But incurable bone cancer had changed all that diagnosed in November 1992, Mary died two months later.Д«y every account, she faced her death squarely. ThatвЂ™s very gallant.вЂќДЇor what had happened in Irving LazarвЂ™s carefully ordered life that year was the ultimate violation of his great plan: he had lost his wife, Mary, 25 years his junior and, in his words, вЂњmy guiding light.вЂќ In his scheme, he had always meant to live long enough to celebrate the millennium, and she had been meant to survive him. What, I had asked him a few days earlier, was the most telling thing about Lazar? вЂњWhat heвЂ™s doing right now,вЂќ Nicholson had said tenderly. For those who knew him only through the media, it was a starвЂ™s entrance-Moses parting the waters. He made his way from table to table, handshaking, hugging, kissing. He entered slowly but confidently, supported by a cane, wearing perfectly tailored dinner clothes and the trademark black-rimmed glasses that had always made him a caricaturistвЂ™s dream. But just as Marisa Tomei was approaching the stage at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion to accept the award for best supporting actress, Irving Lazar strolled into Spago. to munch Wolfgang PuckвЂ™s Alaskan salmon with horseradish crust and watch, as if they were going to be quizzed later, the Academy Awards on one of nine television screens. вЂњI have no intention of sitting down,вЂќ said Lazar.ДЇive nights later, Hollywood royalty and New York society dutifully seated themselves at Spago at the ungodly hour of six P.M. Irving,вЂќ she said, вЂњwhere are you going to sit?вЂќ вЂњOtherwise, weвЂ™ll never get this party seated. вЂњIвЂ™m going to get this chart out of here so he canвЂ™t tinker with it,вЂќ one assistant whispered. вЂњBut she wanted to sit next to Sherry Lansing and the Norman Lears,вЂќ the assistant noted gently.ДЄt last, all 150 dinner guests had been placed. His focus had turned to Carol Matthau he thought she should sit next to the veteran screenwriter Ivan Moffat. Ten years ago-вЂќДЄs Lazar finished cutting that one dead, one of his assistants had a head-shaking epiphany: вЂњMy God, Dennis Hopper went from the main table to the corner in one year.вЂќ Lazar couldnвЂ™t have been less concerned.

His biggest dream is to come to the party. The voice of a secretary at the Irving Paul Lazar Agency blasted over the speakerphone: вЂњIrving, IвЂ™ve got on the phone. вЂњUnless heвЂ™s going to give you another six figures, I wouldnвЂ™t worry about it.вЂќДЄ phone call interrupted this game of musical power chairs. DeMann is MadonnaвЂ™s manager, and Lazar had profitably shoehorned himself into the negotiations for her recent book, Sex. вЂњBecause I just earned a great deal of money from him,вЂќ said Lazar.

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