Kosher or not, those things always hit the spot. The cocktail hour was amazing. Now I know the meaning of “rubbing elbows.” The room was filled with Hollywood’s best and brightest, and there was little old me, rubbing elbows with them. Literally. Brushing by them elegantly and then smiling to say “hello.” Or, I should say, bumping into them very ungracefully and then checking my boobs to make sure that they were still in my dress, but you get my point. Glamorous actresses, brilliant directors, rich producers, the most successful agents and even a few sports stars had turned out for the wedding of the season. And I seriously doubt that it was the sushi bar that brought them there. Even though that was where my date had parked himself all night, I was sure that for the Hollywood folks, it took more than a spicy tuna roll to get them excited. Vanessa and I, on the other hand, had parked ourselves at the caviar station. It was perfectly situated to the right of the vodka slide, but to the left of the kitchen doors, so that as the waitstaff came out with hors d’oeuvres, we missed nary a shrimp skewer, vegetable dumpling or smoked salmon on toast points between the two of us.
