WOE IS THE HOSTESS DURING MID-TERMS

BY MICHAEL STRANGE

The hell with Survivor: Race War. Mark Burnett should produce Survivor: Washington Hostess, and shoot it right now, with the midterms upon us.

The Congress is elected only once every two years, but woe betide the Washington dinner party when campaign time comes 'round. The party giver-pol relationship is one of the great love-hate affairs in this town because one can't survive socially without the other. Hostesses need office holders to power up their tables while the office holders need the hostesses to power up their PACs. I dare Survivor host Jeff Probst to ringmaster a circa 2006 Washington dinner party. For one thing, the beator- be-beaten drama here isn't staged; it's for real.

With rare exceptions, hostesses really don't care to have politicians at the table. Our esteemed "friends" on the Hill, particularly the men, believe "Dinner at 8" is a relative term (for them; not everyone else), they shovel down the food as if at a campaign pit stop, most have no manners beyond what's required for fundraising, and just as you get to know them, they are booted from office.

As for personality, well, there's artless flirtation: "Oh, so you're from California," Democratic Congressman Swain coos as he corners me by the bar. "I raise a lot of money in your state." Or, earnest devotion to the Bush White House and the Bible: Just as I raise my soup spoon Senator Devout from the Midwest softly implores, "May we first have a moment for our Lord"? Grace is fine at the family dinner table but it's no way to start a candlelit black-tie dinner for 24, with French service, fine wine and Robert Rubin as the guest of honor.

In our household, as in many in this town, politics is part of the family business. Taxpayer dollars help fatten my piggy bank and, in return I, the wife of a lawyer-lobbyist-consultant, have dinners that include politicians. My mandate is to integrate them into Washington society. For my darling and his clients, it means cozy access to Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist or Minority Leader Harry Reid on the sofa over good Scotch. For the pol, it's face time with money - but also helps pave the way for when he or she makes the happy decision to, ahem, "re-enter public life," and craves a rainmaker job with Mr. Strange or his closest competitors like Akin Gump, Patton Boggs or Verner Liipfert. For fun, I toss in a few jaded but authentic socialites, some generous new money, maybe one or two presentable media types and, for sheer glossy star-power, Bo Derek, Alec Baldwin or Morgan Fairchild if they happen to be in town. Usually, by the cigars and cognac, the politicians are rolling on their backs, begging to have their tummies rubbed. That's why the only elected officials with any social cred either have genuine morals or are so corrupt it's an art form. It's the cycle of life in the nation's capital.

"THE POLITICAL DIVIDE HAS STORMED INTO THE DINING ROOM WITH THE ANIMUS OF THE SUNNIS AND THE SHIITES"

However, times are changing. The political divide has stormed into the dining room with the animus of the Sunnis and the Shiites. Rather than fighting it out in the desert, they cold eye each other across dinner tables. How do you make a guest list out of that? The recent Israeli- Hezbollah war re-energized distrust between Jews and Arabs; blacks and whites maintain an uneasy truce, while the Hispanics, instead of scowling, slowly snag everyone's jobs. The Republicans and Democrats out and out hate each other. Back in the day, guests fondled each other under the table. Now they give each other the finger. It's enough to make any hostess wilt.

The old guard talk fondly of the days when national politicians were mostly good old boys or landed gentry, happy to make Washington their home, and who returned to the "district" only to get re-elected. It was easier then to plan a party. Now they fly into National Airport on Monday and fly out late Thursday. In their eyes, we, the permanent city, the social order, are practically irrelevant. Good for a meal, a flirt or a prayer, and good for a dime.