What's remarkable about this is not that Whiting dumped the guy. That's dismaying, but not really surprising (except for the fact that Whiting is so upfront about it) to anyone familiar with the New York dating scene. No, what's remarkable about the story is that Whiting has elevated her insistence on being paid for into a principle. Because what, after all, could the principle really be?

Of course, there is no principle -- at least no defensible one -- behind Whiting's behavior. She's just borrowed an old custom, mixed it with a desire to live an easier life than the one she'd have to live if she paid for everything herself and come up with a slapdash ethos. And in this, Whiting might have walked right off the pages of Candace Bushnell's new novella collection, "4 Blondes," in which sex and commerce are inextricably linked. For Bushnell, relationships are essentially forms of trade, beauty and sex going in one direction, and wealth and the illusion of power going in the other. And no one seems to do anything in the war zone of "romance" -- the word itself seems like a bad joke in the novel -- without contemplating exactly what they're going to get out of it.

The picture Bushnell paints may be bleaker than reality (though, to be fair, I may not know what I'm talking about, since I don't own a house in Southampton, nor are B-list models trying to get me to take them to Nobu). But it's closer to the truth than we might hope. To be single in New York right now is to live in a strange world, one where by day men and women try to interact as peers, but by night often revert to gender roles worthy of the 1950s, save for the fact that it's OK to sleep together before you're married. Men court; women are courted. Men make sure they provide; women make sure they're charming and beautiful. New York in the year 2000 is the City that Feminism Forgot. Or maybe just the City that Forgot Feminism.

Of course, there are lots of exceptions to this, lots of people out there who don't let rules about what men and women are supposed to do or be get in the way. Still, the general mood is one of confusion, a mishmash that's equal parts "4 Blondes" and "Breakfast at Tiffany's." And one way out of that confusion seems to be the solution Bushnell's characters embrace: Men are expected to bring money and status to a relationship, women beauty and sexuality.

The curious thing is that Bushnell's characters make this bargain so willingly. Janey could date the "poor," sincere novelist, but prefers the rich and odious movie producer, and Cecelia could have married someone other than the Prince she's so lukewarm about. And the obvious question is: Why did they settle? Now, Bushnell makes answering that a little complicated, since even the people who sell out don't seem to enjoy the fruits of their mercenary ways. But even if we believe that money can't buy happiness, it seems naive to believe that, all other things being equal, having money makes no difference at all. Janey and Cecilia may be shallow and corrupt for wanting to find a rich man to take care of them. But I think they're right in believing that it will make a difference.

Maya Angelou reads from "The Heart of a Woman"