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 need a cocktail. Waiter, bring me a vodka martini. Straight up." She sat down. She didn't look at Carrie. "Hey, I want to talk to you about Snake," Ray said to Amahta. "He told me he was with you." "Did he?" Amahta asked. "Well, you know, Snake and I, we have an intellectual relationship." "Do you now? And I just thought he was a pretty good fuck who was good with my kid," Ray said. "I ain't worried about that. I just don't think I can trust the guy." "I thought he was engaged to somebody," Amahta said. "Some dark- haired woman who's having his baby." "Oh shit. Carmelita or something like that. She's hke an auto mechanic from nowhere'sville. Yew-tah. Snake was going skiing and his car broke down and he took it to a garage, and there she was with her wrench. And her needy slit. Naw. He's trying to get rid of her." "It's very simple then," Amahta said. "You just get some spies. I have my masseuse and my maid. Send him your masseuse or chauffeur and then have them report back to you." "Goddammit!" Ray screamed. She opened her large, red-lipsticked mouth and leaned back precariously in her chair, laughing hysterically. Her blond hair was nearly white, perfectly straight; she was a freak all right but amazingly sexy.