"I need a favor," Stanford Blatch said.
He and Carrie were having their annual Christmas lunch, at Harry Cipriani. "I have to sell some paintings in the Sotheby's auction. I want you to sit in the audience and bid them up."
"Sure," Carrie said.
"Frankly, I'm broke," Stanford said. After he lost his investment in a rock band, Stanford's family had cut him off. Then he'd gone through all the money from his last screenplay. "I've been such a fool," he said.
And then there was the Bone. Stanford had been writing a screenplay for him and paying for the Bone to get acting lessons. "Of course, he said he wasn't gay," Stanford said, "but I didn't beheve him. Nobody understands. I took care of that kid. He used to fall asleep at night while we were talking on the phone. With the phone cradled in his arms. I've never met anyone who was so vulnerable. So mixed up."
The week before, Stanford had asked the Bone if he wanted to go to the Costume Institute benefit at the Met. The Bone freaked out. "I told him it would be good for his career. He screamed at me," Stanford said. "Insisted that he wasn't gay. That I should leave him alone. Said he never wanted to talk to me again."
Stanford took a sip of his Bellini. "People thought I was secretly in love with him. I thought I wasn't.
"He beat me up once. I was in his apartment. We got into a fight. I set up an audition for him with a director. He said he was too tired. That I should leave. I said, 'Let's talk about it. He threw me against a wall, then he literally picked me
up and threw me down the stairs. Of course he lived in a cheap walkup. A beautiful boy like that. My shoulder hasn't worked right since."