Low life
Suffering from exposure
Taki
The first to get outed was Malcolm Forbes, and it was typical. Forbes was a 'On a clear day you can see some countries where English clubs aren't allowed to play.' powerful publisher, but after his demise and eventual exposure only his four sons, his ex-wife and daughter suffered as a result. Par for the course, I say. After all, the family is the natural enemy of militant queerdom, and it was the Forbes family that got stung.
Mind you, Malcolm Forbes was never really in the closet. Everyone who knew him was aware of his sexual preference, just as they were aware of his great kindness and generosity. (Alas, of his desire for personal publicity, too.) But the fact that he refused to openly advertise his homosexuality enraged the militants be- cause advertisement means new recruits. Which brings me to the point I wish to make. Militant homos want people to flaunt it in order to proselytise, and this is why the rich, the famous and those in the arts and in politics are fair game.
Needless to say, I have many gay friends, but no queer ones. Half of the regulars at Mortimer's are gay, but I have yet to see any of them `outing' their fellow diners. Ditto the so-called jet set, which is now composed mainly of walkers who are gay and German ladies who prefer ladies.
The trouble, of course, is the American law that allows anything to be written against a public person. Although no admirer of British libel laws, I almost prefer them to those of Uncle Sam, which give licence to smear any person who has excelled in life. And the way the all- powerful homo lobby is heading, pretty soon everyone will be pronounced queer and it will be ratified by Congress. It is enough to drive one to animals, but those, too, are now being overly protected (even in Mykonos, where the Arab who raped Petro the pelican got ten years).
Back in the good old days it was diffe- rent. There may have been whispers, but generally a person was left alone. My first great gay friend was Eric Nielsen, now pursuing rough devils in that sauna-like place below. He spotted me in the casino in Deauville in the company of my friend Zographos and he assumed that Zog, who was gambling high, was keeping me. It took years to convince him that Zog and I were straight, if we ever did.
Then there was Arturo Lopez, a refined Chilean multi-millionaire, married, with a family, and his boyfriend in tow. The boyfriend was Baron de X, born Rosenthal in Austria before changing his name and assuming a most dubious title. The baron, however, had impeccable manners and helped Arturo keep his fortune through shrewd business dealings. Arturo left him half of the loot. And rightly so.
They once arrived in Hydra on their great yacht, spotted me (then thinner by 30 pounds and with hair) sunning myself on my daddy's sailing boat, and assumed I was father's catamite. We remained friends even after my first, very young wife emerged. Back in the good old days things like that were possible.
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