I actually had to look up the "history" of this event of which my father wrote in this short short story.
He refers to a "Denise" in it, and I could not for the life of me remember who that could have been. So I looked up the times that then former President Clinton played the sax publicly, along with the names of "Denise" and "Hillary", you know, the one who designated so many American voters (about half) as "deplorable" in more recent years and really won the 2016 election to what she designated an "illegitimate President" (when she said it challenging elections was ok; not ok in 2020 when Mr. Biden won--ain't that magic?). And I found it. The "Denise" was/is Denise Rich, former wife of Marc Rich, a commodities trader who was controversially pardoned (no matter who does it, either side of the aisle, I have to admit it is always controversial) by the former President on his last day in office.
The occasion of which my father wrote, in 2000, whew, 23 years ago now, was a gift of a saxophone to Mr. Clinton at a fundraising event hosted by Ms. Rich.
https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/president-bill-clinton-receives-a-saxphone-as-a-gift-from-news-photo/51570532
I also leave you, before I add my father's observations about life and politics, with an article from the Washington Post which interpretes Ms. Rich's interactions and donations to the Clinton(s). You forget things after nearly a quarter of a century. That's just the way they like it.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/politics/2001/02/18/friends-defend-denise-rich-as-naive-soul/be60bff9-4ab2-4bc4-9b98-ec453842b8b9/
THE CELESTIALS AMONG US
There are divinities among us. Each night, we press the remote and they appear magically for our admiration and then, adoration. They provide us with the illusions we require as we do bread for sustenance. Sometimes they disappoint us and we quibble about a minor lapse. I beseech you. Why cavil about a little sin? We have made them in our image, with the imperfections of our fallible natures. Given the chance to romp among them on Olympus, who would not play as they do and look down with disdain at that clamorous human with his everlasting lamentation?
Listen! You too! There was an eternity of nothingness before you arrived on this orb, and another to come when you leave. Live and let live. You're burning daylight.
Let us rather cavort with them insofar as our limitations allow, and revel in and retell the tales of their mingling with us, playfully, so their deeds become the mythology of our generations and the rites and liturgies we employ to give them meaning.
These were some of my thoughts as I viewed a fleeting television snippet depicting the peccadilloes of one of the deities. Well, "peccadillo" is a little excessive. Still, if you look long at his persona, he casts too definitive an after-image, as do some of his heretofore playmates--two, at least in this clip.
They are on a dais--Bill, Hillary and Denise. He is resplendent in black tie as is Denise. Her gown is partially obscured by the podium over which she holds the instrument of the presentation--a saxophone. The bare shouldered dress is clearly Cote D'Azur, or Biarritz. The moments are fleeting so it is difficult to assess her beauty.
The profile is straight and aquiline and accented by heavy pendant earrings, in my impressionable mind in the face of this majesty, clearly diamonds. My guess is beauty carefully ministered against the encroachment of time, palliated by the emoluments of wealth.
Hillary is demure in a simple suit, with bright buttons that begin in the center of the jacket, at the neck, and extend to her waist. Her hands are clasped at the fourth button until Denise presents the ex-President with the saxophone, causing her to clap her hands appreciatively. After all, this modern day Hera shares much of the overlapping spotlight that seeks out her husband's image.
Bill receives the gift, seeming to brush Denise's proffering hand in the process. He looks lovingly at the saxophone, his eyelids lowered sufficiently to enhance the expression of humility and gratitude.
The clip ends here. It is the one being offered universally by the media. I recall having seen the end of the aborted one, which I feel is more interesting. Forget the baal talk of the exchange of millions, the quid pro quo. It is within the province of immortals to maneuver battalions of us in their Olympian chess games, acting like profligate generals in costly battles, weighing the anticipated casualties of Titanic proportions implicit in grandiose operations.
Like all of you, I dare not look at the full glare of greatness. I prefer catching their unguarded moments. They resemble us more in their simpler acts of humanity, the inevitable vulnerable spot of all, the heel in the armor of proposed invulnerability.
The ex-President bends down and embraces his wife, turns and places his cheek against that of Denise.
The gesture is fleeting, but I sense warmth and appreciation for the gift and the friendship. Even for the great, money isn't always everything.
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