Rainy nights in Manhattan. There was a book signing last night at Graff on Madison Avenue for Charlie Scheips and Christophe von Hohenberg for their book “Andy Warhol; the Day the Factory Died” (Empire). It was hosted by Henri Barguirdjian the head of Graff USA and this writer, and before it was over a couple of hundred sophisticated New Yorkers and visiting dignitaries came through the gilted doors of the bright and shiny marble emporium of some of the world’s most extraordinary diamonds. I thought of Andy Warhol who loved the concept of the luxurious and the precious and how a book about his funeral was being celebrated in this very chic treasure trove. No doubt he would have noticed and perhaps with some awe.

Click to order.

The book is full of photographs by von Hohenberg, taken outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral on the day of Warhol’s memorial service April 1, 1987, of the guests as they arrived. By that time Mrs. Warhola’s boy from Pittsburgh had moved into  the status of the immortal and the glitterati and celebrities were acknowledging that by their attendance. Associating themselves with the immortal. Ahem.

The photographs are so intriguing with many of the faces famous, some more famous than others, and what they looked like twenty years ago. Many are no longer even with us and yet there they are in all their vitality. And there we were last night in the Graff salon surrounded by their glistening cases of extraordinary diamonds – rings, necklaces, bracelets.  Andy would have oohed-and-ahhed.

Mrs. DeWoody stopped by on her way to The Next. Joanne Casullo was there. Muffy Miller was there with Toto Bergamo Rossi, a Venetian who does restoration work in Venice for Venetian Heritage which Mrs. Miller is active in. Sydelle Miller was there. Mrs. Miller is a denizen of Palm Beach where a few years ago she built herself a 60,000 square foot chateau on the beach over looking the tropical blue Atlantic. And Fred and Michele Oka Doner. Mrs. Oka Doner’s book on Miami is going into its second printing. Anne Slater and John Cahill were there. Sue Madonia was there. Sue has an antiques business in Southampton with her mother, and in the last year she has investigated the governance of the community out there, and come up with some pritty bad news about what the taxpayers are getting for their money. What this has to do with Andy Warhol, I don’t know although he might have found Ms. Madonia interesting, as well as attractive. And a charming smile comes with that bad news; really.

Bob Colacello who started his career writing for Andy in Interview, and later distinguished himself as the Warhol biographer and now the Reagans’ biographer, was there, lining up at the desk for a signed copy.  It was a crowd of all ages, all intrigued or fascinated by or even friends with and acquaintances of the man who, next to Picasso, is probably the most famous artist of the 20th century.  Any degree of association with him still resonates even for those who were barely out of infancy the year he died.

Also Graff provided the waiters with the flutes of champagne as well as little atomizers of martinis and little cones filled with scrumptious canapés (provided by Scoozi Events NYC — Gianluca Ballarini).  Outside it was raining cats and dogs. Inside we were comforted by the memory of Andy Warhol and the display cases glistening with Mr. Graff’s amazing diamonds. They do advance the notion of comfort you know; deluded if it is such as in the case of a working stiff.