The Genie in the Lobby

Think you’re going to have a hectic day? It could be worse. You could be Nancy Philipson, chef (sic) concierge at the Sunset Marquis Hotel in West Hollywood. Concierge, she explains, comes from the Latin root for “fellow slave.” She doesn’t really feel like a slave, though. More like a facilitator, an organizer, a wish-granter, or the wife most people, male or female, wish they had. Because what Nancy and her colleagues behind the chic hotel’s busy concierge desk do is help the hotel’s guests’ days, and evenings, run smoothly.

Rent a Humvee? That takes one phone call and will cost $243.99 for a day. A fruit basket for an actor who recently stayed at the hotel (a little gift to thank him for his patronage)? Another call with a reminder: “He likes Jameson whiskey.”

Her challenge on a busy Friday afternoon is securing reservations at Matsuhisa for three at 8 p.m. Philipson, a naturally friendly blond in her late 30s who wears tailored suits to work but indulges a Prada shoe addiction when off duty, is well known to the gatekeepers at the West Hollywood temple of haute sushi. She knows they’ll accommodate her if they can. And if the restaurant, normally booked far in advance, finds space for Philipson’s trio, she’ll send a map, with the route highlighted, to the sushi lover’s room.

“The secret to being a concierge is nothing but details,” she says. “Doing this job well doesn’t mean you know everything, but you do need to know how to find out what you need to know.” She’s been doing the job for 15 years, five at the Sunset Marquis. The hotel’s unique character affects her activities. It’s a favorite of people in the entertainment and fashion industries.

“A nightmare would be something that’s supposed to happen that doesn’t, like a car that should pick a guest up at the airport that doesn’t show or a delivery that doesn’t go to the right place,” Philipson says.

A good concierge is a champion of organization and a fount of information. Philipson and her staff depend on five loose-leaf binders full of cross-referenced resources, as well as computer files. When a frighteningly thin X-ray of a woman, the companion of an Italian model in town for the week, leans on the desk and whispers a request for a leg wax, Philipson knows where to find the names and numbers of waxers who make house calls, as well as salons within walking distance. Within minutes, she’s made the fuzzy girl an appointment in Beverly Hills and sent a map to her room.

When things are slow at the desk, the concierge staff fills the time calling 250 local restaurants to find out what their Christmas dinner offerings will be. Should a guest inquire, the data will be at hand.

No request is unreasonable, unless it’s illegal or unkind. That credo was established by Les Clefs d’Or (pronounced lay clay door), the international organization of concierges. Les Clefs d’Or has more than 350 members in 30 states. Salaries vary from hotel to hotel, and from city to city, ranging between $25,000 and $70,000. Although in Europe it is still a male-dominated profession, in this country, 57% of concierges are female.

Diana Nelson is American president of the elite organization, which certifies members after a five-year apprenticeship, after they’ve submitted two letters of recommendation, endured a screening process and passed a 25-page written test.

She says, “A good concierge is someone with an inherently helpful attitude. People who do well in the hospitality industry are gratified by the fact that we make a difference in people’s lives on a daily basis.” So when the White House press corps was delayed en route to the hotel one Ash Wednesday, Nelson found a church that would stay open late. And then there was the Japanese visitor who asked Nelson’s help in acquiring some ox gallstones. After considerable research, she steered him to the Harris Ranch in Coalinga. “We depend on the Internet more and more,” Nelson says. “E-mail has helped us enormously and saved us a lot on phone bills. It’s easy for me to contact my colleagues around the world for information and suggestions.”

Late afternoon at the Sunset Marquis, a masseuse arrives and is sent upstairs, reservations have been confirmed at Matsuhisa (at 9 p.m., not 8) and a Texan leans on the desk, asking for shopping advice.

Patiently questioning him, Philipson learns that he really wants to revisit an Indonesian furniture store he discovered on his last visit. She sends him to La Brea Avenue, and while he’s thanking her, she’s dialing the Sky Bar’s number. The Matsuhisa-bound guest has expressed an interest in beginning his evening there.