High life
Don't send flowers
Taki
Gstaad My informers tell me that many big shots are pissing bullets, as they say. Gutfreund knows a lot, and if he's cornered he will sing. But one should never gloat. For my part, I've instructed the mother of my chil- dren to offer counselling services to Susan Gutfreund on how to cope with a husband in jail. First piece of advice: don't send Pothcault sheets or flowers, and definitely `Darn it, Hawkins, when handling genetically engineered microbes, that's just the sort of thing one tries to avoid!' no Fauchon sandwiches. The aesthetic acceptability the Gutfreunds pursued so successfully in the past will work against them with prison authorities. Cultural cred- ibility in the nick comes from being just like everyone else — poor, brutish and insignificant.
Mind you, one good thing will come out of this, which is that the Gutfreunds will finally learn who their real friends are. I hear Jacob Rothschild is particularly sad, so upset, in fact, that he has not given any money to the royals this week. And speak- ing of friends, a buddy of mine sent me a clipping recently that appeared last July. It was an article by Geoffrey Wheatcroft and in it he writes, `Taki, a well-known figure in London society, is the ultimate demonstra- tion of the fact that the concept of ultimate disgrace may now be completely dead as he continues to disport himself in Annabel's and at many an elegant party'.
This surprised me. Wheatcroft has been a guest of mine for over 15 years, at Annabel's as well as countless parties. If he thinks I have no shame in showing myself in public after my prison term, what about him mooching off a man without shame? I've always thought Wheatie stooped not to conquer but to be invited. Now I see he stoops with envy. Poor Geoffrey. His social insecurity got the better of him. Perhaps in the next life he will be born upper-class. I hope so for his sake.
Mind you, the fall of Gorby makes all this look like the drivel it really is. I heard about it as I was leaving St Moritz after playing a veterans' tennis tournament. My partner Nico Kalogeropulos and I lost in the 45-and-over doubles in the final, and that is because Gianni Agnelli came down to watch us, which made me awfully ner- vous. After double-faulting twice, I noticed that no one was watching the match as all were busy looking at the Italian numero uno tycoon. So I begged Gianni to leave and when he did I played even worse.
But it was wonderful to have the great man show up, even when he kidded me non-stop, especially while serving. After the match, in his chalet, the Moscow news came in and it somehow made the tennis defeat less of one. Gianni suggested I play with Gorby in the 55s-and-over next year. If he's around I will.
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