Zach always used to take my calls.
The hottest sample sales in New York are so fraught with danger they make the Gaza Strip look peaceful. Honestly, I once saw K. K. almost murder her own cousin at a TSE sample sale because they both wanted this great white cashmere peacoat and there was only one of them. It’s no wonder that Jolene Morgan organizes all her “shopping attacks” in advance on such occasions. She called a pre-Chanel “strategy meeting” with Lara Lowell, Julie, and myself over lunch at the Four Seasons restaurant on East Fifty-second Street. Sometimes I worry about Jolene’s mental state, I really do. The Four Seasons is the kind of place the mayor and media moguls lunch. It wasn’t exactly the most obvious place for a fashion summit. But I guess Jolene wanted to be in the company of other brilliant strategists.
When I arrived Lara and Jolene were already analyzing the menu for hidden carbs. They’d gotten one of the great tables right by the fountain, with leather banquette seating. Among the sea of power-lunchers, they looked like two colorful birds: Jolene was in a sexy pale blue dress, nipped in at the waist to show off her pretty curves. Lara, who has two of thelongest legs in Manhattan, was in a tiny white miniskirt and a scarlet sweater. Her long blonde hair was scooped up in a ponytail. She has a tomboyish style and totally gets away with it, which bugs the hell out of Jolene, even though they’ve been best friends forever. Sometimes I think Lara is mainly Jolene’s best friend because she does absolutely everything Jolene tells her to.
I sat down and ordered a Pellegrino and a salad. Jolene was acting like a crazy person, which isn’t all that different from usual actually: she was obsessed with getting the new pink quilt purse with a gilt chain from the Chanel resort collection. I warned her that since Reese Witherspoon had carried the exact same purse to the Oscars, everyone was going to try and snag that one first. I didn’t want Jolene to be disappointed; I mean, the fallout would be horrible for all of us.
“It’s not an issue,” declared Jolene. “I got the floor plan and I know exactly where the pastel quilts are going to be located: at the far end of the ballroom behind the size thirty-eight cashmere twin sets.” All New York girls illegally buy floor plans from fashion publicists before sample sales. It’s the only way to get the best stuff.
Jolene and Lara were both exhausted. They had been at a super-cool dinner the previous night at one of the Pink Floyd kids’ lofts downtown. A waiter brought our drinks, but Lara and Jolene ignored theirs: they were way too stressed about last night.
“Everyone was, like, the child of a Rolling Stone or a Mama and Papa,” said Jolene. “Rock n’ roll kids make me feel so terrible about myself. I had a total Shame Attack.”
“Me too,” agreed Lara. “But then I have a Shame Attack after most parties.” Lara is so insecure sometimes it’s criminal. But I guess it’s one of the reasons she fits in so well on the Upper East Side.
A Shame Attack is a bit like the Fargos, only it’s intellectual, not beauty-related. Only girls in NYC and Paris get them. They are much feared because apparently they get inside your brain and keep you awake night after night. Jolene always takes a 10mg Ambien (the in sleeping tablet) when she gets an Attack, which is usually at 5 AM , just when she is about to finally get off to sleep after taking her first Ambien at 1 AM . Her latest SA was brought on because she’d taken a vintage gold Rolex off the boy to her right at last night’s dinner and said she’d meet him for cocktails at the Mercer Hotel the next evening to return it. It was all very sexy and flirtatious. She’d totally forgotten she was engaged when she agreed to it all. Lara’s came on because she hadn’t read the New York Times since 9/11 and didn’t know the most dangerous terrorist cell in the Middle East had been
The hottest sample sales in New York are so fraught with danger they make the Gaza Strip look peaceful. Honestly, I once saw K. K. almost murder her own cousin at a TSE sample sale because they both wanted this great white cashmere peacoat and there was only one of them. It’s no wonder that Jolene Morgan organizes all her “shopping attacks” in advance on such occasions. She called a pre-Chanel “strategy meeting” with Lara Lowell, Julie, and myself over lunch at the Four Seasons restaurant on East Fifty-second Street. Sometimes I worry about Jolene’s mental state, I really do. The Four Seasons is the kind of place the mayor and media moguls lunch. It wasn’t exactly the most obvious place for a fashion summit. But I guess Jolene wanted to be in the company of other brilliant strategists.
When I arrived Lara and Jolene were already analyzing the menu for hidden carbs. They’d gotten one of the great tables right by the fountain, with leather banquette seating. Among the sea of power-lunchers, they looked like two colorful birds: Jolene was in a sexy pale blue dress, nipped in at the waist to show off her pretty curves. Lara, who has two of thelongest legs in Manhattan, was in a tiny white miniskirt and a scarlet sweater. Her long blonde hair was scooped up in a ponytail. She has a tomboyish style and totally gets away with it, which bugs the hell out of Jolene, even though they’ve been best friends forever. Sometimes I think Lara is mainly Jolene’s best friend because she does absolutely everything Jolene tells her to.
I sat down and ordered a Pellegrino and a salad. Jolene was acting like a crazy person, which isn’t all that different from usual actually: she was obsessed with getting the new pink quilt purse with a gilt chain from the Chanel resort collection. I warned her that since Reese Witherspoon had carried the exact same purse to the Oscars, everyone was going to try and snag that one first. I didn’t want Jolene to be disappointed; I mean, the fallout would be horrible for all of us.
“It’s not an issue,” declared Jolene. “I got the floor plan and I know exactly where the pastel quilts are going to be located: at the far end of the ballroom behind the size thirty-eight cashmere twin sets.” All New York girls illegally buy floor plans from fashion publicists before sample sales. It’s the only way to get the best stuff.
Jolene and Lara were both exhausted. They had been at a super-cool dinner the previous night at one of the Pink Floyd kids’ lofts downtown. A waiter brought our drinks, but Lara and Jolene ignored theirs: they were way too stressed about last night.
“Everyone was, like, the child of a Rolling Stone or a Mama and Papa,” said Jolene. “Rock n’ roll kids make me feel so terrible about myself. I had a total Shame Attack.”
“Me too,” agreed Lara. “But then I have a Shame Attack after most parties.” Lara is so insecure sometimes it’s criminal. But I guess it’s one of the reasons she fits in so well on the Upper East Side.
A Shame Attack is a bit like the Fargos, only it’s intellectual, not beauty-related. Only girls in NYC and Paris get them. They are much feared because apparently they get inside your brain and keep you awake night after night. Jolene always takes a 10mg Ambien (the in sleeping tablet) when she gets an Attack, which is usually at 5 AM , just when she is about to finally get off to sleep after taking her first Ambien at 1 AM . Her latest SA was brought on because she’d taken a vintage gold Rolex off the boy to her right at last night’s dinner and said she’d meet him for cocktails at the Mercer Hotel the next evening to return it. It was all very sexy and flirtatious. She’d totally forgotten she was engaged when she agreed to it all. Lara’s came on because she hadn’t read the New York Times since 9/11 and didn’t know the most dangerous terrorist cell in the Middle East had been
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