High life
Dust to dust
Taki
Charles Glass, a Speccie contributor and ex-hostage in Beirut, needs no introduc- tion. Suffice it to say that he's so good- looking, female security guards in airports frisk him, feel him, pat and press him all over, demanding to know if he has any con- cealed weapons. And this is not when he's travelling but seeing somebody off. '
The third suspect, Chris Isham, an ABC nightly news producer, I have only met once, but I hear he's also a lady killer — he starves a date to death. All three Don Juans took our Fergie to Elaine's, the uptown café that cures wealth quicker than Bill Clinton's taxes. The subject of conver- sation was Budgie the Chopper, I assume, as I .also assume that Fergie was at her most gracious. She only threw three buns all night. (Just kidding).
Now I hear that Morgan is burning up the trans-Atlantic — no pun intended — wire, and I wouldn't be surprised to see Fergie publishing Taki in the near future. (A sequel to The Trojan War perhaps?) While all this was going on, a certain finan- cial adviser was sitting in Tramp's with, yes, you've guessed it, the greatest Greek writer since Aristophanes, Joan Collins and the Tramp fiihrer, Johnny Gold. John Bryan was in terrific form that particular night. As was Joan, whose latest book had been nutrzero uno on the best-seller list and is still near the top. Thirty seven years after the greatest night of my life, I made anoth- er pass at Joan, but this time it didn't work. She claims she now likes me for my mind, which is a bit like falling in love with Jeff Bernard's walk.
And speaking of Jeff, I payed him a visit and found him in better spirits than usual. He was very brave, as always, and when I asked him whether I could do something for him he said he wanted the highest class hooker I know sent up to him. Now it just so happened I had taken Francesca Bristol along, whose ex-husband is now doing a Taki in Wandsworth Prison, so I pointed at her and told him that she was the real McCoy. Francesca is not only a very sweet girl, she also has a sense of humour. She played along for awhile until Jeff tried to jump off his wheelchair and on top of her ladyship. Oh well, I suppose I now have to go out and find one for him.
What I found even more amusing was that an actor friend of Jeff's — no, not Peter O'Toole — thought he'd cheer my 'Low Life' colleague up, and brought him some happy dust, the kind that landed me in Pentonville ten short years ago. Jeff, who doesn't touch the stuff, got all excited and went to bed thinking, 'Oh boy, tomorrow London will look beautiful from my wheelchair.' But when he got up his spirits sank. The Jamaican who was replacing his loyal Vera had outdone himself. Seeing what he thought was a hell of a lot of ashes on Jeff's desk, he wiped the whole thing clean. Poor guy. He still cannot understand why Jeff swears at people who clean up.
But back to Fergie. When she gets back from her skiing hols, I think she should pay a visit to Jeff and perhaps collaborate on a book with him. It could be about anything, even a wheelchair. It would go over big in America, and then we could all go over to Mykonos on my boat and celebrate like one big happy family.
driving the Emperor's new car.'
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