Ramona Singer and Sonja Tremont-Morgan. (Photo by Lenny Stucker)

After some time spent roving the idyllic Hamptons lanes last Saturday, The Observer found ourselves at a charity gala honoring the music of Billy Joel. The Michael J. Fox Foundation’s Team Fox had teamed up with the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society to put on the snazzy soiree.

Onstage, a Billy Joel tribute band was playing at considerable volume. We asked the brave souls seated near the front how they felt about the idea of setting up a tribute band.

M.C. and host for the evening Gina Giordan was keen to point out that she did not choose the band, and was unconvinced that anyone could compare to the legendary Billy Joel.

“I have had the pleasure of interviewing Billy Joel numerous times,” Ms. Giordan told us. “There is only one Billy Joel, and when he performs, you know why.”

Comedian Jackie Martling appeared to be of two minds over whether he would want a comedy tribute group set up in his honor.

“I’d be honored, although I’d hate it if they were good,” Mr. Martling bellowed over the blare from the stage. “No I wouldn’t. Yes I would.” And what if the tribute group was actually better than him? “That’s impossible! I was going to train people to tell my jokes [at a school].”

The band was at least playing for some worthwhile causes. The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society is the world’s largest nonprofit health organization dedicated to funding blood cancer research. The Michael J. Fox Foundation is committed to finding a cure for Parkinson’s disease through funded research and to ensuring the development of improved therapies for those living with the disease.

For some guests attending, such as celebrity housewife Ramona Singer, these causes were unfortunately closer to home.

“My mother actually passed away from leukemia,” she confided.

Michael J. Fox, who was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 1991, has since become an activist for research toward finding a cure, which led him to create his foundation.

Mr. Martling, who has worked with Mr. Fox, remarked with a mischievous grin that he knew him more intimately than most.

“I love Michael J. Fox,” he told us playfully. “He’s a great kisser.” Mr. Martling’s blonde bombshell of a girlfriend, seated loyally beside him, raised her eyes to the two-stories-high ceiling.

Bromance was blossoming elsewhere in the packed studio, as Zachary Tunick articulated his feelings about the owner of East Hampton Studio, Michael Wudyka. “He’s a rugged, good-looking man who’s got a heart of gold and is very sensitive,” he related.

Inspired by Mr. Fox’s Back To The Future franchise, The Observer asked guests what time period they would travel to if they were equipped with Doc’s fabulous time machine. Ms. Singer wanted to explore the court of Louis XIV, where the Sun King was surrounded by devastatingly beautiful and politically empowered mistresses.

“Women had to have their power through their beauty at court,” Ms. Singer explained. “The whole thing of, like, the French court, the English court, that really intrigues me. I read historical novels.” Perhaps for Ms. Singer, the Real Housewives of New York City are a modern version of Louis XIV’s mistresses at the glamorous royal court?

A few guests would only bounce back to the past to change history. Ms. Giordan wanted to journey “back in time just enough to meet and marry my soul mate, singer/songwriter Jeff Buckley.”

Partygoer Jack Lester had a heroic mission in mind—and rather a dark one.

“I would want to go back to 1938 ... so that I could assassinate Adolf Hitler,” Mr. Lester replied brusquely, as if this were the most obvious choice imaginable. Murder indeed appeared to be on his mind as he watched the reality-TV housewives swanning around the studio.

“What I think is outrageous is how the Housewives of New York City have become worthy of celebrity status. Why is that?” Mr. Lester asked The Observer. Interviewer and interviewee seemed to have traded places. “The housewives themselves don’t see the irony. They really think they are celebrities. They don’t see the absurdity of it. They really believe that they have contributed something to our culture.”

Mr. Martling, being one of the older (and wiser) guests at the party, said he would rather return to the days of his own youth than an earlier period in history.

“There are so many romantic answers to that, but there are so many places you could go where they wouldn’t have toilets and they wouldn’t have showers,” Mr. Martling retorted, shrugging his shoulders. “It would be horribly uncomfortable. In my life personally, I’d like to go back to high school.”

Charmed by the whirl of cocktails and canapés, we had completely lost track of time. We beat a hasty exit, pausing to contemplate the idea of summer vacation and the waning of another summer Out East.

jbenhamou@observer.com

Newly inked.

As she settles into a "sober" lifestyle and tries to crawl her way back to choice roles, Lindsay Lohan, well, she needs inspiration. And who to turn to for that? Billy Joel, apparently.

TMZ revealed that the actress -- and recent muse to high-minded artists -- stopped by her neighborhood tattoo parlor to pay tribute to her fellow Long Island native, the Piano Man himself, by permanently inking lyrics from his song "I Go To Extremes" on her side.

"Clear as a crystal, sharp as a knife / I feel like I'm in the prime of my life," reads the chosen lines from Mr. Joel's composition. We would't doubt it Lindsay.

As is customary with TMZ articles, the scoop lacks a byline, but we're guessing it's by the resident music critic.

Pretty good song ... doesn't hold a candle to "We Didn't Start The Fire" though.

That's just one person's opinion! Leave any commentary and exegesis regarding late-period Billy Joel in the comments below.

And here's the tattoo.

The room, which began to fill up as Ms. Joel’s set approached, was adorned with a Dom Pérignon banner, giving the space the feel of a Gilded Age DJ booth, and the attendees skewed decidedly non-pensioner, and more outer-borough, than the usual cabaret bunch.

“This is a fairly different crowd than is usually at these things,” said one observer, as a group at an adjacent tables passed iPhones among themselves. “Usually there are a fair number of people who have to be walked in,” she continued. “I would say for sure this is a much younger crowd than usual. And a fair number of people who are unhappy, like they just decided to do this because they heard it was happening.”

The space has a storied history, and in fact the hallway outside was hung with black-and-white images of the Plaza’s heyday: Aristotle and Jackie Onassis escorting a school-age John Kennedy Jr., Mia Farrow and Frank Sinatra at Truman Capote’s Black and White Ball, Dr. Joyce Brothers surrounded by the Beatles. Among these, somewhat incongruously, was the beaming, poster-size image of Ms. Joel, all teeth and chest, behind a piano.

Ms. Joel, who has been pursing a music career with mixed results for several years, is beginning a regular Monday-night engagement at the Plaza.

“I’m pretty sure this is a lot of her extended family sitting to our right,” the observer noted, gesturing to a large table of men in large cuff links and large tie knots, and women with flat-ironed hair. “If I was stoned, I would adore this dessert,” she said, absently digging into the Oak Room’s signature chocolate dish, the Oak Bar. “Every table around us is talking about percentages,” she pointed out. And it was the case. To one side was a discussion of real estate margins, while to the other the relative value of Christmas gifts given and received was being debated.

Ms. Joel’s backing band took the stage first, and they were a lithe and stylish bunch, wearing skinny jeans, skinny ties and skinny shirts. The mop-top group looked more like an early aughts opening act at Brownie’s than a cabaret ensemble. “The poor guys. They’re like little Walkmen onstage,” said the observer, referring to the downtown indie band. “They must feel really awkward about playing this place.”

Waiting in the wings, Ms. Joel spit her gum into a napkin while a woman flitted around her face with a make-up brush. Taking a quick swig from a glass of whiskey, she smiled into the room and mounted the stage.

Wearing Yves Saint Laurent heels and a deep purple Zac Posen dress with an A-line skirt and ample décolletage, the 25-year-old Ms. Joel took her place behind the microphone. The scene resembled nothing so much as a gender reversal of Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love” video, with the girl in the party dress at the front and the eerily similar boy-waifs in monochrome swaying in time behind her.

Joel made her way through several Top 40–sounding songs that oscillated between bubble-gum and forced emotional urgency, stitched together with catchy choruses, before decamping to the keyboard.

“I’m gonna walk over to the piano now and do some solo stuff now. Does that work for you guys?” The generous crowd responded with a unanimous yes, and Ms. Joel seated herself behind the baby grand. “I was really influenced by Pink Floyd.” She stopped abruptly and said, “Hold on, I think I’m being saved.” A member of the band hovered behind her and it seemed he might be dissuading her from discussing Pink Floyd as an influence. But he was only helping adjust her chair. She continued, “I was thinking about ‘Comfortably Numb’ when I wrote this. I think you guys will hear that.” Comfortable numbness did come to mind.

Rejoining Joel onstage, the band began strumming the opening chords of “Ring of Fire” and it was hard not to fear for the rendition that was on its way. An odd thing happened, however: She actually made it work.

It turns out Ms. Joel can’t smolder, brood, emote, slut it up, stare it down, look at it sideways, or strip it bare—or maybe even sing—but she can effervesce. Her version of Johnny Cash’s dark anthem takes on a bouncy insouciance, and as she pantomimes along to the song—raised eyebrows, selectively placed smiles to the crowd, and sly looks over her shoulder—Ms. Joel takes on the endearing air of a Tennessee deacon’s daughter playing the church dance.  She would kill in a Broadway musical.

By contrast, as if to show this sort of thing is her forte, Ms. Joel later launched into the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction,” in a barely recognizable arrangement. (It is a testament to the greatness of the song that, even in this, um, alien form, it is still impossible not to tap one’s feet to it.)

Abandoning the sketchy foray into rock legend, the smiley chanteuse returned to what is clearly her home turf. Her current single, “Notice Me,” has the rollicking girlishness that seems to suit her best, and the set ended on a decidedly upbeat note.

After the show, Ms. Joel was solicitous, repeatedly asking how the show was. Sweetly, she told The Observer, “I’m trying to cover all ends of the spectrum. Everybody always says to me, what’s your target audience? I’d love to hit everybody. I’d love to relate to young, old, men, women, you know, a lot of where I’m coming from is very feminine. At the same time, I want to bring in that sex appeal and that sauciness to gain the male crowd.”

She continued, talking of musical influences like Radiohead, June Carter, Regina Spektor and Lily Allen. But of the musical multitudes she contains, certainly there is one she conspicuously omitted.

“Everybody knows that I’m his daughter,” she said, acknowledging the Piano Man in the room. “It’s a very fine like to walk, because I of course don’t want to do his material regularly, because I have to make it on my own, and with my own material. But it’s such a huge influence, it feels dishonest to ignore it. My goal is to gain credibility on my own with out disrespecting my roots, where I come from. If you come back next week, I’m doing like an ode to my dad, just one song.”

“I think my dad’s gonna be here,” she added conspiratorially.

"Of course I do!" said Rudolph Giuliani jovially when the Transom asked if he remembered the 1987 release of the original Wall Street. "I was the U.S. attorney when that movie was done the first time. It was about my cases! Boeski, Milken, Levine. Sure. I remember it in great detail--the accurate parts and the inaccurate parts!" He wagged his finger like a scolding yenta.

The former mayor waited to be shepherded to his seat with wife Judith at Sunday evening's Southampton Cinema screening of Wall Street II: Money Never Sleeps. The Watermill residents arrived soon before the theater dimmed and were instructed by publicist Peggy Siegel, "You have to step over Alfred Taubman!" She waved toward two vacant seats in the middle of a row at the back of the theater.

Minutes earlier, real estate mogul Aby Rosen also squeezed past Mr. Taubman into the deeper vacancies of the row, causing the shopping mall magnate to exclaim drolly, "Aby, you're a jock!"

Mr. Taubman took advantage of his coveted position on the aisle, stretching his cognac suede loafer into the walkway, a vermillion sock revealed in the extension. The retail giant splayed his knees to make way for Mrs. Giuliani, who offered an uncomfortable, "Hi, Al, how are you?" while shimmying past.

The screening assembled a convenient coterie of finance heavyweights, including Leon Black, Steve Schwartzman and Pete Peterson, as well as Martha Stewart. White Birch Paper billionaire Peter Brant, whose explosive divorce from model Stephanie Seymour made fodder for the cover of the Times Sunday Styles section that morning, attended the screening with sons Harry and Peter Jr.

Howard Stern arrived with wife Beth Otrosky, who clung sweetly to her husband in a clingy striped shift dress.

"Oh my God, I don't even remember. I just remember I loved it," said the radio personality of his first time seeing the original. "I was in New York, I was working at KROQ," he recalled, "and I don't remember anything specifically about that time--just that I loved the movie."

What does the couple do in the Hamptons on a rainy day?

"Come to the movies," Ms. Otrosky said.

"Play chess," countered her husband.

"This is my first summer out here, and this is the first time I've experienced the rain," admitted London native and Jimmy Choo creatrice Tamara Mellon. "So today I stayed in and watched DVDs with my daughter." What did they watch? "Disney movies."

Ms. Mellon, teetering in python heels, told the Transom nostalgically of her first time seeing the original film: "Oh, it was one of my favorite movies of the time, I was in London. I think I had just left school in Switzerland and I was starting my first job working at Brown's."

Asked if she knew anyone then with a job like the ones depicted in the film, the designer shrugged wistfully, "I was too young."

An A-list overflow forced latecomers and second-stringers to a second theater. Ms. Mellon opted to join the Siberia-bound in lieu of a first-row seat. The designer, who wore an haute army jacket, discovered a shortage of seats as her plus-one beckoned her to the two front-row seats he had saved.

"Is there nothing else?" she asked.

W editor Stefano Tonchi, in a black suit that glimmered with the subtlest iridescence, paced up the aisle exasperated. When approached by the Transom, he put up both hands like the victim of a holdup, "I'm sorry, I must find a seat."

Polo preeminence Nacho Figueras and wife Delfina Blacquier chatted at the back of the theater with David and Julia Koch, who were seated in the back row. Ms. Koch eagerly asked where the couple were sitting.

"We have to go to the second screening room, I think," Mr. Figueras said.

Ms. Koch then asked if the couple would be coming to the post-screening dinner held at a private Southampton residence, to which the polo couple replied deftly, "Yes, if we find someone to watch the kids."

What does Billy Joel ex and gourmet du jour Katie Lee do on rainy Hamptons days? Cook, of course!

"Today I made a barbecue brisket in my slow-cooker and had friends over and ate and lay around. It was a really good day for doing nothing," said the pale brunette, hair down and frizz-less despite the downpour.

What were you doing in the late '80s when the first Wall Street was released in theaters?

"Well, I guess I was a toddler."

"I've seen Wall Street 1 tons of times," Closing Bell co-anchor Maria Bartiromo told the Transom, "but I don't remember the first time I saw it."

Ms. Bartiromo, who has several cameos in the sequel, added, "But, you know, in this one there were some cameos with some CNBC people, so we're excited."

Have you ever seen yourself onscreen before?

"Actually I have; I mean, I'm on every day."

After the introduction of the film, Ms. Siegel notified guests, "I just want you to know there are a ton of cameos, so it's O.K. to cheer for your friends!" (The only theaterwide cheering was for Ms. Siegel's own brief appearance in the film.)

Shuffling out of the theater, author Tom Wolfe, birdlike and genteel in his Twainian white suit, told the Transom of the sequel: "I thought it was very nice that money solved everything. You know, a hundred thousand at the end and everyone lived happily ever after, you've just gotta know where to put your money."

"No, Mr. Wolfe, 100 million," the Transom pointed out.

"I mean a million," the writer amended, waving one hand to indicate how irrelevant the increment.

The Last Play at Shea traces the history of Shea Stadium (lovingly called a "dump" by former players and fans) from when it was a glint in Robert Moses' eye to the arrival of The Beatles to the Miracle Mets in 1969 to Bill Buckner in 1986 to even September 11. It's a powerful threadline for a stadium and franchise that always played also-ran to their more successful older brothers in the Bronx. And along the way, we're treated to the rise of Mr. Joel's career: From his humble beginnings on Long Island to his marriage to supermodel Christie Brinkley and beyond.

The best documentaries—for example, Joan Rivers — A Piece of Work—put their subjects under the microscope to see and inspect the warts. Mr. Crowder, though, too often treats Mr. Joel with kid gloves. Not that it needed to be some tabloid blotter, but there is barely a mention of his missteps and transgressions over the last decade. And since the last half of the film is almost solely about Mr. Joel, the narrative conflict is lost; by the time Paul McCartney shows up to surprise the audience during the concert—let it be known that Sir Paul can still give you goosebumps even now—the film has become something akin to a Time-Life infomercial. The Last Play at Shea is great fun, but too often the great documentary it could have been isn't on the screen.

Afterward, news broke that he'd be selling off side-by-side homes in the Hamptons for $35 million.

According to a deed filed Wednesday, he's also parting with the Perry Street townhouse that he and Ms. Lee Joel bought in 2005 for $5.9 million from the artist and heir Seward Johnson. Earlier this month, the deed says, Mr. Joel sold his share in the house to his ex-wife for $3 million.

"This deed is pursuant to the separation," a spokesperson for Mr. Joel said. "That's it."

mabelson@observer.com

Perhaps it had something to do with how the opera has evolved socially since the days when Countess Olenska and Newland Archer could use the occasion to gaze at one another across the theatre. Does the opening night still matter as much in New York society as it once did?

“No,” said singer Billy Joel, who arrived with a date, a pretty brunette by the name of Deborah Dampiere, who was wearing a floor-length Badgley Mischka gown. “I still think people want to go because it’s the beginning of the fall and it’s a thing to do but I think those days of La Belle Epoque are over.”

Reporters were interested in the opera of Mr. Joel’s personal life and inquired about the state of his divorce proceedings from Katie Lee Joel, right in front of his date. His publicist protested, but the singer answered. “It’s a free country, she can ask whatever she wants,” he told the publicist. “How are the divorce proceedings going? I don’t know. Ask my lawyer.”

“For now, I’m enjoying dating this lovely lady,” he later added.

Designer Jason Wu arrived with Julie Macklowe, wife of real estate developer William Macklowe and portfolio manager at Macklowe Asset Management. Ms. Macklowe was wearing one of Mr. Wu’s ruffled mini-dresses from the Spring ’10 collection, which he showed just last week.

“Straight off the runway!” bragged Mr. Wu. “Hot off the presses!” added Ms. Macklowe and they both laughed. This was Mr. Wu’s first time at the Met Opera, but not Ms. Macklowe’s.

“I think listening to beautiful music is a long trend,” Ms. Macklowe said of the opera tradition. “It’s an art just like fashion, but it’s always more about the production than actually seeing and being seen.”

Gravel-voiced actor Harvey Fierstein actually seemed to know something about the opera. He went to the old Metropolitan Opera House on Broadway as a child and in the late 70s, worked in the coat room downstairs at Lincoln Center to see Beverly Sills perform her last show in New York. “I wanted to see it, but I couldn’t afford a ticket,” said Mr. Fierstein.

“I wish more people would figure out that opera is wonderful, that it’s not scary,” he said. And what makes it so scary?  “It’s PBS! It’s PBS. But it’s not true. I mean everyone dies in this opera. There’s blood everywhere. It’s wonderful.”

Next came two, very tall, pregnant ladies in alarming high heels: model Karolina Kurkova and actress Leelee Sobieski, who is engaged to designer Adam Kimmel.

Ms. Sobieski, wearing a knee-length red Hermes dress and rubbing her belly, said she is keeping the sex of the baby a secret, the wedding might be in the spring and in the meantime, she is eating lots of ice cream and mac 'n' cheese. “I like little-kid food,” she said.

Actor Ed Norton snuck in behind Ms. Sobieski but did not stop to talk to the Transom. Neither did designer Diane von Furstenberg, who was wearing a glittery teal number and arrived husband, Barry Diller. “No, no. We’ve got to go,” she said. Mr. Diller lovingly patted her backside as they entered the opera house.  

Designer Zac Posen was supposed to attend with actress Mischa Barton, but by 6:45, the national anthem music had been played and the show had started. Mr. Posen eventually came and ran inside and Ms. Barton arrived separately, closer to the intermission.  

At the time, Mr. Jarvis—a former magazine editor-turned-digital evangelist—responded by calling Mr. Rosenbaum "a pissy third grader," which sparked an on-going war of words and inspired The Observer's John Koblin to spend some time with The Web Guru in November.

The war continues with Mr. Rosenbaum's latest Slate column from Friday, all about Billy Joel, "The Worst Pop Singer Ever."

In the middle of a pointed, at times brutal, critique of Mr. Joel's work, Mr. Rosenbaum offers this tiny aside:

Stay turned for Mr. Jarvis' counter-attack-ack-ack-ack.

[R. L. Stine at 92nd Street Y, 1395 Lexington Avenue, 8:15 p.m., www.92y.org; Red Sky at Night, Sailor’s Delight Fall Fund-Raiser, the Frying Pan, Pier 63, West 23rd Street, 8 p.m., www.hudsonsailing.org; Obama concert at the Hammerstein Ballroom, 8:30 p.m., 212-763-4850]

mbryan@observer.com

Levi Johnston, the young gentleman behind 17-year-old Bristol’s Palin’s pregnancy, has changed his Myspace status to “In A Relationship” but still seems a bit ambivalent about his new role. [US Weekly]

A group of “concerned citizens” calling themselves Anonymous plans to picket the opening night of Katie Holmes’s Broadway debut in All My Sons in an effort to “save” the actress. We wish them the best of luck. [The Scoop]

MSNBC is looking to glam up the already beloved Rachel Maddow before the premiere of her new prime time show. [P6]

Kanye West paid $15,000 for 50 pairs of Carrera sunglasses—and he didn’t even ask for a bulk discount! [Showbiz Spy]

Publicist and reckless driver Lizzie Grubman is expecting twins. [P6]