High life
A list of names
Taki
ur gala party on 17 June has an A- list that will knock your socks off, people like Donald Trump and Mort Zuckerman.' This quote appeared in last Tuesday's Her- ald Tribune. The writer of this drivel how can anyone seriously think that a party can be successful when it includes low lifers like Trump and Zuckerman? — is one Catherine J. Squires, a very nice Easthamp- ton lady of a certain age who doesn't know any better.
The reason I mention her is because of her reference to an A-list. With baseball caps, horribly big trainers, loud chewing, ghastly manners, obesity and over-familiar- ity, the existence of A-lists is yet another American invention I truly abhor. Alas, everyone who is anyone in the American party circuit has one. As well as a B-list, a C-list, and probably even a shit-list.
American newspapers often refer to these lists, especially when they comment upon some bash. The gossip columnist Suzy, a woman who rolled bandages during the American Civil War, is the one who I think invented it. In reality, it is a way to flatter those one considers to be his or her betters. The writer Michael Thomas refers to such arse lickers as 'having been trauma- tised by an osculectomy.'
Which brings me to the point of my story. Like baseball caps worn backwards, the A-list disease has crossed the pond, and is infecting us as I write. In fact, I think I spotted the syndrome in a Tatler piece, or was it in the style section of The Sunday Times? A lady was writing about the Jemi- ma Goldsmith-Imran Khan upcoming party and said that the uninvited will be leaving town. Well, let's try and nip this in the you- know-what.
Maybe American nouveaux riches green- mailers leave the Big Bagel when not invit- ed to what they think is some important dance, but it simply doesn't happen here. For example, if the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire are not invited to, say, the ball celebrating the Greek Crown Prince's wed- ding to Marie-Chantal Miller, which promises to be as much fun as the Gold- smith party, I do not think they'll feel diminished and pretend they're not in Chatsworth.
When the egregious Truman Capote gave his black and white ball at the Plaza in 1966, I was newly married and in the Bagel. Lee Radziwill, sister of Jackie Onassis, was helping Truman to organize it. She told me about it and asked whether Cristina and I would be interested. I jumped at the idea. But not the wife. I don't know him or his friends, was the way she put it, so while all the soi disant important people in the world danced the night away, we watched televi- sion. (Cristina took to books the way I take to sleeping with a Senegalese leper.) A few days after the party the Big Bagel Times felt it was doing the truth a favour and published the list. It seems many peo- ple had claimed to be invited but had to be out of town on business. Along with the list, the paper included the reasons why they published it. It was Noo Yawk snob- bery at its worst. But I guess it's normal. People become snobs when forced to be equal. With Major's classless society, I'm not surprised the A-list disease has arrived here.
`Silly isn't it, I can never remember if blue is live or neutral.'
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