By Rachel Lehmann-Haupt, MSN MoneyThe concierges of Quintessentially work hard for their members. Madonna once asked them to deliver rare herbal tea to her London hotel in under an hour. They've arranged deliveries of white tigers and albino peacocks, and booked performances by the Black Eyed Peas for birthday parties. They've sourced mineral water from the mountains of Tasmania, a nanny who speaks Mandarin, lemons from Capri, illegal raw milk and a bird-flu suit. About all they can't do, says Ben Elliot, the company's co-founder and director of marketing, is find you the meaning of life. 
Video: What can a membership get you?
"I think that's something you yourself should be looking for," says the congenial Brit, smiling. "I don't know what faith you are, but I'm sure we can connect you with some high-level religious elders."
We are sitting on the roof of Soho House, a private club in Manhattan. For the next few weeks, Elliot, a former nightclub impresario and the nephew of Camilla Parker Bowles, has agreed to let me test-drive his company's $36,000-a-year, invitation-only global elite membership.
As a result, I now have a devoted, 24-hour-a-day personal assistant in every one of the 17 cities where Quintessentially has an office, including London, New York, Los Angeles, Miami and Paris. And while this may
not bring me pure enlightenment, Elliot assures me that it will satisfy my every whim. "We bring you the keys to the city," he says. "The idea is to maximize the living of your life."
Maximizing is something this handsome bachelor seems to know quite a lot about. He presents himself as a member in good standing of the international jet set -- partying on Ibiza, palling around with Prince William and, once, dating Jade Jagger. "I was in Monaco at the Grand Prix," he recalls. "A member was having a bet with another member. He wanted to have a set of drums delivered to his yacht so he could play the drums for his other guests." Video: "An army of personal assistants"
Now that Elliot has let me in, I allow myself to believe that I now belong to this rarefied club that includes royals, CEOs and celebrities ranging from Scarlett Johansson to P. Diddy. My personal concierge team can now satisfy my most outlandish desires and smuggle me into exclusive scenes: Elton John's Oscar party, the Grammy Awards, the high-society Frick ball. Even more important than the big-ticket events, they will help me offload every niggling operational detail involved in the planning and organizing of my busy life. These days, finding the time for a more relaxed way of life is the ultimate luxury.
"Whenever you arrive anywhere, your first phone call should be to us," says Elliot.
He assures me that Quintessentially's team will make my dinner reservations, arrange transportation and offer an itinerary of possibilities that suit my personality and mood. And it will use its connections and resources to do it all at the last minute. Elliot's philosophy is to treat every customer as if she were the most demanding New Yorker. Slide show: The 10 most outlandish requests
I laugh and tell him that, while I'm a born and bred New Yorker, my first reaction to this open-ended invitation is that I don't want to be too demanding. Behavioral scientists have warned about something called "the hedonic treadmill," a place where constant gratification drives us to greater and greater extremes of indulgence, with less and less real satisfaction.
"That's your personal choice," he says. "A lot of people in the global elite are more relaxed about everything. It's the people who are on their way up who are the most demanding."
Satisfying the fussy
Elliot is a serial entrepreneur. In 2000, he was power-brokering his way around London. He had already built
Kabaret's Prophecy, which Madonna once described as "the coolest club in Europe," as well as the Fluid Juice Bar. His partner, Aaron Simpson, was working as a film producer and baby-sitting fussy celebrities.
"We noticed that these types of people needed a lot of hand-holding on where to shop, where to eat and how to sort out their children's education," Elliot says. "We thought if you can hire people who are really in the know, and if you can connect enthusiastic people, then you can have a membership that is more exciting than most corporate solutions" -- a reference to the concierge service that comes with American Express' black card.
I mention to Ben that in the next few weeks this column will take me to a spa in the mountains of northern Idaho where I will enjoy some much-needed space and explore. Then I'll go on to Los Angeles for other business. Since I'm a slightly car-phobic New Yorker who tends to get lost, a good car with a great GPS system will be vital.
"Jason in our L.A. office will be contacting you to arrange everything," Elliot says. "As for New York, literally a stone's throw away is Buddakan, which at the moment has the most requests for reservations. We can get you one on the spot."
"I'd like an 8 p.m. reservation for tomorrow night," I say.
"Absolutely," he says.
Within an hour of leaving Ben, I get two e-mails on my Treo confirming my reservation for Buddakan and introducing me to Kory and Jason, who work in the Los Angeles office. I introduce myself back and tell them that I need plane reservations from Idaho to L.A. and a car in L.A., and would love some suggestions on good restaurants.
Within minutes Jason shoots me an e-mail saying that he can order me a private plane and have a car of my choice meet me at the arrival gate. He also sends me a list of L.A. restaurant choices, ranging from Katsuya, the new high-modern Philippe Starck sushi scene, to La Dolce Vita, an old Frank Sinatra haunt in Beverly Hills. "In a city with no history, this place has some," Jason writes.
Sounds good to me. But my first stop is Buddakan, the new downtown "it" place from restaurateur Stephen Starr. The next evening, Anthony, the slick-haired maitre d', meets me in front of the gold doors on Ninth Avenue and leads me inside this 16,000-square-foot
mega-production. Video: Dinner at Buddakan
It cost $14 million to design and build the space in a style Anthony describes as "modern Asian meets Parisian meets New York industrial." The room is filled with trend-hopping business types and scrawny fashionistas. He leads me down a grand staircase past reproductions of Renaissance bacchanal paintings, Buddha icons and Louis XIV curiosity cabinets, and seats me in the exclusive library, where the walls are lined with fake gold books.
My boyfriend meets me at our table. He grimaces over the pretense of it all. I can't disagree. As we bite into edamame dumplings, I'm thinking we could do with less hype. Luckily, some originality in the kitchen and the quality of the service make up for the overkill on the décor. And there's no arguing that Quintessentially did its job. When I call the restaurant the next day -- to see if I can get a reservation for that night on my own -- I'm turned away and told the place is booked for a week.
Quintessentially La-La Land
The real test will be the service in a less familiar city. Kory, the concierge in Quintessentially's L.A. office, has arranged a flight from Spokane, Wash., the hub closest
to the spa. She tells me that a Beverly Hills car rental company will send someone to meet me by the arrival gate in a cute little black Mercedes SL550 convertible.
When I get off my early morning flight, I am bleary-eyed and disappointed to find that the car rental person is nowhere in sight. For a few minutes I feel lost. Then I remember the mantra that Quintessentially should always be my first phone call.
"We've been waiting to hear from you," Kory says on the phone.
I tell her I'm stranded.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she says in a tone that my best friend might use. "I'll call you right back."
Five minutes later, she calls to tell me that another car rental company has the same car at the airport and will find me in five minutes. Sure enough, a nice guy in a clean blue shirt drives up and whisks me off to a nearby lot gleaming with red and black Mustangs, Porsches and Mercedes. He points me to a sexy two-seater, shows me how to program the GPS and sends me off into the wilds of the city. Video: Dude, where's my fancy car?
I'm driving down Wilshire Boulevard, feeling pretty cool,
when I get a call from Jason to make sure everything is OK. He reminds me of my reservation at La Dolce Vita that evening and offers to take me out if I need an escort. "One member once sent me to Las Vegas to entertain a group of his friends because he couldn't make it himself," he says.
That evening I meet an old New York pal at the restaurant.
"We've been waiting for you, Rachel," says the maitre d' as he walks us to our table, where we find two fizzing glasses of champagne. I can see the envy on my friend's face. I feel famous.
Compared with Buddakan, though, this place is a bit of a letdown. In the 1960s, La Dolce Vita was known for serving great osso buco on Thursday nights and as a regular stop for Ronald Reagan, Frank Sinatra and the rest of the Rat Pack. But today it's a little more B-list, and its ornate Italian décor and heavy food are pure kitsch.
Over the next week, I get a call from Jason or Kory every morning. One day Kory tells me that she's found me a Kundalini yoga class. Another day I meet Jason at The Grove shopping center, in front of a musical fountain blaring "The Girl from Ipanema." He takes me
around the American Girl Place store and then asks if I'd like to go out on the town. "We can go to the roof of The Standard, where they have vibrating water beds and serve drinks in these cool pods," he says. He then launches into a story about how he recently had to go buy a pair of jeans for a member. "He was a block from Barneys in New York, but for some reason wanted me to buy the jeans at Barneys in L.A.," he says.
The more I hear these spoiled member stories, the less interested I am. The key, I realize, is that Quintessentially is not there so I can test how much I can get from them. They are there to help me gain time, so I can focus better on the moment at hand. Satisfaction, after all, often has little to do with getting what you want -- and more to do with the way you get it.
High