Candace Bushnell - Summer and the City

Teensie puts a hand on his arm. “This party is giving me an awful headache. Could you ask Barry for some aspirin?”

I glare at her. Why can’t she ask Barry herself? Damn her and what she said about Bernard and me. “Colin has aspirin,” I interject helpfully. “Pican’s son?”

Teensie’s eyebrows rise in suspicion, but I give her an innocent smile.

“Well, thank you.” She gives me a sharp look and goes off to find Colin.

I hold my napkin to my face and laugh.

Cholly laughs along with me. “Teensie’s a very silly woman, isn’t she?”

I nod, speechless. The thought of the evil Teensie on one of Colin’s pills is just too funny.

Of course, I don’t really expect Teensie to take the pill. Even I, who know nothing about drugs, was smart enough to realize Colin’s big white pill wasn’t an aspirin. I don’t give it much thought until an hour later, when I’m dancing with Ryan.

Swaying precariously on bended knees, Teensie appears in the middle of the floor, clutching Bobby’s shoulder for support. She’s giggling madly while attempting to remain upright. Her legs are like rubber. “Bobby!” she screams. “Did I ever tell you how much I love you?”

“What the hell?” Ryan asks.

I’m overcome by hysteria. Apparently, Teensie took the pill after all, because she’s lying on her back on the floor, laughing. This goes on for several seconds until Cholly swoops in, pulls Teensie to her feet, and leads her away.

I keep on dancing.

Indeed, everyone keeps dancing until we’re interrupted by a loud scream followed by several shouts for help.

A crowd gathers by the elevator. The door is open, but the shaft appears to be empty.

Cries of “What happened?” “Someone fell!” “Call 911,” echo through the loft. I rush forward, fearing it’s Rainbow and that she’s dead. But out of the corner of my eye I see Rainbow hurrying to her room, followed by Colin. I push in closer. Two men have jumped into the shaft, so the elevator must be a mere foot or two below. A limp woman’s hand reaches out and Barry Jessen grabs it, hauling a disheveled and dazed Teensie out of the hole.

Before I can react, Capote elbows me. “Let’s go.”

“Huh?” I’m too startled to move.

He jerks my arm. “We need to get out of here. Now .”

“What about Teensie?”

“She’s fine. And Ryan can take care of himself.”

“I don’t understand,” I protest as Capote propels me to the exit.

“Don’t ask questions.” He flings open the door and starts down the stairs. I pause on the landing, baffled. “Carrie!” He turns around to make sure I’m following him. When he sees I’m not, he hops up the stairs and practically pushes me down in front of him. “Move!”

I do as he says, hearing the urgent thump of his feet after me. When we get to the lobby, he bangs through the door and yanks me out after him. “Run!” he shouts.

He races to the corner as I struggle to keep up in the Fiorucci boots Samantha gave me. Seconds later, two police cars, lights flashing and sirens wailing, pull up to the Jessens’ building. Capote slings his arm around my shoulders. “Act normal. Like we’re on a date or something.”

We cross the street, my heart exploding in my chest. We walk like this for another block until we get to West Broadway and Prince Street. “I think there’s a cool bar around here,” Capote says.

“A ‘cool’ bar? Teensie just fell down the elevator shaft, and all you can think about is a ‘cool’ bar?”

He releases me from his grasp. “It’s not my fault, is it?”

No, but it is mine. “We should go back. Aren’t you worried about Teensie?”

“Look, Carrie,” he says, exasperated. “I just saved your life. You should be grateful.”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be grateful for.”

“You want to end up in the papers? Because that’s what would have happened. Half the people there were on drugs. You think the police aren’t going to notice? And the next day it’s all over Page Six. Maybe you don’t care about your reputation. But I happen to care about mine.”

“Why?” I ask, unimpressed by his self-importance.

“Because.”

“Because why?” I taunt.

“I have a lot of people counting on me.”

“Like who?”

“Like my family. They’re very upright, good people. I would never want them to be embarrassed. On account of my actions.”

“You mean like if you married a Yankee.”

“Exactly.”

“What do all these Yankee girls you date think? Or do you just not tell them?”

“I figure most women know what they’re getting into when they date me. I never lie about my intentions.”

I look down at the sidewalk, wondering what I’m doing standing on a corner in the middle of nowhere, arguing with Capote Duncan. “I guess I should tell you the truth too. I’m the one who’s responsible for Teensie’s accident.”

“You?”

“I knew Colin had pills. He said they were aspirin. So I told Teensie to get an aspirin from him.”

It takes a moment for Capote to process this information. He rubs his eyes while I worry he’s going to turn me in. But then he tips back his head and laughs, his long curls falling over his shoulders.

“Pretty funny, huh?” I boast, preening in his approval. “I never thought she’d actually take the damn thing-”

Without warning, he cuts me off with a kiss.

I’m so surprised, I don’t respond at first as his mouth presses on mine, pushing eagerly at my lips. Then my brain catches up. I’m confounded by how nice and natural it feels, like we’ve been kissing forever. Then I get it: this is how he gets all those women. He’s a pouncer. He kisses a woman when she least expects it and once he’s got her off-balance, he maneuvers her into bed.

Not going to happen this time, though. Although a terrible part of me wishes it would.

“No.” I push him away.

“Carrie,” he says.

“I can’t.” Have I just cheated on Bernard?

Am I even with Bernard?

A lone taxi snakes down the street, light on. It’s available. I’m not. I flag it down.

Capote opens the door for me.

“Thanks,” I say.

“See ya,” he replies, as if nothing at all just happened.

I sag into the backseat, shaking my head.

What a night. Maybe it’s a good time to get out of Dodge after all.

“Oh,” my youngest sister, Dorrit, says, looking up from a magazine. “You’re home.”

“Yes, I am,” I say, stating the obvious. I drop my bag and open the refrigerator, more out of habit than hunger. There’s an almost-empty container of milk and a package of moldy cheese. I take out the bottle of milk and hold it up. “Doesn’t anyone bother to shop around here?”

“No,” Dorrit says sullenly. Her eyes go to my father, but he seems oblivious to her displeasure.

“I’ve got all my girls home!” he exclaims, overcome with emotion.

That’s one thing that hasn’t changed about my father: his excessive sentimentality. I’m glad there’s still a remnant of my old father left. Because otherwise, he appears to have been taken over by an alien.

First off, he’s wearing jeans. My father has never worn jeans in his life. My mother wouldn’t allow it. And he’s sporting Ray-Ban sunglasses. But most bewildering of all is his jacket. It’s by Members Only and it’s orange. When I stepped off the train, I barely recognized him.

He must be going through a midlife crisis.

“Where’s Missy?” I ask now, trying to ignore his strange getup.

“She’s at the conservatory. She learned to play the violin,” my father says proudly. “She’s composing a symphony for an entire orchestra.”

“She learned to play the violin in one month?” I ask, astounded.

“She’s very talented,” my father says.

What about me?

“Yeah, right, Dad,” Dorrit says.

“You’re okay too,” my father replies.

“C’mon, Dorrit,” I say, picking up my suitcase. “You can help me unpack.”

“I’m busy.”

“Dorrit!” I insist meaningfully, with a glance at my father.

She sighs, closes her magazine, and follows me upstairs.

My room is exactly how I left it. For a moment, I’m filled with memories, going to the shelves and touching the old books my mom gave me as a kid. I open my closet door and peek inside. I could be mistaken, but it looks like half my clothes are missing. I spin around and glare at Dorrit accusingly. “Where are my clothes?”

She shrugs. “I took some. And Missy. We figured that since you were in New York, you wouldn’t be needing them.”

“What if I do?”

She shrugs again.

I let it go. It’s too early in my visit to get into a fight with Dorrit-although given her sulky attitude, there’s sure to be an altercation by the time I leave on Monday. In the meantime, I need to probe her for information about my father and this supposed girlfriend of his.

“What’s up with Dad?” I ask, sitting cross-legged on the bed. It’s only a single and suddenly feels tiny. I can’t believe I slept in it for so many years.

“He’s gone crazy. Obviously,” Dorrit says.

“Why is he wearing jeans? And a Members Only jacket? It’s hideous. Mom would never let him dress like that.”

“Wendy gave it to him.”

“Wendy?”

“His girlfriend.”

“So this girlfriend thing is true?”

“I guess so.”

I sigh. Dorrit is so blasé. There’s no getting through to her. I only hope she’s given up the shoplifting. “Have you met her?”

“Yeah,” Dorrit says, noncommittally.

“And?” I nearly scream.

“Eh.”

“Do you hate her?” This is a stupid question. Dorrit hates everyone.

“I try to pretend she doesn’t exist.”

“What does Dad think?”

“He doesn’t notice,” she says. “It’s disgusting. When she’s around, he only pays attention to her.”

“Is she pretty?”

“ I don’t think so,” Dorrit replies. “Anyway, you can see for yourself. Dad’s making us go to dinner with her tonight.”