Home of the Paris Opera ballet, where India first saw the Roland Petit ballet, "Carmen." It's also the setting for the Phantom of the Opera, a Second Empire construction that is a monument to glorious excess.

"(India) watched children run around the Tuileries gardens across the way as she dropped a heaping dollop of whipped cream into her cup of Angelina's peerless hot chocolate. It was thick as molasses and dark as ebony. She took a sip and savored the richness of the cocoa and the drink's silky consistency. Keith had admitted he loved her. Only an hour before, she had been ready to walk out on him. Now she would follow him anywhere."

While I love the George V, the Ritz Hotel holds a special place in my heart.   It is a hotel that could exist nowhere else but in Paris.  When I first began to earn a respectable living,  I treated myself to a stay there.   My room was narrow, and in shades of pink with high ceilings that redeemed everything.   I befriended a lovely man at the desk (no, reader, I don’t mean in a biblical sense.)  I told him that for the last night of my stay, I wanted to treat myself to one of the historic suites.   He very kindly upgraded me to the living room of the Coco Chanel suite, which was once the designer’s private apartment.    It overlooks the majestic Place Vendome, with its Napoleonic recreation of Trajan’s Column in Rome.   At six am on the morning of my departure, I watched the sun rise (blissfully alone) while eating the hotel's delectable, paper thin breakfast apple tart with fresh whipped cream.   In the words of the Piaf song "Rien, rien de rien, je ne regrette rien!!"

In the words of Cole Porter, "You're the top, you're the Coliseum/ You're the top, you're the Louvre Museum." Home of guess who? But India is too busy frolicking with a human masterpiece to take in the work of the old masters...And anyway, the Louvre will always be there.

"Alain made a right as they passed the neoclassical Crillon Hotel, then another onto the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore, the paradise and purgatory of shopaholics from the four corners of the globe." Forget the Tour Eiffel, this 18th Century plaza is the quintessence of Paris.

While I love the George V, the Ritz Hotel holds a special place in my heart.   It is a hotel that could exist nowhere else but in Paris.  When I first began to earn a respectable living,  I treated myself to a stay there.   My room was narrow, and in shades of pink with high ceilings that redeemed everything.   I befriended a lovely man at the desk (no, reader, I don’t mean in a biblical sense.)  I told him that for the last night of my stay, I wanted to treat myself to one of the historic suites.   He very kindly upgraded me to the living room of the Coco Chanel suite, which was once the designer’s private apartment.    It overlooks the majestic Place Vendome, with its Napoleonic recreation of Trajan’s Column in Rome.   At six am on the morning of my departure, I watched the sun rise (blissfully alone) while eating the hotel’s delectable, paper thin breakfast apple tart with fresh whipped cream.   In the words of the Piaf song “Rien, rien de rien, je ne regrette rien!!”

Hotel de Crillon, another princely 18th century palace transformed into a for pay palace for wealthy travelers.   It's the site of the annual International Debutante's Ball, home to Les Ambassadeurs, one of the great restaurants of Paris and has the added distinction of having been Leonard Bernstein's favorite hotel.  "All is for the best in the best of all possible worlds" at the Crillon!!!

"Monique swerved her pearl gray BMW onto Hamilton Terrace. Its hill loomed before her, bordered on both sides by immaculately maintained brownstones and gingko trees in emerald bloom. The streetlamps glowed in the dusk, wrought-iron sentinels guarding this sliver of peace and prosperity in the midst of Harlem’s socioeconomic jumble. Monique glided her gleaming vehicle into a parking spot right in front of her limestone mini-manse. Her eyes traveled from the polished copper roof guards to the bas-reliefs of rose garlands that crowned the fifth floor like decorative icing on a tired wedding cake. Monique could calculate the cost of each flower in hours spent at the office and in medical school. She and Wayne had combed the Yellow Pages…in their quest for a craftsman worthy of restoring their family home. And now she had singlehandedly brought the entire edifice of their dreams to the brink of destruction."

"Within moments she found herself standing in front of the neo-Emery Roth Grandeur of 15 Central Park West. The building's limestone twin towers soared majestically toward a translucent sapphire sky. Every square inch of the imposing structure bespoke power, comfort, and wealth. She looked at the brightly lit picture windows in the dusk. Which floor does he live on and with whom? she wondered."

67th Street between Columbus and Central Park West
"Through the leaded glass windows of the Café des Artistes, over the leaves of potted plants, she spotted the top of her mother’s head silhouetted against the frescoes of nude, turn-of-the-century beauties."

"India’s taxi drove up the ramp and came to a stop in front of Lincoln Center. She paid the driver and raced past the shooting fountain and across the plaza to the Koch Theater where the annual Boxed Lunch with Ballerinas benefit always took place."

"India didn’t need to be on time for anyone on the splendid May afternoon, not even a client at the office. She decided to catch an American Ballet Theatre matinee. Her cab pulled up to Lincoln Center and she ran across the plaza just as the gongs rang. She managed to purchase a standing room ticket. She slipped into her space at the back of the orchestra section as the majestic bars of the overture of Eugene Onegin began to play."

"Once they arrived at their suite, Keith opened the heavy cream-colored door.  He led India down a marble-floored corridor to her idea of hotel heaven: a bright sitting room with French doors that opened onto a terrace.   The eighteenth-century reproduction furniture was upholstered in a soothing Dresden blue that matched the pattern on the potpourri bowl atop an inlaid wood and marble credenza. Floor-to-ceiling damask curtains framed the enormous picture windows.   India couldn't resist running her fingers through the thick ropes of their silk fringe."

"What do I have to do to get a margarita around here, set myself on fire?” Esme yelled at a passing waitress in a midnight-blue miniskirt. India blanched, mortified. The four women sat at a table by the window on the thirty-fifth floor of he Mandarin Oriental Hotel, looking down at the Columbus Circle roundabout with its tiered fountain. Esme had recommended the elegant lounge because of its beautiful views, comfortable white leather chairs, and guaranteed-to-get-you-smashed cocktails."

Madison Ave. and 61st Street.

5th Avenue between 59th Street and 60th Street

"...India pushed her way through revolving doors into the lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria, site of the Bright Futures gala…She looked up at the hotel’s glorious glass-paneled ceiling. Entering the lobby of this New York landmark was like walking onto the set of an Astaire and Rogers musical. It was impossible not to feel a spark of romantic hope and longing. The magnificence of the Art Deco architecture confirmed the appropriateness of her wardrobe selection: a bias-cut gown of ice blue satin."

"Through the window of San Pietro’s, or Saint Pete’s, as the regulars called it, she spotted Monique seated alone at a table in the very center of the room, ogling prey for all the bankers having power bruschetta at noon."

5th Avenue between 49th and 50th Streets

West 44th Street between 7th and 8th Avenues
"On the ground floor of Sardi’s restaurant, India’s mother sat on a burgundy leather banquette, brandishing a wineglass and receiving the steady stream of admirers paying homage."

"I did my homework in this room more times than I care to count. My mom and stepfather weren’t big on babysitters. That banquette my mother’s sitting on was my second bedroom."

Madison Avenue between 36th and 37th Streets