Suite Dreams

With the Trump opening and more luxury spots on the way, the competition in the city among high-end hotels for big-spending travelers—VIPs, celebrities, the garden-variety rich—is hotter than ever. And the secret to victory? Give the guests what they want

By Noah Isackson

(page 3 of 6)

Christina Baumer, a butler at the Park Hyatt, prepares a bath.

All the hotels predict that the war will be fought over service aimed at the hearts and minds of SAGs. Back at the Four Seasons, on this particular Thursday, Hans Willimann takes the meeting in his seventh-floor corner office, overlooking a crowded, sunny Michigan Avenue and the John Hancock courtyard. Sitting behind a large wooden desk with three newspapers on his right and an orchid on the left, Willimann is surrounded by 18 staffers, most dressed in suits, holding stapled SAG printouts on guests checking in over the weekend. One by one, profiles are read out loud. Willimann nods and takes notes and occasionally chimes in. "Call me on my BlackBerry when she arrives," he says. "Who ordered their flowers? I want to see the flowers."

There's an announcement of an advertising executive who needs an ashtray, a small refrigerator, 12-inch-tall drinking glasses, Grey Goose vodka, two packs of Marlboro Reds, and a bottle of Fiji water. Lest anyone think the man is planning a bachelor party, there is also an explanation on the SAG spreadsheet: "gentleman's poker evening." Then come notes about the arrivals of a network TV news anchor and a well-known American painter. A late-breaking report explains how the checkout of a Grammy Award–winning singer involves 85 pieces of luggage. (Out of respect for privacy, the hotels have asked Chicago not to name the guests in this story.) Midway through the SAG list, a note points out that a certain guest must be addressed by his job title (doctor) and not his courtesy title (mister) because, according to the spreadsheet, he is "very sensitive" about that sort of thing.

"The only reason people go to luxury hotels is for the service," Willimann says, evidence of his Swiss upbringing still apparent in his English. "You don't go because of the flat TV screen, you're not going to go for the chandelier, you're not going to go for the marble in the rooms. You're going to go if the doorman remembers your name, and the concierge remembers your name, and they remember your idiosyncrasies."