From a piece on Clarke in The Hill:

Now I ask you, if the election had turned out differently, would anyone be writing this way about Chris Owens or David Yassky?

-- Azi Paybarah

It can’t be comfortable. In the clinch, isn’t there more friction, and don’t those cold upstate bus-station urinals feel colder? On the other hand, you’ll never hastily stick a curl in your own zipper. But comfort isn’t the point. People have been suffering for fashion for thousands of years, and they will suffer for the fashions of Eros.

Pornography is not only a big business in itself—the figures I saw most recently said it had grown from a $10-million-a-year industry in the 70’s to a $10-billion-a-year industry today—but it leaks out into the wider world, influencing outerwear, advertising, slang. For example: Have you heard “fluffer” or “money shot” used metaphorically? Literally? Both? Welcome to now. Gianni Versace’s designs for women were influenced by Milanese streetwalkers, but that was so 80’s. Check the starlet du jour’s outfit du jour. This is pornography, nor are we out of it.

I was once asked what the founding fathers would do about pornography, and I tried to think of what was available in their own time. I couldn’t think of much. John Cleland’s Fanny Hill, or Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure, was first published in 1748-9, but I have come across no mention of a copy of it in any of the founders’ copious libraries. Of course, it would be just the sort of thing that descendants and curators would suppress. When Gouverneur Morris was living in Paris, his girlfriend gave him Voltaire’s poem La Pucelle to read. I skipped through it once with my fractured French, and though it is one long dirty joke about the virginity of Joan of Arc, it did not seem to be particularly obscene.

Morris’ girlfriend, the owner of the volume, was a married countess whose primary lover, and father of her child, was a Catholic bishop. And yet the hottest thing she could loan her American pal would be described by The New York Times as rated “R—Sexual situations.” At the same time, of course, the Marquis de Sade was shut up in the Bastille, dreaming his baroque torments. But even the French Revolution kept him under lock and key.

The founders lived with many evils that we have suppressed. Many of them bought and sold men and women; some of them slept with the women they bought. There has been a big drop in piracy, at least in American waters. The world sees real changes, and some of them are improvements. But honesty compels us to admit that other changes are for the worse.

Pornography bills itself as the pastime of free spirits. Why then do you always know, at the moment of every setup, what will happen next? Because pornography is bound to convention by the demands of the market—unless it is aimed at a “sophisticated” audience, in which case the demands of that market niche require slower-paced conventions. The production of pornography is as economically determined as the production of soft drinks—more so, because new flavors do come along now and then, while we’re still working with the same bodies we’ve always had. Everyone jumped on Judith Regan for her Juice cocktail and its gross payday, but next to the average pornographer, she was a crusading journalist, following the truth wherever it led. The last pornographer to work outside the straitjacket of his market was probably Sade, scribbling in his cell.

But Sade was the prisoner of his compulsions, which were as demanding as any audience. Philip Larkin wrote that life was a “three-handed struggle between / Your wants, the world’s for you” and “The unbeatable slow machine / That brings what you’ll get.” Pornography is a one-way tug of plumbing, hormones and whatever impressed you before the age of consent. Even long into adulthood, producers and consumers of pornography never pass the age of consent, apart from the initial decision to switch the toggle from OFF to ON. I and my many betters try to write, and hope you will read with understanding or pleasure. Porn writes us and reads us.

The law unleashed the new world of porn, and the law could tie it up again, though doing so seems in many cases difficult and possibly counterproductive. Lives are ruined by laboring in the porn industry, but we have had too many lawsuits against makers of food and legal drugs, like alcohol and tobacco. If eaters, drinkers, smokers and sex workers don’t destroy themselves with their eyes open, they at least do it freely (see switching the toggle, above). Tom Wolfe is as good a novelist as J.P. Marquand. If I Am Charlotte Simmons had to obey the decorum of Point of No Return, it would be different but no worse. But why bother?

It is possible, though, to shrink Pornotopia at the margins. Like any other industrial process, porn has side effects. Perhaps some of them are pollutants. Rudy Giuliani made just that argument as Mayor of New York, writing the zoning laws so that strip clubs and smut troughs had to be so many yards from schools or playgrounds; as a result, they were effectively shunted to remote industrial moonscapes. The civil libertarians fought him at every step, out of the fear, sincere but crazed, that if they come for Garter Belt Girls and I say nothing, the next step will be Auschwitz. Pornography is still in your child’s bedroom, but it isn’t on your block, and the killing hasn’t started. Rudy can offer this solution to Iowa and New Hampshire.

In 2005, six Manhattan townhouses sold for over $20 million, with one of the most notable being the former home of the late Gianni Versace, at 5 East 64th Street.

Last September, The Observer reported that investor Thomas Sandell had purchased the five-story mansion for $30 million, through a corporate entity.

At the time, Mr. Sandell wasn't saying whether the five-story landmarked townhouse would serve as a private residence, or was purchased as an investment.

Considering that Mr. Sandell bought billionaire widow Lily Safra's full-floor condo at 838 Fifth Avenue for $13.6 million in January, 2005, and then tried flipping it the same month as the Versace mansion was purchased, a quick turnover seemed a definite possibility. (Currently, the 4,165-square-foot apartment remains on the market, listed for $19.75 million.)

But over at the Versace mansion, work is now being done on the house, and the Landmarks Preservation Commission on March 14 approved an alteration of the facade. The change is not too substantial: A large window will replace a garage door.

Aside from the palatial, East 64th Street spread, Mr. Sandell's got other deals going on the Upper East Side.

His other apartment at 610 Park Avenue--which was listed for just under $5 million--recently went to contract.

The three-bedroom, three-bath corner apartment features pocket doors and herringbone floors. The 2,208-square-foot apartment also includes a dining room, laundry room, and walk-in closet.

It first came on the market in July 2005, listed with broker Penny Toepfer, of the Trump Organization. After a price reduction, a contract was signed in early March.

Both Mr. Sandell and Ms. Toepfer declined to comment.

- Michael Calderone

In 2005, the townhouse became the Kips Bay Decorator Show House and was later put on the market for $20 million, listed with Stribling’s C.B. Whyte and Shel Joblin. And now a contract has been signed, according to the company website. Calls to the brokers have not yet been returned.

Over the past few months, three big deals occurred on East 64th Street. Gianni Versace’s former home (Number 5) sold for $30 million; Prudential Douglas Elliman broker Linda Schlesinger sold her townhouse (Number 16) for $23.5 million; and a contract was recently signed at interior designer Joanne de Guardiola’s $27.9 million place (Number 20).

Although the buyer of Number 54 is currently unknown, it seems a fair guess that they will not be publishing a weekly newspaper amidst all the linen and ruffles.

-Michael Calderone

Meanwhile, Matthew Schuerman inspects the status of the new World Trade Center site and the Nets arena planned for downtown Brooklyn. Result? They could both end up being Superblocks, just like the old Trade Center. How'd this happen?

Take her speech at the 1998 VH1- Vogue Fashion Awards where Donatella Versace and Sting presented her with the Gianni Versace Personal Style Award. She was dressed in a sari and was barefoot. "Gianni Versace was a great man and a great talent, and it's an honor to receive this award in his name. Especially from two people I'm so very fond of."

She was hyper-enunciating. Until she came to the end. Then it almost sounded translated–like she said " vahhry fohnd ."

"If I hadn't known that she started out as an American, I would've said she was an English person who wanted to sound like an American and made it part of the way," said George Jochnowitz, a professor of linguistics at City University's College of Staten Island, when asked to explain the Material Girl's dialect.

Some have taken to calling it mid-Atlantic English, by which they don't mean the language of Pennsylvania. "It's like you've spent so much time on the Concorde you're all caught up in the middle," explained Hannah Lawrence, director of public relations at Helmut Lang who really is from London. Picture Gwyneth Paltrow over international waters–with Emma , Sliding Doors, Shakespeare in Love and countless cover photo shoots behind her–not exactly sure how to pronounce the word "really."

As far as anyone can tell, the Concorde accent was picked up on the faah-shion show circuit and brought to America. It has quickly spread through the mastheads of the fashion books–where in the lower ranks they're trying to make you think they went straight from Vassar to Vogue via a year abroad in Venice–and beyond. Very Institut Le Rosey.

It says, "I'm interesting–or at least you're not sure that I'm not." And it's fun. With her Audrey Hepburn affectation–part leftovers from being cast British, part proof that she's a serious actress–Ms. Paltrow never shows up out of character. With Madonna's dialect from nowhere–part imitating the Italians who dress her, part " I can act !"–she gets some kind of mysterious-woman-without-a-language mystique.

It's Grace Kelly or Katharine Hepburn cross-pollinated with double-cheek-kissing Ingrid Bergman. It's ending sentences with an innocent little Italian " no? " Or using words like " shall " and " quite " and giving them a rhythm.

"It's probably because of the way I was brought up," lilted freelance fashion consultant Polly Mellen–who is always being told she sounds somewhat British. "Probably because I always went to private school and had a really, sort of, very, how can I say it, priv-i-leged education and life. I was really sort of packed in cotton."

Candy Pratts Price, creative director of the 1999 VH1- Vogue Fashion Awards, said her biggest offense is saying " taahsel " instead of "tassel." "I didn't go to public school, you know," she said.

Some claim it's an accident. "Every now and then I'll catch myself," admitted Lee Carter, editor of Hint , an on-line fashion magazine. "Like one time I said ' claahhs ,' when I meant to say 'class.' And I was like, 'Oh no!' It just happened. It was definitely not conscious. I was like, that's so fake and phony, I've got to stop doing this! I think it has to do with wanting to sound professional."

But it always sounds affected. "It's certainly not the case that most people beyond teenage automatically shift their English very fast if they go to another area," said Bill Stewart, a professor of linguistics at City University. "They would have to make a conscious effort to do so. And they would often not get it right."

"You can tell when it's put on because people think it's chi-chi," said Ms. Mellon. "I mean, there's a woman in a very, very big, big job, and she never used to talk like that . That's easy to spot, and that's usually younger people who are learning."

Sam Chwat, director of New York Speech Improvement Services, usually works with actors preparing for a role. But nowadays, he said, some of his clients are just preparing for their roles in life. "There's snob appeal … Since this whole Madonna thing started, we've had a few more clients looking for British accents. We try and warn people if they're American and adopting British accents, it's going to sound phony. And they're going to be found out."

Nonetheless, the clients know what they want. "I had a client who was a man in his 50's, a c.e.o. in the fashion industry," said Mr. Chwat, "and he had a very, very strong New York accent which he felt was an industry joke, that here he was, Armani-clad and otherwise elegant and powerful, and his speech was belying his image: He had an Italian-based, Tony Danza-type accent. Now if you met this guy, you would swear that he was vaguely continental. That he did not go to school in this country."

In other words, he just sounds sort of expensively confused. It's the occasional–but not uniform–" cahn't " instead of " can't ," or " rilly " instead of " really ." But it's there. It's a softening of vowels, it's keeping T's as pinpointed little T's instead of allowing them to morph into thudding D's. "One of the most consistent differences between British and American speech is what you do with a T in between two vowels," said Mr. Jochnowitz. "Like 'nom-i-na-ted.' Most Americans use a sound that's closer to 'D.'"

According to Mr. Jochnowitz, Americans trying to sound British tend to first soften their A sounds into "ah" sounds, and then drop their R's. "People in fashion have to speak about their product all the time," he said, as he watched a tape of Vogue editor at large André Leon Talley commentating on last summer's couture collections in Paris. Mr. Talley was speaking loudly and clearly. Each word was distinct. He rarely pronounced the letter R, "again" was "a-gain." " Sweat-ah ," " trouse-ah ." And his voice rose up and down like a song or a chant.

"He starts with an R-less dialect," the professor explained. "Which sounds like part of a native Southern accent. [Mr. Talley is, in fact, from the South.] The fact that he's R-less but doesn't sound like a Southerner is what gives the suggestion that he's British. He also speaks very precisely, which is, I guess, a professional thing, but has a British association, whereas we think of Southerners as being somewhat relaxed. But fashion people are always describing, making a point. You have the necessity to be clear in order to make your point. And that might explain why you would make sure you have all your differences in pitch, and why you keep all your consonants."

In the travel-heavy fashion industry, it's easily explained away time and again: "After traveling different places, especially when you go to London and you're in that environment and you're around fashion in that area, you definitely pick up words and things like that," said April Hughes, an editor at Elle . "And living in New York, you pick up a little from everything. It's an influence from old-school fashionistas like Diana Vreeland, it's what designers are saying this season–like Michael Kors is saying 'Palm Bitch,' so suddenly you're into that. And it's an influence that's definitely European. Mostly British."

Once the accent and rhythms are down, the fashion lexicon becomes very important. "At one time, certainly, French words had cachet," said Old Navy spokesman Carrie Donovan, whose voice warbles up high like a schoolteacher. Provided that school is Brearley and the year is 1949. "Like something having chien meant something." Ms. Donovan's voice turned wistful. (F.Y.I.: It means it was chic.) "But I think that phase is sort of gone."

Right now, it's pretty much unanimous that–unless you're ordering coffee or being sort of ironic –foreign phrases are out. But "genius" and "brilliant" don't seem to be budging in popularity. The royal 'we' is an important part of the dialect. "It's, you know, 'We're loving pink this year.' I think it's gracious. You don't come back as a reporter and say, 'I saw pink.' It means Vogue says stilettos, not Missy so-and-so says stilettos. Vogue did, and that's a bible," said Ms. Price.

Also important is the nearly constant use of the present progressive tense. " It's working ," " I'm loving it ." "It's a dance," said Ms. Price, "and it's not finished until you're finished saying it."

"It shows that it's more immediate," explained Mr. Jochnowitz. "Not simply that it works all the time, but it works at this very minute."

Elizabeth Saltzman, the fashion director of Vanity Fair , favors word shortening. " Gorge " instead of "gorgeous," "faboo " for "fabulous." She also likes " flawless ." The collection? " Flawless ." Michael Kors? " Flawless ." Tom Ford? "Looks–and is –flawless." Which leads to another of Ms. Saltzman's favorites–" Full Gooch ," which means head-to-toe Gucci.

Ms. Mellen worries about precision, about the most efficacious way to use words in such a visual profession, which is, Mr. Jochnowitz explained, one likely explanation for a tendency toward a more European accent. "[In fashion people] you have more marked variations in pitch. Americans have a tendency to skip consonants, jump right over them, hardly pronounce them. Maybe people in fashion have to speak about their product all the time, and you have the necessity to be clear in order to make your point. Which would explain differences in pitch."

"I think that when I was younger I used too many adjectives," said Ms. Mellen, who is told she's not shy about the word " divine ." "I saw Annie Leibovitz today, for instance, and I wanted to express to her what I felt about her book [ Women ], and I didn't use flowery language. I tried to use words that she would understand and might mean something to her, as she's a very intelligent and visual person."

"Maybe that has a lot to do with being creative," offered Ms. Lawrence, who happens to think Madonna just sounds American. "That's why we're in the fashion industry: because we're creative. And maybe the creative qualities that one has might mean a tendency toward a more musical ear. Especially in somebody like Madonna. She's so talented creatively and musically. And probably her ear is very, very sensitive to sounds and pitches."

And the fashion industry–with its British editors such as Anna Wintour; Grace Coddington; the Sykes sisters, Plum and Lucy; Liz Tilberis; Gabé Doppelt and too many publicists to name–has always had a little accent fetish. "I always think it sounds really nice," said Mr. Carter, "but I also know that a lot of British people are hired because of their accents, and that's the first thing I think of. I'm always like, 'I wonder if this person knows what she's doing or she was just hired because of her accent.' Because I've heard that from so many people. Especially in p.r. Because it just sounds better. Like they can get their way more often."

Mr. Monte is one of the few people on the planet who still believes that Andrew Cunanan, the spree killer, did not murder Gianni Versace. He claims that from the spring of 1996 until the designer's murder on July 15, 1997, he worked for Versace as both a New York-based bodyguard and a hired confidant. He says it wasn't Cunanan, but a Mafia assassin, who killed Versace.

To say that the Versace camp can't stand Mr. Monte is a monumental understatement. The designer's sister Donatella, brother Santo and the family's company, Versace Group, have retained attorney Lynn Shafran, and she is supervising an investigation of the private investigator. Ms. Shafran, who has also represented Madonna, would not comment on the record, other than to say that neither she nor the family believe that Mr. Monte ever worked for Gianni Versace.

Several spokesmen for the family and the Versace Group vociferously denied that Versace hired Mr. Monte or even knew him. One of them, Lou Colasuonno, the former editor in chief of both the New York Daily News and the New York Post who now works as a flack for the Dilenschneider Group public relations firm, called Mr. Monte "a profiteering publicity hound, who, like so many others of his ilk, crawl out from under a rock whenever there is a tragedy and try to cash in on it." He added, "Unfortunately, Gianni Versace is not here to protect his reputation from unscrupulous opportunists.… But we are."

Therefore, the designer's specter couldn't have been too pleased when Mr. Monte was not only invited to the Costume Institute gala-which was specifically meant to memorialize Gianni Versace-but apparently was sent four free tickets. (A spokesman at the Versace Group said that no one in the office could figure out who had sent them to him.)

"This Versace thing," Mr. Monte bragged, "is nothing in the scheme of my life."

The Full Monte

That's a true statement, though not in the way Mr. Monte intended it. In December 1995, the Association of the Bar of the City of New York sued Mr. Monte for $3,000 for breach of contract. According to Larry Bray, the attorney for the association at the time, Mr. Monte had made an arrangement to purchase its mailing list to use for soliciting clients for his detective agency. Mr. Monte would be billed for the list. But according to Mr. Bray, when the bill arrived, Mr. Monte then said that the list had not proved useful to him. The bar association waived its fee and has said it asked for the list back. "We thought that was the end of it," recalled Mr. Bray, "but my clients had put decoy addresses on the list which would come back to them. They received solicitations from Monte. So, in the end, he had gone ahead and used the list." Mr. Monte said, "My people in L.A. had apparently called for [the list].… With 40-odd people … working for me, I really can't keep up with commercial litigations." He said that he'd "never heard of this list business until my company received a summons. My lawyer said 'Pay it.'" The two parties settled out of court.

Mr. Monte has been through worse: In 1987, he was arrested and charged with conspiracy to murder his wife, Erin Patricia Monte, in April 1984, by allegedly rigging exposed electric wires in the couple's garage in Kensington, Australia. Articles on Mr. Monte that appeared in New Idea magazine and several Australian papers reported that Magistrate Charles Gilmore threw out the conspiracy-to-murder charge against Mr. Monte because he found the evidence unconvincing.

More recently, Larry King appeared to bust him, live on the air, for exaggerating his involvement with the O.J. Simpson defense team. And on Jan. 19, 1996, ABC's Prime Time Live captured him, on tape, apparently condoning illegal activities in the service of corporate clients. "[You have to] bug the room, which is all illegal. And, uh, you need to bug the telephones.… [T]here, you need to pay a lot of bribes," he told an undercover reporter for the show.

Samuel E. Messina, an official with New York's Department of State, said Mr. Monte is currently under investigation for such activities by the state's Division of Licensing Services, which grants private investigator licenses. However, Mr. Monte denied that he was being investigated. "It's all bullshit. There's nothing pending. I have a renewed license. Please put that in [your story]."

Since he moved from Los Angeles to Manhattan eight years ago, setting up business at both a Rockefeller Center office and his apartment on the ritzy Upper East Side, the private eye has become a weirdly familiar presence in the social arena, both downtown and uptown, more and more in the latter sphere. Sitting at a table in the bar of the Algonquin Hotel late last July, sipping coffee and showing off post-op snapshots of his recent face lift operation-eyes sunken, lips chapped white, skin liver-gray, hardened specks of blood dried to his temples and ears-Mr. Monte said, "I just turned 52. I don't want to wait 15 years to find out where Balthazar, or the next Balthazar, is. I want to know when Balthazar's opening, what's the best table there, and how can I get it."

He has close ties to Rush & Molloy's George Rush and the Post 's society columnist Neal Travis, and is the source of a constant flow of items for the Daily News , the Post , and Avenue , Quest and Manhattan File magazines. Mr. Monte said he has hired six publicists over the past five years to act as his "social planners." When reporting for this story began, his representative was nightclub flack turned Kennedy-tragedy opportunist R. Couri Hay.

To Mr. Monte's line of thinking, he was entitled to be invited to the Costume Institute. "I've been going to parties at the Met long before the Versaces had even left their tiny village," he said in his toned-down Australian accent. "These people are about bad taste and a lot of money. I don't see them as some hulking monster coming after me. I'm not scared of them.… Actually, I was hoping Donatella would come over and hit me so I could own one of their stores."

On Dec. 30, the Miami police closed their investigation of Gianni Versace's death, concluding that there was probable cause that Andrew Cunanan shot the designer. But Mr. Monte maintains a standing offer of a $50,000 reward for any information leading to the arrest of the "real" killer of the designer. In the Algonquin interview, he said, "I'm not going to lay down. And if I get shot tomorrow by an Italian bullet, it'll just prove that I was telling the truth."

So far, however, the only person The Observer has located who said he believed Mr. Monte was hired by Versace was Mr. Hay: He claimed that backstage at the Versus fashion show in New York in 1997, he introduced himself to Versace as a close friend of Mr. Monte.

Versace's reply, according to Mr. Hay: "He said, 'Great guy, nice guy.' In other words, he definitely knew who he was.… I can't speak for Andrew Cunanan, but if the media knew how often Frank had met with Gianni, they'd have married the two off by now."

Looking for a Rockefeller Skull

"Frank Monte," said the investigator's friend, New York Post columnist Steve Dunleavy, "is the genuine article. We need Frank Monte."

But one veteran Sydney newspaper reporter who had frequently covered Mr. Monte's Australia-based exploits in the 80's told The Observer that "when I covered him back then, he was a flamboyant, self-promoting wanker. His specialty was 'burst-ins' on cheating couples. His office walls were lined with red felt and dollar bills."

But, said the reporter, he was bright and ambitious, too. "He had a way of weaseling himself into things, particularly with getting on with the high society, the 'charity women' of Sydney's eastern suburbs, which is the equivalent to Manhattan's Upper East Side."

The reporter said she thought Mr. Monte "probably met Versace, but didn't actually work for him. Monte's an ounce of truth and 16 ounces of bullshit."

When asked about his Versace connection during the Algonquin interview, Mr. Monte became seriously annoyed. "I'm sick of talking about Versace. I thought this was going to be a profile about me."

Born François Ferdinand Monteneri in Alexandria, Egypt, Mr. Monte told a story of seeing his first dead body, at the age of 9, headless and being dragged down the streets of the capital. He started in the private investigation business three decades ago, spying on philandering spouses and becoming, as he himself put it, a "hard-bitten corporate spy."

In 1979, in his first big case, Mr. Monte was allegedly paid $300,000 to travel to what is now Papua New Guinea and bring back the head, or some sort of evidence, of the demise of anthropologist Michael Rockefeller, who went into cannibal country and was never heard from again.

Mr. Monte said he brought back three skulls, handing them over to agents for the family, whom he claims were satisfied that one of them was their man. "When you're dealing with people like the Rockefellers, they don't even look at you," said Mr. Monte. "They say: 'Just do it.' You know what the filthy rich are like," he continued. "They dragged me up to their house on Fifth Avenue, and said, 'It's been verified.' Then they asked me to not talk about it for 10 years, which I didn't."

"There were several investigators who had claimed to have been hired," said Granville Waterman, director of security for the Rockefellers. "Nelson Rockefeller may have been the only person who would have known" if Mr. Monte was hired by the family.

In the 70's, Mr. Monte worked for Aristotle Onassis as his bodyguard and confidant ("I would pick up girls, take them shopping and make sure they arrived at his parties dressed the right way," the private investigator recalled), and he performed bodyguarding duties for Sammy Davis Jr. and Neil Diamond. Two years ago, in a much-publicized case that made all the gossip columns, he was hired by Jack Nicholson and Marlon Brando to find lost money they'd invested in a "health ranch" spa-money that allegedly had been embezzled.

But Mr. Monte's desire to run with celebrities appeared to backfire on him during a July 27, 1994, edition of Larry King Live on CNN.

"Have you been retained by the Simpson folks?" Mr. King asked him. "Not yet," replied Mr. Monte.

"But you are going to be?"

"We're talking about it. But, no, I haven't been retained."

"When you say 'yet,'" said Mr. King, whose suspicions seemed to be aroused, "it sounds optimistic for you, like-"

Mr. Monte interrupted the talk-show host: "Well, you never know. I can't say that I have, no."

"O.K. Have you involved yourself in this case at all?"

"Yes," replied Mr. Monte.

"Have you assisted the current investigators?"

"No."

A Larry King staff member said that Mr. Monte had been considered as a possible guest on a July show regarding the Versace murder, but that after "reviewing his history," producers decided to pass. (Mr. Hay asserted that Mr. Monte was in fact "booked" but "bumped" at the last minute in favor of two other guests.)

Yet Mr. Monte did land in the middle of a formidable CNN guest panel on a July 17 Burden of Proof broadcast about Gianni Versace's murder; among its members were Raymond Pierce, who profiles serial killers for the New York Police Department, and criminologist Michael Rustigan. "We had an understanding that he was Versace's former investigator," said CNN public relations manager Kelly Keane. "We had no reason to question it."

She added, "The show is about differing viewpoints, and on the Versace matter, Frank Monte had an interesting point of view."

Proof Is in the Paper Cutter

Several days after the Algonquin interview with Mr. Monte, the private eye arranged, through Mr. Hay, to allow this reporter to look at several documents he said would prove he had a working contract with Gianni Versace. The meeting in Mr. Hay's lush Upper West Side courtyard was made all the stranger for the presence of a paper cutter perched on top of an outdoor table.

Keeping this reporter several feet at bay, he held up one of the faxes allegedly sent to Mr. Monte by Versace himself from Milan. "As you can see," he said-though The Observer couldn't see at all-"it is signed." Then he placed the document on the paper cutter and dramatically sliced the signatures off with a grating chop. That done, The Observer was allowed to read the faxes.

"Dear Mr. Monte," began one, dated March 6, 1996. "Here is our contract. You will receive documents from New York to you today. The money also will be delivered to your home."

Another reads: "Dear Mr. Monte, You are to meet -- [here, Mr. Hay had covered up the name] at the Beverly Hills Hotel, California, on 19-10-96. He will call you. Your funds will be transferred to Amex." All three faxes have Versace's Medusa medallion at the top and the correct address of Versace's Milan headquarters.

In early December, when Mr. Monte realized that his word was still being questioned, he shot off a fax of yet another document he claimed came from Versace. This one, again branded with the designer's medallion, read: "Dear Mr. Monte, Here is enclosed our contract for confidential work. Money as before." At the note's close, the first five letters of Mr. Versace's name were visible, the rest covered up.

The Versace Group sent The Observer a copy of its official facsimile cover sheet, a much simpler document devoid of the telltale Versace logo. It bears no resemblance to those Messrs. Hay and Monte provided, and the Versaces believe the letters are bogus. "On the matter of his credibility," said Mr. Colasuonno of Mr. Monte, "my advice to all who deal with him is: Let the buyer beware."

Sometime last fall, Mr. Monte fired Mr. Hay. "He's a dangerous man, a whaddaya-call-it, loose cannon. I'm going with [publicist] Nadine Johnson now," said Mr. Monte. But he and Ms. Johnson never cemented a deal. No matter, "We're going to raise the stakes," Mr. Monte said. "I don't want to just be in Neal [Travis] and George [Rush] items. We're going for bigger stuff.

"What I really want to do," said the private eye, "is get out of this shit."

The quotations from Proust, like the allusion to Yeats, really have nothing to tell us about the fashion designs of the late Gianni Versace, which were anything but Proustian or Yeatsian. They do have something to tell us about the intellectual pretensions of this exhibition, however. They are clearly designed to lend a veneer of high culture to what is, after all, only haute couture -a fashion show that is itself a shameless exploitation of tabloid celebrity. Since the public that is now flocking to the Versace exhibition knows it is there to satisfy its curiosity about a media celebrity lately gunned down by a real-life male prostitute, why drag in Marcel Proust? Most of the crowd gawking at Versace's naughty-naughty designs haven't the foggiest idea of who Proust was, anyway. For the few who might actually have read Proust and therefore have some understanding of the profound moral delicacy that governed the writing of his masterpiece, it is an affront to see his words used to hype the dubious accomplishments of a dress designer.

Yet I cannot honestly say that I was surprised to see Proust invoked on this bizarre occasion. For those quotations from Remembrance of Things Past triggered a distinct remembrance of my own, the memory of an event going back some 20 years. That was when the Met devoted a huge exhibition to the fashion photography of Richard Avedon. That, too, was expected to be a big deal. Not as big as the current Versace extravaganza, perhaps-but then, of course, Mr. Avedon had not lately been the victim of an assassin's bullet, and his name could therefore not be expected to command anything like the tabloid fame that now attaches to everything associated with the Versace label.

It was Mr. Avedon's additional bad luck-bad luck, that is, from a publicity perspective-that his big moment at the Met opened during the 1978 New York newspaper strike. The show was thus denied the support of both the gossip columns and the fashion columns that would otherwise have been very busy on his behalf. Still, undaunted by the shadow of adversity, Mr. Avedon staged a press conference at the Met to talk about the show, and it was very well attended, especially by the fashion correspondents for European newspapers and magazines. It was one of these European correspondents-a handsome Italian lady, as I recall-who had the audacity to ask the question that was undoubtedly on the minds of many people in the room that morning.

These pictures, she said, were produced to sell hats and dresses. Why must we now consider them works of art? Unperturbed by the question, Mr. Avedon unhesitatingly replied: "I use hats in my work the way Proust and Matisse used hats in theirs." Alas, I should have known that poor Proust was doomed to become an adornment of the fashion industry from that moment on-but I didn't. As shameless as Mr. Avedon's statement was, it now seems almost modest when one compares it to the utter shamelessness with which Proust is used and abused in the Versace exhibition 20 years later.

As for the Versace clothes-for men as well as for women-that were based on the prostitute as "exemplum," they also triggered a memory of the 1970's. In a conversation with the late Richard Lindner, about whose paintings I was then preparing to write an essay, I asked him what he regarded as the most striking of the many changes that had occurred in New York life since he had first arrived in the city from Europe in the early 1940's. "That's easy," Lindner replied. "When you walked the streets of New York in the 40's, you could tell at a glance who was a prostitute and who was not. Now all the girls dress like whores. Even many older women dress that way. It's sometimes very confusing." Lindner, with an eye nurtured on Weimar decadence, saw what was coming-and painted it-long before anyone knew Gianni Versace's name.

Versace didn't really invent the idea that women-and some men, too-could be persuaded to dress like whores in the name of style. The whole drift of late 20th-century social life had long been heading in that direction-the direction of a moral decadence cheerfully embraced by the arbiters of taste. Versace only made more extreme what was already a runaway trend-which is, I suppose, what we mean by "style" in this context. As for whether "style," in this sense, belongs in a great art museum, that is another question. In this regard, I was interested to see that Herbert Muschamp, in his overheated review in The New YorkTimes -"sex kittens from the distant galaxy of Desire," etc.-said of the Versace show: "It places the museum and its audience on the same unstable plane." This was meant as praise, of course. But if the statement is true, then the question that follows is: Why go to a museum?