Bon Mots, Hamptons Edition

· Thursday afternoon, Citarella in Water Mill. Crowds mobbing the meat counter in search of the perfect thin-cut pork chop, as though a particularly affluent hurricane is about to blow in. Eventually, we make our selections and battle our way into the checkout line. Ahead of us in the queue, Jordan spots Christiane Amanpour. “Yes,” he notes, “it’s a warzone in here.”

· Saturday night, velvet ropes outside Resort in East Hampton. It’s slowly dawning on the desperate hordes that this may be the one night in recorded Hamptons history that throwing obscene amounts of money around won’t get them what they want. “P. Diddy controls the VIP room tonight,” doormaster Fred is explaining. “You aren’t getting a table there. And my tables in the main room are sold out.” The hordes look dubious and protesteth anew, Amex Black cards glistening in the moonlight. Fred is ready. “Listen, I have billionaires sitting in the main room tonight. You’re not getting in.”