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.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“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.
“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?”
