High life
A nose by any other name
Taki
Gstaad
hehe Swiss may not be the.most exciting people in Europe, but they're certainly among the wisest. I say 'among' because, of late, they've been slipping. For example, three years ago they gave in and just about forced the last canton that refused women the vote to change its wise policy. 'Who rules the home, rules the vote,' was the way women without a vote explained it in Appenzell.
These women came to mind this week when pictures of my old friend Johnny Bryan and Fergie appeared in French glossies and the British Sundays. It just so happened that we had some Swiss people to dinner, and their reaction was one of incredulity. 'How can the Queen allow such a humiliation,' was one question posed to me by a Lausannoi lady, while another, more Swiss and to the point, asked who is picking up the bill for all the private planes and bodyguards.
Needless to say, I had no answer to either question, despite the fact that it was this space that first told the world that it was Fergie and Johnny 'The Nose' Bryan, rather than Fergie and Steve Wyatt. If any of you loyal Spectator readers missed it, I happened to be in Annabel's late last year, drunk and obstreperous for a change, when Louis and John, the incomparable maitre d' and barman of the best nightclub ever, pushed their way through the crowd wedge-like, opening a path for Fergie and a man who yelled Hi to me and introduced me to her highness in the inimitable man- ner of our Yankee cousins. (`Hey Tak, bow to the Duchess of York and say hello'.. To which I replied 'I'm Greek and bow to no one, but hello').
This was how the press found out about John Bryan, ever since referred to as Fer- gie's 'financial adviser' by the pusillani- mous British journalists — until this week, when they have seen pictures of Johnny sucking one of Fergie's big toes, which is no sort of financial advice at all.
John Bryan I met 12 years ago, in the Xenon nightclub in the Big Bagel. He was friendly and a stayer upper, like me, and by that I mean he stayed up for days and nights on end. Strangely, Johnny once did act as my financial adviser, in a manner of speaking. Johnny was busy putting together financing for a little company called EnCom Telecommunications and Technol-
ogy, for which he and his partners raised about $2.5m in early 1985. The company's line was to promise untold riches, a line that has some of the investors crying wolf now. EnCom was to get into the satellite game. Earth stations, once erected, would rent out unused channels on communica- tions satellites. Johnny had worked for Westinghouse before branching out on his own, and he recruited some knowledgeable people. But his name did not figure as head or chairman, instead he appeared with the modest title of Secretary and vice president for business development. That was a bad sign for us investors. Worse, while the com- pany's revenues were just under $6m about $8m less than expected — the spend- ing of entertainment and travel did not, as far as I could see, match the diminishing revenues.
The end came in 1989, when a dear shareholder letter informed us that all was lost. I was obviously disappointed, but hardly angry. After all, I was over 21 when I invested. The next time I ran into Johnny was two years later. Out of the blue, he informed me that he would make it up to me. But this was out of line. I was under the impression that I lost my money fair and square. Perhaps he meant a new ven- ture. It was never made clear. All I know is that he's very charming and that I like him. At least he doesn't sling all that new age bullshit of Steve Wyatt.
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