Life at the Top – Two Liberty Place – Cole Hamels
AS I DROP MY BAGS inside “my” apartment, my jaw drops. The floor-to-ceiling windows, the recessed lighting that makes you look camera-ready, the polished wood, the marble and granite surfaces, the big fat juicy bathtub … it’s lifestyle overload. Which is the point. Living in Two Liberty is supposed to feel like living in a very fancy spa.
Here are the three things you need to know about residing with the super-wealthy:
1. No one ever talks about money. Ever.
2. Rich people like to have lots of clean, beautifully decorated open spaces they can enjoy, even though they never do. The lobby of Two Liberty, the “Owners’ Club,” the media room with its 72-inch monster flat-screen and popcorn machine — all gorgeous, all empty.
3. There is absolutely no — and I mean no — excuse for being wealthy and fat. The gym has such fancy equipment that I have to get off the elliptical machine because I can’t figure out how to work its Starship Enterprise console. My only solace is that Tom Knox, who is in the gym with me, can’t figure it out, either.
What is more specific to Two Liberty is its passionate idea of “community,” of creating, in effect, a small town encased in one-way glass, whether through a monthly book club or communal Eagles game-watching in the media room. The idea is to cultivate neighbors who know one another, hang out together, and borrow the occasional cup of Xanax. As I fumble through my week of residency — I’ve brought every designer shirt I own — I find myself ill-equipped for this sort of thing, which is surprising, because Philly is, after all, the “city of neighborhoods.” I myself live on a tight-knit street with its own association and annual block party. But as I quickly discover, that isn’t quite the same as residency in the splendiferous version of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. Or, more accurately, the Neighborhood of Make Believe — after all, that’s where the royalty lived.
I take a Zumba fitness class with Susan Vineberg, who I quickly discover is that resident every building has one of: You know, the one you see all the time, everywhere. The next day, I’m back in the gym when I bump into Eric Grilly, the former Philly.com exec who now has some big fancy job at Comcast. He and his wife, the aforementioned Terena, were among the first buyers at Two Liberty. Alas, in one of those blunders that happen only in a place like this, I ask him if either of them is going on the Two Liberty trip to the Phillies game that night. He laughs nervously. “Well, we’re getting divorced, so I don’t really know,” he says with a wry smile. “Perhaps you should ask her.” Ouch!
That night, the private trolley Jamie has hired — So fun! So exclusive! So rococo! — pulls up to take the 25 or so of us who signed up at the concierge desk for “Two Liberty Night at the Phillies” to see our neighbor Cole pitch against the Blue Jays. Inside Citizens Bank Park, I end up walking with Marsha Silberstein, who’s hosting book club this Wednesday. We pass a poster of Cole, and she casually asks, “Have you met Cole yet?” I say no, though I have bumped into Heidi.
