A story to tell:
Come Sunday I was doing a sit-down dinner at my home for Herman Cain. Yesterday it got canceled. Big surprise, right?
The idea started months back. When Cain initially surged, in those 10 minutes he first shone brightly in the murky galaxy of Republican dwarfs, we met. Our appointment was 4 p.m. at the Plaza. He had only tea. I could’ve inhaled an open-faced cucumber sandwich but didn’t want to be pushy. The good news — he picked up the check.
The Palm Court, back in place instead of a sad empty space filled only with memories of blue-haired ladies noshing cucumber sandwiches, was enjoyable. So was this unknown Georgian who was easy, bright, humorous.
Cain said: “Sarah Palin calls me Herm. I don’t like that.” Cain said: “I can survive a tough campaign. I survived stage four cancer of the colon and liver with 30 percent of one, 70 percent of the other removed, a dim prognosis and nine months of aggressive, tough, demanding chemo. I can survive anything.” And Cain unfolded his 9-9-9 pitch, which an aide — who never looked up from his cellphone — assured me was brilliant.
After reporting our interview in the column, Herman and mutual friend, lawyer John Coale, thought — fie on a cocktail jungle of a hundred bodies — a small select gathering of big select New Yorkers was nifty. So I invited media types like NBC’s Matt Lauer, ABC’s Barbara Walters, CBS’s Lesley Stahl, Fox News’ Bill O’Reilly, NY1’s Roma Torre, The New Yorker’s Rebecca Mead, the NY Post, etc., plus assorted heavy politicians. My table takes 14. Nobody figured he’d win. Just wanted to meet him.
Came those alleged headlined experiences. They made Sandra Bullock’s ex-husband Jesse James’ habits look like abstinence.
Yesterday morning it was his call to cancel. He was considerate. He contemplated my enduring the trouble, expense and bother of it all if he had to pull out.
Is he feeling down? Yes. Is he taking Out There’s temperature? Yes. Talking to staffers? For sure. Figuring what to do? Yeah. Hearing suggestions he come clean if there’s any clean to come to? Uh-huh. Maintaining his schedule this week? So far.
Heads suggest throwing his weight behind Newt, the newest flavor. Saying: They owe you. Your troops owe you. Personal problems won’t stop your being a Cabinet member. You could get secretary of commerce, secretary of agriculture, secretary of pizza, something.
Meantime, I have canceled guests, caterer, florist, security, waiters, my building’s extra employees. I’m stacking away washed Tiffany plates, ironed hand-embroidered napkins, hand-lettered place cards and — if anyone’s interested — I’m available for Chinese on Sunday.
THE Nederlanders own a chunk of Broadway. Theaters like the Palace, Marriott Marquis, Neil Simon, Brooks Atkinson. They produce dramas, extravaganzas, plays. James Nederlander Sr., 90 in March, brought us “Fiddler,” “West Side Story,” “Phantom,” “La Cage.” Son Jimmy Jr. mounted “Priscilla Queen of the Desert,” the Billy Joel musical “Movin’ Out,” “Next to Normal.” Yesterday, about 7:30 a.m., was his latest production. Wife Margo McNabb Nederlander delivered twins.
Kathleen, named for Margo’s mother, came first. Six pounds. James, named for his father, weighed 5.4. Typical Nederlanders, both emerged making a big noise.
NEWEST scam is a “moneygram.” Poor English. Plus unknown names. It requests “your full information, name, age, sex” so we can send “your full compensation payment of $1,500,000USD.” Send to “Money Gram Head Office Benin Republic” and “You will be receiving $4,500.000USD per day.”
Another, addressed to your own personal name and e-mail, states: “I am in poor health now and may have died from cancer before my Son send you this letter . . . please contact my legal adviser [two foreign names are listed] based in Malaysia because I have given him instructions to deliver this money to you . . . Contact my legal adviser (same two names with e-mail address). Tell him under instruction from Code WPKAD9824 he will honor my WILL and pay you within 48 hours. Send him your ID, phone and address for verification and payment.”
POMODORO Rosso. A Columbus Avenue Italian ristorante. The guy says to the girl: “It was in the New York Times. How could it not be right?”
Only on the Upper West Side, kids, only on the Upper West Side.