Election night parties are usually dreadful affairs, with the idiot box blaring and hysterical listeners screaming out the latest info. American TV pundits are smug trained seals, over made-up and blow-dried, and they all sound the same with their rehearsed stentorian voices. Brian Williams, or the ‘hero of Iraq’ as I call him after he was caught lying about a rocket attack on the chopper he was riding — he was safely on the ground and trembling — sounded sombre announcing that South Dakota had been called for the Donald. These so-called anchors no longer even pretend to be objective, and they had long faces when the predicted Biden landslide was gone with the dawn.
I, too, had predicted a Biden landslide, and was also wrong about a more important subject than the election — my dinner party. I had written that I would be the only pro-Trump diner, but it turned out there were six of us for the President and barely two for the man who lives in a basement and forgets his name at times. My guest of honour, Prince Pavlos, is required to be apolitical, although I can guess where his sympathies lie. Arki Busson is also apolitical, so I spent dinner asking him about Hollywood beauties he has known. But Arki is a sphinx when it comes to conquests, like the gent that he is. Bartle and Claudia Bull are a beautiful couple straight out of F. Scott Fitzgerald, and they didn’t mince their words. Bartle is a writer, filmmaker and adventurer and we often tease him about being a top CIA operative. (He goes on holiday to places like Fallujah in Iraq, hence the suspicion.) My buddy Michael Mailer, needless to say, is to the left of Felix Dzerzhinsky, so no guessing was required as to whom he was rooting for.