We walk to Samantha’s building. Upstairs, Ryan extracts a bottle of vodka he pinched from Capote and proceeds to pour us drinks. I shake my head. “I’m tired.” While Ryan finds the stereo, I go into Samantha’s room and call Bernard.
The phone rings and rings. He’s still not there. It’s over.
I go out into the living room, where Maggie and Ryan are dancing. “Come on, Carrie.” Maggie holds out her arms. What the hell, I think, and join them. Within minutes, though, Maggie and Ryan are making out.
“Hey, guys. Cut it out,” I scold.
“Cut what out?” Ryan laughs.
Maggie takes his hand, leading him to the bedroom. “Do you mind? We’ll be right out.”
“What am
“Have a drink,” Ryan chortles.
They go into the bedroom and close the door. The Blondie album is still playing. “Heart of Glass.” That’s me, I think. I pick up my vodka and sit at the tiny table in the corner. I light up a cigarette. I try Bernard again.
I know it’s wrong. But something alien has taken over my emotions. Having sunk this far, the only place to go is down.
The album stops playing, and from inside the bedroom, I hear panting and the occasional comment, like, “Oh, that’s good.”
I light another cigarette. Do Maggie and Ryan have any idea how inconsiderate they are? Or do they simply not care?
I ring Bernard once more. Smoke another cigarette. An hour has passed and they’re still going at it. Aren’t they tired? Then I tell myself to get over it. I shouldn’t be so judgmental. I know I’m not perfect. But I would never do what they’re doing. I just wouldn’t.
I may have suddenly learned something about myself after all. I have what Miranda would call “boundaries.”
I should probably bunk down on the futon. Maggie and Ryan don’t sound like they’re going to be finished anytime soon. But anger and frustration and fear are keeping me wide awake. I smoke yet another cigarette and dial Bernard.
This time he answers on the second ring. “Hello?” he asks, confused as to who could be calling him at two in the morning.
“It’s me,” I whisper, suddenly realizing what a bad idea it was to call him.
“Carrie?” he asks sleepily. “What are you doing up?”
“Maggie is having sex,” I hiss.
“And?”
“She’s doing it with some guy from my class.”
“Are they doing it in front of you?”
What a question! “They’re in the bedroom.”
“Ah,” he says.
“Can I come over?” I don’t want to sound like I’m begging, but I am.
“Poor thing. You’re having a lousy night, aren’t you?”
“The worst.”
“Coming over here probably won’t make it better,” he cautions. “I’m tired. I need to sleep. And so do you.”
“We could just sleep then. It’d be nice.”
“I can’t do it tonight, Carrie. I’m sorry. Some other time.”
I swallow. “Okay,” I say, sounding like a little mouse.
“Good night, kiddo,” he says, and hangs up.
I gently replace the receiver. I go to the futon and sit with my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth. My face screws up, and tears trickle out of the corners of my eyes.
Miranda was right. Men do suck.
Chapter Sixteen
Ryan sneaks out at five in the morning. I keep my eyes squeezed shut, pretending to be asleep, not wanting to look at him or talk to him. I hear his footsteps cross the floor, followed by the squeak of the door. Get over it, I scold myself. It’s not a big deal. They had sex. So what? It’s not my business. But still. Doesn’t Ryan care about his fiancee? And what about Maggie and her two boyfriends? Are there no limits when it comes to sex? Is sex really so powerful it can erase your history and common sense?
I fall into a fitful sleep and then a deeper one. I’m in the middle of a dream in which Viktor Greene is saying he loves me, except that Viktor looks just like Capote, when Maggie startles me awake.
“Hi,” she says cheerfully, as if nothing untoward has happened. “Want some coffee?”
“Sure,” I say, the whole rotten evening coming back to me. I’m drained and slightly angry again. I light a cigarette.
“You’re smoking a lot,” Maggie says.
“Ha,” I say, thinking about how much she smokes.
“Did you notice I quit?”
Actually, I hadn’t. “When?” I defiantly blow a few smoke rings.
“After I met Hank. He said it was disgusting and I realized he was right.”
I wonder what Hank would think about Maggie’s behavior last night.
She goes into the kitchen, finds the instant coffee and a kettle, and waits for the water to boil. “That was so much fun, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. I had a great time.” I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“What’s wrong now?” Maggie says. As if I’m the one who’s been constantly complaining.
It’s too early for a contentious discussion. “Nothing. But Ryan’s in my class-”
“Which reminds me. Ryan is taking me to a movie. By some Chinese director.
“
“How do you know?”
“The guys are always talking about it. It’s like six hours or something.”
“I don’t think we’ll last six hours,” she says slyly, handing me a mug of coffee.
One night I can excuse. But two? No way. “Listen, Mags. It’s not a good idea if Ryan comes here tonight. Samantha might find out-”
“Don’t worry.” She settles next to me on the futon. “Ryan said we can go to his apartment.”
I pick a floating grain of coffee from my brew. “What about his fiancee?”
“He said he thinks she’s cheating.”
“So that makes it okay?”
“Jesus, Carrie. What’s your problem? You’re so uptight.”
I take a sip of coffee, willing myself not to react. “Uptight” is the one thing I pride myself on not being. But perhaps I don’t know myself so well after all.
Class is at one, but I leave the apartment early, claiming errands. Maggie and I were perfectly civil to each other on the surface, but I was walking on eggshells. It took a concerted effort not to bring up Ryan, and even more strength not to mention Bernard. I promised myself I wouldn’t talk about him, because if I did, I was afraid I’d accuse Maggie of ruining my relationship. And even to my illogical brain, this seemed a bit extreme.
When Maggie turned on the TV and started doing leg lifts, I made my escape.
There’s still an hour before class, so I head over to the White Horse Tavern, where I can load up on decent coffee for a mere fifty cents. To my happy surprise, L’il is there, writing in her journal.
