Troubled Waters At the Salon Spa

Salons at this level have their own culture, and much of the trade is based on lofty image, intimate atmosphere and personal attention. As opposed to most businesses, where discussion of personal appearance and physical contact is taboo, these are a salon's stock in trade. Women come in and say, "Make me beautiful," if not "Make me sexy." The spicy bon mot, the slightly outrageous hairdresser, the magazines with hairstyles and celebrity gossip, the hot stone massages, the delicate facial -- what's on sale in any high-end salon is sensuality and physical appeal.

No one in Washington has understood this dynamic over the past decade better than Chreky and his wife and business partner, Serena. Their Web site promises clients that when they "cross the threshold" of the salon they will discover the "subtle allure of a Tuscan retreat. . . . See? Your tension is already lifting. This is Andre Chreky. This is just the beginning. The best is yet to come." The site promises clients will leave "purring with pleasure."

Part of a mini-dynasty in the trade (Chreky's brother and sister also own downtown salons, and other relatives maintain salons in the suburbs), Chreky honed his craft at both of his siblings' shops before opening his own in 1997.

Chreky's talent as a hairdresser, his gregarious personality and his driving work ethic helped propel the salon to the top of the social circuit, including a three-year stint with the ultimate Washington plum, White House work. The senior Bush family even donated a signed portrait of both Bush presidents to one of the salon's charity fundraisers.

"The salon, if I come in tired, the salon is tired," he testified during an unrelated 2005 hearing in Virginia. "If I sit down, everybody is sitting. I'm the energy in the salon. People feel it."

Chreky turned this energy into profit. He submitted a pay stub during that Virginia proceeding showing his 2003 salary to be more than $500,000 -- which did not include the salary of his wife, the company's vice president.

As Chreky's wealth accumulated, he and his wife also lent the salon's prestige to charity.

From 1999 to 2005, the Chrekys contributed to the Children's National Medical Center by running a "Salon-a-Thon": 24 straight hours of salon service, contributing all proceeds to the hospital via The Washington Post's annual fundraising drive. The last four years, the day generated more than $100,000 in donations annually, according to lists of contributions published in The Post.

"They were truly doing this out of the goodness of their hearts, and they really poured themselves into it," said Lisa Cantu, the hospital's manager of events and promotions. "They were phenomenal."

Bob Levey, the former Post columnist who directed the fundraiser for more than 20 years, in print routinely thanked "the wonderful people" at the salon for their contributions, which were, by far, the largest donations made to the drive.

Even his critics acknowledge that Chreky worked relentlessly to build the business into one of Washington's best.

"He has a lot of charisma," says Jeremy Buchanan, a former employee whom Chreky unsuccessfully sued after he joined Thong in her new salon. "He was the don of the place. But he runs it like a don."