Where to begin? I was so “set up” that the recent fashionista column got such a neat response that I decided I’d do an odds and ends column about happenings over this past weekend and bring us all another fillip of glamour.

There was a big party laid on toward the end of last week where people were invited to visit Samantha and Aby Rosen in their Beaux-Arts Manhattan townhouse. (Mr. Rosen is big in real estate; he owns some massive buildings. Mrs. Rosen is a doctor.) Said one insider: “You knew it was going to be ‘drive-by’ when the invite said ‘nine PM’” One wall of this manse is a billiard room with 20 Andy Warhol portraits lined up frame to frame.

But the townhouse was relatively empty. (Well, they are not going to have hordes of people putting drinks down on gilt consoles before their Damian Hirst, Jeff Koons, Francis Bacon art works!) The Rosens had flooded it with white banquettes, exotic flowers and topiary and invited 300 New Yorkers to join the atmosphere of the old Factory on Union Square back in the ’70s.

A few of the following VIPs decorated the banquettes: I do mean Donald and Melania Trump (surely I don’t have to explain “who” they are!); Catie Marron of the New York Public Library and her big deal finance wizard hubby, Donald; as well as the queen of writer’s block, Fran Lebowitz; and Vogue’s Marina Rust. All held court. And there was the still beautiful Katherine Ross, star of “The Graduate.” She is now wed to Los Angeles County Museum of Art’s director Michael Govan. He may have been off in Kiev, but she was right there in a hot red short Galliano dress with ruffles. And there was Stephanie Winston Wolcott, also of Vogue, in a new Balenciaga top, showing off her body, resculpted by uber-wellness guy David Kirsch. (He also oversees Ellen Barkin and Liv Tyler and gives two-week boot camps to those who need the same.)

The hostess, Samantha Rosen, wore a pale blue satin Dior, just off the runway and with only one shoulder covered. The look of the evening was eclectic – women in Prada’s blown up, puffed up bubble skirts and blouses. Men were in everything from oxford shirts and khaki trousers to the ubiquitous navy blazer, jeans and driving shoes, but these latter seem to be on the wane.

The big talk of the evening? (Well, I guess this party wasn’t quite enough!) How to get invited to the May 31st private bash Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise are giving in Los Angeles.

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Just a P.S. here: Young folks may be the rage these days (they always are!) but just about the biggest funeral in modern times happened this past Sunday at Forest Lawn when Hollywood said good-bye to that public-relations veteran Warren Cowan who had died at age 87. He had repped everyone you ever heard of and was greatly loved.

His stepdaughters, Melissa and Sara Gilbert, gave moving tributes to Warren, but it was columnist Army Archerd who had known him longest, who moved the crowd to laughter and tears. It was standing room only at this farewell and Warren would have loved outstripping some of the stars he’d repped when it came to an SRO good-bye.

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I asked my pal Andre Leon Talley, the most glamorous creature to work at Vogue magazine, how went his Lifetime Achievement Award to John Galliano down in Savannah.

Andre sighed: “I regret to say that Galliano was a no-show. He became gravely ill in the middle of the night and a doctor was called to his hotel. Accepting on his behalf was the divine, aforesaid Katherine Ross. It was a lovely event. President Paula Wallace, who founded the college, now 8000 strong, had a full gospel choir in red satin robes with white collars waiting on the tarmac for Galliano. But he spent the day in his hotel hoping to get better so he could fly back to Paris.”

I reminded Andre then that Galliano had once been invited by Queen Elizabeth II to a state dinner. He stood her up, leaving an empty seat at the royal table, allegedly "oversleeping" in his London hotel room. So he does tend to pop up ill or overstep the boundaries of good behavior at most inopportune moments in his sterling career, a career where he has been embraced over and over again by the most influential people in fashion.

Andre sighed again, but being the “good Christian” he is, he did not want to dish his friend Galliano. I find Andre almost saintlike in his public pose. And he is the sweetest person in the world in private as well.

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Oh, about all these events and parties: was I invited to the Rosen’s bash? Of course not. Did I go to Savannah to see Galliano? I did not. Did I make it out to Los Angeles for Warren Cowan’s funeral? I did not. I still just have my nose up against the glass like everybody else.

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