Our Spy On the Upper East Side

We’re not even two weeks into May and I’ve already had my hair blown out five times. This means I have to sleep sitting up every night if I want to look good the next day. And, why you ask? Because this is New York galloping through Spring cramming every social occasion into the few weeks before everyone poops out around Memorial Day. I’m just insecure enough to accept most invitations tendered—except something on reproductive health, since I’m more interested in Botox than babies these days.

But, just to give you a glimpse into how I mix business and pleasure—and trust me, in New York it’s a total blend since pleasure leads to business and business to pleasure (oh, do I know stories)—this was a bit of my week:

Lunch at power lunch central Michael’s with PR queen Maury Rogoff and Paige Pederson, director of PR for Fendi North America. On my way to Table #7 I ran into Kathie Lee Gifford at Table #6. (New York isn’t about the food it’s about sitting at the right table.) The famous Cobb salads go for $35 so we each order a half and split the bill with our Amex Platinum Cards. They don’t make a dime off of us but we’re fun and we’re decorative.

That night, a cocktail party for Ira Neimark, former CEO and Chairman of Bergdorf Goodman, upon publication of his book, Crossing Fifth Avenue, held at the gawk-worthy apartment of his daughter and son-in-law, Robin and Fred Seegal. Just so you know, the apartment has a mini golf driving range and an air filtered cigar room. I brought my handsome pal Joe Versace (yes, he’s related to…), and we inhaled the mini grilled cheese sandwiches and pigs in blankets. Some poseur I know used to call them saucisson en croûte, until they were outed as P in Bs.

The big event was the Central Park Conservancy luncheon where the tables go for twenty five to fifty thousand dollars and all the money goes to benefit our beautiful New York City parks.

I had been in and out of my closet all week figuring out what to wear and finally decided on my 20-year-old Lanvin hat and a green flowered Luca Luca cotton dress. (I pretend to not care but I really do.) There were so many wide-brim hats created for this event and you had to duck or risk nicking your veneers. I gather the hats ranged in cost from $200 to $4000 and are basically worn once….unless Ascot is on the agenda.

(If ever there is an event that’s over the top, this is it—but in a happy way. Dear Mayor Mike always comes out to see the pretty girls and since I was at the Bloomberg LP table I got a big kiss. When his term ends, I’ll be back sitting at the children’s table.)

This is one of those parties where people aren’t interested in anything you have to say; the visuals are stunning and there’s no point even pretending you can hear. Now that everyone has digital cameras we’re all taking pictures of each other and even a hatless Martha Stewart was snapping away. The tent was packed and one prays that the Manolo Blahniks ($565 minimum) don’t get ruined in the grass.

As if that weren’t enough for one day, it was the opening night of "Camelot" at Lincoln Center, which made me feel really ancient since I remember seeing Richard Burton, Robert Goulet, and Julie Andrews in the original. Truth be told, I didn’t like this revival at all and eagerly counted down the number of songs until there was no “spot for one brief shining moment that was known as Camelot” left.

And, while my social week wound down and I ordered in spareribs and lounged in my sweats, the socialistas were out again, and like little Energizer bunnies, going non-stop. As much as I might like to be snide, I find myself being more circumspect; not one gets paid a dime and they work those fuzzy tails to a frazzle for good charitable causes.

The only thing I wonder is how the husbands cope with getting into black tie every night? Isn’t there a point when they fantasize about ESPN instead of MOMA and a burger instead of something en gelée? My guess is the bunny they envisioned when they married was one in high heels and fishnets not one with two AAA batteries.