High life
O.J. rules
O.K.
Taki
here has been saturation coverage over here of the 0. J. Simpson case, For any of you unfamiliar with Simpson, he is a Bobby Moore type figure to the Yanks, a black kid who was a great runner on the football field and after his athletic career was over, went on to acting and commer- cials with great success.
He is still referred to as an American hero, having been charged with murdering his ex-wife and a friend, stabbing her 28 times, and then, having written a suicide note, couldn't go through with it. Ameri- cans still call him a role model. Some role, some model.
Jim Brown, whose records on the foot- ball field were broken by Simpson, said early this week that O.J. had two personali- ties. One for the white businessmen who he fronted for, another, a dark one, for after business hours. The LA police are now under fire for having failed to arrest Simp- son after a number of complaints by his wife. Personally, I blame the judge, not the fuzz.
My sources, one of whom Simpson actu- ally fronted for, liked him enormously, but do not deny that O.J. thought no woman could resist him (once you go black, you never go back). Actually, O.J. is Othello, a not so melancholy Moor, but just as jeal- ous. The trouble is, there's no Iago here. O.J. Simpson simply could not stand the fact that Nicole wanted out for good. His fall from grace is like the Moor's, but with- out an Iago, the irony is even more tragic. He thought himself omnipotent, and the hucksters surrounding him confirmed the fact. On the morning of the murders, O.J. threatened to beat up his golfing partner after a bad shot. My prediction is that Nicole will end up being on trial, just as Desdemona was, and Mr Simpson will walk after claiming to have been cheated and goated to a diminished mental state. It's par for the course. This is the bad news. The good is that the most secret quiver of unspoken love is nothing in comparison with certain looks exchanged between the poor little Greek boy and ... the Princess of Wales. The occasion was a party given by Barbara Black, Tessa Keswick (better halves of our ex and present proprietor) and Carla Pow- ell in honour of Jimmy Goldsmith, Euro MP, at the Ritz. And just as I finished proposing marriage to the divine Laetita Cash, the sainted editor's wife beckoned, and , well, you can imagine the rest.
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