The South rises to the occasion at book party

L’Orangerie was a hothouse of jasmine, gardenias and, appropriately, honeysuckle for a party celebrating Linda Bruckheimer’s second novel, “The Southern Belles of Honeysuckle Way,” about a woman torn between her Southern upbringing and her charmed existence in Los Angeles, a work loosely based on Bruckheimer’s own double life.

“There are really two sides to Linda,” said Marilyn Katzenberg, who with husband Jeffrey organized the April 8 party for her “best friend,” Bruckheimer. “She’s as sophisticated as one gets, but her roots are really in Kentucky.”

Bruckheimer evidently had on her Hollywood hat that evening, or at least its suit, a cream-colored Chanel. “I told him casual and he shows up in this?” she joked of entertainment attorney Jake Bloom’s sweatpants and sneakers, a very casual counterpoint to Diane Keaton, perhaps the only person on the planet who can pull off a wasp-waisted houndstooth jacket, black bowler hat and stilettos.

“I’m friends with Linda because we’re both part of the L.A. Conservancy,” she said, her arms around Bruckheimer. “We’re trying to save the Ambassador Hotel.”

As for Bruckheimer’s literary alter ego, “I couldn’t have picked a worse profession to go with my lifestyle,” she said. “The world of L.A. is dynamic, interactive, social -- and it’s all good. But at the end of the day, it’s a mathematical impossibility to do both. To do fiction right, I have to lock myself in a room in Kentucky and not return phone calls. In L.A., you have to return phone calls on time.”

“She’ll call me at midnight, which means it’s 3 a.m. there,” said her husband, blockbuster producer Jerry Bruckheimer. “She’s working right through.”

“My real friends understand,” continued the author. “But there’s also a part of me that’s afraid I’m going to fall down the ladder.”

Despite -- or perhaps because of -- her lofty position on the industry ladder, Bruckheimer does not feel compelled to option her books to the movies. “I have no little voice in me saying, ‘Someday, some producer might want this,’ ” she said. “I couldn’t write if I thought that way.”

Milling among hundreds of magnolias (“Can you imagine what it cost to transport these?” wondered one guest) as the sun went down, actors Jon Voight, Michael Keaton and Don Johnson, who looked remarkably radiant (“Are you saying I need more powder?” he asked); directors Cameron Crowe and Michael Bay; CBS head Les Moonves, ICM agent Ed Limato, celebrity attorney Bert Fields and wife Barbara Guggenheim all appeared relaxed and happy. The mint juleps and bourbon balls might have had something to do with it.

“The biggest difference between a book party and a movie opening is you have no stars saying, ‘I’m supposed to sit there!’ ” said Terry Press, head of marketing for DreamWorks. “Though if everyone had a mint julep before a movie premiere, it would be a much more pleasant experience.”

“I hate bourbon,” said Linda Thompson. “The one time I was ever tipsy I was 17, and I had bourbon in a cherry-lemon 7-Up.”

She does not consider this a betrayal of her Memphis roots. “Southern-born and Southern-bred, and when I die I’m Southern-dead, y’all,” said the lyricist, who attended with her husband, Grammy Award-winning composer David Foster, though she is also remembered as Elvis Presley’s final flame. “And you don’t get more Southern than that,” she drawled.

With complimentary copies of Bruckheimer’s book tucked under their arms, guests departed around 8. A few cruised the dessert buffet first.

“This fork’s clean,” said Fran Drescher, stealing a bite of a meringue confection on her way out.