A Weekend Away: The Emmy Trip
September 07, 2010 | Talk of the Town
Thanks to well-placed spies, Dispatches—who traveled to Los Angeles for the Emmy Awards and some seriously starry fêtes ten days ago—can still offer some details about the weekend I missed on the East End.
Friday, Dan Rattiner of Dan’s Paper fame didn’t take off his signature hat as he plugged his new book In the Hamptons Too at Lily Pond with Dan’s Paper hottie Katlean De Monchy. He signed books, and Alex McCord and Simon van Kempen from The Real Housewives of New York City appeared. (I am told that McCord wasn’t feeling the VIP band that one had to wear to get by the door people. It was white with a multicolor streamer color scheme that didn’t go with her black dress.)
Dispatches loved Rattiner’s last book. He wrote of the youth we all wish we had had in the Hamptons before the rest of us schlubs showed up. As a hot young man, he met some society girl whose dad owned one of the Stamford White houses on the beach in Montauk. And her dad forbade her to see Rattiner, a townie. They were supposed to meet on the beach anyway, but Dan was attacked by a dog, couldn’t make the rendezvous and never saw her again. A bittersweet story with the feeling of a film I would like to see.
Early on at the paper, he hired a WASP who invited him to the Meadow Club to play squash. And he wrote about being arrested at a diner on Main Street in East Hampton. Can you imagine a time when it wasn’t all just Ralph Lauren stores?
Dispatches didn’t want the last book to end, so he can’t wait to read Too.
Talent Resources, Mike Heller’s company, created a splashy party for Jarrod Kohn, the fashion label-licensing guru. Kohn has a farm-like spread with a long picket fence south of the highway near Mecox. He brought in two top hip-hop break dancers. Joe Biden’s nephew, Jamie, was spinning, and he had DMC perform. Whitmans, a hot burger joint in the East Village, catered the bash.
Others spotted this weekend included Wilmer Valderrama and Maxwell at Axe Lounge, and then Valderrama again, this time with Avril Lavigne at Prime Ko in Manhattan. Meanwhile, Dwayne Wade hung out in the Swagg Mobile App lounge at the Mercedes-Benz Polo Challenge. And at Philippe, friends spotted Jeff Gordon and his model wife enjoying the tasting menu.
The Wild, Wild West
Back on the left coast, I stopped by the Judith Leiber store on North Rodeo that Friday, thinking that I was doing a friend a favor. But then the stars just kept pouring in the door. Maria Bello asked me where I used to stay when I went to Haiti, and we had a long conversation about the wonders of the Grand Hotel Oloffson, where she also stays. Patricia Arquette told me that Bello, who first headed down to Haiti four days after the earthquake, has done a lot to empower women there. The Leiber store was hocking necklaces to raise money. And the stream of pulchritude wowed this writer: Rosario Dawson, Olivia Munn, Katharine McPhee, Autumn Reeser (a serious hottie from Entourage), Cara Buono from Mad Men, Emmanuelle Chriqui, Isabel Lucas (someone told me that she’s dating Ryan Phillippe), Roxy Olin…there were, like, 30 starlets.
That same night, Entertainment Weekly threw a fête at that famous rock ’n’ roller pit stop The Sunset Marquis. The last time I was there, for a party by Jade Jagger some years back, the back of the hotel was just a grassy lawn. But after a rather extensive renovation, things took place in a huge new trellised back patio restaurant area. They were giving out mini burgers and new flavors of VitaminWater (lemonade and pomegranate). Yum. I spotted Anna Paquin and her hubby Stephen Moyer, Jon Hamm, Minka Kelly, Bill Maher (with a young thing), Jeremy Piven, Sharon Stone and Elizabeth Moss of Mad Men, who pronounced the name of the late French designer Hérve Léger as if he were an American: “Harvey Legger.” Loved that.
The next morning, after swimming in the rooftop pool of my hotel, I headed out to the P.F. Chang Frozen Moments Gift Suite in a dark lower level of the Nokia Theater, where the Emmys took place. All the stars were coming in to film their funny bits for the show and stopped by to pick up swag: Aquaswiss watches, Marchon eyewear, two nights at the St. Regis in Monarch Beach. Paquin and Moyer got two nights each at Monarch Beach and Vera Bradley bags that looked like they were made out of that cowboy neckerchief material, red and blue. Fun. The woman who passed out the Altoids had the look of a Rockette, with legs that wouldn’t stop. Jane Lynch from Glee stopped by in a red tracksuit and was nice, not bossy like on the show.
That afternoon, Disney hosted a fun kids’ premiere of Tinker Bell and the Great Fairy Rescue in La Cienega Park. They doled out fairy wings and face painting for the wee ones. Boy, do these kids love a camera. (Lindsay dearest?)
At Spago on Saturday night, NBC went all out with a raw bar and a sundae spread with gummy bears and jelly beans. I noticed the Top Chef crew hanging out at the candy station. Also spotted Jane Krakowski, Jack McBrayer, Mel. B and Cheryl Hynes.
The 62nd Annual Emmy Awards felt like a scaled-down Oscars. Dispatches was situated right next to Access Hollywood, so all the stars whisked by and chatted. Rita Wilson, on Tom Hanks’ arm, wore a white dress by Prada with a crystal overlay, open in the back like a hospital gown. Even her platform heels had crystals dangling. She looked like one big chandelier earring but claimed it was “really comfortable,” though she jangled a lot.
The curvy reporter next to me sported a showgirl gown and was obsessed with the hot young male stars. She’d get them over and then started gushing. Hilarious. (FYI: New York City journalists tend not to do that.)
Al Pacino, who won for his role as Jack Kevorkian in HBO’s You Don’t Know Jack, said he felt a little star-struck—“like a movie person in a TV world“ at the event. But, after all, they did give him an Emmy Award.
George Clooney came with his gal pal Elisabetta Canalis. And Paquin looked a bit like a fashion victim in Alexander McQueen with big gold epaulets and a matching gold bra on the outside of the dress. I heard the reporter next to me saying “Steve McQueen” into her tape recorder after Paquin told us what she was wearing. I quietly set her straight.
After the awards, HBO did one of the most lavish fêtes I’ve ever witnessed. The rep left me a parking pass under a doormat in West Hollywood, and I felt like I was on a KGB dead drop when I picked up the envelope—exciting. The cable company took over the Pacific Design Center, and it looked as though Lilly Pulitzer had decorated the Casbah. There were exotic dancers up on ledges. Acres and acres had been carpeted in a bright- green floral pattern, and the walls were distinctive Lilly-style animal prints. It was a bit of Palm Beach heaven.
Saturday, the day before the show, I had stopped at my favorite vintage store, Golyester at 136 South La Brea. Esther, who owns the place, tried to talk me into vintage Lilly pants with my tux. They were sensational, but if I had gotten them, I would have blended into that rug like a waiter.
One of the reporters at my table had a meltdown because she was quitting the business and she wanted a photo with Matthew Fox, who was with his wife and leaving the event. He said no. So funny the way pretty young female stalkers become reporters in Los Angeles, whereas in New York, my reporter friends are mostly Algonquin Round Table wannabes.
Years ago, on a red carpet in LA, one of the gals asked everyone to open up and tell stories about making out with stars. I feel lucky if I get bussed on the cheek. But these babes in high boots (not all, but some) had story after story with, ahem, a happy ending.
BY JEFFREY SLONIM