http://www.nypost.com/commentary/56748.htm
UNTOUCHED DUCHESS IN RESTRICTED HEIR SPACE
By ANDREA PEYSER
November 2, 2005 CHARLES, meet Camilla. Camilla, here's Chuck.
If you missed their wedding on TV, you'd think that the redhot
geriatric lovers who came over yesterday from Britain had never met.
Or maybe they've just grown accustomed to sneaking around — after all,
they were secret adulterers for decades.
Prince Charles unveiled his new wife yesterday to an adoring,
forgiving America.
Well, sort of.
In his debut appearance as a married prince, Charles jumped out of an
SUV in the dankest, meanest, windiest corner of lower Manhattan — a
spot that remained teethchatteringly frigid, despite otherwise
glorious weather.
Maybe they picked that corner on Hanover Square because the weather
reminded Charles of home. But the prince had clearly learned the
lessons of Americanstyle retail politics — he bodysurfed through a
wildly cheering crowd, shaking hands like Bill Clinton on a Big Mac
buzz.
But Charles seems to have forgotten something.
Camilla.
Camilla, the Duchess of Cornwall, walked four paces behind her beloved
as the pair showed up before the cameras, the governor and Tina Brown
to unveil the cornerstone in a tiny garden dedicated to the 67 Britons
who died on 9/11.
But Charles never touched her.
He never looked at Camilla.
Never took the lady's arm.
He failed to brush her back. Steer her by the elbow. Bump into her
airspace.
Camilla was on her own.
Charles continued to shun his bride later on. He walked several paces
ahead of her into the Museum of Modern Art, where the pair were guests
of honor at a cocktail shindig.
Though it was billed as a celebstudded soiree, the famous stayed away
in droves — no Robert De Niro, Steven Spielberg or Kim Cattrall. Until
Sting showed up — late — the biggest name in the room was Yoko Ono.
Earlier in the day, Camilla created a fashion faux pas when she
arrived at Ground Zero tarted up in a velvettrimmed getup in an
unfortunately loud color that some would charitably describe as poppy.
I'll call it raspberry. Black would have been preferable.
But by the time she hit the museum, Camilla had changed into an
appropriate, if overly pouffy, blue velvet schmatta that nonetheless
revealed a tad too much cleavage for my taste and her age.
Charles spent the evening clutching a cocktail and holding court
across the room from his Camilla. But then, I may have stumbled on the
secret of their happy union.
When Charles was wed to Diana, it was she who drew every eye in the
room. In contrast, Camilla poses no competition for her husband.
The crowd circulated around Charles — everyone from Barbara Walters to
Deborah Norville vied for an audience. Camilla made do with Henry
Kissinger.
Welcome to New York, royals. We're a pretty tolerant lot here in
America — willing to forgive the years of running around behind
Diana's back, the pukeinducing phonesex sessions, the bad teeth.
You can call their story a triumph of true love.
But hey — we know you're together. Act like it.