The elevator opens directly to the suite foyer as the the only door is standing open.  Within, the sunlight outside is blocked by vertical blinds and thick, velvet curtains, and the ivory tile of the foyer leads to a vivid, tasteful red and gold, wall-to-wall carpeting, thick sofas and end-tables decorated with original artworks of modern sculpture-- a black, ovular column wound from a stretching woman, a painting of a cityscape in early-modern Prague-- and a stately, curling-sculptured black card table, its red felt top cleared of all contents... for now.<br/><br/>"Welcome," comes a surprising voice from one of the adjoining rooms... a thin, red-lipped, green-eyed girl in a black coctail dress and high heels-- quite attractive, everything about her seems more expensive than it should be, from the subtle diamond studs in her ears to the Prada heels, "to the Wild Card Stud debut event."  She walks up to the two women and, tilting her head subtly aside, extends a French-manicured hand toward the two women, "Your invitations please?"<br/><br/>Once they are presented, she will collect them, withdraw a slender gold pen from her cleavage-- ample, but not exhorbitant-- and write a few indistinguishable notes on each. "Thank you both.  Would you care for a drink, or some hors douvres?"  She pulls out one of the high-back, leather-padded chairs from the table, gesturing for them to please make themselves comfortable (quite a great deal is conveyed with very little movement, there...)  before turning her twenty-something face toward the bar where a rocks-glass of some clear liquid waits-- was the girl drinking vodka?