‘You’re So Naughty’
“Chéri,” said a man’s voice from the living room. “I’m so glad you come to see me.”
“You know I always come to see you,” said the Bone.
“Come here. I have some presents for you.”
The Bone checked himself in the mirror in the marble foyer, then went into the living room. A middle-aged man was sitting on the couch, sipping tea, tapping his Italian-slippered foot against the coffee table.
“Come to me. Let me see you. See how you’ve aged in the past two months. No sun damage from our time in the Aegean?”
“You haven’t aged at all,” said the Bone. “You always look young. What’s your secret?”
“That wonderful face cream you gave me,” said the man. “What was it again?”
“Kiehl’s.” The Bone sat on the edge of the bergère.
“You must bring me some more,” the man said. “Do you still have the watch?”
“The watch?” the Bone said. “Oh, I gave that to some homeless man.”
“You’re so naughty,” the man said. “Teasing me like that.”
“Would I ever give away anything you gave me?”
“No,” the man said. “Now look at what I brought you. Cashmere sweaters in every color. You’ll try them on?”
“As long as I get to keep all of them,” the Bone said.
River Wilde’s annual Christmas party. Loud music. People everywhere. In the stairwell. Doing drugs. Someone was peeing off the balcony. Carrie and Mr. Big were holding hands, telling everyone they were going to Aspen the next day. The Bone was ignoring Stanford Blatch, who showed up with twin male models who had just come into town. Skipper was making out with a woman in the corner. The Christmas tree fell over.
Skipper broke free and came up to Carrie. She asked him why he was always trying to kiss women. “I feel like it’s my duty,” he said, then asked Mr. Big, “Aren’t you impressed with how fast I moved?”
Skipper moved on to River. “How come you never include me anymore? I feel like all my friends are dissing me. It’s because of Mark, isn’t it? He doesn’t like me.”
“If you keep this up, no one is going to like you,” River said. Someone was puking in the bathroom.
At 1 A.M., the floor was awash in alcohol and a cadre of druggies had taken over the bathroom. The tree had fallen over three times and no one could find their coat.
Stanford said to River, “I’ve finally given up on the Bone. I’ve never been wrong before, but maybe he really is straight.” River stared at him, dazed.
“Come, River,” Stanford said, suddenly happy. “Look at your Christmas tree. Look at how beautiful it is.”
Candace Bushnell began Sex and the City as a column in The New York Observer in 1994; it subsequently became a book and a series on HBO. She is also the author of Four Blondes, Trading Up and Lipstick Jungle, which is being filmed as a pilot for NBC starring Brooke Shields. Ms. Bushnell is also the host of Sex, Success and Sensibility, a live weekly talk show on Sirius Satellite Radio. She lives in Manhattan with her husband, New York City Ballet principal dancer Charles Askegard.
Follow Candace Bushnell via RSS.