When I finally accepted the fact that I was to be an unmarried man of 47, the first call that came offering to introduce me to a woman was from my then friend, Taki Theodoracopulos (politics has since parted us). I didn’t know that it was to be the only such call I would ever receive in more than three years of eligible bachelorhood – but it didn’t matter. Because Taki was calling me from the noisy pay phone at Elaine’s, the restaurant on 2^nd Avenue and 92^nd Street.

“You poor boy,” he bellowed. “I have a table-full of gorgeous women who have heard all about your sad story and they’re fighting over who gets to sit next to you. I can’t keep them quiet. If you’re not doing anything this evening” – it was 11:30 on a Thursday night – “come right over. We’re with Elaine.”