Rather mild and warm for a mid-December day in New York. Ahmet Ertegun died. He had taken what turned out to be a fatal fall backstage at a concert at the Beacon Theatre a couple of weeks ago. The past week has been one of sorrowful anticipation by his legions of friends and associates. 

I met the man when I interviewed him in the early 1990s when I was working on a book for Bobby Short, an old friend and professional protégé of Ahmet who produced Bobby’s recordings and arranged his Carlyle gig that lasted more than three decades.

In an interview he was a very intelligent and canny man, a refined mixture of his worlds, which for him was one: the music of 20th century America, namely jazz and rock and roll, and society which he profoundly influenced with his Atlantic Records.

He and his wife Mica, the acclaimed interior designer, reigned in international society. Guests of the Erteguns had the best, liveliest, most sophisticated times in the lap of wit and luxury here in New York, in Southampon and on the Turkish coast. Everybody who knew Ahmet Ertegun speaks of him full with recollection of the immense pleasure of his company. He was one of those men who had a talent for having a good time and spreading it around. He never wore his achievements as anything more than the personal pleasure of his work. It was another ingredient of imagination and authentic  joie de vivre.  He will be greatly missed all those friends, but it will be with eternal pleasure of his memory.

Yesterday afternoon, I went down to Michael’s to have lunch with Liz Smith. A mob scene. I often say that in describing Michael’s at lunchtime, but it’s true. Like the day before, they had to add more tables.

The place is a kind of phenomenon these days. Not that it’s changed in all the years I’ve been lunching there. Except that it’s become a draw for the curious keepers of the New York pulse who just wanna see. It’s always attracted a media/publishing crowd. Editors – magazines and books – writers/authors, network, banking and advertising people. Clubby in that sense. But a few years it’s exposure seemed to widen drawing in a crowd beyond the aforementioned. Seeing Hillary Clinton there for lunch was an example. No matter how many times you meet these people (prominent, famous, infamous, movie stars) you’re still at least mildly impressed with how their presence stimulates. You think it’s you but when you see it in action at Michael’s, you see you’re no different from the rest: it’s a brief high, an exhilaration, a curiosity, a respite from the madness and helter-skelter concrete scramble that is city life.

Wednesday is a big day for some inexplicable reason, and is now recorded on mediabistro.com every Wednesday afternoon. I had lunch with Alice Mason, the doyenne of high end private residential real estate in Manhattan. All the way back to the days of Peter Stuyvesant, up through the Astors, Goelets, Rudins, Trumps and Roses, real estate has ruled New York for better or for worse, Alice has seen more than a half-century of New York real estate activity, politics and transition. And little escaped her sharp eye. She exemplifies the magic of New York where a young girl came to live in thie city after college and in time had an enormous influence on how things were done in her field, as well as entertaining presidents are her dinner parties.

This is one of the things I love about New York. You get to see how it is done by those who do who wield influence in the community, in our lives, our politics and ultimately our history. You get to see them in action. Which, as you know, speaks louder than words.

Wednesday at Michael’s, among the morass and sass: Joe Armstrong with Dave Zinczenko, editor of the very successful Men’s Health and notable media darling. It was also his birthday; cakes and happy birthday Dave. Charlie Rose was just across the way. And Nightline’s Cynthia McFadden across from him and next to Arnold Scaasi and Parker Ladd lunching with Paul Beirne the political and economic rainmaker (rains money when he’s around) and supporter of philanthropy. Just beyond them, Alice Mayhew, mega-editor from Simon Schuster who looks a bit like your English prof who was no-nonsense and a hardworker with a good ear and liked a good laugh. She was with Doris Kearns Goodwin. Becca Thrash up from Texas was there; Francine LeFrak, producer, real estate heiress; Kurt Anderson, Alyce Alston, the pretty blonde work-a-bee who looks like she’s got an appointment book full of dates she won’t miss and is also the head of DeBeers retail in America; Paul Wilmot public relations diplomat; producing partners Nick Simunek and Michael Mailer; Jonathan Capehart, Jerry Inzerillo, Judy Price, Peter Price (married but at separate tables), Quest publisher Chris Meigher with Nancy Holmes; Lisa Caput with John Emerson, Peter Gregory and Jamee whose words you might have seen on the Shopping Diary pages. Mega-entertainment lawyer Allen Grubman with Richard Beckman Conde Nast publisher; Peggy Siegal who by the end of the year will have staged 100 private screenings with accompanying star-studded luncheons or dinners in the past year. Peggy will be going to Kenya to get away where she will be on safari in a real jungle, none of this concrete scramble.

Yesterday was more of the same kind of vanity fair, the room redolent with the grand swags of evergreen and red velvet bows. It’s getting closer to the holiday and the holiday lunches have begun. Debbie Grubman (wife of aforementioned Allen, stepmother of Lizzie) was hosting a luncheon where at the end the gents at the table were passed long slander santa-and-sleigh covered boxes from an emporium called Hermes.  Heather Cohane who was having a birthday lunch with Taylor Stein. At another Helen O’Hagan was entertain twelve or fourteen including Brooke Hayward, Peter Rogers, Alex Hitz, Tom Fallon. While in the bay Barbara Walters was giving a birthday luncheon for her friend Casey Ribicoff; impeccable, surrounded by Princess Firyal, Louise Grunwald, Lynn Nesbit, Nancy Kissinger and such.

Fast Forward. Back to Wednesday night:

Parker Ladd and Arnold Scaasi asked me to join them at the Cutting Room at 19 West 24th Street to see Joan Rivers doing her Wednesday night stand-up. Joan looked great in her Zandra Rhodes, smart coif, household-famous face and her famous energy. The working girl who first hit New York four decades ago doing standup at the Upstairs (or was it the Downstairs) in the Village the knocking ‘em off their couches on the Johnny Carson. Feisty, fast-witted as ever, she takes irreverence down to the get-down levels and the audience roared as she didn’t leave any of them out of the equation.

She’s always made me laugh but now that I know her some it’s even more interesting because I have the pleasure of her company. Off-stage she’s still good for laughs (if called for) but is otherwise a very intelligent, hardworking girl of 71, looking glamorous and holding her own.  She’d just comeback from Palm Beach via LA via Vancouver via London via New York via The Cutting Room a week or so ago. Afterwards she joined us for dinner at Il Cantinori, a favorite of the Scaasi-Ladd contingent.

Last night the holiday parties. I went down to Peter Pennoyer’s holiday party at his offices on Park Avenue South. Peter is the pre-eminent architect of the classical style in New York as well as historian and co-author of The Architecture of Warren and Wetmore and The Architecture of Delano & Aldrich.

I went partly because I wanted to see what a classical architect’s office is like. A solid university academe-like atmosphere. Scholarly, intriguing, warm, welcoming. I knew no one other than the host but the air had that holiday/academe lure to it; cocktails, buffet of tasty morsels. It could almost have been Cambridge or New Haven. A little older, of course.

From Pennoyers, I grabbed the 6 up to Keith Langham’s atelier salesroom on East 60th across from the Bloomingdale’s. (See NYSD HOUSE) where Keith was hosting a combination holiday cocktail (with a tree brought in from Minnesota) and book party for his friend Frances Schultz who collaborated with Paula Wallace on “A House in the South; Old Fashion Graciousness for New Fashioned Times.” Champagne conviviality; holiday chatter, everything but chestnuts roasting in the fire and a little snow outside. Good times.

Back on Third Avenue, almost nine, on my way home, regrettably too late for another friend’s party, I grabbed a shot of Bloomie’s just closed down for the night, advertising the season in Manhattan.

I went partly because I wanted to see what a classical architect’s office is like. A solid university academe-like atmosphere. Scholarly, intriguing, warm, welcoming. I knew no one other than the host but the air had that holiday/academe lure to it; cocktails, buffet of tasty morsels. It could almost have been Cambridge or New Haven. A little older, of course.