<p>This is the Palm Springs nobody photographs. The one that exists after the pools go quiet and the tourists go to bed — where the right introduction gets you through a gate at the top of a switchback road, where a house made entirely of glass and money appears out of the dark like a fever dream.</p><p>Inside: art you've seen in museums. Champagne that costs more than their rent. And men — powerful, careful, married men — who have arranged everything with the quiet efficiency of people who've never once had to ask twice.</p><p>They're not buying company.</p><p>They're buying a version of themselves they can only afford to be for one night.</p><p>Two hustlers from the wrong side of Palm Canyon Drive just got let into the room where Palm Springs keeps its secrets.</p>
