“Why? So they could all become famous for having accomplished very little?” Samantha answered, and left the three of them alone while she walked into the dining room.

Judy had given a great deal of thought to whether to reconfigure her dining room into five tables of six or one long one seating thirty. There were valid arguments to be made for either scenario. The smaller tables afforded intimacy and conversation, but on the other hand, the seating plan was a nightmare. One table would get a media star like Charlie Rose, or an important producer like Barry Santorini. If Judy put her six biggest draws at one table, they would feel right at home but everyone else would feel cheated. After a week of sleepless nights, Judy opted for the one long table. The fact that she could get all of those people to one table really made, in her mind, the better statement.

If you asked Judy what her strong suit was, she would most definitely say not flowers. In fact, she sort of resented that some of the better hostesses in New York, like Pinky Graham and those Piel sisters, made a point of doing their own arrangements. On the other hand, Judy had been to enough dinners to know that traditional floral centerpieces were the kiss of death. She also knew that, ever since 9/11, austerity was in. This wasn’t the time for floating gardenias and birds-of-paradise. But she couldn’t live with herself if she just did spare orchids like a display table in the Takashimaya department store.

Aesthetically stumped, Judy phoned Adrienne Strong-Rodman for advice. Adrienne’s personal assistant had just discovered Umit Afet, a party planner who began as a salesgirl in Bendel’s napkin department and had recently worked for Lady de Rothschild, the Turkish ambassador, and several Hollywood bigwigs. Umit suggested a Turkish kilim running across the long dining room table and strategically placed Steuben glass bowls of red pomegranate and pistachios. For the center of the table, Umit provided a three-foot hookah pipe filled with white narcissus and purple anemones. Finally, for a splash of wit, multicolored evil-eye marbles and red snuff candles were dolloped everywhere.

“And I’d definitely do the eighteenth-century candelabras,” Umit advised after she saw Judy’s James Robinson collection. “That’s what will keep it fusion and not dip into totally Turkey.”

When Samantha walked into the dining room and saw the hookah flower arrangement, she promised herself to have a lunch with Judy and give her a list of who to avoid at all costs. Even at the Spence School kindergarten the girls learned to put away their marbles.

As a pianist in the adjoining room began to play “I Get a Kick Out of You,” Albert approached Samantha and took her under his arm. “Guest of honor, let me escort you to your seat?”

“Hello, Albert.” Samantha kissed him on both cheeks. “How did your girls like Silas Marner?”

“Not as much as The Story of O.” Albert laughed. “I hope you’ll honor us with a song after dinner,” Albert said as he pulled out Samantha’s chair.