High life
Family fortunes
Taki
he Big Bagel has never seemed gayer — and I use this in the old sense of the word, as well as in its present meaning. Incidentally, why is it that so many men have turned poofy these last 20 years? My mentor, Professor Van Den Haag, thinks it's because American women have always assumed a very male role, which predomi- nated at home. This, in turn, led to an effeminisation of the American male. The prof is right, of course, but it is also chic to be bent nowadays — especially this week: Bagel fashion week, as it's called.
Mind you, even an old homophobe like the poor little Greek boy has many gay friends. The owner of Mortimer's, Glenn Birnbaum, insists the numbers were always there but people were too scared to show it. Well, he's partly right. One of the most tenacious tennis players on the circuit always went by the nickname 'Queen of the Showers' — because that's where he spent the time he wasn't on court. Even his wife called him that.
But back to the Bagel and the old-fash- ioned meaning of the word gay. The Alexandra Miller wedding to Alexander von Fiirstenberg dominated this week. First, there was a formal ball for 700 down- town; the next day, a party given by the groom's mother, Diane von Fiirstenberg, the designer; then came the wedding in the city and a grand reception out on Long Island. By Sunday lunch, people had begun to fall out a la Bridge on the River Kwai. Still, some of us made it to the Carlyle, where the investment banker Aleco Pap- markou gave nosh to the Greek posh in honour of the Greek royal family.
I nursed my hangover sitting between Arietta Vardinoyannis and Princess Pavlos of Greece. Arietta's father, George Livanos, is a childhood friend, and one who can buy most soi disant rich with the proverbial change in his pocket. But he is very low key. Arietta's husband, George, is very tall, very good-looking and also can buy most you-know-what with his spare change. We argued the merits of New York, London and Athens, where the newly wed George Vardinoyannis would like to live. Two years ago, those nice guys of November 17, the terrorist organisation that has been killing with impunity for 20 years, tried to kill his father by blasting the car he was riding in with a bazooka. Fortu- nately, it bounced off the armour-plated Mercedes. I admire George's courage.
No one unites civilised Greeks like our royal family. The lunch was no exception. The Queen and her three children were sort of mobbed by the Greek-American community. Surprisingly, I resorted to the bottle, and by the time lunch was over so was my day.
And there was no respite. Cosima von Billow's dinner at Mortimer's for 50 came next. It was preceded by a reception at the Pierpont Morgan Library, where an exhibi- tion of her mother's art collection is on. Sunny Crawford von Billow was a serious collector. She donated the drawings and watercolours to the Morgan Library before tragedy struck. Cosima, remembering the pleasure her mother took in the project, decided to continue it in her name — and with her own (Cosima's) funds — and has donated to the library for the last 14 years. Now that's what I call a loving daughter, and there's no one more loving than Cosi.
Her party, needless to say, greatly dis- turbed me. I was seated next to Lady Ayer (step-stepmother to the ex-ex-ex-sainted editor, Dominic Lawson), a very intelligent lady who pointed out that I had no chance with the 25 young beauties present. They say that truth purchases hatred, but I don't hate Lady Ayer. I'm just suicidal, that's all.
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