Sarah Jessica Parker (Patrick McMullan)

“Sarah Jessica invited me,” said television personality Amy Sedaris. “I’ve never even been to the ballet!” The actress, who played Sarah Jessica Parker’s publisher on Sex and the City, was standing alone in the midst of a crowded cocktail party before the New York City Ballet’s Fall Gala at Lincoln Center last Thursday. Ms. Parker, one of the evening’s co-chairs and a friend of the guest of honor, tan and glam designer Valentino Garavani, had yet to walk the red carpet.

“I love the sets, though,” said the ballet neophyte, in a tea-length dress as starchy as a tutu. “But he just told me”—she gestured at a nearby party guest—“that the stage is very bare tonight!”

Ms. Sedaris had slightly more knowledge about the evening’s program than did broadcasting icon Barbara Walters. We asked her what her favorite ballet was. “Tell me what the ballet is tonight,” she told us gamely, “and I’ll tell you it’s my favorite!”

We inquired about the just-announced joint interview with Barack and Michelle Obama on The View the following week. Would Ms. Walters go hard or soft on the president and first lady? “Both hard and soft!” she told us. “We’ve been writing questions all day!

“You know, there are five women asking questions, and two interview subjects—both of them,” she continued, before the conversation was interrupted by a magenta-clad, jewel-bedecked interloper. “The bar would not serve me!” she shouted. It was Princess Firyal of Jordan.

“This is a reporter,” said Ms. Walters.

“So write that!” the princess cried. “Write that they are closed, that they would not even serve me two sips of water!”

We promised we would denote the bar’s closure at the very moment we glimpsed Iman snapping pictures with well-wishers. “Let’s do a prom photo!,” said a male friend of hers. We caught her as she entered the crush of people in the entryway to the bar area. “Follow me,” she exhorted, leading us to the quieter balcony, which overlooked a slew of people rushing through the lobby to claim their seats. Who were we to argue? We asked about her relationship with Valentino, the designer who’d crafted the costumes for the evening’s ballet. “He’s a great host. He makes sure a huge party feels like an intimate gathering. He has staff that helps him—but it feels as though he’s doing it all himself! There are people doing it, but he’s very involved.”

Anjelica Huston paused in her conversation with Ron Rifkin (who’d played one of Carrie Bradshaw’s Vogue editors, and who we later saw embracing Ms. Parker—she knows how to gather a posse!) to speak to us about Valentino, for whom she’d worked as a model in the 1980s. She was not wearing Valentino this evening. “The dresses were a bit small for me!” she explained. “These days, he’s designing for small Italian women.”

We’d gotten caught up chatting and had little time to tarry before the ballet began: rushing up the stairs to the first circle, we realized we were behind a group of men gathered around Ms. Parker herself (husband Matthew Broderick was absent, likely performing in his Broadway show, Nice Work If You Can Get It). The group moved as one—to a closed bar station so that Ms. Parker could grab a napkin to spit out her gum—then headed to the center of the first circle, where, all in a row, Iman, Valentino, Ms. Huston and Ms. Parker formed one very glamorous cheering circle. The ballet was preceded by a video in which celebrity friends who couldn’t be present testified to Valentino’s genius. Hugh Jackman, in a maroon henley, talked about how Valentino criticized his wardrobe; Meryl Streep read his name in an exaggerated Italian accent; and Rita Wilson commented on his impressive tan.

At intermission, we joined the crowd swarming outside—including Anne Hathaway, in near-transparent embroidered green Valentino. She recalled for us a Valentino party of past vintage—she’d been one of the attendees at his 40th anniversary celebration in Rome. “It was a very good party, with aerial ballet dancers,” the Les Miserables actress told us crisply. She’d first met the designer on the set of The Devil Wears Prada, at which time, we posited, she must have been relatively green.

“Quite,” she replied, turning away.

The curtain rose upon the magical second act, the world premiere of Tchaikovsky’s Bal de Couture, with elaborate black-and-white tulle gowns with hidden fuchsia lining. Valentino himself came out after the ballerinas’ bows to adjust a tutu’d black swan’s crown and announce, “The most important thing is that all of you came to see my clothes—but what is very important is being a part of the New York City Ballet.”

Immediately afterward, as patrons noshed on a dinner of lobster and salmon—and Valentino circled past our table declaring “Oh, I’m so happy!”—Ms. Parker addressed a small circle of reporters (she’d left her matching cape at her dinner seat, next to Bravo executive Andy Cohen, in order to accept thanks for hosting the event and circulate). Asked whether she wished to wear the Valentino ballet costumes she’d seen onstage that evening, she noted, “We all spend a lifetime looking at things we can’t have—that’s the beauty of having eyes. That’s why there’s museums, theater, music!” She said Valentino had first invited her to dinner five or six years ago, and that he was, indeed, a wonderful host.

Rachel Fershleiser, Nick Douglas and Molly McArdle. (Photo credit:Jesse Chan-Norris)

We have reached a stage in the life of New York or the life of literature (or both) where a glance at the bio of most contemporary authors inevitably ends with the words “lives in Brooklyn.” Not surprisingly, a literary festival exists to celebrate the borough’s bibliophiles. The Brooklyn Book Festival, which will take place this Sunday, means that many writers won’t even have to get on the subway in order to read aloud and sit on panels in front of enthusiastic readers.

To kick off the literary festivities prior to the literary Festival, Tumblr, Electric Literature, The New Inquiry and the Los Angeles Review of Books threw a party. (Book people love parties.) Shindigger, being notionally bookish ourselves, followed the parade of tote bags until we reached the Williamsburg event space Public Assembly. After getting a temporary tattoo stamped on our inner wrist, we entered the darkened hall.

The drinks were cheap, the music loud and the lights dim as publishing professionals, indie writers, indie booksellers and indie magazine editors shouted above the DJ to discuss Important Contemporary Fiction and trade industry gossip.

“Anything by Lorrie Moore speaks to a certain kind of person,” novelist Jami Attenberg said when we asked her what books she recommends. “Junot Díaz is a fucking genius—can I say that?” We were unsure if she meant the sentiment or the swear.

“The funny thing about book parties is that you take a bunch of introverts, put them in a room and get them drunk,” said Jason Oberholtzer. Mr. Olberholtzer is a Tumblr success story—his Tumblr, I Love Charts, was turned into a book of the same name.

Tumblr stickers and pins (the sort middle-schoolers affix to their jean jackets) were strewn around the tables. Greenpoint bookstore Word sold books by authors who are speaking at the Brooklyn Book Festival on Sunday, and the paperbacks went first and fast.

“This is my event—$3 gin and juice, what’s not to like?” Edith Zimmerman, editor of The Hairpin, told us when we asked her plans for the festival. Has she read anything exciting recently? “I just read the internet. It’s terrible.” She sipped on her gin and juice, and we suppose she looked laid back.

The Dangers of Proximal Alphabets author Kathleen Alcott looked more Madison Avenue than Bedford Avenue with her bright blond hair, pocketbook and well-cut pastel outfit. Although we thought she was too put-together to be at a party with $3 drink specials, as it turns out, Ms. Alcott does, in fact, live in Brooklyn.

“You must get this all the time, but what are you listening to  now?” we overheard someone ask New Yorker music critic Sasha Frere-Jones.

“I have a Google Doc,” replied Mr. Frere-Jones. We weren’t sure whether he was offering to share the document or not.

“I’m excited about my own book—am I allowed to say that?” asked Cole Stryker, author of Hacking the Future. We assured him he was.

“As far as lit parties, this one has the dimmest lighting. Usually, they have bright lighting,” Mr. Stryker explained. “There are a lot of nervous people here wondering if there’s going to be dancing.”

As we walked away from Mr. Stryker, we heard a cluster of young men in plaid debating the lack of a lifestyle magazine “for teenage guys.”

If, as Mr. Stryker suggested, people were wondering whether there was going to be dancing, they didn’t have to wonder for long.

“People are already dancing. Jesus,” someone said, near the vicinity of the dance floor. It was only 8:30.

Sean Howe, who has a book coming out on the history of Marvel Comics, told us that he was going to speak on a panel with legendary Nation editor Victor Navasky. Was he nervous?

“The last time I was on a panel, I got tunnel vision,” replied Mr. Howe. Why put himself through that again? He shrugged.

Matthew Specktor, the senior fiction editor of the LA Review of Books, a host of the event, represented the West Coast. The drink specials were $3 Brooklyn lager and $3 gin and juice, and the Facebook invitation suggested that the drinks were standing in for a proxy battle between coasts.

Well, who was winning?

“Everyone here is involved in literature, so we are all winning or losing together,” he said, adding, “There is more than enough literary seriousness in LA to power a small nation.”

Although Mr. Spector told us that the East Coast/West Coast divide is false, he did roll his eyes when mentioning Southern Californians’ penchant for yoga and juice cleanses. Since we walked by three yoga studios and one sterile-looking new juice cleanse bar just on the walk from Bedford to the party, we assured him that New York wasn’t that different.

Mr. Spector nodded, we think a bit sadly (although that may have been reflected glow from the disco ball).

“Incandescent joy, unbridled happiness, metaphysical ecstasy,” gushed Rachel Rosenfelt, the editor-in-chief and founder of lit mag The New Inquiry, when asked about her night.

“There are a lot of blazers in play, and the dancing is hilarious,” said Amy Rose Spiegel, a Rookie Mag writer. She had very long false eyelashes, which we found impressive. “I’m having a bawl,” she added, requesting that we spell it to reflect her Jersey pronunciation.

People did seem to be having a good time. Nevertheless, when we heard one partygoer say, “She’s, like, doing something about smells and cultural associations,” we decided it was time to leave.

Morgan Freeman (Patrick McMullan)

“My second favorite film of all time is Shawshank Redemption,” raved Star Jones, wearing a striped hat and cream dress to Monday’s Mandela Day luncheon at the Pool Room at the Four Seasons, “but I want you to know that I watched The Sum of All Fears for the 14th time last night.” Which is to say, she is a major fan of Morgan Freeman, “a huge, huge, huge fan.” Ms. Jones was in the right place—Mr. Freeman, who’d portrayed Nelson Mandela in Invictus, was the luncheon’s host. The Observer didn’t see Ms. Jones speaking with Mr. Freeman, but she did spend several tense minutes before lunch standing by the table of her former View couchmate Barbara Walters and ABC’s Robin Roberts. Ms. Roberts conversed freely, but Ms. Walters, jaw set, did not deign to turn around.

Ms. Jones, however, said she was fine seeing the woman who’d fired her and written less-than-glowingly about her in a memoir, insisting such feuding was not her wont. She touched The Observer’s hand and assured us, “Adult women don’t act like that.”

Aside from the chill emanating from Ms. Walters’s seat at the power table (where she was later joined by Christiane Amanpour and an iPad-toting Arthur Sulzberger Jr.), the afternoon, celebrating Mr. Mandela’s 93rd birthday, was all about love. Brian Williams bragged to a fellow partygoer about his daughter Allison’s new job: “She just completed an HBO series with Lena Dunham!” The media contingent stuck together, with Al Roker, Hoda Kotb and Ann Curry forming a Today show scrum by the pool before lunch began. Ms. Kotb eventually broke off for a close conversation with Mr. Freeman, and was a bit starstruck. “I loved Shawshank Redemption,” she said. “I know it’s an oldie but goodie. When I’m talking to him—I was just watching his mouth move, and all I could think about was him in Shawshank. I’m sure he was telling interesting stories, but I was just like this!” She hung her mouth open, charmingly feigning a stupor.

As for Mr. Mandela, Ms. Kotb was wistful that she had not yet met him. “It’s almost like every now and then in your life, you get to meet a legend. It happens so infrequently, even in our business. It’s what he stands for, and the feeling of meeting someone so late in their life, especially after all he’s been through.

“I’m just really looking forward to it. There are a lot of really cool people here, but the guest of honor is the guest of honor.” Unfortunately, Mr. Mandela remained in South Africa.

Time editor Rick Stengel and Mr. Freeman told stories in honor of Mr. Mandela, before the lunch of steak frites was served. Mr. Freeman won over the crowd with a charming story that included a pitch-perfect impersonation of Nelson Mandela anointing Mr. Freeman the man to play him on film.

Mr. Freeman told The Observer that he hadn’t informed his friend of the event. “I haven’t talked to him, in fact, since I was there last year. A lot of people are trying to get to him, and they’re all ‘close friends,’”—here Mr. Freeman widened his eyes as though to question their closeness. “You take it upon yourself not to be too pushy.”

Never fear, though! Mr. Mandela was aware of luncheon: “Zelda—his assistant—she tells him everything. So he knows.”

The Rev. Al Sharpton overflowed with love for Mr. Mandela, who has been rumored to be in ill health: “I think he’s certainly, probably, one of the greatest historic figures of all time. I was there in the antiapartheid movement, I was there in 1994 when he was elected president of South Africa. So, I celebrate his birthday every year.” As for Mr. Freeman, the Rev. Sharpton couldn’t pick a favorite movie. “That’s a real tough one. Lean on Me was all right, but that would be hard to say.”

Cathie Black, the recently appointed, more-recently departed head of New York’s public schools and onetime Hearst honchette, was thrilled to honor Mr. Mandela. “I think all of us honor him with great respect for the amazing life that he has led,” Ms. Black said, “and there’s a particular affinity, since we launched the Oprah Winfrey magazine in South Africa probably about eight or nine years ago. And that’s why I’m here!” (When asked her favorite Morgan Freeman movie, Ms. Black said, “I can’t answer that question” and walked briskly away.)

Ms. Black recently returned from a month spent in France and Italy with her husband, “and now I’m going to enjoy my summer and think about my next-next.” Was anyone hungering to employ her, The Observer wondered? “I’m not dealing with any of it in the summer!” There would surely be many lunches between this midsummer afternoon and Ms. Black’s next-next.

ddaddario@observer.com :: @DPD_

Edited by Daisy Prince

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Diana Vishneva

Last night, the Mariinsky Ballet returned to New York for the first time in 10 years for opening night of Anna Karenina. The event was held at Lincoln Center, where, just hours earlier, the cast of Harry Potter appeared before thousands of frantic fans at the premiere of the final installment of that series. Stragglers still hoping to catch a glimpse of Harry, Ron and Hermione sat on the steps of Lincoln Center nursing their sunburns as guests made their way into the Metropolitan opera house for the ballet.
Inside, the lobby of the Opera was packed. Women in elegant gowns dabbed at their glistening brows as they advanced against a sea of people to get through the ticket-checkers. Legions of aged Russian ladies with giant costume earrings and red mouths slashed with lipstick prattled and pushed their way forward, adding to the commotion.
Black Swan director Darren Aronofsky was in the audience with his friend, director David Kruglikov, who anxiously tapped his foot throughout the performance. Gossip Girl’s Matthew Settle also made an appearance, strolling down the center aisle, the collar of his shirt popped up prepster-style.
The snowflake chandeliers were raised and the audience settled back into their plush seats. Prima ballerina Diana Vishneva played the part of the tormented Anna with incredible precision. Her highly stylized movements gave form to the complicated choices and ultimate tragedy of the Russian woman’s life, despite a pared-down set of cloud projections and modern, rather than classical, music.
After several rounds of applause and a standing ovation, guests of the White Nights of America Foundation made their way through the hot, sticky night to the Mandarin Oriental Hotel for that organization’s annual gala.
Revelers crammed into elevators and made their way to the 36th floor, where a quick round of cocktails preceded a sit-down dinner. Sipping Champagne and white wine, guests discussed all things Russian.

Tony Cointreau, festively clad in white-tie, shared his love of the 1935 film rendition of Anna Karenina. “If you ever get a chance to see it on Turner Classics … ” he said with a theatrical wink, peering over his tinted glasses. His jade Buddha broach smiled serenely as he leaned on his black cane.
We saw Mr. Aronofsky from acrossthe room bombarded by photographers. He had never seen the Mariinsky perform and had thoroughly enjoyed himself. “I thought it was amazing,” he said. “It’s nice to see modern music and a modern stage, and the dancers are just remarkable. How they move—every inch of how they move,” Mr. Aronofsky reflected. We asked the director about his rumored upcoming projects. “I’ve got stuff coming up, but it can’t keep me away from the ballet,” he replied.
We found our table and soon began sipping on chilled pea soup. A dinner of roasted Chilean sea bass was served, followed by a berry tart topped with marscapone. The dancers arrived toward the end of the meal to a round of rousing applause. Vodka shots were passed around for guests to toast the performers, and needless to say, the tipple was of Russian origin.
Immediately after dessert, the dining room doors were thrown open, revealing the after-party lounge. Sean Lennon’s girlfriend, Charlotte Kemp Muhl, wearing a kind of Victorian handkerchief on her head, made her way to the lounge area and talked with Mr. Aronofsky.
The dancers mingled with the guests in the lounge area. A daring few threw back shots of vodka presented in glasses made from ice. Deejay Gabriel Prokofiev, the grandson of legendary Russian composer Sergei Prokofiev, spun an eclectic and intense set for the occasion, mixing dark classical melodies with modern beats.
Former Reagan White House social secretary Lucky Roosevelt stayed late into the evening. The performance was “just fabulous,” she said. She raved about the music. “And I’m not attuuuunnned to music,” she drawled in her Tennessee accent, pointing to her bejeweled ear.
Russian beauties-turned-New York socialites Veronica Greene and Laura Kempo shared their thoughts on the ballet. “We wished there was more sex,” The Observer heard. “Pardon?” we asked. The platinum blonde women in matching gold dresses looked at each other. “More sets,” they annunciated. “I miss stage sets,” Ms. Greene said wistfully. Both women had desired something “more opulent” from the mise-en-scene.
Director of the White Nights Foundation Princess Kristina Kovalenko flitted about in a full-length white dress, chatting and laughing with guests throughout the evening. “They were like synchronized swimmers!” she said of the Anna dancers. The Russian beauty was glad the Mariinsky had finally returned to New York, a city she visits quite often. “I’m always at the Met Opera,” she said. “I love.”
We caught up with soloist Yuri Smekalov before heading off. He told us about more upcoming performances from Mariinsky ballet, including one well-known Russian fairy tale called “The Little Humpbacked Horse.” The steely eyed Ruskie said the night’s program had gone “perfect,” and that he was very much looking forward to performing in “zee leetle hompy horrs.”

Around 12:30, various groups of both young and old began to pack into the elevators and descend the 36 stories to street level. Outside the sleepy guests hailed their (hopefully well-air-conditioned) taxis and slid off into the humid New York night.

Watts and Schreiber.

On what could only be described as a glorious midsummer night, the Public Theater celebrated its annual summer gala in Central Park. A sit-down dinner preceded a star-infused performance of All’s Well That Ends Well, one of Shakespeare’s lesser known works, directed by Daniel Sullivan.

Players from the worlds of Broadway, Hollywood and New York’s social strata mingled on the Central Park lawn adjacent to the Delacorte Theater before sitting down to a three-course dinner in a picturesque and perhaps even whimsical mise-en-scène.

Tony-nominated actress Lily Rabe and veteran actor Martin Short swept by groups of perplexed nannies whose charges tottered and played tag in the late afternoon sun, blissfully unaware of the surrounding glamour.

Liev Schreiber, who has long been involved with the Public, attended the gala with his longtime date, Naomi Watts, who wore a long, red and pink striped Marc Jacobs dress. The couple, both New York transplants, gushed about their adopted home and the Public Theater’s special niche with Shakespeare in the Park. Ms. Watts explained that the evening was really a “celebration of the city.” “It’s a testament to this one truly remarkable park,” Mr. Schreiber added. The couple said they look forward to bringing their two sons, Sasha and Sammi, to performances in the future, but as the children are just 3 and 2 their parents admitted it might be a little while before they introduce them to the Bard.

We asked Ms. Watts about working with Leonardo DiCaprio on their upcoming film, J. Edgar. “He impressed the hell out of me,” she responded. The Clint Eastwood-directed flick is set to be released in December. Asked which Shakespearean play the couple would like most to perform, Mr. Schreiber got a faraway look in his eye and said, gesturing to Ms. Watts, “I think you would make a great Lady McB.” Fearing bad luck, the superstitious actor refused to utter the word “Macbeth” within the vicinity of a theater.

We spotted the telltale red tresses of Mike and Molly star Swoosie Kurtz, who appeared looking, if we may be so bold, smoking hot. She wore Alice + Olivia (Newton Johnesque) leather pants and spike Louboutin heels. When asked which Shakespearean role she would like to perform, Ms. Kurtz echoed the sentiment of her fellow jinx-fearing thespians and quickly responded, “Lady McB. I dare not say it here. I don’t even say it at Macy’s, I just like to keep my bases covered.”

New York City Councilwoman and current it-girl of city politics Christine Quinn spoke at the dinner, waxing political throughout the entire address. Showing her own flair for the dramatic, Ms. Quinn lauded the Public as a place where any down-and-out New Yorker recently laid off from his job could go on a summer evening and find strength and solace watching the greatest drama of the English language. We looked around and couldn’t seem to make out any such characters betwixt the white linen and seersucker silhouettes.

After dinner the guests processed to the Delacorte Theater for the main event. Although All’s Well That Ends Well is one of Shakespeare’s more problematic pieces, the veteran Mr. Sullivan directed an accessible and funny show.

The cast included John Cullum, as the King of France, Annie Parisse in the lead role of Helena and Andre Holland as Count Bertram. The play focuses on the relationship between Bertram and Helena as she, a lowly but capable physician’s daughter, tries to win his high-society heart. After ruses and doppelgängers galore, Helena tricks Bertram into consummating their marriage after seducing him in the guise of another woman. Whew.

We caught up with Mr. Sullivan, who explained that it was the play’s rather obscure and abstruse nature that appealed to him. Indeed it was “the mysteriousness of it” that attracted him most, Mr. Sullivan claimed. However, his wife, Mimi Lieber, had a different view. “It’s the second play he has done about class this year. I think that’s interesting,” she added coyly.

After the cast took their bows to resounding applause, guests made their way to the Belvedere Castle for an elegant after-party overlooking the park. The treacherous stone steps leading to the castle were illuminated by Christmas lights and countless Public Theater interns, each dutifully double fisting flashlights and luminous cellphones to prevent any spills. Guests gorged on mini-deserts including cheese cake morsels and bite-size lemon whoopie pies while music, ranging from disco to Britney, blared from the speakers. Unlike their Champagne-sipping counterparts from Hollywood, the theater crowd was more laid back, sipping Stella from bottles and ordering large glasses of white wine late into the evening. Several older guests danced away unabashedly in front of the deejay booth while a group of younger, hip attendees looked on, wide eyes gawking over the brims of their ubiquitous nerd glasses, martinis gripped firmly in hand.

Guests began to slowly make their way down the Castle’s steps around midnight. Others stayed on the lower terrace and dragged on cigarettes in the dark or sat on the stairs gazing at the now-quiet park below. And so, everyone was in true form. The old acted young, the young acted old and a good time was had by all.

As the "stars" of the NYPL are writers, documentary makers and cultural leaders, known more for their words than their faces, they can be a little tougher to recognize than your average pop star. Mindful of this, the NYPL had thoughtfully provided medals for the honored guests so that the reporters would know who they were talking to. 

At the pre-dinner VIP drinks, library president Paul LeClerc spoke movingly about the library to a crowd that included Toni Morrison, documentarian Ken Burns, David Dinkins, Jonathan Franzen and Martha Stewart. 

We asked for a word with Mr. Dinkins, who agreed but not before "Bill has taken his photographs"--referring to Times photographer Bill Cunningham. Mr. Dinkins had been honored in Mr. LeClerc's speech for his decision to keep the library open six days a week in the depths of the 1970's recession.

The former mayor told us, "It cost us $47 million dollars, if I remember right, and it's one of the things I'm most proud of." What will be on his reading list this summer?

"I'm looking forward to writing a book on my life. That's a long period of time. I was born in 1927. We're hard at work. I don't know that we'll finish it, but we're well on the way."

Fran Lebowitz appeared at the table with Mr. Dinkins and Ms. Morrison. Ms. Morrison fingered Fran's NYPL medal and told her that she wanted one. "Well, you've already got a Pulitzer Prize, so you can't have one," said Ms. Lebowitz teasingly.

Martha Stewart, who is taller in person than she looks on TV and was wearing a checked coat with a satin and pearl necklace, said of her summer reading, "I'm still reading Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese, which I should have finished by now, but I haven't. I have piles of biography and garden books to read. I hope I find the time." 

Chris Tomson, drummer of the band Vampire Weekend, was featured in the centennial book, a collection of essays by luiminaries about their favorite item from the NYPL's collections, was there with his girlfriend, Megan. "This is a little out of my context," he admitted. 

We caught up with Mr. Franzen on the way up the stairs to the Rose Main Reading Room, where the rededication ceremony was due to take place. Mr. Franzen was one of the earliest honorees to arrive--"6:37. I wanted you all to see that."

Mr. Franzen thought that this might be the summer to read all seven volumes of Proust.

"I'm told the last three volumes are the best. You think you loved it even though you wimped out after barely three volumes. You didn't actually get the great stuff," he said with the air of a man who reads volumes of literature the way some people sip a cappucino.

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He asked The Observer if we'd ever read Proust. We lied and said we'd started but never finished.

"Well, everyone says that Swann's Way is the best but it's not the best. In fact, it gets better, but not before it gets slower."

At the rededication ceremony, a roll call of New York's who's who walked down the aisle in the center of the Rose Main Reading Room. Barbara Walters was the mistress of ceremonies and illustrious authors from Frank Rich to Robert Caro paid tribute to "a great treasure house of history."

Centennial book contributor Uzodinma Iweala revealed some of the lesser known uses of the library. "I used to come here mostly to fall asleep and be woken up by the security guards and I've gone on no fewer than four dates with people I've met here." Dinner in the Edna Barnes Saloman Room was a rare treat; guests feasted on lobster salad, sliced filet of beef and lime-marinated chicken, which was passed family-style around the tables. Enormous green and white arrangements of mini-rhododendrons completed the setting; guests laughed and drank under the watchful eyes of portraits of former benefactors of the library, including one of Vincent Astor (also known as the late Brooke Astor's husband) in his naval uniform.

Doug Bernstein was the creative consultant for the party and the perfect dinner companion. As the party wound to a close, guests exited the building to see the library completely illuminated for the first time in its history. A trustee hugged the gray Lego lions that had been created for the party--we knew just how she felt. --Daisy Prince

Outside the David H. Koch Theater at Lincoln Center, The Observer caught sight of designer Betsey Johnson storming by and leading a model on a metal chain. The model lifted her skirt and mooned the photographers. The model represented "anger" in a project of conveying the seven deadly sins (we didn't see any of the other six during the evening) and had expletives and "ANGER" written across her chest and arms in what appeared to be Sharpie marker. Was the model in pain? "Do dogs complain?" Ms. Johnson asked The Observer.

New ballet trustee Sarah Jessica Parker, chic in glittering Valentino, came down the carpet immediately after Ms. Johnson. "You should talk to Sarah Jessica!" said a P.R. flack attached to Ms. Johnson. Ms. Johnson looked abashed for a moment, and did not. Also dressed for the evening: Alexandra Lebenthal in teal tulle, with long train and ribbon in her hair. Was the tulle a tribute to ballerinas? "That's interesting! I didn't even make the connection. My husband always fights with me because I yell at people for stepping on my train--but I love a train!"

Brooke Shields came down the red carpet next, and we asked the Broadway veteran what the difference was between a dancer and an actor. We'd been intrigued by dancers' monomaniacal, mercurial temperaments since seeing Natalie Portman in Black Swan--an interest compounded by Ms. Portman's beau Benjamin Millipied's recent freakout at a Times reporter who asked after Natalie. "There's a certain discipline that comes with the physical," said the ultrafit star. "You see unbelievable performances from actors who aren't that healthy, but dancers..." So they must be pretty boring, or crazy, right? "No! They've just been exquisite specimens, and committed... and fun!"

The program for the evening included both The Seven Deadly Sins, in which Ms. LuPone intoned the tragic story of a woman's loss of innocence in her travels across America, set to dance, and Viennese Waltzes, the George Balanchine classic writ large with a sumptuous forest set. 

For the designer Erin Fetherston--resplendent in purple of her own design, accompanied by her rock-star boyfriend Gabe Saporta--experimentation can't beat Balanchine. "I think I'm a sucker for the more classic. I love ballet-I want to learn so much more about it." She sat down, awaiting her halibut; the room's serene calm revealed nothing of the anti-Tea Party protests against the Koch family that had erupted outside the Koch Theater earlier in the evening. 

Patti LuPone had knocked out a terrific performance, the culmination of more than a year of planning and rehearsal, but she didn't look peaked at all as she stood on the dance floor, hugging one well-wisher after another. Though she's a master of her form, she said there'd been much to learn from Wendy Whelan, the lead dancer in The Seven Deadly Sins. "To watch her every night is perfection."

So, she hadn't fallen down the rabbit hole of Black Swan psychosis?

"No. And I hated the way they represented ballet." She paused for emphasis. "Haaaaated it." Another pause. "Big time."

Social fixture Coco Kopelman, digging into her mango sorbet, explained that she hadn't been familiar with the Brecht-Weill ballet: "1933's a little before my time."
There was Ms. Whelan, the dancer. Had she heard about Mr. Millipied--her New York City Ballet colleague--and his tantrum? She paused and looked unnerved, if gracefully so. "All I can say is ... I've never experienced anything like that."

We made our way past a crowded dance floor--now packed with boogieing social types showing off their best moves with the gusto of ballerinas--toward Vanessa Williams, the actress, who invited us to sit by her. Could she have been a dancer? Ms Williams replied, "Well, I did dance!" She amended: "I only took two years." Why stop? Never one to be unduly modest, Ms. Williams replied, "Because I could do singing and dancing and acting. I could do all three!"

ddaddario@observer.com :: @DPD_

Edited by Daisy Prince

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The POSH affair was just that, a venn diagram of bold-face names from New York High Society and Haute Fashion crowds. The dress code for the evening was POSH and the crowd did not disappoint. Iris Apel was a resplendent bird of paradise in chartreuse silk Ralph Rucci, festooned with costume jewelry and her signature black-rimmed glasses. Carolina and Reinaldo Herrera drifted in a little later and chatted with Vanity Fair's Bob Colacello and Lady Jane Spencer-Churchill. Emilia and Pepe Fanjul were on hand to support their friend and fellow host, Pauline Pitt. Mrs. Pitt's daughters were also in attendance: Dr. Samantha Boardman Rosen and Serena Boardman Theodoracopulos. Waiters wafted around pushing through the long palm leaves that hung in front of them like stage curtains, bearing flutes of champagne and full-to-the-brim glass es of cold white wine.

Lorry Newhouse was in a floral creation by Rodarte. Her husband Michael, who runs the newspaper division of Condé Nast, looked natty in a striped purple suit. When we complimented him on his choice, with the speed of a flasher, he showed us the bordello-red lining of his jacket.

When the recipient of the POSH Fashion Visionary Award herself arrived, Vanity Fair Special Correspondent Amy Fine Collins, she was instantly swarmed by admirers. With her raven-black elfin hair and a designer's dream slim physique, Ms. Fine Collins takes very classic clothes and makes them cool. Last night was no exception, as she arrived in hot pink Carolina Herrera accessorized with dangling emerald and diamond earrings. She was accompanied by her daughter, Flora, a poised 17-year-old. "I'm wearing Alice and Olivia" she said, "except for these," she noted pointing at her rhinestone covered spike heels, "these are hers" she said pointing to her mother. (Later we looked at the label, "Manolo Blahnik," Flora said, sounding almost apologetic.)

Designer Naeem Khan chatted to Anthony Todd with his wife Ranjana, who wore a dress of her own creation that could have come straight from the set of Pirates of the Caribbean, complete with sheer netting and shells. They mused on why the sale was called POSH, "I don't know, but it's a word we use in India a lot," said Ranjana, "we were all taught the Queen's English."

Stacey Bendet had taken POSH to a new level by carrying her own flask full of Champagne. "It's Caitlin's birthday," she said by way of an excuse, pointing to one of the girls, her fingernails painted in jail-stripe black and white. 

Guests were finally herded into the Plaza's Belle Époque-inspired dining room. The Observer sat next to the king of fur, Dennis Basso, who told us that he used to volunteer for Lighthouse and read to the blind. "I thought I'd be reading them journals, magazines and so forth. They gave me a man who was studying microbiology and I had to read these incredibly complicated scientific tracts to him. Every other word, he'd have to make me stop and explain it to me. The blind man was telling me how to read!  We soon decided that it wasn't for me and that I was much better at recording readings." 

The evening's hosts got up one by one to make speeches. Co-founder and Lifetime Visionary award winner Kim Baker Campbell made a sweetly rambling speech in her 1930's movie star tones about her "entire Baker family" and named them all, including step-children.

Bergdorf Goodman's SVP, Women's Fashion Director Linda Fargo also received a Lifestyle Visionary award and finally explained the origins of the word POSH. It came from traveling in the best cabins on the legendary Cunard Cruise Line to from England to India, those which avoided the glare of the sun: Port Out and Starboard Home.

As the clock stuck the witching hour (in this case about 10:15) guests drifted out the door, their multi-colored frocks spread out into New York's city streets like a rainbow fan. -Daisy Prince

Even famous health fanatic Rupert Murdoch was seen to grab a few while standing with his wife Wendi, who wore tremendously fetching turquoise blue sheath dress. The cocktail party was held outside the State Supreme Court House and the crowd milled around enjoying the balmy late spring weather.  

Christopher Walken is well-known for his ability to play crusty, stern military men, most notably in the Pulp Fiction sequence about the consequences of hiding the family jewels in...well... the family jewels. But has he served his country for real? Walken was put on the spot about his military career by friends and ex-marines Scott Glenn and Harvey Keitel. Mr. Keitel and Mr. Glenn, wearing exactly the same black shirt and black blazer combo, shared a moment of man love and had a hearty hug before Mr. Keitel shouted, "A fellow Marine - we have to stick together!"  Mr. Keitel called out to Christopher Walken standing nearby, "Hey, Walken were you in the Marines?" Taking a long sip of red wine, the slightly ashen actor replied with a smile, "I was but no one ever believes me."  (The Observer had a look and it appears that Walken never actually served in the armed forces.)

His friend and fellow actor, Scott Glenn did serve, and told us he was discharged from military service on November 22^nd 1967, "Which was a pretty interesting time to be in the marines." Mr. Glenn was both a judge at the festival and as well as promoting a movie he was featured in called Magic Mountain.  "I was in three movies this year, one had a budget of $100 million, another was $35 million and the one at the festival was just $600,000." When asked if he preferred Independent movies or studio ones, Mr. Glenn replied, "If money wasn't an issue, I would always choose Independents but studio films pay the rent."

Grayon Carter presided over his party in a natty green-checked spring tweed coat for the occasion. Other attendees included: Salman Rushdie paying hooky from his duties as the president of the PEN awards, Oscar award winning director Tom Hopper seen leaving with new squeeze Tara Subkoff and Robert de Niro surrounded by a huge and immovable crush of fans.

dprince@observer.com