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They left the conference room and walked to the end of the corridor.
The president’s office was there.
Julian pushed the door open first.
It was not the grand, imposing space he had expected.
It was large by ordinary standards, but narrow for a company legend.
Everything was spotless.
Books lined the shelves behind the chair in perfect order, but the room felt like a movie set, not a place where anyone actually lived or worked.
“Christie was rarely here,” Richard said.
“As for Hugh, he preferred working from home, in the office attached to that enormous rotating round bed of his.
It was the first bed of its kind, and the idea was his.
I have to admit, he may have been better at pleasure than at editing.”
Once Richard began talking about the past, he had trouble stopping.
“A secretary would wake him.
He would pat the girl beside him and send her away.
Usually there was more than one.
Sometimes three, sometimes five.
Then a maid brought breakfast, with page proofs on the tray.
He worked while he ate, kept working into the afternoon, then returned to pleasure.
Every Friday, he invited Chicago’s social elite to lavish parties.
Women in bunny costumes moved through the rooms.
The parties often lasted until dawn.”
“The house is on North State Parkway, not far from the lake.
Hugh lived there before moving to Los Angeles.
He bought it for four hundred thousand dollars and spent heavily renovating it.
Now it is one of Chicago’s tourist attractions.
We use a property-management firm to maintain it, and it brings in steady revenue from private events and tours.”
That was another divergence from the timeline Julian remembered.
In his old world, the mansion had been sold and converted into condominiums in the 1990s.
Here, Playboy still owned it as a private-event venue and museum.
“Interesting.”
Julian leaned against the desk.
Even though these stories were decades old, Richard’s account still revealed the madness and magnetism of Hefner’s early life.
“I have always wondered,” Saul said from the side, his expression turning mischievous, “did Hugh Hefner really sleep with that many women?
You know what I mean.”
“For a period, his life was indeed wild,” Richard said with a small smile.
“But that was when he was young.
After his stroke, his health declined sharply.
Desire remained, ability less so.
As for the number two thousand, I suspect removing one zero would bring it closer to reality.”
“Hefner had only four children,” Julian added.
“That may be evidence in itself.
Men exaggerate those stories, and for Hefner, it was not only pride.
It was the persona he built.
Marketing.
To put it crudely, even if he appeared in a wheelchair, he would still want a woman on each arm.”
“Of course, all of this is inference.
No one knows the truth except Hugh himself.”
Julian had thought something similar while making videos in his previous life.
Hefner spent his life turning Playboy into a living brand.
“Mr.
Moretti has identified the key,” Richard said.
“That was why the magazine outsold everything in its prime.
Hefner made the life described in the magazine feel real.
That still applies.”
His eyes shifted toward Julian.
From any angle, Julian had the raw material to become a successor.
Julian, however, was thinking about something else.
“You said the house is owned by the company?”
“Yes.
It is company property.”
“The company still controls it?”
“Yes.”
“Then have legal draw up an executive lease.
I need a place in Chicago.”
Richard understood at once.
“If you insist on living there, I will make the call.”
With housing solved, Julian’s mood improved.
“Now to business.
I brought the three of you here because I want to share a long-term plan.
I expect to realize it within two years.
If it succeeds, the company’s core business will change completely.
I call it Project Palace.”
The confidential meeting lasted nearly three hours.
When they walked out, the three men’s expressions could not have been more different.
William’s expression was hard to read, his features held in their usual stillness, but his stride had quickened.
The plan excited him.
He wanted to move immediately.
Saul came out humming something that sounded vaguely flamenco, hips swaying as if he had just received commandments on a mountain.
His land of milk and honey was not Canaan.
It was a place called Palace.
Richard came out last.
He was not excited.
He looked frightened.
Sweat covered his forehead.
His hand trembled as he took out a handkerchief and wiped his face, then removed his glasses with care.
‘Madman or genius?’
He did not know how to define his new boss.
The VIP lounge was elegant, polished, and full of the design language one expected from a fashion-and-lifestyle headquarters: Eames lounge chairs, Minotti tables, even Lalique glasses where ordinary cups would have done.
“Wait a second,” Taylor said, stopping a passing receptionist.
The receptionist wore a black skirt suit with a rabbit-head brooch near the collar.
She was graceful, poised, and impossible not to photograph.
Taylor took out her Sony Ericsson W600.
Its orange-and-white body looked young and energetic, and the rotating slider had made it the perfect sixteenth-birthday gift.
The phone’s 1.3-megapixel camera could not fully capture the receptionist’s beauty, but Taylor was satisfied anyway.
After taking the photo, she wandered the lounge snapping pictures.
“Taylor, can you stop acting like you are on a field trip?” Faith said with a frown.
“This is the task Julian gave me.
I have to send three updates a day.
I already have a few hundred followers.”
“Twitter?”
Faith remembered that she had registered as well.
She took out her BlackBerry Pearl.
Compared with the just-announced iPhone’s promised large screen, a physical keyboard still felt like the smarter device in 2007.
BlackBerry was at its peak, one of the dominant smartphones in America.
Faith opened Twitter in her BlackBerry browser and found dozens of replies waiting.
Only then did she understand how large the gossip story had become online.
Her following had climbed into four figures.
Julian’s was slightly higher.
Their arrival had begun pulling entertainment fans onto the service months ahead of schedule.
The scandal had accelerated her growth, but Faith knew her own name would have drawn an audience either way.
She looked up as Julian entered.
“I found us a very good place to stay.
We are going there now.”
Half an hour later, the three of them stepped down from the Mercedes van.
Julian pointed to the renovated four-story standalone building ahead.
“This is our destination.”
Faith and Taylor stared at the line of tourists waiting at the entrance.
“This is what you call company housing?”
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I hope this chapter drew you further into the story.
Stick around, because there’s still a lot waiting just ahead.