High life
Hug for victory
Taki
CNew York onservatives are not the gloating type, chez William and Pat Buckley, at least. The Buckleys had given up on President Bush a long time ago, but on election night deco- rum was observed to the letter, as well as to
the bitter end. Along with the mother of my children, I took along Andrew and Emma Gilmour, and the ex-ex-sainted one, Alexander Chancellor, and it was the latter who provided the only laugh of the night. Alexander is now as important a part of the Big Bagel as, say, Mortimer's, but my old editor wasn't having any of it. Although recently arrived, he had no pad, no pen, and made absolutely no effort to find out who the assembled crowd were. The only thing he did was to take me aside and ask the latest news from old Blighty. That's what I call patriotism with a capital P.
When Clinton went over the top — liter- ally — there was no outward show of hor- ror. Peter Glenville, the renowned director, and a man of impeccable taste, frowned at all that hugging. Clinton, you see, hugs everything that moves, and some things that don't, like the stuffed doll of a future voter. The joke that went around was the one about sending the slick one some candy. He had already had Flowers.
Personally, I was so despondent I got ter- ribly drunk, but with Dr Emma Gilmour around, I had no fear. In fact, I wished I had got sick, as she's the best-looking doc- tor since Ava Gardner played one in The Snows of Kilimanjaro. When Clinton called for a new beginning, as have the last 42 Presidents-elect, I decided to go home, where the party continued. My only resolu- tion of the night is to have a button made, one that reads that this man has not been, nor ever will be, hugged by the war hero.
Like most Americans, I did not vote for him: only four out of ten people did. Incredibly, more Americans voted against him than for any President in American history, and that includes Mike Dukakis. More whites voted for George Bush (41 per cent) than Clinton (39 per cent), but the black vote (88 per cent) did the trick for slick Willie. Yet those who have yet to apologise for Stalin and his crew are talk- ing about a landslide and a mandate. As an Englishman once said: some landslide, some mandate.
Needless to say, I'd seen the writing on the wall since early this year. I even won a bet from my guru, Professor Ernest Van Den Haag, who, incidentally, is about to marry for the first time, with a Japanese student of his. The Professor is 78, and she's 25. Now that's what I call optimism.
And speaking of youth, never have I seen a more motley crew than was on Concorde on election day. They were bearded and dressed in running gear, with very expen- sive briefcases and jewellery. One of them was big and loud, and rude as hell as he blocked the narrow aisle while talking -- about money, of course — to another slob. I pushed my way through and, as always, an altercation was avoided by the extremely nice and capable stewards. The motley ones were from Hollywood, where else? I knew it because none of them recognised Placido Domingo. They probably thought he was a resort in Baja California.
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