Tuesday

The French had their courtesans, the Japanese their geisha. The closest approximation that exists in modern American culture is a strain of upper-middle class girls who have been trained to marry well with a boot-camp ruthlessness since early girlhood, and they are able to achieve a level of prowess in the feminine arts far above that born-wealthy woman. Their archetype is Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy, the lissome blonde who a year or two ago captured the heart of America's prince.

Charlotte York's friend, Bitsy Wells was the stepdaughter of a successful banker. Her mother, Margaret, was a woman for who marrying well was the highest virtue. It had been over six months now since Bitsy had call Charlotte to announce her engagement, and to ask her to be a bridesmaid. Bitsy had been so proud and overjoyed. "I'm so relieved. I'm the last one in our pledge class to get married – except you of course," she had said. Bitsy's big day was nearing, late Saturday afternoon to be exact.

Bitsy and Charlotte had been close friends since they met at rush their freshman year. Charlotte had been the All-Greek Ball queen her senior year, and Bitsy had only been a member of her court. Charlotte had been sorority president and Bitsy had been the recording secretary. Now all these years later, the tables had turned, and Bitsy wasn't about to let Charlotte forget it.

Bitsy had confided to Charlotte that it was okay with her that she wasn't getting married until she was getting married until she was in her thirties since she was marrying a Prince – Albert J. Prince IV, to be exact. The son of a senator and the grandson of the late former governor governor, Albert's family was expecting great things. As far as his future mother-in-law was concerned, Albert was the matrimonial equivalent of a winning lottery ticket.

This afternoon, Charlotte sat a table at a sidewalk café. It was a fine, sunny afternoon, and the kind that could inspire a feeling of well being even in those of a much less optimistic nature than Charlotte. She had taken the afternoon off so that she could have the final fitting on her bridesmaids dress and do a little shopping for the wedding.

For nearly fifteen minutes she had been waiting for Carrie to appear. Finally she saw come into view. After Carrie sat down at the table opposite Charlotte and took a deep breathe. "Thank you. I owe you a big favor. I have just been on, what I personally believe, will be studied by single women everywhere as the worst first date of all time."

"Was it really bad?"

"It wasn't so much a date as a cautionary tale. First he had this awfully mousy-looking moustache. I just wasn't attracted to him at all. And he mumbled. I couldn't understand anything he said. It was like dating Mumbles from the Dick Tracy comic. And when I did understand what he was saying, it was like, 'oh, never mind.' It was becoming obvious that it was just one of those awful first dates which ends up turning into a race to the bottom to see which one can reject the other in the most harsh manner. That didn't stop him from suggesting that stop off at the liquor store down the street and then to my place for what he referred so as 'afternoon delight.' He turned his back for a moment, and that is when I pushed the button for you to call and get me out of there."

Carrie paused for a moment and took a drink from her glass of water. "So, let's talk about something important. Show me the new shoes you bought for the wedding."

Charlotte brought a Stuart Weitzman shoebox out of the shopping bag sitting by her chair and opened it to reveal a pair of strappy sandals studded with hundreds of tiny emerald-green crystals.

"Oh, my God, Charlotte, they are too beautiful. If the wedding gets to be too much for you, you can just click your heels together and say, "There's no place like Manhattan. There's no place like Manhattan."

"It's going to be a beautiful wedding. I am so happy for Bitsy."

Carrie wondered at her friend's warm and romantic heart. How could any thirty-three year-old single woman be so happy to be going to some else's wedding? Charlotte was always the first to cry out in joy when an engagement was announced. She saw no malice when her fellow wedding guests asked, "When are we going to be doing this for you?" She didn't mind being oldest woman in the line for the bouquet toss. Instead, she anticipated weddings with the same mix of inpatients and optimism with which a child looks forward to Christmas. Her friends were all being married to handsome, successful men, so it was only a matter of time until she found a handsome doctor or hedge fund manager who was right for her. "Charlotte still manages to believe in the beneficence of the universe. Good for her," Carrie thought.