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We got out after the blades stopped. Even if I was perfectly used to traveling this way, I couldn’t help but feel the special sense of occasion for Lola. She was laughing hard, taking deep breaths, and I stepped towards her and felt a warm rush of desire for her.
She was having an amazing time so far, but the rest was yet to come.
We stepped down from the helipad and through a door. There, we descended a metal staircase.
“I can’t believe it,” she kept saying. “We’re on a real skyscraper.”
“You know I live on one of these?” I said.
“Crazy,” she said. “How do you manage? I’m not sure I’d be good with being up so high all the time.”
“The main problem is keeping your feet on the ground,” I said, as I rang the bell and called for the elevator.
We dropped down two floors, and when it opened, the both of us breathed a sigh.
Spacewas an elegant restaurant, up thirty two stories in the building. It mostly served the stockbrokers and super-rich of New York. We arrived at a gallery with a glass floor, beneath which you could see the white tablecloths and silver cutlery gleaming below, above a carpeted floor.
We walked down a long, wide staircase that provided a view of the action. Behind the glass, white-jacketed chefs moved with precision and poise, decorating food with tiny, edible flowers and tweezers. The waiters would then carry dishes out to the dining room. In the center of the restaurant was an enormous circular bar, with a huge wine rack and drinks cabinet which had been carved from the trunk of an oak tree.
When we got to the bottom of the staircase, the maître d’ beamed.
“Ah, Mr. Lowe,” he drawled in a French accent. “So good to see you again. And this time you are eating with a friend, no?”
“Christophe,” I said warmly, as we shook hands. “This is Lola.”
“Will it be a private room this time, Mr. Lowe?”
“Actually,” I said, “I think this time we’ll sit by the window.”
He nodded, and clicked his fingers. A waiter appeared, and we followed him across the soft, red carpet of the restaurant’s floor.
“This is amazing,” whispered Lola, fixing her eyes on the crystal chandeliers which hung around the dining room. “I’ve never even heard of this place.”
“It’s a private restaurant,” I said. “By appointment only. You have to apply to make a reservation. Or be invited.”
“And how did you get in?” said Lola, cheekily.
I smiled. “It’s amazing how many invitations you get once you’ve got eight figures in your bank account.”
Lola grimaced at the thought of it. But I could tell she was enjoying herself, even if my money didn’t impress her.
“Wait,” she said, looking out over the view. You could see halfway across New Jersey from here, and the park below was in bloom. “Don’t you mean nine figures?”
“No,” I said, chuckling. “I don’t keep that money in my bank account.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that no one actually has that amount of money in the bank.”
“What? So all the billionaires in the world are just…faking it?”
“Kind of,” I said. “Billionaires don’t keep their wealth in bank accounts. It makes more sense to invest.”
“So if you went to the bank right now,” said Lola, “how much would they let you take out?”
“Are you kidding? Banks don’t have any cash. It’s too easy to rob them. The last time I needed a lot of cash was when I was buying some property in China. It took them seven weeks to get enough together for what I needed.”
“That’s crazy, Alex. So all this money is just…floating around on the internet.”
