Candace Bushnell: Summer and the City

No one really cares.

Ryan and Rainbow are chatting outside the building when Capote and I arrive together. I drop Capote’s hand, thinking it’s not a good idea for people to know about us, but Capote has no such compunction. He takes back my hand and drapes my arm over his shoulder.

“Ho, ho, are you guys an item now?” Ryan asks.

“I don’t know.” I look to Capote for confirmation.

He answers by kissing me on the mouth.

“Gross,” Rainbow declares.

“I was wondering how long it would take for you two to get together,” Ryan says.

“There’s a new club opening on the Bowery,” Rainbow remarks.

“And a reading at Cholly Hammond’s,” Ryan says. “I’ve heard he throws a great party.”

“Anyone want to go to Elaine’s next week?” Capote asks.

And on and on they go, with no mention of the fact that I won’t be around. Or of my play. They’ve probably forgotten it by now anyway.

Or, like me, they’re too embarrassed to mention it.

When in doubt, there’s always plan C: If something really horrible happens, ignore it.

I follow the group inside, trudging my feet. What was it all for, anyway? I made friends with people I’ll probably never see again, dated a man who turned out to be a dud, found a love that can’t be sustained, and spent all summer writing a play that no one will ever see. As my father would say, I didn’t use my time “constructively.”

“What’s going to happen with you and Capote?” Miranda demands. “Do you actually think you’re going to have a long-distance relationship? Sounds like a case of the deliberate subconscious-”

“If it’s deliberate, how can it be subconscious?”

“You know what I mean. You choose the end of the summer to fall in love with this guy because secretly, you don’t want it to last .”

I fold the white vinyl jumpsuit and press it into my suitcase. “I don’t think my subconscious is capable of being that conniving.”

“Oh, but it is,” Miranda says. “Your subconscious can make you do all kinds of things. For instance, why are you still wearing his shirt?”

I glance down at the light blue shirt I took from him after our first night. “I forgot I was wearing it.”

“You see?” Miranda says victoriously. “That’s why it’s so important to have analysis.”

“How do you explain Marty, then?”

“Subconscious again.” She flicks her shoulders in dismissal. “I finally realized he wasn’t for me. Even though my conscious was trying to break the pattern, my unconscious knew it wouldn’t work. Plus, I couldn’t go to the bathroom the whole time I was with him.”

“Sounds like your intestines were the problem and not your subconscious.” I yank open a drawer and remove three pairs of socks. Which I haven’t seen since I put them there two months ago. Socks! What was I thinking? I throw them into the suitcase as well.

“Let’s face it, Carrie,” Miranda sighs. “It’s all hopeless.”

Men, or the fact that I have to leave New York? “Isn’t that what they call wish fulfillment?”

“I’m a realist. Just because you had sex once doesn’t mean you have to fall in love,” she mutters. “And I never thought you and Samantha would turn out to be those dopey types who moon over their wedding dresses and the smell of their man’s shirt.”

“First of all, Samantha didn’t even show up for her wedding dress. And secondly-” I break off. “Do you think you’ll visit me in Providence?”

“Why would I want to go there? What do they have in Providence that we don’t have in New York?”

“Me?” I ask mournfully.

“You can visit me anytime,” Miranda says firmly. “You can sleep on the couch if you don’t mind the springs.”

“You know me. I don’t mind anything.”

“Oh, Carrie,” she says sadly.

“I know.”

“Got anything to eat in this place? I’m starving,” she asks.

“Maybe some peanut butter crackers left over from the blackout.”

Miranda goes into the kitchen and returns with the last of the blackout food. “Remember that night?” she asks, tearing open the package.

“How can I forget?” If only I’d known then what I do now. I could have started seeing Capote. We could have been together for two weeks by now.

“What’s Samantha going to do with this place anyway? Now that you’re leaving and she’s getting married?”

“Dunno. Probably find someone like me to rent it.”

“Well, it’s a shame,” Miranda says. I’m not sure if she’s referring to my leaving, or the fact that Samantha wants to hang on to her apartment when she has somewhere much better to live. She munches thoughtfully on a cracker while I continue to pack. “Hey,” she says finally. “Did I tell you about this course I’m going to take? Patriarchial Rituals in Contemporary Life.”

“Sounds interesting,” I say, without much enthusiasm.

“Yeah. We study weddings and stuff like that. Did you know that everything leading up to the wedding-the showers and the registering and picking the ugly bridesmaid dresses-was solely designed to give women something to do back in the days when they didn’t have careers? And also to brainwash them into thinking that they had to get married too?”

“Actually, I didn’t. But it makes sense.”

“What are you going to do? At Brown?” Miranda asks.

“Dunno. Study to be a scientist, I guess.”

“I thought you were going to become some big writer.”

“Look how that turned out.”

“The play wasn’t that bad,” Miranda says, brushing crumbs from her lips. “Have you noticed that ever since you lost your virginity, you’ve been acting like someone died?”

“When my career died, I died along with it.”

“Bullshit,” Miranda declares.

“Why don’t you try standing in front of a room full of people while they laugh at you?”

“Why don’t you stop acting like you’re the biggest thing since sliced bread?”

I gasp.

“Fine,” Miranda says. “If you can’t take constructive criticism-”

“Me? What about you? Half the time your ‘realism’ is just another word for bitterness-”

“At least I’m not a Pollyanna.”

“No, because that would imply that something good might happen-”

“I don’t know why you think everything should be handed to you.”

“You’re just jealous,” I snap.

“Of Capote Duncan?” Her eyes narrow. “That’s be-neath even you, Carrie Bradshaw.”

The phone rings.

“You’d better get it,” Miranda says tightly. “It’s probably him . About to declare his undying love .” She goes into the bathroom and slams the door.

I take a breath. “Hello?”

“Where the hell have you been?” Samantha shrieks.

This is very unlike her. I hold the phone away from my ear. “Were you worried? You’re going to be so proud of me. I lost my virginity.”

“Well, good for you,” she says briskly, which is not the reaction I was expecting. “I’d love to celebrate, but unfortunately, I’ve got a crisis of my own on my hands. I need you to get over to Charlie’s place immediately.”

“But-”

“Just come, okay? Don’t ask questions. And bring Miranda. I need all the help I can get. And could you pick up a box of garbage bags on the way? Make sure they’re the big ones. The kind those pathetic people in the suburbs use for leaves.”

“Enjoy it,” Samantha says, gesturing to her face as she opens the door to Charlie’s apartment. “This is the only time you’re ever going to see me cry.”

“Is that a promise?” Miranda says tartly. We’re still a bit edgy from our almost-fight. If it weren’t for Samantha’s crisis call, we’d probably be at each other’s throats.