Another Brit wedding. Paul McCartney‘s newest tune’s “And Nancy makes three.” First Wife Linda Eastman passed on. Second Wife — and may her tripe increase — Heather Mills, whom he and possibly the ASPCA’s Poison Control shed. The next Lady McCartney? Tall, slim, handsome, long-haired brunette, well-dressed, well-spoken, independently wealthy Nancy Shevell. He’s Christian. She’s Jewish.
What you haven’t read is she’s a devoted mother. With ex-husband Bruce Blakeman, a Nassau County lawyer/partial politician, there’s a college-age son.
After tour j’eteing four years, the rock star gave rock solid Nancy a ring. Only her family — and moi — have touched it. Five carats. Perfect color. Perfect shine. Perfect flawless. Perfect round. “A vintage 1925 Cartier engagement solitaire diamond from Tate Galleries,” she said. His Sirship was shown larger stones, but he loves antiques. He presented it in California, where they’d been for days. “A total surprise,” she said.
The “soon” wedding will be “small. Just our families. I don’t know the exact date. And don’t ask what I’ll wear because how dressy do you get to stand before a Justice of the Peace in his chambers, which is exactly what we’re going to do.
“I’d love to live here but it’s probably England.” He has a home in London and a farm in the middle of a tribe of sheep someplace. Added the New Yorker VP of her dad’s transportation conglomerate: “I still have a job here so I’ll commute once a month.”
Yesterday, Mother’s Day, Nancy was with her kid who gets on A-1 with Sir Billionaire. Today, since she always accompanies the fiancé, it’s off to two days in Chile and Peru. McCartney is not one who likes being alone. Then back to NYC’s civilization.
Next Sunday, Nancy’s whole family gathers — probably to appraise the stone: Her father, his ladyfriend, her sister, brother-in-law, her son, nevviews, nieces, some cousin, the cousin’s kids. Twelve in all.
Wise Nancy’s kept her mouth shut throughout. Not only smart, she’s also patient.
He’s vegetarian. She’s vegetarian. The wedding feast will probably be Champagne and tofu.
JAMMING a Waldorf ballroom “Women for Cuomo” included mama Matilda, her daughters, the Gov.’s daughters, ladyfriend Sandra Lee, who grinned, “I’m trying to keep my head above all this,” the late Geraldine Ferraro’s kin since the lunch honored Gerry. Council Speaker Christine Quinn announced: “I’m the first official who supported Andrew, but I’m not the type to say this,” and, “He’s terrific, although I’m not usually optimistic being that I’m Irish.” She then brought her dog’s picture to Mary Kalikow‘s table with: “He’s Justin. A black Lab mix.” Since we were admiring our newly handsomer governor’s gray-flecked hair, this drooling hound’s photo was thrilling to us all.
Andrew: “New York has more animal shelters than women-abuse shelters. We’ll change all that. New York’s the laboratory of this whole country. We brought social justice, civil rights, women’s rights. We were their pioneers before women knew they needed a pioneer . . . remember, with any state in the union to pick, Hillary moved to New York . . . Cuomos have a strong feminine side. My parents have 14 grandchildren — 13 are girls.”
And: “I’m governor four months. Been a long four months, and with it a sudden onslaught of gray hairs. I’m managing to get some sleep,” he told me. “But until a lot of this work gets done, sleep is not my first priority.”
FOR Quentin Tarantino‘s spaghetti western “Django Unchained” it’s Samuel L. Jackson and Christoph Waltz . . . Jackie Cooper just left us. One of his last tasks, 1986, was casting a sitcom. Jackie, the director, wanted showbizzy females for Milton Berle, who was to play Ernie a vaudevillian . . . Betty White talking at a New York Times talk: “I stay vital at 89 because I’m a health nut. My favorite food’s hot dogs and french fries.” And: “Anyone who never heard me say a bad word must have even worse hearing than I do.”
JIM McGreevey, whose “I am a gay American” acknowledgement pre ceded his resignation as New Jer sey’s governor, was denied acceptance to the priesthood despite years of study and apprenticeship serving God. He tells me, “I’m now working to rehabilitate women in Hudson County jail. Maybe authorities wanted the resignation, divorce and time to pass. I’ll try again in a year or so.” Quietly, so as to antagonize no one, he said: “I have no idea why I wasn’t informed during all these years. That’s maybe another story.”
THE party for Yoko Ono and a new book “Strawberry Fields: Central Park’s Memorial to John Lennon” was in the shameful embarrassing skeletal hulk of what was once Manhattan’s glorious tourist attraction Tavern on the Green. I’m told it seeks a restaurateur “to honor those who use the park and not just ritzy folk who’d patronize Tavern . . . but that’s a city decision and those folk dither so it’s forever until they make up their minds.”
Listen, like I’ve said, nobody could fix Wollman Rink, except for maybe Donald.
FRENCH east side bistro Wednesday night. Next table a friend hears one guy tell another: “I’m over my midlife crisis. I cheated on my wife while we were married. But . . . so what . . . she was a lesbian.”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.