And now I have! After bumping into Mr. Wachtveitl the other evening, I emailed him to say how wonderful it had been to finally meet him. I said that I was in town and doing a story on my dinner at Lord Jim’s. Then I typed his entire letter of March 19, 1989 to me and closed by saying, “Now that was quite an invitation, might it still be offered? I’ve a birthday coming up this month and a night in the Authors’ Wing and dinner at Le Normandie would be beyond the dreams of this sometimes jaded traveler—as Bobby Short used to sing, “I’m world weary.” It would be a magic elixir to stay with you!”

(The next morning, re-reading what I had sent him, I could only think that the libations in the Bamboo Bar had made me overly bold!)

But, if you’ve ever been a guest at The Oriental, you won’t be surprised that a day or two later I got a call from Khun Somsri (Susie) Hansirisawasadi, Director of Public Relations, who said, “Mr. Kurt would be delighted to have you stay as his guest in the Authors’ Wing and give you and yours a birthday celebratory dinner in Le Normandie. What date would be most convenient?”

Granted, my email had been rather brazen, but I was thrilled!

So last Wednesday I checked in with Tan, my partner (we have a beach restaurant on the island of Koh Samet) and we were taken to the twin-bedded, Noël Coward suite—the same I had stayed in on my British Airways odyssey in 1989, sixteen years ago!

But I must digress:

Noël Coward – Bitter Sweet in London, 1970
I spent much of the sixties in London. While attending Stafford University getting a BA in photography and a Masters in Hospitality, I developed a vast nation-wide, direct-sales force selling Universal Life Insurance.

By 1970, I was cocky, making an enormous amount of money, and showing off by buying both Lord Litchfield’s unique Rolls Royce convertible and the longest Rolls Royce Silver Wraith limousine that had ever been built. I lived in a six-storey house with several servants, and wasn’t a very nice guy…but I gave terrific parties.

I converted my basement into a private disco that was redecorated every week by Twickenham Studios with props from their latest James Bond or other movies. Every Sunday night, I invited about 400 people, and a local pop group would alternate with the best steel drum band I’ve ever heard. Quixotically, I often stayed upstairs playing chess with the likes of Long John Bawdry, Bernie Cornfeld, or David Hicks.

One Sunday a silver-haired, very elegantly-dressed, American gent was introduced to me. He was John Galliher, well known in international society columns as “The world’s most handsome extra man.” Son of a lumber baron, he eschewed the family funds to make his living and his fun playing gin rummy with the richest and most glamorous ladies of the land. He was a living legend in both café and ‘Nescafé’ societies all over the world, had apartments in Manhattan and Paris, and two houses in London. We exchanged pleasantries, and I left the crush to go back upstairs.

The next day the phone rang. It was Mr. Galliher. Would I like to come to lunch? Stupidly, I asked who else was going to be there. A momentary pause, “Well YOU’RE not!” and he hung up.

A month later he called again. “It’s John Galliher; would you like to come to lunch?”
“Yes please, thank you.” I said.

He lived on Chester Street. I rang the bell. Lauren Bacall opened the door!

“I’ve come for lunch.” I smiled.

“Oh, actually John’s not here. I mean I rent this house from him from time to time. He lives in the house next door.”

I pushed the bell. The door lock buzzed open and through the little loudspeaker, John said, “I’m upstairs dressing. Go into the living room and make yourself a drink.”

I went across the hall and down a few steps into the living room. At the far end, reclining on a yellow leather sofa, cigarette holder in hand was Sir Noël Coward; I knew it had to be…the morning papers had been full of the photographs of his investiture by the Queen the day before!

I approached. He glared at me and said, "I know who you are!"

"You are that brash young American who was invited here last month and dared to ask who was going to be here. Well, I was here, the Duchess of Westminster was here, Andy Warhol was here, Truman Capote was here, and…YOU WEREN’T. It’s a f**king good thing you didn’t ask what was on the menu or you’d never be here today. Now go make yourself a drink and sit down.”