Night Six

The Party Girls swap spit with Jude Law...

When the Party Girls first arrived at the Windsor Arms' In Style bash last night, we thought the title may have been tongue-in-cheek; initially, the crowd looked more like a who’s-who at Senior’s Steakhouse than a gathering of the international elite. But confident that this was merely a waiting game, we used the time to gorge on risotto balls and take in our surroundings. Although definitely not as lavish as some of the other dos this week (the prize for most glam still goes to Friday night’s fashion fête at Holt’s), the party was guarded by a swarm of security out front—by far the tightest so far—assuring us the A-list was en route.

Enter Colin Farrell, who made an unsurprising dash to the smoker’s patio, where he described the odour of a passing garbage truck “fucking rancid.” (Funny, that’s exactly what we thought about his nod to ’90s facial hair). The Cassandra’s Dream star seemed eager to glean what he could about Toronto’s after-hours scene, and even took the time to reveal his tips on getting late-night liquor at a Chinese restaurant (ask for Coors-flavoured tea).

A hankering for Red Bull took Farrell and his bad boy brood back inside, but he wasn’t the only smoke-friendly celeb. Broken Social Scenester Emily Haines—who’s a million times prettier in person than in pics, where it often looks as if she hasn’t changed her underwear in days—gabbed about her shining scholastic years at the Etobicoke School for the Arts (she got, “like, all 90s”), although she did admit to dropping math ASAP.

Joaquin Phoenix also held court alfresco, and wasn’t shy about helping himself to a supply of complementary smokes, proclaiming “I’m cheap!” as he grabbed a hefty handful. Cheap, maybe, but also foxy as hell. Inside, we later spotted the Johnny Cash manqué holding hands with Mister Bigwig himself (and known Party Girls nemesis), Harvey Weinstein. In one booth we saw Sir Ben Kingsley—obviously a Friends fanatic—offering a quick bow to David Schwimmer, who himself made the eve’s most puzzling fashion statement in a “Jesus is my homeboy”–esque trucker hat.

Meanwhile, at the impossibly long bar lineup, newly minted festival it boy Kevin Zegers ordered his less famous pals (Aaron Ashmore and the guy from Joey, Paulo Costanzo) to fetch him a double vodka. (Little did he know that we would soon witness him being turned away at the Park Hyatt—apparently ET Canada’s imprimatur doesn’t carry as much weight as he hoped it would).

Surrounded by the likes of Jude Law, Jessica Alba, Mark Rufalo, Chris Cooper, Rachel Leigh Cook, Paul and Mira Sorvino, Patricia Clarkson, Eric McCormack, Amber Tamblyn and local fashionisto Paul Alexander (who wore his fave tighty-whity trousers for a third night in a row, and informed us that there was a “50/50 chance” that Mayor David Miller would soon be sporting similar leg wear), the Party Girls thought they’d seen it all. That is, until Paris Hilton arrived, wearing a $156 FCUK frock. Who says her time in the clink didn’t teach her the value of a dollar?

Not that the heiress didn’t show some evidence of her uppity preferences by making a typically ridiculous, but CanCon-friendly, request: “Do they have ice wine?” We couldn’t wait for her to ask for a Beaver Tail and poutine.

Following a hot tip, courtesy of the Post’s “Shinanigans” Govani, we headed over to the Park Hyatt, and had our own little “no pictures, please” moment when whisked through service elevators and back kitchens, landing right into the lap of Jude Law. Well, not exactly, although one Party Girl did manage to bump bums with Jude, thanks to a calculated seating arrangement.

Looking positively impish in a cropped sweater and cinched-at-the-waist pants, the legendary Lothario flirted it up Jessica Alba at a bottle-service booth (we get it—it’s a private party), leaving behind a whole lot of hooch when they made their exit—together, we might add—around three.

Good thing we were on hand to sample the spoils. You’d be wrong if you thought the Party Girls were above licking the rim of Jude’s flute (relax, we’re talking about his champagne glass). It’s proof positive that all this partying hasn’t gone to our heads—although it has certainly had an effect on our livers. See you in our dreams, Jude. Weinstein, we'll see you in hell.