“Please?”
I catch them neatly in the palm of my hand.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I open one eye and close it. Open it again. Where the hell am I? This must be one of those bad dreams when you think you’re awake but you’re still actually asleep.
I don’t feel asleep, though.
Besides, I’m naked. And it kind of hurts down there.
But that’s because… I smile. It happened. I am officially no longer a virgin.
I’m in Capote Duncan’s apartment. I’m in his bed. The bed with the plaid sheets his mother bought him. And the two foam pillows (why are guys so chintzy about pillows?), and the scratchy army blanket that belonged to his grandfather. Who got it from his father, who fought in the Civil War. Capote is very sentimental. I can hear Patsy Cline still crooning softly on the stereo. “I Fall to Pieces.” From now on, every time I hear that song, I’ll think of Capote and the night we spent together. The night he kindly took my virginity.
I guess I’m lucky, because it was pretty much the way I’d always hoped it would be. And while we were doing it, I honestly felt like I was in love with him. He kept telling me how beautiful I was. And how I shouldn’t be afraid. And how happy he was to be with me. And how he’d wanted to be with me from the beginning, but he thought I couldn’t stand him. And then, when I started dating Bernard, how he figured he’d lost his chance. And when I actually managed to write a play, he decided I’d think he wasn’t “good enough.” Because he hadn’t managed to write much of anything.
Yow. Guys can be so insecure.
Naturally, I told him he’d gotten me all wrong, although it is true-which I didn’t tell him-that I didn’t find him terribly attractive at the beginning.
Now, of course, I think he’s the most gorgeous creature on earth.
I peek at him. He’s still asleep, lying on his back, his face so peaceful and relaxed, I actually think I can detect a slight smile on his lips. Without his glasses, he looks shockingly vulnerable. Last night, after we kissed for a bit and he did the sexy librarian thing and took off his specs, we stared and stared into each other’s eyes. I felt like I could see his entire history in his pupils.
I could know everything about him in a way I’d never known anyone before.
It was a little eerie, but also kind of profound.
I guess that’s what I found most surprising about sex: the knowing. How you can understand a person completely and vice versa.
I lean over the edge of the bed, searching for my Skivvies. I want to get out while Capote’s still asleep. A deal’s a deal, and I said I’d leave first thing in the morning.
I raise myself slowly, sliding carefully off the bed so as not to jiggle the mattress. The mattress itself is about a hundred years old, left here by the original owners. I wonder how many people have had sex on this bed. I hope a lot. And I hope it was as good for them as it was for me.
I find my clothes splayed around the couch. The Chanel bag is by the door, where I dropped it when Capote grabbed my face and backed me up against the wall, kissing me like crazy. I practically tore his clothes off.
But I’m never going to see him again, so it doesn’t matter. And now I have to face the future: Brown.
Maybe, after four years of college, I’ll try again. I’ll storm the gates of the Emerald City, and this time, I’ll succeed.
But for now, I’m too tired. Who knew eighteen could be so exhausting?
I sigh and wriggle my feet into my shoes. I had a good run. Sure, I messed up a few times, but I managed to survive.
I tiptoe back to the bedroom for one last look at Capote. “Good-bye, lover,” I murmur quietly.
His mouth pops open and he wakes, pounding his pillow in confusion. He sits up and squints at me. “Huh?”
“Sorry,” I whisper, picking up my watch. “I was just-” I indicate the door.
“Why?” He rubs his eyes. “Didn’t you like it?”
“I loved it. But-”
“Why are you leaving then?”
I shrug.
He feels for his glasses and puts them on, blinking behind the thick lenses. “Aren’t you going to at least allow me the pleasure of giving you breakfast? A gentleman never lets a lady leave without feeding her, first.”
I laugh. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself. Besides, you make me sound like a bird.”
“A bird? More like a tiger,” he chuckles. “C’mere.” He opens his arms. I crawl across the bed and fall into them.
He strokes my hair. He’s warm and snuggly and smells a little. Of man, I suppose. The scent is strangely familiar. Like toast.
He pulls back his head and smiles. “Did anyone ever tell you how pretty you look in the morning?”
At about two in the afternoon, we manage to make it to the Pink Tea Cup for breakfast. I wear one of Capote’s shirts over my rubber pants and we eat pancakes and bacon with real maple syrup and drink about a gallon of coffee and smoke cigarettes and talk shyly and eagerly about nothing. “Hey,” he says, when the check comes. “Want to go to the zoo?”
“The zoo?”
“I hear they have a new polar bear.”
And suddenly, I do want to go to the zoo with Capote. In my two months in New York, I haven’t done one touristy thing. I haven’t been to the Empire State Building. Or the Statue of Liberty. Or Wollman Rink or the Metropolitan Museum or even the Public Library.
I’ve been sorely remiss. I can’t leave New York without going on the Circle Line.
“I need to do one thing first,” I say.
I get up and head to the restroom. There’s a pay phone on the wall outside the door.
Miranda picks up after the first ring. “Hello?” she asks urgently, as if she’s expecting bad news. She always answers the phone like that. It’s one of the things I love about her.
“I did it!” I squeal triumphantly.
“Carrie? Is that you? Oh my God. What happened? How was it? Did it hurt? How was Bernard?”
“I didn’t do it with Bernard.”
“What?” She gasps. “Who
“I did it with Capote,” I say proudly.
“That guy?” I can hear her jaw drop. “I thought you hated him.”
I glance back at Capote. He casually tosses a few bills onto the table. “Not anymore.”
“But what about Bernard?” she demands. “I thought you said Bernard was The One.”
Capote stands up. “Change of plans,” I say quickly. “He couldn’t do it. I had to abort the mission and find another rocket.”
“Carrie, that’s disgusting. Did Samantha tell you to say that? You sound just like her. Oh my God. This is insane. What are you going to do now?”
“Visit the polar bear,” I say, laughing. I gently hang up before she can ask any more questions.
Have I ever been in love? Really in love? And why is it that with each new guy I think I’m more in love with him than the last? I think briefly of Sebastian and smile. What on earth was I doing with him? Or Bernard? I lean over the wall to get a better view of the polar bear. Poor Bernard. He turned out to be even more messed up than I
