Last night, at the restaurant/bar Broadway East on Manhattan's Lower East Side, a handful of the city's gay media mafia joined a smattering of reporters and assorted random old folks to help celebrate the debut of Assisted Loving, former New York Times Sunday Styles columnist Bob Morris' amusing tale of helping his octogenarian father find love in the aftermath of his longtime wife's death. The party, sponsored by the Accompanied Literary Society, promised makeshift karaoke near the bar and a ukulele performance by Morris. The invite did not note that Tatum O'Neal, the famous child actress who was recently arrested for allegedly attempting to by crack cocaine near her luxury Manhattan apartment building (located just a few blocks away from Broadway East), would show up.

The 44-year-old O'Neal, it should be noted, looked ravishing in a low-cut sleeveless black dress that showcased both her ample bosom and her large right-underarm tattoo, which lists the names of the three kids she has with former tennis great John McEnroe. She was a guest of Ira Silverberg, Morris' longtime partner and the literary agent who represents Neil Strauss, Kate Spade, and JT Leroy (at least when JT Leroy was actually "JT Leroy").

By the time O'Neal showed up, around 11 p.m., only about 15 of the 50 some-odd guests remained, but the karaoke portion of the night was in full swing. Sipping on a glass of ice water—not white wine—she laughed when we asked her to join us in a rendition of REM's "Losing My Religion" (we should note here that we have absolutely no vocal range and are unequivocally terrible at karaoke), but she finally relented and stepped up to the plate to join us for Al Green's "Let's Stay Together".

Fitting with the tenor of most performances of the evening, the results were unimpressive: O'Neal, an unidentified female singer, and this reporter had trouble harmonizing and maintaining a steady rhythm. "Loving you whether, whether / Times are good or bad, happy or sad," we all crooned, off-key and out of sync. Then again, we'd never practiced together, so a certain amount of discord was to be expected. O'Neal later admitted to an even greater sin: "I've never actually sang karaoke before," she confessed before heading off into the night. The arrest seemed like the furthest thing from her mind.