Summer and the City by Candace Bushnell Read Free Book Online Page B

it was time to do something about Charlie. Speed things along.”
    She pushes aside some papers on her desk to retrieve a battered copy of New York Magazine .
    “Here.” She holds it out. The headline reads, NEW YORK’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELORS , above a photograph of several men standing on bleachers like a sports team in a high school yearbook. “That’s Charlie,” she says, pointing to a man whose face is partially hidden by a baseball cap. “I told him not to wear that stupid cap, but he wouldn’t listen.”
    “Do people still care about this stuff?” I ask. “I mean, aren’t debutantes and eligible bachelors sort of over?”
    Samantha laughs. “You really are a rube, kiddo. If only it didn’t matter. But it does.”
    “All right—”
    “So I broke up with him.”
    I smile knowingly. “But if you wanted to be with him—”
    “It’s all about getting the guy to realize he wants to be with you .” She swings her feet off the desk and comes around to the side. I sit up, aware that I’m about to receive a valuable lesson in man management.
    “When it comes to men,” she begins, “it’s all about their egos. So when I broke up with Charlie, he was furious. Couldn’t believe I’d leave him. Giving him no choice but to come crawling after me. Naturally, I resisted. ‘Charlie,’ I said. ‘You know how crazy I am about you, but if I don’t respect myself, who will? If you really care about me—I mean me as a person and not just as a lover—then you’re going to have to prove it. You’re going to have to make a commitment .’”
    “And did he?” I ask, on the edge of my seat.
    “Well, obviously,” she says, waving her ringed finger. “And it didn’t hurt that the Yankees are on strike.”
    “The Yankees?”
    “Like I said, he’s obsessed. You don’t know how many baseball games I’ve had to sit through in the last two years. I’m more of a football girl, but I kept telling myself that someday, it’d be worth it. And it was. With no baseball, Charlie didn’t have anything to distract him. And voilà,” she says, indicating her hand.
    I take the opportunity to mention Bernard. “Did you know Bernard Singer was married?”
    “Of course. He was married to Margie Shephard. The actress. Why? Did you see him?”
    “Last night,” I say, blushing.
    “And?”
    “We kissed.”
    “That’s it?” She sounds disappointed.
    I squirm in my chair. “I only just met him.”
    “Bernard’s a bit of a mess right now. Which is not surprising. Margie walked all over him. Cheated on him with one of the actors in his play.”
    “You’re kidding,” I say, aghast.
    Samantha shrugs. “It was in all the papers so it’s hardly a secret. Not very nice for Bernard, but I always say there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Besides, New York is a small town. Smaller than small, if you really think about it.”
    I nod carefully. Our interview seems to be over. “I wanted to return the twenty dollars you gave me,” I say quickly, digging around in my pocket. I pull out a twenty-dollar bill and hand it to her.
    She takes the bill and smiles. And then she laughs. I suddenly wish I could laugh like that—knowing and tinkling at the same time.
    “I’m surprised,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting to see you, or my twenty dollars, ever again.”
    “And I wanted to thank you. For lending me the money. And for taking me to the party. And for introducing me to Bernard. If there’s anything I can do—”
    “Not a thing,” she says, rising to her feet.
    She walks me to the door and holds out her hand. “Good luck. And if you need to borrow another twenty sometime—well, you know where to find me.”
    “Are you sure nobody called?” I ask L’il for the twentieth time.
    “I’ve been here since two. The phone didn’t ring once.”
    “He might have called. While you were visiting your mother’s friend. In the hospital.”
    “Peggy was home then,” L’il points out.
    “But maybe he did