High life
Meeting my heroine
Taki
Gstaad So, while Sir Denis plied us with gin and whiskey, the greatest Prime Minister of this century and I discussed why there are so few heroes left. (I feel Maggie would not have permitted Stalin to pull the stuff he did, and would have bulldozed the ludi- crous Roosevelt to stand up to the evil one; ergo why Churchill comes out numero two). I blamed Hollywood, and the trash it puts out that pollutes young minds into thinking that soldiers, businessmen and policemen are evil, while black drug deal- ers are cool. She was polite but disagreed. She did, however, prick up her ears when I mentioned the fact that it took a Greek, my father, to name a ship after the winning side's greatest general, George Patton.
The trouble was that I got a bit carried away, talking too much and not listening enough. Later ,I was still talking, to myself by now, as everyone had left me out on the terrace and gone to bed. Oh well, if there's a next time, I'll bring along a muzzle.
After that, it's been all downhill. Mind you, only because of my birthday. Birthdays at my age are as welcome as Inland Rev- enue inspectors, but year in, year out I cel- ebrate with a bash. Princess Lyna Schoenburg, the mother of the mother of my children, gave me a puppy Jack Russell to replace poor Charlie who drowned in my Long Island swimming pool earlier this summer. I named him Benito, after a man born the same day as I, who made the trains run on time but was beaten decisive- ly by the Greeks in 1940.
The party was a success because of Chiara Visconti, the most beautiful 16 year old anywhere. She is the daughter of Antonella and Uberto Visconti, who, alas, are my contemporaries and very old friends. Antonella was previously married to Umberto Agnelli, Gianni's younger brother, and I had an unrequited crush on her 35 years ago. The Viscontis gave me a green Austro-Bavarian jacket Rommel would kill for, one I hope to wear to chic German weekend parties this autumn.
Arnaud de Borchgrave, who is to for- eign correspondents what Sam Spade was to private dicks, gave a very flattering speech, ruined by my houseguest Charlie Glass's taking the opportunity to move in on a beautiful girl at my table while I responded to Arnaud's remark (Some houseguest.) Otherwise, everything went hunky-dory, including a very drunken din- ner two days later with the Evan Gal- braiths, Van being the best ambassador America had in Paris since Ben Franldin.
Van, a Reagan appointee, often read the riot act to the French, especially on terrorism, so I find it ironic that now, while Slam, Bam, thank you Man Harri- man is the ambassador there, 'Carols' is finally where he belongs. But then it dawned on me. Among his non-stop crimes against unarmed human beings, the Venezuelan scumbag Illich Ramirez Sanchez, may also have blown up my boat, Bushido. Three weeks later came the end. I hope the French use their Algerian exerience in torture and get all his secrets; then 'Carlos' should be hanged for crimes against humanity and Bushido.
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