by Jaci Stephen
Now, here’s a coincidence. Having treated myself to an Upper Class return flight from New York to Los Angeles on Virgin America (from my ever-expanding bank of Virgin Air Miles), I sat next to a man who was complaining about the sexual shenanigans that had kept him awake in the neighbouring room in his hotel throughout his stay. I told him I had experienced the same issue. I, however, hadn’t been kept awake; I had just been woken by a woman’s very loud moans that, to me, just sounded like another victim on Law and Order: SVU. As I invariably fall asleep on my sofa in front of the telly, I dropped back off again, sure in the knowledge that Detective Olivia Benson would be along shortly to sort everything out, and that the woman would stop moaning because she would, as always happens, be dead.
It transpired that we had both stayed in The Standard, except I had stayed in the West Hollywood venue, he Downtown. He started to explain how the hotel was very sexually driven and that, in the High Line hotel in New York, windows are strategically placed so that outsiders can see couples full-on canoodling, should the individuals so desire to give a free peep show to tourists.
All this had passed me by. Then he showed me the room key with the words ‘Slip it in’ emblazoned across the front. Yes, I had the same, but, being a literal sort of girl, just thought: Right, I slip it in the lock, as opposed to ‘slip it into moaning woman who won’t shut up rolling around on the bed next door at 5am’ – “Who wants sex at 5am?” my passenger had asked. “Couldn’t they have waited until seven?”.
I had also somehow managed to miss the pictures on the condom packet in my room’s goodie box, but that’s probably because I (a) had no man on which to place a condom, and (b) I reached straight for the bottle of Rioja.
It’s hard to know what to say about the condom packet. It had the words “slip it on. slide it in.” visible on its side. There were also three pictures, each displaying Lowry type figures in three different forms of sexual activity. Number one was clearly a man behind, pushing another man forward (no breasts, so I assumed it was two guys), and he was either copulating from behind, or was a hired assassin, trying to break his lover’s spine. Picture two was confusing, and picture number three showed a group activity, in which two men stood opposite each other while a third knelt, seemingly with his head coming off. It might be a beheading for all the sense it made to me. I tell you, I needed the Rioja just to think how any of it might work in real life.
I should have known that I was in a sexually charged zone because of the phallic cacti everywhere – you see? Once you start to see it, it’s everywhere! I’m not crazy on cacti; not only are they very bad feng shui (particularly for a hotel), I fear that they possess human properties and might attack me in the night – and that’s a plant you really don’t want slipping it in you at random.
My room was bigger than my apartment, and apart from the noise of the children playing hide and seek among the teepees in the pool area one Sunday morning, was very quiet. I had the best burger I have ever eaten delivered to my room at 3am (the restaurant, as well, as room service, is 24 hours), and although my breakfast was barely warm one morning, it was changed without so much as a whimper by the utterly charming staff.
I stay in hotels all the time and, as a single traveller, the most important thing for me is that I don’t feel alone, which I never did here.
The location on Sunset Boulevard is unbeatable for all the best places in West Hollywood – the Laugh Factory, the Sunset Sundance Cinema, the newly opened Vaucluse lounge (once the home of Charlie Chaplin) – and, if you don’t want to drive, it has easy access to bus routes.
The Standard may not be five star, but for comfort, value for money and terrific staff, it’s my number one for the area. I’m already booked in for a return visit.