We were too busy haranguing Real Housewives at a Barnes & Noble on the Upper East Side to watch The City last night. Luckily fictional freelancer Betsey Morgenstern was there to watch all the roommate breakup action.

Apartment 3G
by Betsey Morgenstern
Junior Party Reporter, OurSceneTV.com

Here I am at the afterparty for Tulips & Pansies—The Headdress Affair, the city's most spectacular event that uses outrageous headgear to raise money for HIV/AIDS (next to the annual Easter Bonnet Contest). This year's event was co-chaired by PR maven Kelly Cutrone and socialite Ariana Rockefeller and was a smashing success.


After the runway show, where dozens of models marched around in hats so large they could barely stay on the models' heads without snapping their little necks, I ran into the event's host, noted dandy and man about town James Aguiar. James and I go way back to when I was an intern's assistant at a fashion blog and once they let me out of the office after a long day of sharpening pencils (that no one used) and I bumped into him at a party. I flirted with him for hours, and I still have no clue why he didn't take me home.

"James, darling, so good to see you," I said air kissing him on both cheeks. "As always the show was amazing."

"Guuuuuurrrrrrrllllllll, that shit got ruined!" he shouted back at me, putting his hand on his hip and circling his neck around.

"What are you talking about James. All the hats looked great and no one fell off the runway. The audience loved it."

"Did you miss it? Oh hell no!" he asked shaking his finger rapidly in front of my face. "The fight! Oh, girl."

"James, what are you talking about? What fight?"

"That stupid Whitney Eve and Roxy Carmichael Olin. Do you know them?"

"Vaguely Whitney used to date my..."

"I don't care! Those bitches were fighting in the front row of my show!"

"About what?"

"Didn't you hear all the details? Whitney was like, 'Sammy told me you went looking at apartments, thanks for abandoning me,' and then Roxy said, 'It was one apartment and I can't afford it anyway,' and then Whitney was like, 'Well, I wish you had told me instead of making secrets,' and Roxy was like 'Whatever. Getting celebrities to wear your ugly clothes is hard,' and Whitney was like, 'I'm a celebrity, and nothing about me is hard.'"

"Oh, James, that doesn't sound that bad."

"But it got worse. Then Whitney was all, 'You're not poor, if you wanted an apartment you could just ask your dad.'"

"Wait, who's Roxy's dad?"

"I think his name is Leonard Olin but everyone calls him Lena. You know, he was on that show thirtyorso back in the '80s. He now produces that show with Sally Fields Brothers & Fathers."

"Damn, well, can't he afford the apartment?"

"Roxy said—during my show!—that the rent was $4,000 and he wouldn't pay it and was like, 'I won't support you anymore. Maybe you should move home. I'll get you a job playing a surrogate mother to a bunch of gays on my show.'"

"She should have said yes."

"I think she did because she moved out of Whitney's apartment."

"Damn, that's insane. Sorry they were fighting for so long."

"Thank goodness Kelly Cutrone was there to be like, 'Shut the fuck up and watch the fashion show or I will tear your heads off and spit down your throats.' That's why we got her a chairperson, after all. We needed her as security!"

"Oh, James I gotta run there's my friend, Seth."

Across the room I spotted my friend Seth, who works at Elle magazine. He shared an apartment with my friend Cassie when they were both at FIT. Man, Cassie and I had some times back in the day before she went to rehab, found god, and then went on a mission to convert needy children in Cambodia. God, I miss that bitch. Anyway, I always thought Seth was super hot and once Cassie and I got him really stoned and we were sitting on the couch watching Pink Flamingos on DVD and I had my hand on his crotch and nothing happened. It must have been some powerful weed.

"Hey, Seth. How've you been?"

"Betsey, laaaaaaaddddyyyyyyyyyy," he shouted and give me a huge hug. "I'm a little drunk. Oh my god. This song is my jam! 'Just dance. Da dee doo do do, just dance,'" he said bopping his head around.

"Damn, Seth, why did you get so wasted?"

"We're celebrating!"


"Olivia Palermo is moving to Japan!"


"Well, only for like three days, but that's enough for me. Whooo. 'Where are my keys, I lost my phone, phone.'"

"What's she going to do there."

"I'm not sure, but while she's gone Erin and I are going to give her job to Louise Roe."

"Oh, don't do that. I hate that bitch. She stole my man!"

"Awww, Bets. Don't hate. Louise is sweet. That's so sad you're single now."

"Yeah, Seth," I said, reaching my arm around him and cupping his firm buttocks. What, I'm not above taking advantage of a clearly drunk man. "I'm single now."

"Um, Betsey, you know I'm gay, right?"

"What?" Never in a million years would I have guessed it. His finely-tailored outfits could only be selected to attract a member of the opposite sex, and his athletic body and perfectly moisturized skin weren't that of a gay man, but were a by-product of working for a women's...fashion...magazine. No! I won't believe it. Seth has to be straight. "Come on, Seth. Stop fooling with me. I mean what kind of gay would be at the afterparty for a fashion-based AIDS fundraiser anyway."

"Betsey, what are you talking about? This isn't an afterparty. It's The Cock in the East Village. And it's 3am. I should be going home—with that guy over there."