“I can’t believe this,” he said.
His lovemaking with his wife had always been conventional, routine. But with Lara it was an incredibly sensual experience. Paul Martin had had many women before, but Lara was like no one he had ever known. She had given him a gift no woman had ever given him: She made him feel young.
When Paul was getting dressed, Lara asked, “Will I see you again?”
“Yes.” God help me. “Yes.”
The 1980s were a time of changes. Ronald Reagan was elected President of the United States and Wall Street had the busiest day in its history. The shah of Iran died in exile, and Anwar Sadat was assassinated. The public debt hit one trillion dollars, and the American hostages in Iran were freed. Sandra Day O’Connor became the first woman to serve on the Supreme Court.
Lara was in the right place at the right time. Real estate development was booming. Money was abundant, and banks were willing to finance projects that were both speculative and highly leveraged.
Savings and loan companies were a big source of equity. High-yield and high-risk bonds—nicknamed junk bonds—had been popularized by a young financial genius named Mike Milken, and they were manna to the real estate industry. The financing was there for the asking.
“I’m going to put up a hotel on the Sixty-ninth Street property, instead of an office building.”
“Why?” Howard Keller asked. “It’s a perfect location for an office building. With a hotel, you have to run it twenty-four hours a day. Tenants come and go like ants. With an office building, you only have to worry about a lease every five or ten years.”
“I know, but in a hotel you have drop-dead power, Howard. You can give important people suites and entertain them in your own restaurant. I like that idea. It’s going to be a hotel. I want you to set up meetings with the top architects in New York: Skidmore, Owings and Merrill, Peter Eisenman, and Philip Johnson.”
The meetings took place over the next two weeks. Some of the architects were patronizing. They had never worked for a female developer before.
One of them said, “If you’d like us to copy…”
“No. We’re going to build a hotel that other builders will copy. If you want a buzzword, try ‘elegance.’ I see an entryway flanked by twin fountains, a lobby with Italian marble. Off the lobby we’ll have a comfortable conference room where…”
By the end of the meeting they were impressed.
Lara put together a team. She hired a lawyer named Terry Hill, an assistant named Jim Belon, a project manager named Tom Chriton, and an advertising agency headed by Tom Scott. She hired the architectural firm of Higgins, Almont & Clark, and the project was under way.
“We’ll meet once a week,” Lara told the group, “but I’ll want daily reports from each of you. I want this hotel to go up on schedule and on budget. I selected all of you because you’re the best at what you do. Don’t let me down. Are there any questions?”
The next two hours were spent in answering them.
Later Lara said to Keller, “How do you think the meeting went?”
“Fine, boss.”
It was the first time he had called her that. She liked it.
Charles Cohn telephoned.
“I’m in New York. Can we have lunch?”
“You bet we can!” Lara said.
They had lunch at Sardi’s.
“You look wonderful,” Cohn said. “Success agrees with you, Lara.”
“It’s only the beginning,” Lara said. “Charles…how would you like to join Cameron Enterprises? I’ll give you a piece of the company and…”
He shook his head. “Thanks, but no. You’ve just started the journey. I’m near the end of the road. I’ll be retiring next summer.”
“Let’s stay in touch,” Lara said. “I don’t want to lose you.”
The next time Paul Martin came to Lara’s apartment, she said, “I have a surprise for you, darling.”
She handed him half a dozen packages.
“Hey! It’s not my birthday.”
“Open them.”
Inside were a dozen Bergdorf Goodman shirts and a dozen Pucci ties.
“I have shirts and ties,” he laughed.
“Not like these,” Lara told him. “They’ll make you feel younger. I got the name of a good tailor for you, too.”