Glamour and a few gaffes as the party world turns

L.A.’s party set -- a sequined subculture of wealth and philanthropy, with a guest list heavy on celebrity -- played on this year, feting everyone from Andy Warhol to Jeffrey Wigand. Brits Elton John, Liz Hurley and Sting turned up for Barbara Davis’ Carousel of Hope Ball, to share a table with the hostess and Oprah. Even the gala opening of the new Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels met its boldface quota, with Anjelica Huston and Rita Moreno delivering inspirational readings.

But for all its high-profile panache, the social scene was not without its awkward moments. Billy Bob Thornton topped the “What Was He Thinking?” list with his ode to marijuana during a benefit for the American Heart Assn. Not to mention Elizabeth Taylor’s tardiness in extremis at a benefit dinner in her honor. Lakers owner Jerry Buss brought the aforementioned Carousel Ball to a standstill when a pinched nerve in his neck prompted a call to the paramedics. And Reese Witherspoon held her head high as she hobbled into a fund-raiser with a broken foot. (No questions, please.)

Smokin’ -- Only minutes before, the cardiologist-heavy crowd had saluted tobacco industry whistle-blower Jeffrey Wigand for his work on behalf of smoking prevention. Then Billy Bob Thornton took the spotlight: “I’m sorry, I wrote a song about pot,” the actor-rocker announced as he launched into “Smokin’ in Bed” at an August benefit for the American Heart Assn. “It’s a tribute to my old buddies who used to lie around and watch cartoons.” Unbelievably, the crowd hit the dance floor.

Crime-busting pays -- There seemed no end to the parties for new LAPD Chief Bill Bratton. Billionaires were falling over themselves to welcome the city’s head crime fighter, and the invites were so plentiful, he said, “I actually lose track of the functions.” During one week in November, Bratton chatted with News Corp. Chairman Rupert Murdoch on a 20th Century Fox sound stage, toasted his new Los Feliz neighbors at the recently renovated Sowden House, then appeared as guest of honor at back-to-back dinner parties hosted separately by entertainment attorney Howard Weitzman and former chief executive of Universal Studios and Viacom, Frank Biondi. “One of the great things about the job of police chief is that you get to travel in so many circles,” Bratton said.

XXX-rated -- The place to be on Halloween, L.A.’s favorite holiday, was a 1,000-strong event funded by adult film giant Vivid Video and co-hosted by hotel heiress Paris Hilton. The West Hollywood party, populated by dozens of scantily clad adult film actors and nude exotic dancers, drew industry types and an odd mix of celebrities. “This is the only party where the porn stars dress like lawyers,” said Josh Etting, a writer for the WB’s “The Jamie Kennedy Experiment.” And it was difficult to discern the real stars from guests masquerading as them. The Lakers’ Rick Fox was there as a towering Santa Claus, Tori Spelling wore a midriff-baring satin get-up, and Hugh Hefner and Mickey Rourke came as themselves.

Wigged out -- Andy Warhol was L.A.’s guest of honor in May, the month his retrospective opened at MOCA. There were several cocktail parties celebrating the return of Warhol to the West Coast, but the most memorable was hosted by the downtown museum at its loading dock on lower Grand Avenue. It was an eclectic mix of the artist’s old pals (Ed Moses, Dennis Hopper), admirers (Paul Reubens, Charlize Theron) and patrons, who milled among endless rows of Day-Glo daisies, Candy Darling impersonators writhing on platforms, and drifting silver pillows reminiscent of Warhol’s 1966 installation “silver clouds.” Even the bartenders wore white Warhol wigs.

Night shift -- In Hollywood, the awards season reaches a crescendo by late March, climaxing on Oscar night with Vanity Fair’s all-star, million-dollar fete at Morton’s restaurant. This year, the lucky winners of editor Graydon Carter’s popularity contest celebrated Academy Award recipients Halle Berry, Denzel Washington and Sidney Poitier, seemingly oblivious to the post-Sept. 11 contribution to the evening: the county’s bomb squad pacing the sidewalk outside with German shepherds. John Cleese noted: “It actually felt as if something shifted.”

Repeat performance -- He delivered the same zinger at more than one benefit this year, but each time Jay Leno had his audience howling: “I know what we can do about Osama bin Laden -- send over Anna Nicole Smith. She’ll get his money and he’ll be dead in a week.”

Regally blond -- She had mysteriously broken her foot, and it was the October weekend that her syrupy flick “Sweet Home Alabama” broke box office records. Neither kept actress Reese Witherspoon from hosting a benefit for the Rape Treatment Center of Santa Monica at the Beverly Hills home of Ron Burkle. “It’s a testament to her character that she’s here,” “Friends” co-star David Schwimmer told guests. Witherspoon wanted to support the luncheon because, as a mother of “a 3-year-old girl, recent media attention on the sexual abuse of children has been at the forefront of my mind,” she said.

Where was Bond, James Bond? -- Guests had hoped for a glimpse of Pierce Brosnan and his primo Malibu digs when they attended an October house tour on behalf of Hollywood Habitat for Humanity. Sorry. The star was in Thailand promoting “Die Another Day,” and the property on the tour was his and wife Keely Shaye Smith’s Malibu Pad No. 2, a low-slung, casually furnished beach house. Their snazzy home was up the road apiece. No matter. Guests sipped tea and sampled canapes under a canopy on the beach as dolphins played in the sea. “We call them Malibu reindeer, we see so many of them in December,” observed one local.

But can he dance? -- “I want to talk to you as a singer,” Academy Award-winning actor Kevin Spacey told the crowd gathered to honor Phil Ramone, the legendary recording industry producer-engineer, at the Mancini Musicale at UCLA’s Royce Hall. “Phil and I have been working for the past year on my preparation to play Bobby Darin in a film,” he said. And then, head cocked and fingers snapping, he broke into an a cappella version of “I Found a New Baby” a la the ‘50s pop idol. “Without Dr. Phil -- the real Dr. Phil -- I wouldn’t have had the guts to do that,” Spacey said at the August fund-raiser.

Unfashionably late -- They’d anted up $2,500 per plate for the chance to meet La Liz and dine on filet mignon and raspberry souffle. The pre-supper martinis kept arriving, but not Elizabeth Taylor. And by the time the legend showed up at the February benefit for the AIDS Services Foundation and the Laguna Beach Art Museum, a few guests were ready to see several of her. Finally, two hours late, with bosom pal Michael Jackson in tow, she swept through the front door. “Elizabeth, the party was last night,” Merv Griffin deadpanned.

Showstopper -- The Carousel Ball of Hope was just starting to kick -- B.B. King was onstage belting out “Let the Good Times Roll” with Kelsey Grammer -- when panic swept through the Beverly Hilton ballroom. All eyes turned to the table just beyond that of Elizabeth Taylor and Elton John, where Lakers owner Jerry Buss slumped, his head on his chest. The music ceased and Grammer cried out from the stage: “Is there a doctor in the house?” (As it turned out, the fuss over Buss was unnecessary -- the man had suffered a pinched nerve in his neck.) As Buss was placed on a stretcher and transported to a waiting ambulance, John deftly lightened the mood. He looked at Liz and said, “See, Elizabeth, what you still do to men?”