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gone out with some of those guys—the ones who are short, fat, and ugly—and it doesn't make any difference. They're just as unappreciative and self-centered as the good-looking ones.
    "By the time you get to your mid-thirties and you're not married, you think. Why should I settle?" Charlotte said. She said she'd just turned down a date with a beautifully eligible, recently divorced forty-one-year-old banker because his unmentionable was too small. "Index finger," she sighed.
    Then Sarah beeped in. She'd just gotten money to make her first independent film, and she was ecstatic. "This idea of file://D:\Bushnell, Candace - Sex and the City.htm 2008.09.06.

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    women not being able to get married? It's so small-minded, I can't even deal with it. If you want to get these guys, you have to shut up. You have to sit there and shut up and agree with everything they say."
    Luckily, my friend Amalita called and explained it all to me. Explained why terrific women are often alone, and not happy about it, but not exactly desperate about it, either. "Oh honey," she cooed into the phone. She was in a good mood because she'd had sex the night before, with a twenty-four-year-old law student. "Everyone knows that men in New York make great friends and lousy husbards. In South America, where I come from, we have an expression: Better alone than badly accompanied."
    5

Meet the Guys
    Who Bed Models!
    There was just the slightest stir as "Gregory Roque," the conspiracy filmmaker, slipped into the Bowery Bar on a recent Friday night. The auteur of such controversial films as G.R.F. (Gerald Rudolph Ford) and The Monkees, Mr. Roque was wearing a tatty tweed jacket and keeping his head file://D:\Bushnell, Candace - Sex and the City.htm 2008.09.06.

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    down. Surrounding him was a swarm of six young women, new models with a well-known modeling agency. All of the girls were under twenty-one (two were as young as sixteen), and most of them had never seen Mr. Roque's films and, frankly, couldn't have cared less.
    Functioning like two small tugboats in keeping the swarm moving and intact were the modelizers, Jack and Ben—two self-employed investors in their early thirties—men of nondescript features, save for the buckteeth of one and the stylish spiky haircut of the other.
    At first glance, it looked like a merry group. The girls were smiling. Mr.
    Roque sat in a banquette, flanked by his beauties, while the two young men sat in the aisle chairs as if to
    ward off any unwelcome intruders who might try to talk to Mr. Roque or, even worse, steal one of the girls.
    Mr. Roque would lean toward one or another girl, engaging in snippets of conversation. The young men were lively. But it wasn't quite as charming as it appeared. For one thing, if you looked closely at the girls, you could see the boredom pulling down their features like old age. They had nothing to say to Mr. Roque and even less to say to each other. But everyone at the table had a job to do, and they were doing it. So the group sat and sat, looking glamorous, and after a while, they got in Mr. Roque's limousine and went to the Tunnel, where Mr. Roque danced dispiritedly with one of the girls and then realized he was bored up to his eyeteeth and went home alone. The girls stayed for a while and took drugs, and then Jack, who had the spiky haircut, grabbed one of the girls and said, "You stupid slut," and she went home with him. He gave her more drugs and she gave him a blow job.
    That sort of scenario is acted out just about every night in New York, in restaurants and clubs. There, one invariably finds the beautiful young models who flock to New York like birds, and their attendants, men like Jack and Ben, who practically make a profession of wining and dining them and, with varying degrees of success, seducing them. Meet the modelizers.
    Modelizers are a particular breed. They're a step beyond womanizers, who will sleep with just about anything in a skirt.