High life
Just good friends
Taki
s I write this I am about to open my bill for my New Year's blast, and although I know I'm in for a had surprise, my deci- sion not to give any more parties this year has nothing to do with it. What it does have to do with is the fact that there are people who are starting to speak of me as a host, a male, downmarket Brooke Astor or, even worse, in the words of Avvocato Agnelli, a Greek Elsa Maxwell. It is enough to drive one to buy and start reading Final Exit.
Mind you, after I pay the lousy bill I'm sure I'll change my mind, but I do feel hurt and hard done by. The reason for this is very simple. I've worked for over 30 years to acquire a bad reputation, one I can be proud of in my sunset years, and suddenly people — well, very few — are referring to me as respectable, a word that makes me reach for what put me in Pentonville.
Respectability I see as the last refuge of the desperado, or the grave of the unsuc- cessful social climber. And speaking of respectable souls, I am appalled that New York habits have taken over the English charity ball. By this I mean that social- climbing rich women are getting them- selves on committees and through the charity scam turning themselves into soci- ety leaders overnight. I will not mention names but they're mostly Bahamian, Aus- tralian, Anglo-Israeli and even a few natives. They are to a man all women. I guess that — with the exception of making babies — it's the only sport women can beat the men at.
But back to more important matters, such as party-giving. The reason I like to give parties is not to meet new people but in order to see only friends. In fact the only time one can see only people one likes is when one gives a party. Yet another reason to throw a bash is to gather all the pretty girls one knows around oneself. This was the case with my party at Christopher's. Never have! had prettier girls around me, not even when I was in Havana BC, at the Trocadero, with $500 bills bulging in my pockets. Last but not least, the reason for having parties is to please .one's friends, despite the fact that I do tend to make sud- den friends as soon as I announce yet another blast.
Needless to say, 1992 has to be celebrat- ed, if only because Neil Kinnock and Ger- ald Kaufman will both go to Pentonville for impersonating a future Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary respectively. But serious- ly, can any of you imagine those two arriv- ing in Washington, Berlin or Paris representing Great Britain? It is like nam- ing Andreas Papandreou head of the World Bank, or Fidel Castro chief of Amnesty International. Or better yet, 'Jef- frey Bernard and yours truly co-presidents of AA.
So, if the British people see the HO and give five more years to the Tory party I plan a large ball to celebrate the demise of Neil and Gerry. If not, I am moving to Albania, where my spies tell me money goes further. than even among the upper classes in England. And I hear that they have the best female bodyguards in the world. Tirana here I ,come, sometime in May maybe.
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