What do you do when life gives you Lennons?

Because I’ve been a freelance book reviewer for an online company for the last 10 years, I got an invitation to a book debut party at Chateau Marmont that promised to be celebrity-studded. I love parties, especially ones that promise free hors d’oeuvres and booze. Also, this one was being promoted by a cosmetics company, so I figured there was a good chance there’d be gift bags. But to call me a wallflower would be kind. I’m more of a sink-into-the-floor flower.

I wanted to bring a friend because God forbid I should actually try to talk to a stranger. But the invite was for one. As usual, I hatched a plot. I called up my friend Eve. “Can you take photos?” I asked her. “Uh, yeah, I guess,” she said. “Why?” “I need you to pose as a photographer so you can go to this celebrity party with me,” I explained. “Uh, OK,” she said. Eve is always game.

“Do you have a camera?” she asked. “Uh, not a professional-looking one. Do you?” I said. “Er, no,” she said.

We pondered for a bit. Of course, this conversation took place two hours before the party. “I’ll call a couple of people,” I said.

My friend Browder said his dad had a 35-millimeter camera I could borrow. “Great!” I said and picked it up on the way to Eve’s apartment.

I handed Eve the camera when she got in the car. “Where’s the flash?” she asked.

“Huh?” I said.

“The flash, the flash! Where’s the flash?”

“Isn’t it built in somewhere?”

Eve slapped her forehead. “No,” she said. “Great. This party is at night. I’m supposed to be a professional photographer, and I’ve got a camera with no flash.” She started rooting around in my car for something that we could rig the camera with that might look like a flash.

“Here, try this,” I said, handing her my little black square pedometer. “Maybe you could put this on top.” “How am I supposed to attach this?” she asked.

“I dunno; got a rubber band?” I asked.

“No,” she said, sighing. “Well, maybe no one will notice.”

When we got to Chateau Marmont the place was packed. So many flashbulbs were going off, no one noticed that Eve’s camera wasn’t flashing. Marisa Tomei was posing in low-slung pants and a tiny lace top. She thought we were looking at her and gave us a snooty look, but we were just trying to figure out how to get past her to the bar.

Mena Suvari from “American Beauty” was standing there chatting, glass in hand. Where did she get that wine? We finally found the bar and knocked back a glass of Chardonnay. Now, where was that food?

The hors d’oeuvres platters were underwhelming presentations of fruit and cheese and impossible to get anywhere near. This party was full of actors, after all. So we settled for another glass of wine and wandered outside into the courtyard. Sitting on his knees in the middle of the lawn was a cute young Asian guy wearing a red jogging jacket and chatting on a cell phone. “Look, look, it’s Julian Lennon!” I stage-whispered to Eve. (Did I mention I was drinking on an empty stomach?) “Ooh, ooh, it is,” she said.

“He looks just like an Asian version of John Lennon,” I said. “Yep. Exactly. I can’t wait to tell Nelly we saw Julian Lennon,” she said.

The guys standing next to us were snickering.

Just then the book reading began. “I’m hungry. Wanna go?” Eve said. “Yep,” I said. “I didn’t see any goodie bags.” (The book was “The Bombshell Manual of Style,” and we already know everything there is to know about bombshellness. Eve has a Joan Crawford quote for every occasion.)

It was while eating raw beef at an Ethiopian restaurant on nearby Fairfax that I started and said, “Oh, God. That was Sean Lennon.” “Oh cripes. Sean Lennon,” Eve repeated.

“Never again, Lucy,” she said.

“Shut up, Ethel,” I said.

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Samantha Bonar can be contacted by e-mail at samantha.bonar@latimes.com.