By David Segal
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, October 11, 2007

NEW YORK, Oct. 10 -- "Well," said Ian Klaus, with a thoroughly convincing gee-gosh smile, "I guess I'm just really lucky to have the support of a lot of wonderful people."

Do you think? When he uttered this epic understatement Wednesday night, Klaus was at the center of a clattering party thrown for him by Bill Clinton, amid a crowd of several hundred friends and gawkers at a haute-Indian restaurant called Tabla. Everything about the moment said, You've done it, my boy, you've done it.

The event: a party for Klaus's first book, "Elvis Is Titanic," an account of the semester he spent in 2005 teaching English to kids in Iraqi Kurdistan. The hors d'oeuvres: fab. The drinks: lemon grass-infused pineapple juice with citrus vodka, a.k.a. Tablatinis. (Also fab.) The room: like the marble foyer of a bank. The temperature: a little warm. The book: free. The reviews: positive, if the former president of the United States is any judge.

"I'm biased because I love the author," Clinton said, stopping to chat and turn on his charm beams as he wound his way through the room. "But I think it's exceptionally well written."

Okay, but plenty of exceptionally well-written books are published every month. How does a 28-year-old PhD candidate -- without a TV show, or a Nike deal, or a dad named Trump or Bush -- generate a publicity maelstrom like this? How did this cheerful, curly-haired whippersnapper pull this off?

Let's look at the dedication page for a clue, shall we? "To my mother and Chelsea, for understanding."

Hmmm. Chelsea . . . Chelsea . . . Chelsea . . . He could not possibly mean . . . Yes! There she is, Chelsea Clinton, as we live and breathe, in a long black dress, looking soooo grown up and sipping a glass of red wine, and asking polite questions of some gray-haired professor, who looks utterly charmed. Chelsea, under some surprisingly heavy mascara, whose voice sounds amazingly like her mom's. Which makes you realize -- Chelsea can speak.

Of course, the former (and maybe future) first daughter dated the talented Mr. Klaus for three years. It ended in 2005, but the two have pulled off the hardest maneuver in the X Games of love, the post-relationship relationship. Why, Chelsea even brought her new boyfriend, Marc Mezvinsky, an underdressed, wet-haired Goldman Sachs investment dude in a V-neck sweater, with a very welcoming grin. And there's Chelsea, warmly greeting Klaus. And there's Mezvinsky, giving a gracious man-hug to Klaus. Everything's cool!

And nobody looked more pleased than the publicists at Knopf, who piped Elvis tunes into the room and mingled.

The night started with Clinton -- Bill, that is -- giving a quick and amazingly laudatory little speech about Klaus, calling him a close friend of the family, praising his good intentions, assuring the crowd that he, Bill, would never have had the talent to write a book like "Elvis Is Titanic" when he was 28. (The title refers to a comment by one of Klaus's students, who was comparing the stature of the King of Rock to that of Leonardo DiCaprio. Look, it makes sense in the book, okay?) Clinton had to battle a lengthy, six-round bout of microphone feedback to deliver his message, which included this fine exit line: "I can't wait to see what he's going to do with the rest of his life, but I know it will go better if you and everyone you know buys his book."

Klaus then took the mike.

"Tough to follow the president's mike check," he deadpanned.

Rimshot, please! Klaus sounded a little nervous as he went through his thank-yous, and talked a bit about the kids he had taught and their obsession with celebrities, such as Madonna and Michael Jackson. He probably had some insight in mind, but it wasn't totally clear what. But it didn't matter. Klaus radiates uncagey charisma, which is the best kind. He looks a little like Bill Clinton; the same wide open face, the same curly hair. But he doesn't have the same polish.

"He was the center of this group of about 50 friends at Oxford," said Daniel Baer, a friend who knew him there. "He's the kind of guy that everyone likes; but watch him. He doesn't work the room like Clinton. He's magnetic but in a very different way."

About the only person who wasn't ready to cough up an endorsement was Mr. Mezvinsky, who deflected the question "Have you read the book?" with this well-practiced and diplomatically delivered line: "I'm sorry, I don't talk to the press."

Thankfully, Bill Clinton does. A reporter from New York magazine approached and pushed before him a recent cover that featured the ex-president's face superimposed on a woman in a dress. The story was about what sort of first man the man would make. The New York reporter handed over a pen for an autograph.

"Sorry," the reporter said.

"No problem," Clinton replied, signing away. Then he said that in his high school yearbook there's actually a photo him, with a friend, in drag.

Note to Rudolph Giuliani: Get your oppo research team on this one, stat.