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HIGH LIFE

Old-fashioned views
Taki
Gstaad
Did he or didn’t he? Get Kerry-ed away and have it off with an intern.
It’s either one or the other, and I guess we have to take Alexandra
Polier at her word and believe he didn’t. Kerry is one bad dude, and
I don’t mean just because he didn’t do it. I mean his lifelong habit
of getting a rich woman to pick up the tab. I know I’m being old-fashioned
and all that, but I was taught that one marries for love, not money.
Mind you, he’s not unique. In the circles I used to run around in,
many men had done a Kerry, that’s why I don’t run around in those
circles any more. My friend Porfirio Rubirosa married three times
for money: Flor Trujillo, Doris Duke and Barbara Hutton. And twice
for love, Danielle Darieux and Odile Rodin. Rubi was no Kerry. He
used to get up and sing, ‘Just a Gigolo’, and openly admit where his
moolah came from. But he had such enormous amounts of charm and charisma,
one forgave him for being a gigolo.
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I’ve known many gigolos, but I will not mention names. What they all
had in common was great charm and physical courage. Most were fearless
polo players, racing drivers and dare-devils. But, as the saying goes,
no one has ever dared to suggest that those who marry for money have
not earned it. Rubi was very unhappy with Doris and Babs. Who wouldn’t
be? Another friend, Aris N., lived out his days in Palm Beach married
to a press baron’s daughter. It was living hell. Another, Juan Capuro,
killed himself driving at breakneck speed, one year into his marriage
with a rich German. The most successful gigolo of all time is Thierry
Roussel, who married Christina Onassis, took her for hundreds of millions,
and now has a daughter by her worth billions. Roussel was dead broke
when he landed Christina. He’s never looked back. Ironically, Roussel
never had charm or physical courage, was never an athlete, and in
fact was quite common. But at least he did not enter politics and
start preaching what’s good for us.
This is what gets on my nerves about Kerry. To be fair, he did perform
honourably in ’Nam, but unlike other heroes he never stops talking
about it. Richard Nixon served with distinction but never mentioned
his wartime exploits. George Bush was the youngest volunteer pilot
in the navy during the second world war, and has downplayed his heroics
throughout his life. Ditto Alexander Haig and a certain senator from
Arizona by the name of John McCain. Kerry’s namesake (different spelling)
Bob Kerrey won the Congressional Medal of Honour, ran for the presidency
in 1992, lost to a draft dodger, and never once mentioned the fact.
As I said, Kerry is holier than thou, a man so out for himself he
outClintons Clinton, and most probably will be the next president
of the United States — with a little help from Julia Thorn, his very
rich first wife, and now Teresa Heinz.
What I find amusing is the story in the Sunday Times about Kerry,
yours truly and Emma Gilbey, now the wife of the New York Times’s
editor-in-chief, Bill Keller. Gilbey advertised the fact that Kerry
would only do the business in the back of limos, so it was too good
to resist the one time I came across him at the White House Correspondents’
dinner. ‘Senator, do you like to have sex in limousines?’ He gave
me the kind of look a Montague would give a Capulet.
Kerry’s first wife was responsible for his political career. To say
there was a lot of tension over money at the end would be an understatement.
Heinz is reputedly careful not to spoil him too much, but if he wins
the top prize the purse strings will loosen for good. After all, she,
too, got it the old-fashioned way. She married into it. Does marrying
two very rich women disqualify a man from the White House? Of course
not, but then marrying for money is not illegal, just not very manly.
Is a very rich woman someone not to pursue because of what it implies?
Again, not in the least, but one has to be in love with the person,
not the moolah. Am I being unfair to Kerry? Of course I am, but I
don’t think my opinions matter very much. I’m just being old-fashioned
and suspicious, and I have a hell of a lot to be suspicious about.

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© 2004 The Spectator.co.uk
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