The most powerful woman in New York is not Tina Brown,
or Diane sawyer or even Rosie O'Donnell.
It's the hostess at Balzac, which had overnight
become the only restaurant that mattered.
And we were there to celebrate the moment.
This is humiliating.
We've been waiting for 45 minutes.
I think I'm gonna faint.
Doesn't she know who we are?
Who are we?
I own my own P.R. firm,
you write a newspaper column.
This should not be happening.
I'm going back up there.
Excuse me. Hello, excuse me.
Hello!
We've been waiting 45 minutes.
Look, I'm not sure you understand, but...
I'm kind of somebody,
and she's definitely kind of somebody,
and we really need to eat now.
I'm sorry.
Excuse me.
Give me a twenty.
You must be joking.
Do you think I should make it a fifty?
If I had 50 dollars with me,
do you think I'd give it to that girl?
She cannot do this to us.
-We're leaving. -Oh, God.
Let me tell you something,
I was that woman ten years ago.
But I wielded my power in a benevolent manner.
Can we please talk about this over lunch somewhere else?
What, somewhere like New Jersey,
where we might actually get seated?
Do you realize if she were a man,
not only would we be eating right now,
but they'd be sending over free drinks.
Well, listen, I know a great Thai place around the corner
where the owner's son practically always sends over
a complimentary order of mee krob.
How sad. Do you think we can get it to go?
A short time later, Samantha headed back to her office,
while I decided to investigate this theory I had about shopping
as a way to unleash the creative subconscious.
Alright, I'm gonna take them.
I was already planning on returning them when...
Miss?
They told me to do that,
and now they want to talk to you.
Scusa.
That won't be necessary.
-Oh, my God!
-I don't believe it!
When did you get to town?
Just yesterday.
Darling, you look fantastic!
Oh, I can't let you do this.
Of course you can, and you can pay me back never.
Besides, it's on Carlo.
Oh, wow.
When did you two...
About two months.
His family has this gigantic ranch in Argentina.
Very, very wealthy.
He has a tiny little penis,
but he knows exactly how to use it.
Wave, darling, wave.
-Ciao, ciao, ciao.
Well, that's very nice of you, but I just, I can't accept these.
But of course you can.
When have I ever given you a birthday present
or a Christmas present?
I mean, you're like a sister to me,
yet I never see you! Oh!
The truth was, we'd only met a few times.
Most people would classify Amalita as Eurotrash,
I thought she was fun.
So, call me.
I'm staying at the Four Seasons with Carlo.
Don't you live in the city?
I'm a citizen of the world.
A citizen of the world, darling.
Now take the shoes and we'll talk soon, eh?
-I can't-- I can't do this. -Of course you can!
-Thank you. -Go, go, amore .
Ciao!
I couldn't understand a word she was saying,
but I felt I had in my possession
all the Italian I'd ever need to know.
Dolce, Dolce, Dolce.
While at home, all the English I seemed to encounter
was bills, bills, bills.
I envied Amalita.
Her life was a blur of rich men,
designer clothes and glamorous resorts.
She didn't actually work for a living,
yet possessed a dazzling sexual power
that she exploited to her full advantage,
which presented a certain conundrum.
Where's the line between professional girlfriend
and just plain professional?
Women have the right to use every means at their disposal
to achieve power.
Short of sleeping their way to the top.
Not if that's what it takes to compete.
But that's exploitation!
Of men!
Which is perfectly legal.
Saturday night, in an effort to save money,
and maybe even pick up a few extra bucks,
I invited the girls over for poker.
-I'll buy two. -I'm in for three.
So you advocate a double standard.
Women can use their sexuality to get ahead whenever possible,
but men should not be allowed to take advantage of it?
No, I'm just saying that men and women
are equal opportunity exploiters.
What if you sense that someone is giving you
a professional advantage because they find you charming?
"Charming"?
This I got to hear.
Well, a few days ago, Neville Morgan,
the notoriously reclusive painter,
paid a visit to the gallery.
Neville was making his yearly pilgrimage to Manhattan
to check out what was new and hot on the art scene.
And he found it...
Charlotte.
It was only a matter of moments
before he invited her to his farm upstate
to view his latest work.
So, if I could get him to show at the gallery,
it would be an incredible coup,
but what if he wants me to, you know...
Hold his brush?
If he so much as suggests what she's suggesting,
you give me a call and we'll sue the hell out of him.
That's the only proper way to trade sex for power.
I can't believe what I'm hearing.
You're like the Harvard Law Lorena Bobbit.
Uh, it's Skipper, I told him I was here
and he insisted on picking me up.
But he's not supposed to be here 'til eleven.
Aw, he's like a sweet little seal pup.
That you sometimes want to club.
You're an hour early.
Oh, I can wait in the hall.
No, Skipper, come in.
It's alright.
I'm leaving anyway.
You guys have cleaned me out.
Goodnight, ladies!
Charlotte, keep me posted.
A couple of hours later,
I was looking forward to calling it an early night, when...
Hello?
Carrie, you bitch, what are you doing?
Actually, I'm getting ready to go to sleep.
Why don't you come and join us?
We're at Balzac,
and there is someone here I'm dying for you to meet.
Oh, I'd love to,
but I'm really trying to cut back.
You know, pinch a few pennies.
You are crazy, you know that?
Why don't you just come down here
and be your fabulous self?
The truth was, I could barely afford that either.
But I rationalized that my new shoes shouldn't be punished
just because I can't budget.
Hi.
Sorry, uh, you're not on the list.
Oh, no, no, I don't need a list.
My friends are already in.
Darling, what took you so Long?
You won't believe what Carlo bought me this afternoon
-at Van Cleef & Arpels. -Oh. What?
-Oh my God, that's gorgeous.
Twelve thousand dollars.
-Oh, wow. -Mmm.
Listen, I want you to come and meet
the world's most fabulous man!
Sounds like a trendy sideshow act.
You're crazy!
Carrie, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Carlo...
Hi.
...and his friend Gilles.
Hello.
Nice to meet you.
Gilles is an architect from Paris.
Oh, how long are you here for?
Just a couple of days on business.
I've told Gilles all about you.
I told him you are the most beautiful,
talented and fascinating woman in New York.
And single.
How is this possible?
Oh, I get it. You're a...
You're an architect and a comedian.
I don't understand.
Oh, nothing, nothing.
I'm just, uh... I'm just being un peu stupide.
You?
Never.
I suddenly recalled my terrible weakness
for gorgeous French architects.
Can I get anyone something else?
Um...
Would you like another bottle of wine?
Wonderful.
And what will the rest of you be having?
During the next couple of hours,
I put my journalistic skills to good use.
I discovered that Gilles was recently divorced
with a five-year-old daughter, Beatrice,
who lived with her mother in Paris.
He was passing through New York on his way to Brazil
to supervise construction of a new hotel.
I think you're too beautiful to be a writer.
Hmm, I think you're too charming to be an architect.
I think you should give up your life here
and move with me to Paris immediately.
I thought you were spending the next six months in Brazil.
You can join me there first.
Oh, don't tempt me.
I'm so broke these days,
I might take you up on that offer just to save in rent.
Writing does not pay well?
No, no, it does, it does.
It's just, um...
I have this little substance abuse problem.
Expensive footwear.
I see.
I'm only here for the weekend,
but I would love to see you tomorrow,
maybe you could show me the town.
Why? You've never been to New York?
Oh, about twelve times.
But I've never seen it with someone like you.
You really have that certain je ne sais quoi, don't you?
Yes.
And so do you.
So, um...
I'll see you tomorrow.
Goodnight.
Bonsoir.
Sure,
divorced, French, and almost uncomfortably handsome.
But I felt like I was floating on air.
The next morning, I was brought back down to earth
as I confronted
a closet full of clothes, nothing to wear.
Just a minute!
Who is it?
-Skipper. -Oh.
-Hey! -Hey.
I'm sorry, I should go. This...
No, no, no, Skipper, Skipper, come on in.
What is it?
It's Miranda, she's got me totally w-- whacked.
It's like I-- I'm obsessed. It's...
And I, and I know that I shouldn't be,
because I can sense that it's, it's totally turning her off, but...
Here.
I-- I can't control it, I can't.
It's like she's got this power over me
and-- and I'm helpless.
Keep going, I just, I have to get dressed, all right?
Is it possible to be addicted to a person?
I mean, the sex is so awesome,
that it's like, it's all I can think about.
You know? I-- I've never considered myself a, a...
you know, a-- a horn-dog before,
but I'm worried I might be starting to scare her off.
Well, is that what she said?
No, but mostly we just have sex in the afternoon.
She never lets me spend the night.
Well, I have an idea.
Why don't the two of you...
just spend a night together, you know,
and not have sex?
That would be hard.
That would be really hard.
Well, I think it's really important that you try.
I don't even shower afterwards.
I-- I-- I like to spend the whole day
smelling like Miranda.
I began to fear that Miranda's sexuality
was overpowering poor Skipper.
Later, I spent the most incredibly romantic afternoon with Gilles.
I felt like I had landed in a Claude Lelouch film...
A man and a slightly neurotic woman.
Wait, wait.
I kind of have this rule.
I don't sleep with men I've only known a day.
I see.
I gave in.
After all, it was already tomorrow in Paris.
You look so beautiful when you sleep.
I didn't want to disturb you.
Are you leaving so early?
I've got a plane.
I'll get up.
No, no, stay in bed, order room service.
Enjoy yourself, eh?
Well, I-- I can just get dressed.
Relax.
I'll call you.
Okay.
Bon voyage!
As he walked out the door, it suddenly dawned on me
that he didn't have my phone number,
and I didn't have his phone number.
But he had left me a note...
with a thousand dollars in cash!
"Thanks for the beautiful day."
Must have been a hell of a beautiful day.
Well, it was.
We had such a fantastic connection,
then he leaves me money.
I don't understand.
What exactly about me screams "whore"?
Besides the thousand dollars on the end table?
I just can't believe that you had dinner at Balzac.
Wait a minute, I thought I ordered two eggs Benedict
and one spinach omelet.
It's all right, I'll take the omelet.
You know what, you guys? This isn't right.
We're gonna pay for all this ourselves, alright?
He said order anything.
The room service is one thing, but the money, uh-uh.
What are you getting so uptight about?
I mean, money is power, sex is power,
therefore, getting money for sex
is simply an exchange of power.
Don't listen to the dime store Camille Paglia.
I don't know whether to take it as an incredible compliment
or an incredible insult.
Just take it, period.
Well, I wouldn't know how to return it anyway,
because the one thing he didn't leave me was his phone number.
He paid in full, what more is there to talk about?
Who is this Amalita Amalfi character, anyway?
I'm concerned that you've been drafted
into a ring of high class hookers.
She isn't a hooker.
She's... She's like an international party girl.
She's a hooker with a passport.
Did you ever have any conversations about money?
No, I mean, I did allude to the fact
that I was a bit cash poor these days.
So maybe it's supposed to be a loan?
I don't remember filling out an application.
Sweetheart, men give, women receive.
It's biological destiny.
Hello! Do you really want to be saying that?
I mean, that's exactly the kind of argument men have been using
-since the dawn of time to exploit women! Wait a minute...
You guys, you guys, you guys. I'm just gonna-- You know what?
I'm gonna write the whole thing off as a bad date with a cash bonus.
You know, that salmon is really good.
I think we should order another one.
As I struggled with the dilemma
of how to manage my newfound money...
Charlotte arrived at the secluded Connecticut home
of the painter Neville Morgan,
in an attempt to secure his latest work.
Hi, welcome.
Hi, I feel so privileged.
Meeting you is, without a doubt,
the high point of my career.
Thank you.
I'm frankly surprised that someone as young as you
is even familiar with my work.
Are you serious? I studied you in college!
Oh, my God.
-I apologize, I really do.
Oh, you're much too modest.
Ah, here we are.
Excuse me.
Now, the canvases you're about to see
are what I consider to be the apotheosis
of every great idea I've ever had.
It's the closest I've ever come
to pure universal God force.
The cunt.
Uh... Oh my.
They're very powerful.
Exactly!
The most powerful force
in the universe.
The source of all life
and pleasure,
and beauty.
That's true.
I used to paint full nudes,
but as I got older, I realized
that the truth
was to be found only in the cunt.
Charlotte hated the "C" word,
but Neville Morgan was not a man to be corrected.
Hi.
I thought you might like something to drink.
Charlotte,
this is my wife, Gertrude.
It's a pleasure.
Lemonade and cookies?
Thank you.
Each of these portraits...
is of a woman...
who has touched my life.
Incredible.
I wonder...
would you consider posing for me some time?
Me? I-- I-- I...
Uh, well...
Um, I'm very flattered.
Excellent.
So long as you're here,
I could sketch you this afternoon.
I bet you have a beautiful cunt, dear.
As Charlotte pondered how far she would go
for her love of art and the gallery...
Another Saturday night,
with my hooker money still burning a hole in my pocket,
Samantha and I showed up at Balzac.
She reasoned that since I was there once,
I was as good as in.
I don't understand.
I made this reservation weeks ago,
and she's already been here.
I'm sorry.
Is there a host that I might talk to?
I will snap her.
I will put her over my knee
and I will snap her like a twig.
I'm sorry.
I'm hungry.
I'm going to go to the bathroom,
and then we're leaving, right?
Ah! Carrie, Carrie, Ciao! Ciao!
Come here!
They all looked so chic and glamorous,
part of me wanted to grab Samantha and make a run for it,
while another part...
Hi, how are ya?
Carrie, I want you to meet Mario, Alan,
Justine and Peter.
Hi.
Mario's family has one of those gorgeous palazzo's
on the Grand Canal in Venezia
and we're all going there next week for the film festival.
You should join us.
Absolutely, yes.
You must bring your little laptop and write all about it.
You'd be mad not to go!
Mario, Carrie is one of the most fascinating,
talented and beautiful women in New York.
I have no doubt.
I've never been to Venice.
No!
Venice is the most beautiful,
the most romantic city in the world.
Really?
I, uh, I-- I-- I heard it was sinking.
That's why you must come immediately.
Before it's all gone.
I couldn't say I wasn't tempted.
I realized that I could leverage myself
like the human equivalent of a sexy junk bond.
I'd parlay that thousand dollars into a trip to Venice,
into a nice piece of jewelry,
a rich husband, followed by a richer divorce.
I'm sorry, I'm gonna have to say goodbye.
I'm here with a friend.
She's waiting for me at the bar.
What a pity.
Call me,
I'm staying at The Carlyle with Peter.
Okay, ciao.
Ciao.
Just because Venice was sinking
didn't mean my morals had to go down with it.
And as for Gilles and the thousand dollars,
I figured there was nothing to be done.
For better or worse,
I had just established my rate for a one night stand.
Excuse me.
And then the most powerful woman in Manhattan
asked me for a favor.
Do you have a tampon?
Oh, sure!
Of course.
Thanks a lot.
I never told Samantha the source of my newfound power.
But from that moment on,
we never had a problem getting a table at Balzac again.
A couple of weeks later,
we were all there to celebrate Charlotte's coup.
Hi.
Excuse me just a second.
Are you number nine?
Oh, my God,
I am so not number nine.
Five.
Yeah, right.
It's this, right?
-No?
Well?
Really?
They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
But in this case...
I was speechless.