There's something about Cindy. How does she ensorcell these fiends? Is there witchcraft involved? For some reason a veritable Mos Eisley cantina worth of cultural bottom feeders -- dictators, their wives, annoying lapdogs, amoral Ponzi mistresses -- all gravitate towards the NY Post's amiable dunce Cindy Adams with the quickness. There, they unload their conscience with a blooodlessness. And, duly, Adams relays the proceedings leaving us all wondering: What the fuck is it about Cindy? Whta is it that inspires villany to gloat in her presence? From Cindy Adams:
"THE married Sheryl Weinstein, who wrote the book 'Madoff's Other Secret: Love, Money, Bernie and Me' about her affair with civilization's worst con guy of all time, came over for lunch. She's been everywhere talking about it but, still, I felt happy to meet her. I'm happy to meet anyone who screwed Bernie Madoff.
"The woman with the eyeglasses and prim, proper beige suit talks repeatedly about his teeny weenie eenie weenie. Over a chicken leg, she circled her thumb and forefinger to suggest its approximate width (almost more than I needed to know). 'Think,' said Mrs. Weinstein, 'of the tiny opening of that small honey jar a hotel's room service does for breakfast. Not very large, y'know. That's about its circumference.
"'It was narrow. Tiny in terms of girth, not length.'
"I suddenly no longer wanted my chicken leg."
But our fearless reporter regains her appetite:
"So, if he was this undermanned, how could he have satisfied her as a lover?
"'Well, there are ways. Did you ever hear of being on top?'
"I picked up my chicken leg again."
At this point it would be instructive to point out that Cindy is talking about a drumstick over lunch, not her own inscrutable gams (Averted Gaze).
"He was a player. He had women before me. He didn't find his wife sexual. Ruth's actually quite mannish. The way she walks and moves. He'd say she kept him on a short leash, indicating she didn't think he could be trusted, and he said when he'd travel she'd always go along to keep an eye on him.
"He knew the art of seduction. As Hadassah's financial officer I was handling its funds, so we met to talk business. There were innuendoes he'd throw. Then lunches progressed to dinner. And hotels. We'd go to the Palace, Hilton, Lowell, the Willard in DC.
"Not as though he had to hide or be furtive. The public didn't know him. Before everything broke Dec. 11, he wasn't anybody. He was just Bernie. We'd order in. He'd eat shrimp, Dover sole. And we'd talk. Bernie didn't like talking to people. But because I'd met presidents and prime ministers, he found it attractive talking to me -- about golf, his adored sons, his grandchildren, the movies.
"He loved going to movies. I once found myself sitting in the same row as he and Ruth. Always cool, he walked over to me to say hello. A preamble so I wouldn't walk over to where she was."
"Does she think his 'cool' will help him in prison?
"The man's a survivor. He can manipulate his environment. And being under-endowed may help, too -- that may convince them to leave him alone.'
There is something astonishingly bloodless about this Weinstein. Why would she recount, in graphic detail, the sex she had with such a universally reviled sociopath as Madoff? What is the upside? It cannot possibly benefit her social worth. I understand, vaguely, that she has to do the book promotion. Book sales equals making up for her financial loss. Also, sure, the story is her own, to profit off as she wishes. But I'm fairly sure that expressing her intimate familiarity with Madoff's goddam joystick is not a part of any contractual agreement with the book company.
Anyhoo: the full monte -- so to speak -- here.