High life
Among the lions
Taki
New York The election night party chez les Wil- liam F. Buckleys was as civilised an affair as I had expected it to be. As the good news began to come in there was none of that awful ululating Americans emit nowa- days even in opera houses. Mind you, there were some yelps when a certain senator from Connecticut bit the dust, but they came from the Buckley dogs. Republicans in general, and conserva- tive Republicans in particular, do not thrive on Schadenfreude. According to my guru professor Ernest van den Haag, Schadenfreude is a sentiment reserved for liberal Nixon-haters. When Dukakis con- ceded, the only remark I heard was that he
was conceding by giving yet another cam- paign speech. Ditto Jesse Jackson.
The Buckley house reflects Bill's poli- tics. It's in good taste, it's comfortable and it's understated. Nothing has changed in the 20 years I've been visiting it, something unheard of among Big Bagel socialites, which Pat Buckley surely is. There are three kind of socialites in the city: those who sell art, those who buy it and those who neither sell nor buy. Pat belOngs to the third type, which makes her a minority of one.
Needless to say, the good news from the idiot box helped put me in such a good mood that I decided to celebrate and got a bit tipsy. So tipsy that I asked the Amer- ican ambassador to the Vatican whether he enjoyed the night life over there. Because conservatives have a good sense of humour, he was amused. Something that an egregious midget by the name of Henry Kravis — known as the leverage buy-out king of the Bagel — was not two days later.
Kravis is a very short man, but has a very long reach. He is a multi-billionaire but his billions have not helped his manners at all.
At the Literary Lions dinner last week he cornered my old friend William Norwich, a gossip columnist with a heart of gold, and called him an asshole. According to people who know Kravis, it was by far his most literary allusion yet. He then reverted to type and threatened to have Billy's knees broken. See what I mean about buyers and sellers? Kravis has bought almost all the art that the Gutfreunds have failed to purch- ase, but when it comes to the nitty gritty, he forgets all about Georgian silver and reverts to Al Capone steel.
It is very unfortunate that the Literary Lions dinner has fallen into the hands of people whose paws have never touched a book, but such are the joys of nouveau money. While Kravis threatened, Brooke Astor meandered over and suggested he have a drink. 'I've got one,' growled the midget. 'I don't mean you,' answered Queen Brooke, who although a lady was not amused by the vulgarian.
Others, less well-born, pretended to be shocked. I saw pictures in Women's Wear
of Susan Gutfreund, looking like an air stewardess on a plane in distress, and understandably so as she once was a member of that noble profession. She was accompanied by that other great lady, Jayne Wrightsman, of the dynastic Wrightsmans, whom as young men our parents had warned us against. It was as far a cry from the Buckleys as, say, dining at Carolina Herrera's is from being fed by Caroline Roehm, Kravis's wife. From now on I think I'll stay away from illiterate literary lions. And report to you — as I promised last week — about a lady who is asking one hundred million pounds for seven months of marital bliss. By next week I will have figured out how much that comes to per night, and will duly let you know.
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