High life
I bopped until I dropped
Taki
Washington DC If Diogenes had been in the nation's cap- ital last Monday night he would have been looking for his stolen lamp. Bill Clinton had once again taken the oath amid the barbaric hoop-la of Hollywood hype, but it was my favourite Jockey Club barman who put the whole thing in perspective: 'Pour- ing champagne for these characters is like feeding a pig strawberries,' said the sage.
Mind you, I've got to give the Draft Dodger credit. His speech may have left me with the same greasy aftertaste of junk food, the same predictability, but his fans lapped it up. He is an emotional pickpock- et par excellence, and for the umpteenth time he sold them the sizzle not the steak. The good news is that Maya Angelou did not get to speak. (Remember her poem for the last inaugural, 'the Greek, the Sheik, the weak, the geek ...') The bad was that John Warner, Liz Taylor's ex, headed the swearing-in event, accompanied by Barbara Walters, a woman whose triteness, senti- mentality and obtuseness matches the pop culture that has made her queen of the idiot box.
Needless to say, I did not get within a mile of these types. After all, although a Pentonville alumnus, I have certain stan- dards. The reason for my trip was the Counter Inaugural Ball, thrown by Lucy and Christopher Buckley and Tina and P.J. O'Rourke. 'Bop until you drop,' read the invite, and I sure dropped. I had an inkling that it was going to be a long night as soon as the shuttle took off from the Big Bagel. `You mean all these people are going to the ball tonight?' asked an almost criminal- ly obese woman stretched out in front of Chuck Pfeifer and little me. 'I'd rather go to a Belfast funeral on a rainy Sunday than where you're going, lady,' answered the Vietnam vet. to no one in particular, set- ting the tone for the flight. To say that we were unappreciated by the rest of the lem- mings on board would be a gross under- statement. So we rubbed it in by heaping abuse on Democrats in general and the Clintons in particular. Even the hostess did not say goodbye as we got off.
Soon, however, we were among friends. Our host, Willy von Raab, served in gov- ernment throughout the Reagan adminis- tration and is well connected in Foggy Bottom. His present girlfriend is the equiv- alent of the Sultan of Brunei where the root of all envy is concerned, and she popped the bubbly for a couple of hours before the ball.
Once there things became confused. I remember writing down that Lucy Buckley was wearing Armani, taking the telephone number of the loveliest Southern belle since Scarlett O'Hara — Helgi Walker and then standing at the bar admiring the date of ABC anchor Peter Jennings. Like our benevolent proprietor, Jennings is a Canadian, so I tried to get in his date's good books by insisting that Socrates, Plato, Aristotle and Alexander the Great were also Canadians. It didn't work. Jen- nings may be a commie pinko, but he's a very nice guy, and it was nice to see him at the right party. Ditto Arianna Huffington, with whom I may or may not have bopped until I dropped. One thing the Buckley- O'Rourke ball established was that conser- vative Republicans now have the prettiest girls. Helgi Walker, the future Mrs Taki, is not only beautiful, she's brainy as hell and works for Justice Thomas. The bad news is that Pfeifer also has eyes for her and every time I got near her he materialised by my elbow like a character defect. And then it was off to the Ritz Carlton.
This is where the fat cats were celebrat- ing Clinton's having fooled the majority two times running. To my great chagrin Arnaud de Borchgrave, supposedly one of my oldest and best friends, was swooning around arm in arm with . .. the first felon, Hillary Clinton. Linda Wachner — CEO of a Fortune 500 company, Warnaco — I have christened the Hunchback of Notre Nouveau Riche. Wachner may be terribly deformed and speak in Brooklynese, but she has become Pam Harriman's best friend and protector. Slam, Barn, Pam opens doors for the hunchback and la Wachner provides the private jet and the moolah. It is a marriage not unlike that of Bill and Hillary. See what I mean about poor Diogenes? Bill, Hillary, Pamela, Linda, oy veh!
Jeffrey Bernard returns next week and Leanda de Lisle will be back in a fortnight.
'I think I preferred your bedside manner ... '
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