#written by marella agnelli about her life and family

[marlocandeea]

"Oh," he replied with one of his enigmatic smiles. "Villar is different from all the other gardens. This is my Shangri-La."

[mariacallous]

It was the literary scandal of the decade, the ultimate betrayal and, it turned out, the end of Truman Capote’s career. Published in Esquire in November 1975, “La Côte Basque 1965”, an excerpt from Capote’s then-forthcoming novel Answered Prayers, saw the celebrated writer share the innermost secrets (and most scandalous gossip) entrusted to him by his beloved Swans, the wealthy and glamorous group of high-society women that included Babe Paley, Slim Keith, Gloria Guinness, Lee Radziwill, Marella Agnelli and CZ Guest.

Visceral in its revelations of substance abuse, sexual assault, a murder cover-up, a graphic description of extra-marital period sex and, to top it off, bestiality, the article was a sensation for all the wrong reasons. It saw Capote deserted by his closest friends and shunned from the New York clique he had yearned to be a part of growing up – and, against the odds, had managed to infiltrate as an adult thanks to the success of his novels In Cold Blood and Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Capote’s questionable actions (and the irresistible drama they precipitated) form the backbone of Ryan Murphy’s long-awaited Feud, inspired by Laurence Leamer’s bestselling 2021 book, Capote’s Women. An all-star cast will bring the man and his muses back to life when the Gus Van Sant-directed series premieres this month on FX in the US, but what was the real-life fallout from the publication of “La Côte Basque 1965” like for Capote and co?

“He never recovered from it,” says Ebs Burnough, director of the 2021 documentary The Capote Tapes, a five-year discovery project that saw him uncover hours of audio footage of Capote, and which gives the most thorough insight into the flawed figure to date. “[These were] friendships born and nurtured over 20-something years. All of a sudden, not one but all of his friends – who had been like his family, because he didn’t really have any family – were not speaking to him; there was literally nowhere for him to go. He was alone drinking, and the phone stopped ringing. He was a man alone on an island.”

Described by the New York Times as “the high-society temple of French cuisine”, La Côte Basque – just off Fifth Avenue and a stone’s throw from The Plaza – was a fine-dining eatery as famous for its juicy gossip as it was for its succulent Coeur de Filet Périgourdine. No one, however, dared to write about what was said and done there – until Capote. While his ostracising may seem like an obvious consequence for spilling society’s sordid secrets, Capote was flawed by the outrage.

Before publication, he boasted to People that he was planning on assassinating his characters with a pen instead of a gun: “There’s the handle, the trigger, the barrel, and, finally, the bullet. And when that bullet is fired from the gun, it’s going to come out with a speed and power like you’ve never seen – wham!”

Success was, in his head, assured, as Capote had been open about writing “La Côte Basque 1965”, bragging about the stories he would tell, continues Burnough. “He was working on that piece for over 20 years, so in his mind he didn’t anticipate the fall out because all of them knew he was working on it.” Upon the outrage, Capote was, “totally abandoned but also indignant”, he continues. “He even said, ‘Hey! What did they expect from me? I’m a writer!’”

Capote had form. “Remember, this was something he had done with Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” explains Burnough. “When you think about it, Holly Golightly is essentially a call girl, yet with Audrey Hepburn [playing her], and because it was so beautifully written, lots of New York socialites were saying, ‘Holly was based on me!’ There’s [even] a quote in The Capote Tapes where Babe’s daughter [Kate] says, ‘Mummy was so excited to be immortalised by such a famous author.’ So, I think he was certainly expecting great praise.”

Babe Paley was Capote’s most aggrieved victim of “La Côte Basque 1965”. In it, Slim Keith’s alias, Lady Ina Coolbirth, reveals to the fictionalised version of Capote, PB Jones, the story that Paley is said to have told Capote about catching her husband, CBS head Bill, in bed with another woman. When Capote rang the Paley household to see what they thought of “La Côte Basque”, Bill is said to have lied, claiming that it was thrown out before either of them could read it; a distraught Babe, who had read it, and who considered Capote her closest confidante, had terminal lung cancer at the time of its publication and never spoke to Capote again before her death in 1978.

Such dismissal of his work would have affected Capote, says Burnough, but the fallout from the Swans leaving him would have been even worse. “Babe Paley was his North Star. She was everything he aspired to be and everything his mother aspired to be. [His mother] had always wanted to be a socialite, so his obsession came from her wanting but not being a part of that world, and then abandoning him as a child. There’s a lot of mother psychology there.”

It makes total sense that Babe Paley was the victim of Capote’s worst betrayal, says Lisa Pomerantz, the New York-based brand expert with a lifelong obsession with Capote and his era of social commentators. “She was the one that opened up the most to him. He took total advantage of her because the others – Lee Radziwill, CZ Guest [et al] – were always more guarded,” she says. “The question is, did he do it knowingly? He was a tortured soul, mostly because of his relationship with his mother – that combined with his natural obsession with this aspirational life and Babe and Bill being the epitome of it.”

Having been sent from New Orleans to Alabama to be raised by relatives after his parents’ divorce, Capote is said to have been a lonely, introverted child searching for a sense of belonging. So why, having infiltrated the glitzy New York scene as a bonafide player, did he blow it all up?

In tandem with craving acceptance, psychologist Carolyn Mair muses that, deep down, Capote resented the world he had managed to become a part of. “People warmed to him and wanted to protect him as he projected an identity of both child and woman, yet his wit could be razor sharp. His ability to remember conversations verbatim made him a good source of gossip,” she says. “Yet as his psychological problems worsened, it seems reasonable to assume that his judgement also worsened.” Shocking others, she adds, “can also be a way of getting attention”.

The backlash from other circles would also have been keenly felt by Capote, continues Mair. “The Swans were the high society who lived aspirational lives and were the envy of women across the States and elsewhere,” she says. “Ordinary people would have read about these women and their lifestyles in the press and fashion magazines and would relate to them as if they were also their friends. The publication of ‘La Côte Basque 1965’ would likely have triggered a shocked sense of betrayal amongst the readers of popular and fashion press at the time.”

Perhaps the most interesting upshot of the “La Côte Basque 1965” scandal, though? The ways in which it laid the groundwork for tabloid culture, says Burnough. “This was an era [in America] when no one even talked about the fact that Franklin Roosevelt was in a wheelchair, let alone the affairs people were having, let alone as graphically as Truman did. As the late, great John Richardson said, ‘[Capote] took the lid off a pile of shit’ and it started the exposé culture we have today. It was a real ‘gotcha!’ moment for the rich and famous.”