Samantha wasn’t sure if Judy was being self-mocking or not. All she knew was the morning made her feel released from self-abnegation or any constraints of propriety.

Samantha met Barry at Chanterelle that afternoon wearing the hot pink cashmere wrap dress. Afterward, they went to the Mercer Hotel, where Barry unwrapped her like she was the Christmas present he’d always dreamed about.

Samantha began seeing Barry whenever she could. She knew that Charlie would always be there for her, but he couldn’t really take care of her. And if buildings collapsed again, or a man with smallpox ran through the streets, Barry would lift her out in his private plane. Barry could make things happen. He could even breathe life into her.

“I think we should go into business together,” he told her a month after they’d started sleeping together.

“You want me to star in your next movie? I heard girls go far by sleeping with the producer, but this is faster than I ever imagined.”

Barry kissed her. “You’re crazy.”

“You brought it up.”

“I have to do my annual spring rat-fuck for the independent filmmakers. I shouldn’t call it a rat-fuck. I do actually care about this. It’s one of those benefits when you get rich people to eat in black tie so young artists can make movies. And I was thinking maybe you could chair it.”

“There I was hoping you thought I had talent and what you really think is I’m just a society girl.”

“Look, it’s for a good cause. Plus it’s a great excuse for me to call you when Charlie’s home. And it’s a no-brainer. We’ll do it at Tavern on the Green or the Pierre.”

“I’m bored already,” she said as soon as she heard the standard locations.

“Okay. You want artsy? We’ll go downtown to the Puck Building.”

“Boring. Boring. Barry, we can do better.”

“It’s just a fuckin’ benefit. Do it in the goddamn Rainbow Room.”

“Who wants to stand around the Rainbow Room eating boring shrimp and looking out at that same New York skyline and then move into the main dining room for beef medallions.” Samantha was adamant. “That’s in the life’s-too-short category.”

Barry was a little surprised she took it all so seriously. “Honey, you’re the producer. You do it wherever you want.”

“Is anyone winning an award?” Samantha asked.

“Why, do you want to put it in the fuckin’ Dorothy Chandler Pavilion?”

“I’m thinking. Who are these filmmakers?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Young filmmakers. Some kid from USC. Some Russians, and I think some African-American kids Spike Lee recommended to me. All I know is I’m not giving anything to some kid with a trust fund from Vassar or Brown. Fuck them. Spoiled brats.”

“Barry, I’m a kid with a trust fund.” She hit him.