The other night, at the premiere of Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, two of planet Earth’s most unique personalities — the New York Post’s Cindy Adams and Gossip Girl’s Blake Lively — collided, resulting in an explosion of senselessness and pie. Adams, responsible journalist that she is, tried to record the events as they transpired — “A chorus surrounded Blake Lively,” she begins in today’s column — but then something must have occurred, because only fragments of the experience remain.
Her blond mom told me: “In my day I modeled under the name Willie Elaine Lively. After having three babies, I posed in Jantzen swimsuits for Harper’s Bazaar and Glamour.” She called her daughter’s career a “windfall,” said they never pushed her, said, “It was something she wanted.” There was the tall lady who couldn’t get through security despite repeating: “Blake wants me with her. She asked to be photographed with me.” And who was this “me”? Blake’s jeweler. “Margo Morrison. You can see my Web site. Blake always wears my things.” OK.
Like Amber Tamblyn, is Blake into a new house? No. “All I want is a bunch of blueberry pies,” she said. “In Vancouver, I once had five.” At this point her father weighed in with: “You don’t always need a new house, but you definitely always need blueberry pies.” While I tried imagining what to do with this information, the jeweler, posing with Blake, handed me her card with “I show at ABC Carpet. Blake always wears my things.” OK.
It is said that since that day, Adams remains in a feverish, comatose state and has awoken only once to madly cackle: “What about Forenza? Where are my pies! Haahahaha.”