Jenna and Barbara mack in the hizzouse:

Every other teenager or twenty-something, of course, does not race around Manhattan in a motorcade, protected by frightening men with heavy armament. Or have a platoon of aides to carefully roll out a red carpet and smooth out the wrinkles to prevent the errant twist of an ankle cradled atop a stiletto heel.

That’s how the week started Sunday night, when a pair of black Suburbans screeched to a halt about 10:30 in front of the Roseland Ballroom in Midtown. “All press, get into the pen!” the security men barked. The television cameras clicked on. The still photographers jostled. The twins needed two vehicles, an aide explained, because they had so many friends in their posse. A bus earlier had disgorged the B-list friends. The A-list friends got to ride with the political princesses.

The girls walked the runway alone, paused, smiled and obliged the shouts from the paparazzi to put their cheeks together like Mary-Kate and Ashley, only not anorexic. They said nothing. Listed as hostesses for “R: The Party,” the Misses Bush did not greet any of the partygoers. Security men whisked them away to a private room, where they stayed with their friends.

A.