After Eden

I met David Foster Wallace once, at a swanky party thrown by Harper’s Magazine. I got the invitation because I was on the masthead, and I happened to be in New York at the time. In Vanderbilt Hall at Grand Central Terminal, a Great American Songbook band played Cole Porter’s “Night and Day” while Lewis Lapham danced elegantly with Francine Prose.

We all drank champagne and felt special, but the self-consciously cool guys were hanging out in the two bars that overlook the spectacular concourse, with its ceiling of stargazing beauty. Dave Eggers and Jonathan Franzen were there, talking about Thomas Pynchon and William H. Gass. In contrast to everyone else, clad in dinner jackets or slick suits, Wallace was wearing what looked like sweatpants, his hair in a loose topknot.

I met Kate Spade once, too. It was at a glamorous dinner party thrown by Galen and Hilary Weston, at their beautiful house in midtown Toronto. There was an amazing Tony...