So, I was having drinks with the housekeeper…

So, I was having drinks with the housekeeper in East Hampton the other day and I commented on her new Louis Vuitton bag from the welovesprouse.com collection. Every few months she seemed to have a new one. Real ones, not the fakes.

Was she affected by the crisis, I asked? She replied very matter-of-fact that Housecleaning in the Hamptons is like Heathcare in America; it’s a recession proof industry. Even though she has steady income, she volunteered that she had to make choices in life...she's on a budget after all. For example, she nodded to her new Escalade parked next to my 1998 Ford F-150 and lectured me that she didn't opt for the platinum package because the gold package was good enough...and she wanted to save her money for handbags.

As we finished off a bottle of Wolffer Rose, I told her I was trying to better monetize Mr. Gatsby's Chic Experiences. Could she share some of her ideas as an entrepreneur?

She told me that gouging me $25 an hour was really a loss leader for her as she lit-up a cigarette on my terrace and asked me to get her an ashtray. She made her real money through "affiliate programs" and "repackaging".

Through a very structured network, she explained that she receives distribution "royalties" from an affiliation of gardeners, pool men, handymen and caterers whom she refers to her client base. The royalties she receives from referring into the program range from ten to thirty percent in perpetuity. Additionally, she bills the client hourly for meeting service affiliates, in effect double dipping.

When she helps cater events, often she is given left over bottles of alcohol, wine and champagne that she repackages and sells through the affiliate network. Open bottles are deeply discounted while sealed bottles are sold at a 20% discount below retail. Clients can also request to purchase alocohol from her inventory which she charges at full retail, plus delivery fee. Had I asked her to pick up the case of wine from which we were drinking?

Fascinated by this sophisticated revenue model, I wanted to learn more, but had to end the conversation as I saw the electrician pulling up in a Range Rover to adjust a dimmer in my cottage. Was he waving to me or the housekeeper?

I found it strange that the electrician was so quick to respond to my request which I had submitted only a few days earlier. As he came into the garden, something in his stride told me he wasn't here to adjust the light. The housekeeper sensing my disorientation, explained that she hadn't expected me to linger so long at the cottage given this was the off season. I then realized this house was effectively hers until Memorial Day. She had invited members of the affiliate program to the cottage for a cocktail party. Could I stay? Of course, but somehow the tables seemed to have turned as I found myself serving drinks and emptying ash trays...



(Legal Disclaimer: Characters are fictionalized in this story....)

YSL's Lalanne, my 401k and Thoughts on Real Estate

620 was meant to be my lucky paddle number at the YSL auction. The paddle was assigned to me last Friday and would be my ticket to investing in the “New Economy”.

There was a private viewing of the Yves Saint Laurent collection at the Grand Palais this past weekend with much pomp and pageantry….a lot of pomp and a lot of pageantry if you catch my drift. In addition to putting themselves on display, many had come to pay respects to Saint Laurent and peek at the articles of his private life.

I had my eyes set on several pieces created by Claude and Francois-Xavier Lalanne after having seen the estimates in the Christie’s Catalogue. Given the mood in New York when I left, I was hoping these particular pieces would go towards the low end of the auction estimates. I thought this would be a great time to invest! When I need to retire, in forty years I can sell these pieces for thirty times what I paid giving me enough money to pay for astronomical insurance premiums and bad health care.

In addition to being my nest egg, my small collection of art and furniture is also something that gives me pleasure every day. As for other investments, my 401k now is worth the same amount of the actual cash contributions I made, and I quit investing in it almost ten years ago. When paper shredders first came out, I enjoyed shredding papers at my father’s office. But shredding those incomprehensible 401k statements doesn’t seem so fun anymore, well at least not as much fun as collecting art, furniture, and real estate.

John Thain, the former CEO of Merrill Lynch, must have thought similarly when he commissioned Michael Smith to decorate his then office for a reported $1.2 million. Knowing Michael’s work, I’m sure he selected wonderful antiques and rugs that have a tendency to appreciate in value. I saw Thain on the news apologizing for using Merrill’s money to decorate his office as the press badgered him for squandering Merrill’s money on furnishings when the company was generating multi-billion dollar losses. After all, the company had earned the right to decorate the CEO’s office by "earning" fees from 401k holders like me even if those fees didn’t’ make the company profitable….right?

If the “collection” Michael Smith assembled belonged to Merrill, Thain was actually investing well…investing much better than allocating more corporate funds to the toxic crap he and his cronies were hocking to other money mangers.

But Thain must be clever as a fox as they say. He said he would “make right” by offering to reimburse Merrill for the antiques and the rug in an attempt to atone for wrong doings. Might he have traded the value of his own Merrill stock “at the time the collection was assembled” so that he could take possession of those pieces? A shrewd investment indeed!

Thinking of Thain reminded me of a Merrill retail stockbroker who tried to hock me some stocks, mutual funds and term life insurance in my early twenties. I have a BS degree from the Hotel School at Cornell with a concentration in real estate and corporate finance. I had worked as consultant at Arthur Andersen, and even with this background, I wasn’t sophisticated enough to understand “whole life insurance”. I was hopeless at choosing stocks and always felt I was at least one day behind the market.

Instead, we bought a house in Los Angeles in the best area that we could afford (which felt quite expensive at the time). We paid the house down over the years instead of investing more money in a 401k or a Roth-IRA. When mortgage rates dropped a few years ago, I refinanced to a fifteen-year term at a 5 percent interest rate. Last year, we moved to Sag Harbor and now let (rent) the house in Los Angeles. If we were to moderate my lifestyle and spending habits just slightly, the income that the house in LA generates would be enough on which to live. The 401k plan doesn’t seem to offer quite the same flexibility as income producing real estate.

Other collectors attending the auction must also have had a similar investment perspective to mine as I lost out on bidding for the objects of my desire. Many of the YSL Lalanne pieces sold for more than ten times Christie’s high estimates. Such is a sign of investing in the New Economy. The buyers may have overpaid for the pieces, but unlike Madoff investors or Lehman bond holders, they have a story AND something to show for it…..

Good Intentions Gone Bad...

As I was driving through Provence in search of great villas to represent for the Travel Club, I passed by an empty farm stand, and I thought of my grandmother who lives in a small town outside Aiken, South Carolina (which itself is a small town). My grandmother loves to drive through the county from whence she hails and buy peaches and pecans. This is her form of “recreational shopping”.

I turned to my co-pilot and suggested that we find some locally grown lettuces or parsnips to offer our villa hosts. I think I made the declaration that driving leisurely through the country in search of fresh produce should be the new form or "recreational shopping", and that I intended to write about it on the Blog.

We continued on through the vineyards and fields somehow winding our way down to the beach. It was after one o’clock, and I thought we shouldn't “hunt” lettuces on empty stomachs so we ended up at Le Club Key West. The intention of "Recreational shopping" turned into the reality of "Recreational Drinking"...

Two bottles of wine and three hours later, I panicked. All the farm stands must be closed by now!

We ended up "hunting" for a parking spot at the Geant Marche, the French equivalent of a Wal-mart/King Kullen hybrid. We walked to the back of the store under fluorescent lights passing tabloids and frozen foods to pick out four bottles of wine. As we waited in line for the clerk to scan our merchandise, I thought. "So much for finding a farm stand out in the sunny countryside…"

Case Number 19 at the Southampton Town Justice Center…

My summons was to arrive on Monday at nine o’clock in the morning at the Southampton Town Justice Center. With a budget shortfall, the police obviously had been instructed to write as many tickets as possible to generate revenue for the Town, and they were starting earlier than usual this year. I was busted at the famous Intersection of Main and Bay in Sag Harbor.

Terrified of being late for my summons and making the judge angry, I awoke before seven, shaved and ran to Starbucks arriving at the Town Hall just after eight. The Justice Center, located in the basement of the building, was not yet open, so I sat on a bench outside an adjacent office hoping for a celebrity citing. It seemed like I was always reading something about Billy Joel, Christie Brinkley and Alec Baldwin being in trouble with the law or engaged in some sort of legal scuttlebutt.

For approximately forty-five minutes, people walked by giving me the gravest of scowls. I felt guilty with those gawking eyes upon me, but secretly, the attention made me feel like a celebrity. I wanted to explain to each of them that I did stop at the stop sign, but I didn’t know I was meant to drive forward and stop again at the line. That intersection is a complete booby trap! As for those outstanding parking tickets from my college days in Ithaca, I thought even the IRS has a seven-year statute of limitations?

Nonetheless, these passing folks sure were judging me harshly for some minor driving violations. And why were they looking above my head before shooting me those evil eyes? It finally dawned on me to turn and look above at the sign above the bench: DOMESTIC ABUSE OFFICE

The Justice Center finally opened promptly at nine, and I passed through a metal detector into a waiting area where I was surrounded by attorneys wearing suits that couldn’t have cost more than $49….including the shoes. Paying such a premium, apparently they didn’t want to trim any of the extra fabric, so four inches of extra hem pooled at each of their ankles.

A second set of doors opened allowing the hoard of criminals, plaintiffs, defendants and attorneys to enter the courtroom. The judge, apparently one of the original English Puritan Settlers, entered and I recognized him from his likeness on the town seal (settled in 1640). After rising and pledging to the flag, the judge expeditiously read through ten civil cases. If the defendant and the plaintiff both announced “present”, he sent them to the waiting room to negotiate before returning with an agreement. I could overhear a plumber arguing with a homeowner’s attorney with an offer being thrown out at one thousand dollars and countered at fifteen hundred plus “the cost of a tank of gas”.

The judge then moved onto the criminal roster: No 19, please approach the bench. My knees were about to buckle under the weight of my fright and the chattering of my teeth could be heard throughout the courtroom. “Yes, Your Honor”. How do you plead? “Ignorant, Your Honor. I plead Ignorant…but I’m a good person”.

Totally dismissing me, His Honor told me to step to my left and negotiate with the assistant district attorney, a beautiful African-American woman in a caramel colored suit and good shoes. She asked me if I understood the charges against me: failing to stop at a stop sign and avoiding parking tickets from seventeen years ago. Before I had a chance to answer, she told me she was willing to negotiate the fine to $180 and waive any penalties against my driving record. No misdemeanor on my record, just a driving infraction. Had she noticed me giving an approving glance at her shoes to offer me such a sweet deal?

She handed my ‘record’ over to another court employee who announced that Number 19 had reached a plea bargain. The judge asked again how do you plead: “Guilty, I think”. The gavel slammed and he ordered me to pay the clerk my fine and to drive safely.

I was out of the building by 9:23 heading back to Starbucks thinking that I would probably be back in that court a few more times before Memorial Day as I was sure to be speeding around readying houses for what’s turning out to be a late, but busy rental season!

Sometimes, I get confused...

Returning to New York, I was eager to schedule “medical and maintenance” appointments. And, being the taskmaster that I am, I tried to schedule seven appointments in two days along with lunches, coffees and dinners with friends. A packed schedule would be a great cure for jetlag, so I thought…

In just six short weeks, I had become accustomed to the ease of socialized medicine in France. Suffering from a chronic back injury, I made appointments to see a chiropractor while I was in Paris. Scheduling was very simple. I sent a text to the doctor who would then text me back by the end of the day as to his availability. His office was in an elegant building in 15th near the Eiffle Tower. I would arrive a few minutes early before each scheduled appointment and wait in the parlor. Each session started with a half hour massage followed by an adjustment. I paid him 20 Euros, and he scheduled a follow up appointment on his Blackberry while I petted his dog sleeping at the foot of the massage table. No paperwork. No Secretary. Simple.

Scheduling and payment, unfortunately, are not so simple in New York. Other than my (mental) therapist, none of my other providers are available for scheduling via email. Knowing this, I jumped on SKYPE before I left Paris and began making appointments.

While packing, I followed up with my insurance provider, Aetna, which continued to deny reimbursement claims for sessions with my therapist who did not accept insurance. Each time I called, I was on hold for half an hour followed by another half hour of yelling at a “customer service representative” who inevitably told me the claim was denied for a new clerical reason. Granted, I wasn’t that busy in the New Economy (who was?) but wasn’t this a waste of everyone’s time?

My flight back on Air France was relatively drama free other than being seated next to a rather large woman who was a little too fragrant for my taste. As she reclined in her seat after take off, I was horrified to see corns and a chipped bright pink pinky toenail ascend to my field of view. I supposed that the calluses on her feet kept them warm, hence she didn’t need the socks provided complimentary by the airline. I made a mental note to schedule a pedicure for myself.

My first day back in Manhattan, I awoke early, read the paper, and left for my first appointment with my general practitioner who needed to check some of my beauty marks for any increased ambition in size or color. I arrived fifteen minutes early and spoke to one of the four secretaries in his office as I completed three pages of medical forms. Although he did have a partner, I wondered why two doctors needed four administrative staff members, so I asked. Baretta, the receptionist, told me that she and Consuelo were in charge of scheduling appointments and cataloging medical records while the other two ladies who sat behind them were in charge of accounting and processing insurance claims. Unlike my chiropractor’s parlor in Paris, I would described this windowless, fluorescent-lit reception area as a “waiting room” which still had a faint smell of industrial carpet adhesive.

After being escorted to a tiny room that was really the size of a stall, I was handed a cotton gown and instructed to disrobe. The nurse returned immediately to take my blood pressure and temperature. The reading was “normal”, but why would changes in my beauty marks cause an increase in my blood pressure? The doctor would see me shortly.

After half an hour, His Highness arrived with his Stethoscope, but seemed to have misplaced his personality. He was, however, kind enough to chill his hands before lifting my robe and asking me to cough. As for my other beauty marks, he needed to refer me to the dermatologist.

Baretta was able to schedule me that afternoon at four o’clock with my doctor’s office mate who happened to be a dermatologist. I made an attempt at a joke about how nice my medical gown was and she said she would save the same one for me when I returned. I then hustled to my next appointment which was with my therapist.

After almost an hour of exploring my anger towards the inefficiencies of our healthcare system, I walked out the door “self-actualizing” that I had just paid two hundred-fifty dollars to complain about how frustrating it is to receive reimbursement from my insurance provider after paying my therapist two hundred-fifty dollars…

My next “appointment” was actually a lunch date at BG in Bergdorf’s with a good friend of mine who wanted to catch up on my escapades in Paris. Two and a half glasses of chardonnay later, my Blackberry alarm buzzed reminding me of an appointment in fifteen minutes. I stuck my friend with the check and bolted.

I was still stewing mad thinking of how stupid our healthcare system is as I walked into my next appointment in a daze. I checked in and was handed a robe. I took off my clothes except for my socks and knickers leaving them in my stall and slipping into the robe as someone called out my name. I never seem to figure out how to tie those robes in the back so I just walked out with the back open. To my complete horror, I realized that I was at my three o’clock which was my hair appointment at Frederic Fekkai. I was wearing a grooming smock like a hospital robe and had just walked across the fourth floor of Bendel’s Department Store on Fifth Avenue with my ass hanging out!

As my stylist handed me a glass of chardonnay, I picked up my Blackberry to email my therapist to see what opening he had available the next day…


Frederic Fekkai Fifth Avenue
712 Fifth Avenue, 4th Floor
New York, NY
(212) 753-9500

BG at Bergdorf Goodman
754 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY
(212) 872-8977

Le Costume Populaire Russe

Spring has arrived in Paris! Winter cashmere scarves are making way for linen scarves: saturated lavender, egg yolk yellow and kelly green. The scarves were out in full force last night at a private reception Pierre Berge hosted at his Fondation in conjunction with le Musee Ethnograhique de la Russie. Berge was Yves Saint Laurent’s business partner and life partner. My jet-setting Parisian host introduced me to Pierre whom we congratulated on the success of YSL-Berge auction last month, and he in turn invited us to take a look at the exhibit.

The exhibit showcased 19th and 20th Century native Russian costumes juxtaposed against YSL’s Russian collections from the mid 70s and late 90s. It was very interesting to see how the peasant colors and textures were interpreted into haute couture. More interesting was the fact that there were many American Franco-files and suspiciously few Russians at the event?

After a couple of glasses of champagne, we began to think of plans for dinner. The archivist at the foundation, a native New Yorker, made the comment to us that the 16th is such a boring place. I disagreed with her. To me the 16th feels very authentic, very Parisian. This arrondissement reminds me of the upper Eastside. Its an established neighborhood, an institution.

Ironically, we left the 16th and headed to the 8th to eat at la Maison de l’Aubrac on rue Marbeuf. The downstairs looks like some sort of Swiss Chalet on crackrock, and is primarily reserved for tourists. However, the upstairs is very hip and has a similar vibe and menu to Citta Nuova in East Hampton. We were initially told, “it’s not possible” to sit upstairs as we had no reservation. My host flashed a smile and said the American he was dining with is difficult, would it be possible to sit upstairs….It was possible.

37 rue Marbeuf
75008 Paris
www.maison-aubrac.com

Presents for Host: Nespresso & Restaurant List

A planned two-week trip to Paris has morphed into a long-term stay entering its fifth week and I’ve always depended on the kindness…of good friends.

A good friend happened to relocate to Paris last month and moved into a large, light filled two bedroom on the border of the 8th and the 16th overlooking the Embassy of Uruguay. My friend is constantly traveling and offered for me stay in his guest bedroom. So, I moved in after staying at a hotel for a few weeks and set up temporary residence.

As a token of my appreciation, I wanted to give him a small present. Given my friend’s jet-set schedule, he usually doesn’t have time to make coffee before dashing to the next PR event or product development meeting. What to get? What to get?

I decided on two things.

A Nespresso Machine. The machine makes a perfect espresso or coffee in seconds. It’s easy to clean and easy to refill. The store on the Champs-Elysees carries 12 new colors. I chose burnt orange to match the tile of my host’s kitchen (and the fire in his personality!)

www.nespresso.com

A Restaurant List. Over the past few weeks, I had the opportunity to experience some great restaurants (and some not so great). I made a list of my favorites including ones in areas that he might not otherwise have time to explore.

L’Epi Dupin Restaurant
11 Rue Dupin
75006 Paris
01 42 22 64 56
www.epidupin.com

The best prix fixe I had in Paris. Casual elegance and young crowd. Amazing service and even better food. I love the fact that this restaurant is closed on the weekends so the proprietors can spend time with their families.

Les Bouquinistes a Restaurant by Guy Savoy
53 Quai des Grands Augustins
75006 Paris
01 43 25 45 94
www.guysavoy.com

Baccarat Cristal Room
11 Place des Etats Unis
75116 Paris
www.baccarat.fr

I am the biggest Philippe Starck fan of all time. Yet, I do profess that knowing he designed this space a number of years ago made me a bit cautious because even as a “fan” I perceive Stark experiences as becoming very dated very fast. The experience I had the Cristal Room was exceptional! The food was a work of art and the service far exceeded my expectations.

La Gazzetta
29 Rue de Cotte
750012 Paris
01 43 47 47 05
www.lagazetta.fr

The 12th is similar to the East Village in Manhattan. Historically, parts of have been inhabited by groups of immigrants which gives the area great “flavor”. From the 8th, I took the Metro to Bastille and walked to La Gazetta. Handmade raviolis for my entrée and a Corsican style steak for my main. Wow!

Diwan Lebanese
30 Avenue de George V
75008 Paris
01 47 23 45 45

The best chicken kebab I’ve ever eaten. 16 Euros for the plate which also includes generous portions of eggplant, humus, and tabouli.

404 Restaurant Familial
69 Rue des Gravilliers
75003 Paris
01 42 74 57 81

Very hip and hopping scene featuring cuisines of North Africa