But didn't anyone have a sense of wonderment about the source of her money? Denise says the subject of her ex-husband "never, never, never" came up with the president or his operatives. "For what purpose?" says Denise. "That is totally behind me."

But politicians aren't the only beneficiaries of her largesse. Rich has also (quietly) donated millions to various charities, with a special emphasis on aids and cancer. "There was a time, four or five years ago," says Zarem, "that no matter who you were, if you went to her for money, she'd give it to you. I used to beg her to stop, to be more discerning." Zarem believes her ex-husband's history has spurred her charity work. "I think she tries a little harder to be constructive."

One night at Tatou, soon after Denise returned to New York, she was introduced to Niels Lauersen, a lumbering Danish doctor with a practice on Park Avenue. They immediately started holding hands. "I felt like I knew him in another life," says Denise. "They're both quite physical people," adds Denise's daughter Ilona, a sculptor whose two children were delivered by Lauersen. Denise's other daughter, Daniella, is an actress.

In 1994, Denise and her daughters settled into a huge duplex overlooking Central Park that houses a state-of-the-art recording studio and a vast art collection. Music mogul David Geffen lives underneath her. He once had to replace his wardrobe after Denise's hot tub leaked into his closet. Denise promptly picked up the tab.

It was in her new digs that Denise began to forge a reputation as Brooke Astor in spandex. But, as her friend and associate Jimmy Hester likes to point out, "Denise's parties always have a purpose." She's either "promoting someone" or fund-raising for some charity. There've been numerous parties to "increase awareness" of Lifebeat, the music industry's aids group, one of which featured seventeen cupids in scarlet short-shorts (for Valentine's Day). To celebrate Francesco Scavullo's fiftieth year in fashion, she dressed the help in shocking-pink-and-orange wigs, and at her party for Henry Kissinger, Larry King was flown in to serve as emcee. Then there was Patti LaBelle's birthday bash, for which Denise scoured the downtown bars in search of the perfect drag-queen Patti clone to lip-synch Patti's songs.

There are other blowouts on Red Mountain in Aspen, where "Denise has one of the killer houses and gives the best party of the year, bar none," says her friend Caroline Davis, who, along with Denise, was a member of a ski-for-charity group, Chicks on Sticks. Until her divorce settlement from Marc -- she reportedly demanded $500 million -- friends were often invited to jet over to Marbella, where Denise once owned a sprawling Spanish villa with her husband.

It was while she was yachting off Italy with Niels and some friends several summers ago that Denise received a phone call from her second child, who'd found a lump on her neck that turned out to be cancerous. At the time, Gabrielle was 24 years old. Three years later, seemingly in remission, she discovered she had leukemia. Gabrielle underwent a bone-marrow transplant in Seattle; Denise was the donor. Friends say that even as the marrow was taken from her bones, Denise spent every waking hour railing at the doctors, whose pessimistic reports were not allowed in front of Gabrielle. "If there is anyone in this hospital who doesn't believe my daughter will survive, get out now," she told them, once pinning a doctor up against the wall. Then she'd climb into the bed with Gabrielle and sing to her. At night, friends say, Denise would sleep holding a stuffed animal.