The Clifford Irvings at Play

Time: Friday evening. Place: the apartment of Writer Jim Sherwood and his German wife Valdi, friends of Clifford and Edith Irving, in Manhattan's Chelsea Hotel. Cast: the Irvings, the Sherwoods, and others in the Irving entourage, including Hyde Part-now, a self-described "Russian Jewish poet from Montparnasse and Ibiza," and Lester Waldman, a nomadic photographer expelled from Ibiza by the Spanish police. Also present: TIME Correspondent Bill Marmon.

EDITH is chain-smoking Gauloise bleues, looking harried and tired.

"This whole thing is like a storm in Ibiza," she says. "Furious, but then it passes away completely. No one has been hurt. This is not an important story, and it hasn't changed me or my world. This is nothing to me. It's too surreal." Cliff enters, unshaven, almost haggard, in red turtleneck and bedroom slippers. He is not supposed to be there because of the presence of a reporter, but boredom has overcome his promise to his lawyer. Also, the TV set in his room downstairs is broken, and it is time for the late news starring Clifford Irving and friends.

The Sherwoods have not one but two TV sets, and soon the face of Nina van Pallandt, Irving's elegant traveling companion in Mexico, blossoms on both screens. Edith leans forward to watch with aggressive intentness. "She's going to be on David Frost and David Susskind," someone says. Marmon: "Will she sing or talk?" Sher wood: "She'll sing. She can't talk. She's too stupid."

Then Sherwood appears on the tube, defending Irving, "my good friend." Partnow has somehow got into the television act and reads his poem "To a Seagull," dedicated to Irving:

/ am free

Not because I can fly But because I can touch The earth with my feet.

Everyone in the room cheers and congratulates Partnow. Edith kisses him and asks for a copy. The talk turns to how poetry can be brought into the courtroom proceedings. Edith vows to recite Partnow's poem instead of saying " 'No comment.' That's so cold and sterile. Just because you're accused, you don't have to act like you're in jail." "Maury [Nessen, the Irvings' attorney] won't like it," jokes Cliff.

Partnow: "What I think you should do, Cliff, is speak as the writer. You are the conscience of your age." Irving, slowly: "No. Poets speak. Writers write." Then he has a bright idea. "Hyde, why don't we do a phony press conference by phone? I've been with high-priced public relations men all week. I know how it works. You call up seven newspapers and tell them you are Clifford Irving. They will be here with everything in 15 minutes and plug into the Chelsea switchboard. Then you read poetry to them. And even if they have voiceprints to show that you aren't really me, the voiceprints will match because they will be so eager to use it."

Everyone in the room likes the idea.

Waldman wants to take pictures of Cliff and Edith, which he knows he can sell. "Oh, let him go ahead," says Edith. She poses behind Cliff, puts her long blonde hair down over his face, snuggles him. Finally the Irvings go back to their own apartment in the hotel. Sherwood: "He is a poet and writer, and I don't care what the facts are. Cliff is telling the truth." Valdi agrees emphatically. Lester and Hyde are not so sure.

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