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Authors: Candace Bushnell
Tags: Fiction
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with Snake," she said, naming an actor well known for action films—he was in his late sixties but still making them—"and, you know, I couldn't get away."
"I see," Amahta said, giving her the crinkly-eye treatment.
Ray didn't seem to notice. "I'm supposed to meet this girlfriend a'mine, but I told Snake I'd meet him back at the hotel at three, he's here doin'
publicity, and now it's nearly two-fifteen. You know, Snake freaks out if you're late, and I'm always en retard."
"It's just a question of handling men properly," Amalita said. "But I do remember that Snake hates to be kept waiting. You must tell him hello for me, darling. But if you forget, don't worry about it. I'll be seeing him in a month, anyway. He invited me to go skiing. Just as friends, of course."
"Of course," Ray said. There was an awkward pause. Ray looked directly at Carrie, who wanted to throw her napkin over her head. Please, she thought, please don't ask my name.
"Well, maybe I'll give her a call," Ray said.
"Why don't you do that?" Amahta asked. "The phone's right over there."
Ray departed, momentarily anyway. "She's fucked everybody," Carrie said.
"Including Mr. Big."
"Oh please, sweetpea. I don't care about that," Amalita said. "If a woman wants to sleep with a man, makes the choice, it's her business. But she's not a good person. I heard that
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she wanted to be one of Madame Alex's girls, but even Alex thought she was too crazy." "So how does she survive?"
Amalita raised her right eyebrow. She was silent for a moment—in the end, she was a lady through and through, having been raised on Fifth Avenue with a coming-out ball, the whole works. But Carrie really wanted to know.
"She takes gifts. A Bulgari watch. A Harry Winston necklace. Clothing, cars, a bungalow on someone's property, someone who wants to help her. And cash.
She has a child. There are lots of rich men out there who take pity. These actors with their millions. They'll write a check for fifty thousand dollars.
Sometimes just to go away.
"Oh, please," she said, looking at Carrie. "Don't be so shocked. You always were such an innocent, sweetpea. But then, you've always had a career. Even if you were starving, you've had a career. Women like Ray and I, we don't want to work. I've always just wanted to live.
"But that doesn't mean it's easy." Amalita had quit smoking, but she picked up one of Carrie's cigarettes and waited for the waiter to light it. "How many times have I called you, crying, no money, wondering what I was going to do, where I was going to go next. Men promise things and don't deliver. If I could have been a call girl, it would have been so much easier. It's not the sex that's the problem—if I like a man, I'm going to do it anyway—but the fact that you'll never be on their level. You're an employee. But at least you might walk away with some cash."
She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "My way, well, is there any future? And you've got to keep up. With the clothes and the body. The exercise classes. The massages, facials. Plastic surgery. It's expensive. Look at Ray. She's had her breasts done, Hps, buttocks; she's not young, darling, over forty. What you see is all she's got."
She mashed her cigarette in the ashtray. "Why am I smoking? It's so bad for the skin. I wish you'd stop, sweetpea. But
you remember? When I was pregnant with my daughter? I was sick. Flat broke. Sharing a bedroom with a student, for Christ's sake, in a lousy flat because that was all I could afford. $150 a month. I had to go on welfare so I could get medical care to have the baby. I had to take the bus to the county hospital. And when I really needed help, sweetpea, there were no men around.
I was alone. Except for a few of my good girlfriends."
At that moment, Ray reappeared at the table, biting her lower hp. "D'y'all mind?" she said. "This girl's gonna show up momentarily, but in the meantime, I
"I see," Amahta said, giving her the crinkly-eye treatment.
Ray didn't seem to notice. "I'm supposed to meet this girlfriend a'mine, but I told Snake I'd meet him back at the hotel at three, he's here doin'
publicity, and now it's nearly two-fifteen. You know, Snake freaks out if you're late, and I'm always en retard."
"It's just a question of handling men properly," Amalita said. "But I do remember that Snake hates to be kept waiting. You must tell him hello for me, darling. But if you forget, don't worry about it. I'll be seeing him in a month, anyway. He invited me to go skiing. Just as friends, of course."
"Of course," Ray said. There was an awkward pause. Ray looked directly at Carrie, who wanted to throw her napkin over her head. Please, she thought, please don't ask my name.
"Well, maybe I'll give her a call," Ray said.
"Why don't you do that?" Amahta asked. "The phone's right over there."
Ray departed, momentarily anyway. "She's fucked everybody," Carrie said.
"Including Mr. Big."
"Oh please, sweetpea. I don't care about that," Amalita said. "If a woman wants to sleep with a man, makes the choice, it's her business. But she's not a good person. I heard that
file://D:\Bushnell, Candace - Sex and the City.htm 2008.09.06.
Page 38 of 156
she wanted to be one of Madame Alex's girls, but even Alex thought she was too crazy." "So how does she survive?"
Amalita raised her right eyebrow. She was silent for a moment—in the end, she was a lady through and through, having been raised on Fifth Avenue with a coming-out ball, the whole works. But Carrie really wanted to know.
"She takes gifts. A Bulgari watch. A Harry Winston necklace. Clothing, cars, a bungalow on someone's property, someone who wants to help her. And cash.
She has a child. There are lots of rich men out there who take pity. These actors with their millions. They'll write a check for fifty thousand dollars.
Sometimes just to go away.
"Oh, please," she said, looking at Carrie. "Don't be so shocked. You always were such an innocent, sweetpea. But then, you've always had a career. Even if you were starving, you've had a career. Women like Ray and I, we don't want to work. I've always just wanted to live.
"But that doesn't mean it's easy." Amalita had quit smoking, but she picked up one of Carrie's cigarettes and waited for the waiter to light it. "How many times have I called you, crying, no money, wondering what I was going to do, where I was going to go next. Men promise things and don't deliver. If I could have been a call girl, it would have been so much easier. It's not the sex that's the problem—if I like a man, I'm going to do it anyway—but the fact that you'll never be on their level. You're an employee. But at least you might walk away with some cash."
She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "My way, well, is there any future? And you've got to keep up. With the clothes and the body. The exercise classes. The massages, facials. Plastic surgery. It's expensive. Look at Ray. She's had her breasts done, Hps, buttocks; she's not young, darling, over forty. What you see is all she's got."
She mashed her cigarette in the ashtray. "Why am I smoking? It's so bad for the skin. I wish you'd stop, sweetpea. But
you remember? When I was pregnant with my daughter? I was sick. Flat broke. Sharing a bedroom with a student, for Christ's sake, in a lousy flat because that was all I could afford. $150 a month. I had to go on welfare so I could get medical care to have the baby. I had to take the bus to the county hospital. And when I really needed help, sweetpea, there were no men around.
I was alone. Except for a few of my good girlfriends."
At that moment, Ray reappeared at the table, biting her lower hp. "D'y'all mind?" she said. "This girl's gonna show up momentarily, but in the meantime, I
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