Eichners Eye Rita ora
Eichners Eye Rita ora
Eichners Eye Rita ora
It’s so dark, I can’t see a thing, but I’m able to spot T.J. Miller’s curly hair. Click click.…“Dude, love the show,” I tell him.
5:48 p.m.: Backstage, there’s a neon sign above the models’ heads that reads: “This is not a brothel, there are no prostitutes at this address.” That remains to be seen.…
9:36 p.m.: I point to a place for Hilary Rhoda to stand for a pic. She thinks I’m leaning in for a kiss hello on the cheek. She leans in. “I wasn’t going for a kiss, but I’m giving you one anyway.” Smooch, smooch.
9:59 p.m.: Phillip holds a friend’s baby and kisses it for photographers. He must be running for president.
Sitting on the floor on the big tapestry rug at The Jane is Marisa Tomei.
“Whose birthday is tonight again?” I say, instinctually, remembering the ritual after shooting this party for years. I run into the next room and sure enough there’s sparklers and a cake. Happy Birthday Laura!