Due to an unfortunate Halloween costume construction accident, we were unable to watch New York magazine-PR reality drama The City last night. Thankfully, we our favorite freelance society reporter was there to fill us in.

We Are the Longchampions, My Friend
 By Betsey Morgenstern
Accessories magazine party reporter

Last night Longchamp, a handbag brand that has given us so much joy over the years, decided to give back to the community by holding a benefit for KiptonART Foundation, which introduces poor, poor artists to all the rich gallery owners and collectors that are going to be buying their work. Oh, they give some money for needy kids who want to make art, but no one was talking about that, because it's a downer. Apparently, this costs a lot of money, and Kipton Cronkite, founder of the organization was very thankful that Elle magazine, Longchamp, and People's Revolution PR would throw him this bash.

In attendance was socialite and Elle accessories editor Olivia Palermo, a close personal friend of Cronkite's. She wore a black dress that looked like the molted skin of a rare snake and was slithering around mumbling about what a nightmare she was having. At one point, we saw her talking to Roxy Carmichael Olin, sometimes Brothers & Sisters guest star and daughter of Patricia Wettig and Ken Olin. For some reason, Palermo was introducing Olin to the photographer for Patrick McMullan and then told her to "go do her job." I was going to go ask Doug, the photographer, what the tiff was about, but he's still mad at me for that time I made out with him at Marquee and then wouldn't go home with him. It was a bad time for me, and I just wasn't ready for something other than a hair-mussing romp next to a bathroom attendant.

Roxy Carmichael Olin did not take this too well, and instead of making sure she was doing her job in front of her boss, People's Revolution honcho Kelly Cutrone, she instead went to Erin Kaplan, who isn't Olivia's boss but thinks she's is. They both think that Olivia has a bad attitude and can't do her job. Erin said she wants to get Olivia fired so bad, but she can't because their boss, Joe Zee (who couldn't make it because he was at the 20th anniversary party for the Rawhide leather bar in Chelsea), really likes Olivia. Erin was all squinty in her pink ruffley party dress, but Roxy Carmichael Olin had a real look of crazy deviousness on her face in a short dress that looked like she had to twist Magnum PI's bedsheets around her body and jump out the window just before Higgins barged in.

The only one who seemed to like Olivia at the party was her old friend (and, full disclosure, my ex-boyfriend) Freddie Fackelmayer, who looked as good as ever, but was woefully underdressed in just a robin egg shell blue shirt without a tie or jacket. Social gay Kristian Laliberte was telling me how tacky he thought Freddie looked and I told him to shut up, because the shirt really brought out the color of his eyes. When Freddie entered and greeted Olivia, I hovered near Roxy Carmichael Olin and Whitney Port, the aspiring designer that he is currently dating. They were abuzz about how much they couldn't stand Olivia and they both worried that Freddie might be a socialite just like her. They said it as if it was a bad thing. If only Tinsley Mortimer were here to smack some sense into them.

Whitney didn't want to go say hi while he was talking to Olivia, but once she left, she walked over and gave him a big hug. He should have told her how fat she looked in her too-short sparkly getup and how she mumbles and chews on her words like a three-day-old piece of Hubba Bubba. But he didn't. He apologized for bringing his father to meet her at dinner. And then—wait. He brought his father to meet her? We dated for months and he wouldn't even mention his parent's name in front of me. What gives, Freddie! What does Whitney have that I don't, other than a fleet of television cameras hanging around her?

Seething, I floated over to see Erin Kaplan and Kelly Cutrone deep in conversation, and they actually seemed to be making nice with each other. Who thought that two mean, unattractive, career-driven PR girls would have anything in common? Kelly was telling Erin how she started in magazine PR but then started her own company and now she only reps things that she thinks are awesome like Greasy Brand Hair Products, the color black, and Slankets.

Then Erin told Kelly that she doesn't know what it is about Olivia that she hates, but it seems to do with the fact that every time Olivia comes into the office Erin is on the phone. "Does she show up while I'm talking to someone hoping that I won't talk to her? And why won't she turn all the way around at her desk to talk to me? She only talks to me over her shoulder, like I'm some kind of colossal bother. If she spent as much time doing her job as she did doing her make up, she might get ahead in this business. But she doesn't. She's Horrible."

I was ready to leave, but Freddie was still talking to Whitney and they were laughing and giggling and making plans to go to Nantucket together and for some reason, I decided it would be a great time to call Jay Lyon, Whitney's ex-boyfriend.

"Hey, Jay, it's me, Betsey. No, Betsey Morgenstern. Remember, you held my hair once at that huge party at Billy Joel's in the Hamptons. Yes, that girl. No, I don't want to show you my bra again, I wanted to call and tell you something about your ex-girlfriend, Whitney. You're getting back together? She texted you and you two hooked up? Well, guess what—she's dating someone else. Yes, his name is Freddie Fackelmayer and he is a Wall Street boy with a golden tan and the bone structure of a German infantryman. I know, he is totally the opposite of you. And guess where they met? At a barbecue on your roof while you were away on tour. Can you believe that! Yes, you should totally call her up and have dinner with her. You're right, she is totally going to hate being called out on meeting a boy at your house. But don't tell her you heard it from me, I had nothing to do with it. No, not Betty. It's Betsey. Betsey Morgen—whatever, I don't care if you know my name, just break them up! Talk to you soon."

Sure, a handbag party might not have been the best place to make that call, but I scooted out the back door, so that Freddie and Whitney wouldn't see me and suspect that something is up. My mind spinning with a night full of celebrity spotting, cheap champagne, and some fumes from the glue donated to the little kids of the KiptonART Foundation, I hobbled home along the cobbles of SoHo, to a full night of dreaming of being with Freddie once again.