Monica Yant Kinney: At the Marquis, empty promises

In promotional materials, the Marquis Apartments promise luxury living, suburban serenity, and a sweeping view of King of Prussia.

The 641-unit complex boasts of being an "exclusive, 24-hour gated community" with a "million dollar fitness center." The Marquis' 1,200 residents enjoy an on-site restaurant, two pools, and a party space called "the elegant Essex Room."

For all this, and more, tenants pay up to $1,500 a month in rent.

But luxury, like politics and Phillies trades, is a subject of fierce debate. It's why I trekked out to the Marquis twice in recent weeks.

Is standing sewage an amenity? What's a gated community without a security guard at the gate?

Imagine you lived on the sixth floor with lousy air-conditioning and erratically operating elevators. Would you call that the lap of luxury or false advertising?

At my first visit, in mid-December, residents in two of the five buildings had endured nearly a week without hot water. Over two hours, 20 strangers shared with me startlingly similar stories.

They complained of rodent infestations, water leaks, and trash rooms emitting noxious odors.

Security guards at the "gated" community have been MIA as long as anyone can remember. As for the "million dollar fitness center?"

"It's filled with broken equipment," griped software engineer Anjan Veeramalla. (And at the time, the indoor pool had been drained.)

As angry as they are, most of the tenants asked not to be identified.

No one's quite sure how or why, but the Marquis is a magnet for foreign professionals lured to take skilled technical jobs. The renters I met included IT experts and financial whizzes from India, Egypt, and Pakistan. They're in the United States legally, but not permanently.

"We don't know our rights," one man explained. "We aren't here to make trouble."

In the sweltering summer of 2008, Shreyash Mehrotra withheld rent for two months to protest the broken air-conditioning that had attracted Action News. But the Indian IT worker didn't dare push harder, lest he risk his career or credit.

"You must pay rent," he reasoned. "If not, they will hurt you."

Just before Christmas, I made my second visit to the Marquis - this time at the behest of its owners at Metropolitan Properties of America in Boston. On this tour, district manager Peggy DeCaro and spokesman Philip Pennellatore showed me renovated units, redecorated lobbies, and a freshly filled pool.

"Quality of life for residents is job number one," Pennellatore said.

"From a lightbulb to a leak," DeCaro added, "I take it seriously."

Pennellatore handed me a fact sheet listing $4 million in upgrades and e-mail testimonials from tenants who just love the place. He even shared photos of children posing with a hired Santa.

I had paperwork, too - a history of violations collected by Upper Merion Township and the Montgomery County Department of Health. Twice in the last two years, township officials threatened to condemn the Marquis as "unfit for habitation." Both times, management responded to a crisis, like standing sewage, but didn't address more chronic problems.

"It seems to us that management doesn't want to make major changes to revamp all the buildings," noted Angela Harris, the township's property-maintenance officer. "But people are paying good money to live there. They shouldn't have to worry about the heat or roaches."

"They fix one thing, then another thing breaks," added John Waters, Upper Merion's fire marshal. "We're in this continuous cycle that creates real inconvenience."

The problems are so chronic, he said, "we've advised residents to take legal action."

Which brings me back to my original question. Can a troubled apartment complex still be luxurious?

"It has a good location," Harris concluded, "but I wouldn't consider the Marquis luxury anymore."