Mr. Sheen booked the Eloise Suite and proceeded to orchestrate perhaps the ultimate hooker-laden, coke-fueled tryst-gone-bad of our time. His guest was locked naked in the closet. Some $7,000 of damage was done to the place. There was a whole lot of “winning.”

Which left us wondering, can this guy still get a room? Adopting the persona of Mr. Sheen’s “assistant,” we decided to find out, starting with the Pierre.

“Is there anything we can do to make Mr. Sheen’s stay more pleasant?” the receptionist wanted to know.

“Can we replace the Coke in the fridge with Pepsi?”

“Yes, this is a Pepsi hotel.”

“Mr. Sheen always requests a portable mirror.”

“I guess that would possible.”

“And he’ll need two bottles of Johnnie Walker Black.”

“O.K.”

“Is there any way to block 911 on the phone so people can’t call out?”

“Well, only if you unplug it.”

“And do you provide handcuffs?”

There was a pause.

“No, we don’t have anything like that.”

We tried the St. Regis.

“Hi, this is Charlie Sheen’s assistant,” The Observer said. “I’d like to book him a room.”

“Did you say Martin Sheen?”

“No,” we said. “Charlie Sheen.”

“Do you know if he’s stayed here before?”

“Um …”

We heard the sound of tapping on a keyboard.

“Oh, he has stayed with us. We’re glad to have him. Let me check in with the sales person he’s dealt with.”

They said they would call us back. We dialed the Waldorf-Astoria.

“Oh! Please extend a welcome on our behalf,” the receptionist said.

We quickly decided upon the most expensive luxury suite—$709 a night, plus tax.

We would have to pay extra for the rollaway, as only three of Charlie’s Goddesses could comfortably fit with him in the king-sized bed.

“We’re interested in extra privacy,” The Observer said. “Can we have blackout shades so nobody can see in?”

“You’ll have to speak with security, but that should be taken care of.”

“And are there are adult video selections available?”

“Yes, of course.”

There was one more call to make.

“Is there a room that Mr. Sheen would prefer?” asked the attendant at the Plaza’s concierge desk.

“Yes,” The Observer said. “The Eloise Suite.”

“Sure!”

We were transferred to a special line.

“I’m sorry I’m not at the phone right now,” a recording said. “I’m off chasing Eloise!” 

nfreeman [at] observer.com | @nfreeman1234