In no time a uniformed porter was pressing the elevator button for us, and leading us up to our room on the third floor, in the older “Beverly” wing.
Our suite was the picture of elegance. Fluffy white robes hung in an enormous, marble tiled bathroom. Slippers awaited us in the closet, and flat screened TVs occupied both the bedroom and the living room areas. As we feasted on fresh chocolate dipped cherries, a raspberry tart, and cookies that had been artfully arranged on the coffee table as a welcome, Jane and I dissolved in giggles again. This really was going to be a trip like no other.
Since we each had family in LA, we decided to split up for the night and visit relatives. My sister- and brother-in-law gave me a quick driving tour of LA (the Hollywood sign, Graumann’s Chinese Theater, the walk of fame, the Paramount lot) and then we caught up over margaritas at their house in Culver City.
By the time I came back to the hotel, it was 1:30am central time and my beautiful, sumptuous bed was just what I needed.
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