Twenty-something years ago—when I was still twenty-something and brand-new in New York—Johnny Galliher, a charming octogenarian socialite friend who seemed as if his only source of income might have come from the card table, called to invite me for dinner with Carroll Petrie and Aileen Mehle at La Grenouille. Johnny was a fabulous character whom cabaret giant Bobby Short—no slouch on the chic-o-meter himself—referred to as the "chicest man I've ever known." I'd concur. In case there's any question, La Grenouille was the poshest of all posh canteens for that set—and I already knew we'd be scoring the very best table in the house.
It was actually Carroll who'd invited us, but Johnny did her bidding and I'd passed his test so he was introducing me around town. I'd known Johnny a couple of months, having met him at some black tie evening after which he tweaked me on my bowtie and said, "You seem to be amusing enough and you look rather well in your dinner clothes so we will be great friends: Give me your telephone number." That was that.
While I'd certainly read those boldfaced names in the social pages of W, this dinner was my social chance to sink or swim with Aileen Mehle. Better known as Suzy (short for Suzy Knickerbocker), she was a widely-syndicated gossip columnist read by millions of people for more than a half century. Mehle, who died last Friday at 98, was the undisputed arbiter and Queen of who-was-who in the richest uber-eschelon of the rarified world of that "high society" or "beau monde." She was gossip's grande dame.
Just so we're clear, favor from Aileen is what anyone with the slightest celebrity, social ambition, business acumen, or creative talent around the world vied for and curried—and, plenty of them didn't get it, mind you. People said Suzy was tough, and mentions in her columns didn't come easily, nor did she write about anyone whom she didn't like, regardless of their importance.
