Byline: Aileen Mehle
It took “the big Elle” (Macpherson) less than a month to forget all about lost — or maybe he was just misplaced — love Tim Jeffries. She is said to be finding consolation with the handsome Irish actor Gabriel Byrne, who used to be married to Ellen Barkin. Let’s all keep watching to see if this romance “has legs.” Elle certainly does.
Hitting it big on the little screen in Europe is the Italo-Canadian hunkahunka Walter Nudo — love that name — who used to give the “girls” fits at Chippendale’s. Nudo’s major claim to fame, apart from the bod, is a romance of sorts with Cher, soon to be seen in the flicks, in New Line’s “Faithful.” Nudo — really love that name — claims the relationship foundered because he couldn’t be…faithful. Oh, please.
Will Joan Collins resurface in New York soon enough to catch the opening of one of her ex-husbands, Anthony Newley, when he starts his singing stint at Rainbow and Stars on April 30? She’s due much sooner than that. Anyhow, Newley’s agent, Stanford Scottland, sent Joan an invitation and they’d just love to see her there. Just don’t invite certain publishers to the same party. No one will ever know how long that will rankle.
Michael Caine celebrated his birthday in London at a party given by his exotic wife Shakira at one of Michael’s many restaurants, the Chelsea Canteen in Chelsea Harbour, where the Caines maintain a flat. Roger Moore, Michael’s pal, flew up from Monte Carlo especially for the celebration, and Joan Collins was there too, along with the press tycoon Conrad Black and his beautiful wife, the columnist Barbara Amiel; Tim Bell, who is Baroness Thatcher’s press attache; Bob Hoskins; jeweler Theo Fennel; Andrew Lloyd Weber and his wife Madeleine, and Oliver Hoare, the recipient of those sexy, midnight phone calls from either the vrai Princess Di (who denied making the calls) or the faux Princess Di. Then there were Princess Esra Jah, Tessa Kennedy and composer John Barry, to whom Michael recently presented the Lifetime Achievement Award at the Gstaad Music Festival. Someone said Michael was ready to open still another restaurant soon — that would make number nine — but you know how people exaggerate.
Prince Andrew’s due in Boston on March 30, where he’ll board the royal tub, Britannia, to — maybe — a 21-gun salute boomed out by the Royal Navy. The 412-foot yacht will be part of various ceremonies whilst anchored in Boston Harbor, and Andrew’s wife, Fergie, otherwise known as the Duchess of York, is not invited to any of them. Of course, the world knows the Britannia’s up for sale, chaps, so members of the royal family are taking advantage of its luxury before it’s just a lovely memory. Prince Philip had it in Palm Beach where select, local Anglophiles were welcomed aboard while the band played on, beating the retreat, etc. This was all after Barbara Wainscott and David Berger’s small luncheon for Prince Philip at their Palm Beach house, “Elephant Walk,” where Barbara wore her white silk Carolina Herrera and some South Sea pearls. Among the 17 or so sitting down to hot turbot souffle, rack of spring lamb and mango sorbet, were such as Mrs. Nicholas Ruwe, Mrs. Edward W. Scripps, Mrs. Martin Gruss, Mrs. Milton Petrie and Mr. and Mrs. F. Warrington Gillet Jr. Philip took the quails eggs stuffed with beluga when they were passed and admired the blooming orchids — never mind the blooming people.
Although Philip was here to raise funds for various charities, his favorite conversation concerned horses, not money. At the Royal Gala at the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, Phil engaged Bob Hardwick, the orchestra leader, in a spirited discourse on the horse — Bob’s from Kentucky and all that. Oh, and in order to avoid any untoward incidents, a set of rules, pure and simple, was laid down regarding one’s behavior toward the Queen’s husband. No press. (So why was I invited?) No controversial conversations. Positively, no touching. And absolutely no questions concerning THE DIVORCE, do you understand?
After Dale Chihuly, the world-renowned glass artist creates what they’re calling the “priceless decor” for Monday’s glittering Governors’ Ball after the Academy Awards presentation, ol’ Dale will pack up and head for Venice, glassblowers’ heaven. There, under the auspices of the Venice Arts Council, he’ll hang his amazing, shimmering chandeliers and other glass masterpieces at various magic spots around the city, including the Bridge of Sighs, along the Grand Canal, near San Marco’s Square and on the Lido. At the Governors’ Ball, Chihuly’s “glassterpieces” will be seen and stared at by such other stunning superstructures as Elizabeth Shue, Goldie Hawn, Emma Thompson and Sharon Stone, there themselves to be seen and stared at.
Christy Turlington and pop artist Kenny Scharf are co-hosting the Intercambios Culturales party, which is set this year for the Fashion Cafe on April 25. Quincy Jones is the guest of honor, and just everyone will be there eating Salvadorean food because Intercambios Culturales is a learning center in El Salvador and because Christy Turlington is half Salvadorean — but you knew that. There will be an auction of trips and works from renowned photographers and autographed memorabilia from sports stars, and Jellybean Benitez will fill the Fashion Cafe with sounds of Latin America. Well, caramba, sort of. All mixed up in this group somehow, are such board members and committee members as Cindy Crawford, Katie Ford and Andre Balazs, Calvin Klein, Andy Garcia, Andrew Shue, Carolina Herrera, Magic Johnson, Linda Wells, Isaac Mizrahi, Herb Ritts, Elizabeth Saltzman, Robert Rauschenberg and others too hot or too cool — or think they are — to mention.
If Jane Austen can do it so can the Bronts. Following in the footsteps of the Austen-craze, the Bronts are coming! The Bronts are coming! Charlotte Gainsbourg and William Hurt are all caught up in a convoluted romance in Miramax’s latest version of Charlotte Bront’s “Jane Eyre,” while Juliette Binoche and Ralph Fiennes have a turbulent relationship in the most recent rendition of Emily Bront’s “Wuthering Heights.” Those Bronts were always in a swivet. It was the moors, I’ll bet, and that house of theirs that was surrounded on all sides by gravestones.