There's something about protesters outside a party that makes whatever's going on inside seem even more decadent. Which probably explains the mischievous looks from guests as they arrive at the Brooklyn Museum's benefit honoring Bruce Ratner, the real estate tycoon behind the $4 billion Frank Gehry–designed Atlantic Yards stadium proposal that's drawn tonight's pack of ill-wishers. Safely inside the Louis Vuitton–sponsored bash, John McEnroe, Kristin Davis, Marc Jacobs, Yves Carcelle, and Waris Ahluwalia and Chiara Clemente wander through Takashi Murakami's retrospective trying to locate the art among all the hype. Julian Schnabel is wearing his usual nightie — and defending it vigorously. "It's never too cold for pajamas," he assures me.
Ditching their flutes of Moët & Chandon, guests head downstairs for the Nobu 57 dinner of yellowfin tuna, miso filet of beef, and Green Point Shiraz Victoria 2004. Kanye West — whose album cover Murakami recently designed — takes the podium and explains the backstory of his collaboration with the Japanese artist: "When I met with Murakami I would always draw women with big breasts, and Murakami would say, 'You like women with beeg teets!'" Ratner seems to be basking in his prom king status, and I ask him what he thinks of the mob outside — one of whom is holding a sign that says RATNER'S A VAMPIRE. "I used to live in fear of bad press," he confides. "Five years ago, these protesters would have had me down for a month. But now I think of them as my fan club."
Before long, guests begin to beg, steal, and "borrow" the Murakami-designed placemats, upholding a classic Law of Celebrity Behavior: The less they need something, the more shamelessly they grab for it. (Murakami's dealer Larry Gagosian has an armful.) But West's performance is the great equalizer, and as he whips the crowd into a sweaty frenzy, it's clear that the night has just begun. We migrate by Town Car to the after-party at a mysteriously empty loft in SoHo, where Jay-Z go-to DJ Cassidy is spinning for the likes of MOCA curator Paul Schimmel, flame-haired siren Jessica Joffe, and Japanese actress Kyoko Hasegawa. Around 2:00 a.m., the evening takes a sudden turn for the surreal: Two figures dressed in reflective bodysuits contort themselves into live sculpture, middle-aged socialites spark a joint, and people begin to whisper that it's the same building — if not the very apartment — where Heath Ledger died. As I'm leaving I practically trip over Murakami himself, who is sitting cross-legged on the floor. Though the music is blaring, the room is smoky, and dance circles are breaking out left and right, he is so blissful and Zen in the middle of it all that for a moment, I swear he is levitating.
