But these people, and these streets, have lived in my imagination ever since, and I’ve read everything there is about them. Party of the Century by Deborah Davis, about Truman Capote’s famous Black and White Ball. Capote by Gerald Clarke. Truman Capote by George Plimpton. Fifth Avenue, 5 A.M. by Sam Wasson. Slim, the memoir of Slim Keith. And The Sisters by David Grafton, about Babe Paley and her sisters. I’ve seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s more times than I can count. I continue to subscribe to both Vanity Fair and The New Yorker.
And of course, now I’ve read Capote’s own work, and admired most of it—Other Voices, Other Rooms; In Cold Blood; his short stories; and Breakfast at Tiffany’s. The only work of his that I didn’t admire, and which was rather a shock to read, was Answered Prayers, which included the short story “La C?te Basque 1965.” It didn’t seem like his other writing, not at all. I tallied it up to an unfortunate mistake.
But then, one day, I decided to learn more about this unfinished novel. I had known, vaguely, that it resulted in a good old-fashioned literary scandal. I understood the basic details—Truman had divulged secrets that he shouldn’t have. He’d tattled, and called it literature. His friends had shunned him. And then he turned into that grotesque figure I knew from my youth. And then he died.
But of course, there’s more to the story than that. Isn’t there always?
At the heart of everything written about Truman Capote and Answered Prayers is always the story of his friendship with Babe Paley. Babe is a sometimes aloof, if gorgeous creature. To me, she’s always a bit heartbreaking. “The original trophy wife”—I’ve seen that phrase used to describe her, often.
Yet that friendship kept buzzing about my brain. That unusual friendship between the grotesque Truman and the exquisite Babe. How? Why? What did it really mean to the two of them? When I looked at photos, and I saw how physically stunning Truman was, back when this relationship was new, I was astonished. This was not the Truman Capote I had known growing up.
And that was the puzzle, to me. What had happened to him, to turn him into the caricature I remember, that we all remember when we hear the name “Truman Capote”? What had happened between him and Babe, who was purported, by so many who knew him, to be the one person he had ever loved?
What had happened to them all, these mythological creatures in their penthouses; what had happened to New York, to sophistication, to elegance, to fairy tales?
That’s what I wanted to write about; that’s the story I wanted to tell: What happened to Truman Capote. What happened to his swans. What happened to elegance. What truly was the price they paid, for the lives they lived. For there is always a price. Especially in fairy tales.
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WITH EVERY BOOK I write, I am more aware that some readers are very curious to know what is fact and what is fiction. I have to say, this book has been the most fun to write by far, since all of its characters were incurable liars in life. This gave me quite a lot of leeway, and it was tremendously interesting to imagine myself into all of these wonderful storytellers’ lives. But for those who are curious, here are some guidelines:
All conversations are imagined, although some—like the conversation between Truman Capote and Liz Smith near the end—are known to have occurred. But what exactly was said? That is what I fictionalize. The timeline is faithful. The fallout from Answered Prayers is true to life. The relationships are real; in other words, Truman and Babe and Bill Paley were that tight little trio. Slim was Babe’s closest female friend. And the salient facts are from life: Ann Woodward was suspected of murdering her husband. She did commit suicide after reading “La C?te Basque 1965.” Babe Paley did have cancer. Truman Capote did die in Joanne Carson’s guest room. And so on. The biggest liberty I took concerns the rumored identity of the woman with whom the Bill Paley character had an affair in “La C?te Basque 1965.” At the time, the gossip was that it was Happy Rockefeller, the wife of the governor. More likely, the woman in the story was an amalgamation of the many women with whom Paley had affairs—including, if the gossip was to be believed, Slim Keith. While Slim was definitely the model for Ina Coolbirth in the story, it is also a fact that Babe did not, in her will, leave her dear friend very much. Who told her, then, about Slim and Bill? Who, indeed?
As I always say, the emotions are what I imagine; the motivations and intent behind some of these documented acts. The facts are the bones upon which I stretch the fictionalized flesh. And I hope that you are inspired, after reading The Swans of Fifth Avenue, to learn more about these extraordinary, impossibly glamorous, yet ultimately tragic lives on your own. The books I mentioned earlier are excellent places to start, along with Sally Bedell Smith’s In All His Glory: The Life of William S. Paley and Conversations with Capote by Lawrence Grobel.
I never did make it to New York to live. But I did make it to Chicago, which I love; finally, I’m a big city girl. And I visit New York a lot now. I see ghosts in the streets, everywhere I go. Once, in the Plaza, I thought I saw Babe Paley and Truman Capote sitting in a corner, having a glass of champagne.
But it was only a dream, after all.
To my father, Norman Miller
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS