“If the drinks don’t knock you out, the prices will. And if that don’t do it—well, there’s always what’s hiding in the VIP lounge.”

Description - Exterior

A glowing slice of downtown glamour, Chez Paree sits tucked between taller buildings on Fairbanks Court, its black awning embroidered in gold and flanked by bored doormen in crisp suits. On show nights, a line snakes around the block—fur coats, sequined dresses, and whispers about who’s inside. The lights are bright, the sidewalk clean, and the air smells like perfume and power.

Description - Interior

Red velvet booths, white linen tablecloths, and champagne buckets at every corner. The ceiling glitters with glass and gold, while the stage—polished and perfect—hosts big bands, dancers, and crooners with voices like silk and knives. Behind the curtain, though, are hidden rooms: gambling dens, private bars, and closed-door meetings where the real deals are made. The mirrors don’t always reflect what they should, and the lights above Table 14 flicker during certain acts.

History

Opened in the 1930s, Chez Paree has always been a haven for Chicago’s elite, a playground for celebrities, politicians, and Outfit big shots. By 1953, it’s still the city’s premier nightclub—though the back rooms see just as much action as the stage. Outfit capos use the place to entertain guests, grease hands, and vet new talent. Rumors swirl that the club’s original architect vanished during construction—leaving one room permanently sealed, its door always cold to the touch.

Owned By

Technically independent, but heavily managed and protected by the Chicago Outfit.

Run By

Frankie Spano, a silver-haired maître d’ with impeccable manners and iron-clad memory. Knows your drink, your mistress, and your sins—and never repeats any of them.

Employees

• Ginger Vee – headliner chanteuse, rumored to have Veil-touched lungs. Can hold a note—and a grudge—forever.
• Mr. Glen – floor manager and fixer, smooth and unshakable. Once disarmed a gunman with a dinner fork.
• Emilio – bartender, knows every cocktail and every secret worth hearing. Keeps his own ledger under the bar.

Regulars

• Alderpersons and CPD brass seated near the front—always comped, always watched.
• Outfit soldiers using back booths for coded sit-downs.
• Foreign dignitaries and diplomats with questionable visas.
• Veil scholars quietly watching performances for supernatural bleed-throughs.

Notes

• Some nights, the band plays a melody no one remembers writing—and the lights dim on their own.
• The private lounge behind the stage has a mirror that doesn’t show reflections—only intentions.
• If a performer hits a certain pitch, the wine in glasses nearby begins to ripple or boil.
• Frankie keeps a red envelope under the bar. If it ever disappears, the club closes—for good.
• There’s a sealed door in the basement. The doormen say it leads to nowhere. The old timers say otherwise.