Only Mayor Bloomberg was missing. Off to Washington, said City Coucil President Christine Quinn. Richard Johnson, a brace of Zagats, Joni Evans, a few more media types. Then the photographer got up on a ladder, shot a few polaroids, frowned, and started ordering people to move. He commanded Lally Weymouth to get up so Liz Smith could sit in her seat. Amazingly, she did. Liz, all in red, beamed. Quinn was sent upstairs to make way for Republican Queen bee Georgette Mosbacher, also in red. Martha Stewart – I think she wore grey – was sent packing. A first I am sure.
Then he ordered me to trade places with the “guy in the middle” of the table I was standing behind. You could cut the sound of silence with a butter knife. The middle man happened to be Steven Schwarzman, the private equity chief who was once Wall Street’s man of the moment at Blackstone. On Schwarzman’s left Sandy Weill blinked. To his right, Ed Koch tapped the table. I had a feeling we’d have to get Schwarzman off the banquette with a crane. I spoke up.
“Let’s not take the time for that,” I said. “Let’s just finish the photo.” A few people cheered. So Schwarzman was spared the hook and Martha, Lally and I learned a good lesson: “When you get invited to a group photograph, wear red.”
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