High life
Widow of opportunity
Taki
Aeveryone who has ever heard of Randolph Churchill, Averell Harriman, Gianni Agnelli, Elie de Rothschild, Aly Khan, Jock Whitney, Frank Sinatra, Stavro Niarchos, Bill Paley, Fulke Warwick and others rich and powerful but not as impor- tant as the above to mention, know, Pamela Harriman is a cunning linguist whose pandering to those who matter have made her not only a multi-millionaire, but
also America's ambassador to Paris, a post once held by Benjamin Franklin, an envoy as far removed from Pam Harriman as Mother Teresa is to Taki.
Life of the Party is the title of her biogra- phy by Christopher Ogden, an opus I con- tributed a few bits to, but one that — in my not so humble opinion — would have been more to the point had it been titled 'Naked Ambition'. Mind you, the author has got it all. And straight from the horse's mouth, as it happens. Pam Harriman spoke on the record for months to the author, then changed her mind. Too late. Ogden changed publishers and spilled the beans she had spilled in the first place. The results are devastating. Our Pam emerges as the widow of opportunity par excellence, a woman who ought to win hands down the competition of the courtesan of the century.
When she was rumoured to be heading as ambassador to London, I told a friend that it was more likely that her son, Win- ston Churchill MP, would become Prime Minister. Pam, you see, had lived too high on the hog during the war.
She gave non-stop parties and provided food and drink unavailable to most Brits, all thanks to her Yankee connections, mostly U.S. Air Force Generals and, of course, the ghastly Harriman. The latter is revealed to be a terrible man. Cold, rude, as tightfisted as a man can be without starving to death — he would instruct his driver to look for parking meters already paid for — he never once picked up a bill or gave a present to anyone, including his family. Pammy, however, got it all from him in the end. Including a private jet so she and he could fly to Barbados and other points chic. His two daughters got 4000 dollars each. Pam got 145 million big ones plus his art collection, which was among the best in the world.
I only lunched with her once, and she did not address a word to me. In this she was right. There were three other far more important men there, and Pamela is known not to waste her breath. A lady friend of mine had the same experience. Staying with Stavro Niarchos she realised that Pamela, also a guest, had not even noticed her. This was during a whole week. Smart Pam had eyes only for the Golden Greek. Brooke Hayward, her step-daughter, now married to bandleader Peter Duchin, had a far worse experience. Pam asked her to hand over her only valuable jewellery, a necklace from her mother, for safe keep- ing, and later said she had lost it. Brooke is not only beautiful, talented and smart, she is also a lady. She let the matter drop. Brooke had told me about it, and it's in the book, plus hundreds of other gems — no pun intended — like it.
Although I read it in one sitting, the book depressed me. It is all about pursuing perfection in such weighty matters as furni- ture, jewels, linen towels, table cloths, money, more money, houses, bigger hous- es, servants and very, very rich men and very, very rich and powerful men. It does not surprise me the Draft Dodger picked her to represent his government.
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