That glittering evening may have been the moment when the 90's belle epoque reached its summery apex. Expensive famous people milling around a soulless New York party, wondering why they're there. Wordlessly rehearsing in their head the bon mot they'll bestow on the tanned New York Post columnist standing near the hors-d'oeuvre table. A man in a second-season Prada suit hungrily scribbles a cell-phone number into his Palm Pilot. Someone should write a 400-page epic poem about that party.
Seth