(L–R) Penelope Cruz, Madonna, and Pedro Almodóvar

“Guess who’s coming! Guess who’s coming!” a normally blasé party-goer is whispering in my ear at Paper magazine’s blowout last Saturday night in honor of Pedro Almodóvar and Penelope Cruz. I know it can’t be those two, since they’re already here — she resplendent in a white Azzadine-ish dress, he not evincing much interest in me, which is a shame because who doesn’t on some level see herself cast in the next Almodóvar movie?

The party is at Lever House, which is now called Casa Lever. I think this is in honor of tonight’s guests (get it?), but it turns out that it’s the real name of the building’s new restaurant.

Anyway, the special guest star is not the Pope, not President Obama, but none other than Madonna herself, wearing a pair of black trousers and a nondescript black top (“She could have at least dressed up for us,” sniffs one downtown lovely, herself resplendent in golden palettes) — and with her blondish hair slicked back. She arrives alone, as far as I can tell (no Jesus or Lourdes or Rocco or David or Mercy, alas), plants herself between Penelope and Pedro, and appears to be yakking away with, or at, them all night long. Though I realize this is my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to go up to Madge and chat with, or at, her, or at least ask her a dumb question, for the life of me I can’t think of one thing to say to her, and now, several days later, I still can’t. Still, it gives me an odd little thrill being in the same room with someone who still is probably the biggest star in the world.

Medal of Honor for Lifetime Achievement in Fashion recipient Betsey Johnson

Two days later I’m at the National Arts Club (decorative plaster! Chandeliers! Fireplaces!) for a dinner celebrating Betsey Johnson, the 2009 recipient of the club’s Medal of Honor for Lifetime Achievement in Fashion. No Madge — in fact, I may be the biggest celebrity in attendance, at least until Matthew Settle, better known as Rufus on Gossip Girl, arrives, trailing cameras. Among the heartfelt tributes is the observation that Betsey was the first designer to cartwheel down a catwalk. First and only, which is a shame, since I, for one, ardently welcome any designer high jinks, on or off the runways.

Genevieve Jones at the Paperball Gala, Museum of Arts and Design

What a week for parties! The very next night, I pull on my tutu for the third time and take the IRT to the Museum of Arts and Design, a building that breaks my heart to even enter since the new owners saw fit to destroy the beloved lollipop exterior the place sported when it was the Huntington Hartford Museum. The event is called the Paperball Gala and includes a phenomenal collection of works by artists made of that humble material, but there’s another, non-paper exhibit on the second floor that also fascinates. Here is a collection of what seems like hundreds of exuberant, campy brooches from the enormous collection of Secretary of State Madeline Albright (and you thought you had a lot of stuff). A few of these frogs and flags and eagles are rendered in 18-karat gold with real gemstones, but the vast majority, charming as they are, and dripping with historical significance, seem to have hailed from that venerable jeweler F. W. Woolworth & Company.

Rose McGowan at the Paperball Gala, Museum of Arts and Design

PHOTO CREDIT: Patrick McMullan, Nick Hunt, David X Prutting/patrickmcmullan.com