Jeffrey Bilhuber's Design Basics, by Jeffrey Bilhuber with Annette Tapert. Rizzoli, 208 pp., $39.95

I've just spent three hours re-arranging the wall-to-wall bookcase in my dining room, bringing the spines of all the books into alignment with the edges of the shelves. This strange maneuver-which involved ditching many yellowed photos of our long-dead Springer spaniel-was prompted by advice in a new book, Jeffrey Bilhuber's Design Basics . In Mr. Bilhuber's view, clearing away my tchotchkes and lining up my books would establish "a clear, clean, and edited straight line that brings an instant sense of order"-and damned if he wasn't right.

Jeffrey Bilhuber, for those unfamiliar with interior design, is at the top of the decorating heap these days, mentioned in the same breath as icons like Billy Baldwin and Albert Hadley by no less a person than Vogue editor Anna Wintour. He's the avatar of something called American Modernism, a style considered-at least in the design world-to be simple, clean and unpretentious. (Adjectives such as "simple" and "clean" are relative, of course; the gorgeous rooms pictured in this lavishly illustrated book are decorated to the max and-to the undiscerning eye of this average Manhattanite-bear the unmistakable imprint of gay guys with incredible taste.)

The thesis of Mr. Bilhuber's book is simple. "Dear reader," he says, "anyone can understand and use the concepts of great design." A lovely idea, all right, but it initially struck me as naïve-like thinking that anyone can be model-thin or grow up to be President. After all, haven't advances in genetics confirmed that a lot of what we can and can't be is hard-wired? And Lord knows recent events have shown that some people get to be President largely because their fathers were. As far as I can see, our body types, our taste in area rugs and our foreign policy all bear sad witness to the unevenness of life's playing field; to believe otherwise is just to ask for trouble.

Yet Jeffrey Bilhuber, God love him, remains an optimist. And amazingly enough, reading his book will almost make you believe him. In chapter after chapter, he exhorts us to trust our instincts: "We're all capable of making the perfect flower arrangement," he says, busily explaining exactly where to cut the stems of roses and what sort of vase to use. He bucks us up even while warning us not to put "predictable and boring" paired candlesticks at each end of the mantel: "You're better than that."

In the course of bolstering our self-esteem, Mr. Bilhuber provides relatively practical advice for spiffing up even the dreariest digs. Use grass cloth or textured wallpaper in the living room, and then you won't have to bother patching holes when you move the pictures around. Install wide baseboards to draw the eye down if you want your ceilings to look higher. Don't try to judge paint from a chip; buy small cans of several shades and cover sheets of poster board with each shade. Only when they've been propped against the wall for a couple of days can you begin to think about making an informed decision.

Even if you're not redecorating, Mr. Bilhuber is a lot of fun to read, as opinionated and sharp-tongued as a decorator on a reality-TV show. (According to a profile in The New York Times , an erstwhile associate is one of the Queer Eye stars.) Loose slipcovers, Mr. Bilhuber feels, have "the allure of a pajama party in a nursing home." Eclecticism stinks: "Why don't we just go home and put all of our furniture and objects in a Cuisinart, give it a good chop and whirl, and call it good design?" he snaps. And blowing the decorating budget on custom cabinets, Wolf ranges and Sub-Zero refrigerators is so haute bourgeois and dull. If you must freshen that utilitarian room, buy a can of paint and get some new drawer pulls at Gracious Home. Or choose the glossier option: "Why not just go out to dinner, for God's sake?"

Of course, the dirty little secret of this elegant book is that advice on a printed page can take you only so far. Really beautiful rooms take shape only with hands-on attention from somebody like Mr. Bilhuber-and from what I can gather, that's not going to happen to you or me. Why would he bother with the likes of us, after all, when Anna Wintour and W editor Patrick McCarthy are clamoring for his attention? Even if we got past the receptionist, we couldn't afford him. Though Mr. Bilhuber is discreet about the dollar value of his services, he does allude to clients "shelling out regular checks in the $5,000 to $25,000 range" in the course of redecorating. Other clues to the nature of his preferred clientele lie in throwaway sentences: At one point, he concedes that "perhaps you don't need seating for twelve in the dining room." And it's probably no accident that Mr. Bilhuber's publicity tour will take him to Bergdorf Goodman, Christie's and Neiman Marcus instead of Borders and Home Depot.

Mr. Bilhuber is so eager to help us that he ignores the flaws in the be-your-own-decorator reasoning, but it emerges unbidden when he describes the decorator-client relationship. "A good design professional seeks to sketch a portrait of the client's life that is cohesive and coherent," he says, adding that "learning to be a designer is learning about yourself." But isn't that the problem? Most people's lives are fragmented and incoherent, so even with all the optimism in the world, how can we create spaces that aren't? What if I know enough about myself to know that I have no clue what goes with what and no particular aptitude for figuring it out? Does that mean I can't have a living room as pretty as the ones in Mr. Bilhuber's book?

Probably, dear reader. But you and I can follow some of his advice, like turning the TV off and the music on, or putting flowers on the bedside table even if we're not expecting company. And it's funny, but I find the edited straight line of my bookshelves remarkably soothing, all by itself.

JoAnn Gutin is a science writer and editor in New York.

Sources familiar with Mr. Bouley's culinary operations said the talented and mercurial chef has shelved plans to open Bouley at Home, a three-story TriBeCa emporium of fresh, organic produce, meats, fish, prepared foods and kitchen utensils.

Those sources told The Transom that Mr. Bouley has relinquished the 18,000-square-foot space at 166 Duane Street (the building is also known as the Duane Park Building and 25 Hudson Street) in which he had planned to open Bouley at Home. According to one of the sources, the lease on the space–which consisted of space on the ground floor and in the basement, as well as a second-floor apartment that was to be converted for commercial use–was repurchased by Hudu Partners, which owns the retail space in the building. Stories of how Mr. Bouley came to give up the space vary. One rumor is that Mr. Bouley had been forced to give up the space when he failed to make the necessary payments. But one of the sources who spoke to The Transom, on the condition of anonymity, said that Hudu Partners' reclaiming of the property transpired "completely amicably." Officials from Hudu Partners did not return phone calls.

Hand in hand with the news that Mr. Bouley had at least temporarily downscaled his vision for a TriBeCa culinary empire came word that Mr. Bouley's former partner, Warner LeRoy, was eyeing the space that Mr. Bouley had given up. Making things even more interesting, Hudu Partners has a LeRoy connection: The company is involved with relatives of Steven Roth, the Vornado Realty Trust chairman who is reportedly the financial sugar daddy behind Mr. LeRoy's current expansion of the Russian Tea Room. Mr. LeRoy did not return phone calls seeking comment, but a spokesman said she was not aware of Mr. LeRoy's interest in the TriBeCa space and that nevertheless his relationship with

Mr. Bouley remained "cordial."

Yet, one source familiar with the situation said one should not read too much into the Roth-Hudu connection. That same source, however, did not deny that Mr. LeRoy's interest in the Duane Park space might be at least a little bit motivated by his past with Mr. Bouley.

Mr. Bouley and Mr. LeRoy's two-and-a-half-year culinary partnership, which would have involved Mr. LeRoy in Mr. Bouley's TriBeCa plans, turned acrimonious and litigious in 1998. After the two settled, Mr. Bouley went it alone. Without the benefit of Mr. LeRoy's deep pockets, the chef went to Crédit Suisse First Boston for an $8.5 million loan. He is also said to be working with the Wegman supermarket family on some aspects of his plan. Mr. Bouley did not return phone calls from The Transom about the state of his culinary dream. It is a dream that Mr. Bouley has had to repeatedly refashion and postpone since 1996 when he closed Bouley, the restaurant that had made him a culinary superstar, and embarked on his plan of expansion.

In the last few months, Mr. Bouley has expanded the space of his Bouley Bakery, and his Web site indicates that his Viennese-style restaurant, Danube, will open in late June. (Some observers say mid-July.) The source was under the impression that Mr. Bouley had not given up on his idea for Bouley at Home, but added: "I think David has realized that he can't do everything from a time standpoint, and this was the least profitable of the businesses."

The biggest question mark is the future of the old Mohawk Building, at the corner of Duane and Hudson streets, which was slated to house Bouley International, a complex that would feature a cafe, the reincarnation of his restaurant Bouley, a cooking school and a culinary research institute. Work has yet to begin on this building, but one source familiar with the situation said he didn't expect work to begin until at least 2000, or until the one-two punch of Bouley Bakery and Danube starts throwing off some serious cash.

AOL in Divorce Case

When the divorce case of Jesse Kornbluth, editorial director of America Online, and his wife, author Annette Tapert, was assigned a docket number in December 1998, the couple had already been separated for more than a year, and few who knew them thought that the denouement of their marriage would be an acrimonious one. "Annette and Jesse are so amicable it hurts," wrote Liz Smith on Oct. 2, 1997, noting that Mr. Kornbluth was moving out but would live "only 150 feet from his wife and her children, to whom he is close."

Barely six months after Mr. Kornbluth officially filed for divorce, New York's social set is talking about a wrinkle in the negotiations that threatens to upset the couple's strong postmarital relations. Friends of the couple told The Transom that Ms. Tapert ( The Power of Glamour: The Women Who Defined the Magic of Stardom and Slim: Memories of a Rich and Imperfect Life ) is pushing for a cut of the valuable AOL stock options that Mr. Kornbluth received when he began working full-time for AOL in May 1997. While the value of the options depends on, among other variables, when the options vest, estimates of the value of Mr. Kornbluth's options have ranged from $5 million to $20 million.

When it comes to divorce, New York is an equitable distribution state. So Ms. Tapert's alleged interest in Mr. Kornbluth's options is not unusual, except that, as friends point out, Ms. Tapert's financial picture has flourished independently of Mr. Kornbluth. She is engaged to Greenwich, Conn.-based newsprint manufacturer and art collector Joe Allen. In July 1998, the couple purchased a $7.35 million, seven-room, David Easton-decorated co-op apartment overlooking the Frick Museum at 2 East 70th Street. Mr. Allen declined to comment for this story, although he did confirm that he and Ms. Tapert were engaged.

Given Ms. Tapert's recent good fortune, there are some friends who are of the opinion that Ms. Tapert should get on with her life. But one source familiar with the situation said that Ms. Tapert wants to have "some kind of nest egg protection for her children."

Ms. Tapert did not return calls seeking comment, and Mr. Kornbluth declined to discuss the matter, but through him, the couple issued a joint statement: "We regret that the divorce of two people who aren't public figures has become a matter of media interest. There is one fact in this story: Our divorce hasn't been finalized. Everything else is speculation, and inaccurate at that. We look forward to the time when our divorce is official and the speculation ends."

Oh, Behave !

A long-held rule of movie-premiere etiquette states that celebrities must not experience an elevated heart rate when it comes to getting prime cinema seats. On June 7, that rule was broken in a surreal way.

The setting was an invitation-only screening of New Line Cinema's Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me . A celebrity crowd that included actors Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon and their three kids; comedian Jerry Seinfeld; director Jonathan Demme; Naomi, Wynonna and Ashley Judd; Dr. Bob Arnott and comedian Al Franken (wearing khaki shorts and a cellular phone clipped to his belt) arrived at City Cinema One on Third Avenue and 60th Street to find that–as is usually the case with film premieres–much of the theater had been taped off and reserved for celebrity seating.

Alas, the theater's air-conditioning was not working, and after the crowd stewed in its own juices for a good half-hour, New Line president Michael Lynne announced that the screening was being moved three blocks down Third Avenue to the Gotham Cinema. Before Mr. Lynne finished his sentence, much of the audience was dashing up the aisles, driven by the unspoken knowledge that there would be no reserved seats at the next theater . Out on Third Avenue, the crowd blew by Mr. Robbins, who had become separated from Ms. Sarandon and the kids. Mr. Robbins, who was wearing tiny sunglasses, seemed torn between keeping up with the masses and finding his brood. "Where's my family?" he was heard saying.

The extremely moist crowd ended up massed outside the glass doors of the Gotham. On the other side of the doors, a group of theater workers stood looking terrified.

"Let us in! Let us in!" some premiere-goers began chanting. "Cincinnati, 1979," said one tall, bearded man, referring to the The Who

concert in which 11 people were trampled.

A tall theater employee squeezed through the door and shouted something about nobody getting in until an orderly line was formed. A few people sneered. A woman who was with Michael Gelman, executive producer of Live With Regis and Kathie Lee , tugged at his sleeve and tried to get him to leave. Mr. Gelman shrugged her off. The doors opened and the crowd pressed forward, strange hands against sweat-soaked linen-clad backs. A 50-yard, obstacle-laden dash to the seats lay ahead, and the hard smile on Mr. Gelman's face suggested that he was looking forward to the challenge.

The Transom Also Hears …

The surreal experience that awaited The Transom at the Austin Powers screening was preceded by an unusual encounter with Public Advocate Mark Green. Mr. Green approached The Transom at a cocktail party prior to the screening and shook our hand. "Enjoyed our lunch," he said. The Transom thought back on 15 years of dining experiences and replied: "We've never had lunch." Mr. Green did not falter. "Well, then, we should," he said, then jetted into the crowd.