The Carrie Diaries

by Candace Bushnell

  “I’m only trying to be fair. If I let you and Missy out, I’ll have to let Dorrit out too. And what if she runs away again?”

  “Sure, Dad,” I said soothingly.

  “It’s not forever. Just for a week or two. Until I can figure out what to do.”

  “I understand.”

  “You see, Carrie,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, “it’s all about systems. And what we don’t have in this household is a system. If we apply a system for success to the actions of human beings…if we take the human being down to its most basic molecular equation…after all, we are only molecules and electrons, and electrons are governed by a rigid set of rules. Well,” he said, standing up as if he actually had found a solution to our problems. “I knew I could count on you. I appreciate it. I really do.”

  He hugged me awkwardly and said what he always does in these situations: “Remember, I don’t just love you. I like you.”

  “I like you too, Dad,” I said, scheming. “Dad? Can I make one phone call?” And before he could object, I added quickly, “I need to call The Mouse. I was supposed to meet her.” I guess he really did feel bad, because he relented.

  This morning, when things had calmed down and my father agreed to restore phone service—although he was still insisting on answering every call himself—The Mouse rang and spoke to him while I listened in on the extension.

  “I know Carrie’s not supposed to go out, but we’ve had these tickets for months. They’re for the Hartford Stage and they don’t give refunds. And it’s part of our English Literature class. We don’t have to go, but if we miss it, it might affect our grade.”

  And now—freedom. Puffing along in the Gremlin, the radio turned up full blast, The Mouse and I screaming along to the B-52s. My head is buzzing with the daringness of my escape. I am ready to rock the house. I am, I think, invincible.

  Or not. Halfway to our secret destination, I start to worry. What if Sebastian is late? What if he doesn’t show at all? And why do I feel the need to entertain the worst possible scenario? If you think a bad thought, can you make it come true? Or is it a warning?

  But the yellow Corvette is there, parked in the dirt driveway.

  I fling open the door to the club. He’s sitting at the bar, and I vaguely register that Lali is there too. “Hey!” I shout. Lali spots me first. There’s an odd slackness in her face, the muscles flattening in disappointment. Something’s wrong. Then he turns and she whispers something in his ear.

  He’s deeply tanned and the aura of a carefree summer boy still clings to him like a salty sweet veneer. He nods at me, his smile tight, which is not the reaction I expected to see from the love of my life after we’ve been separated for two weeks. But perhaps he’s like a dog that’s been left alone by its master—it will take time for him to get used to me again.

  “Hi,” I exclaim. My voice sounds too loud and too enthusiastic. I put my arms around him and jump up and down.

  “Whoa,” he says, and kisses me on the cheek. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about Dorrit?” Lali asks.

  “Oh, that,” I say with a wave. “It’s nothing. All fine. I’m just so happy to be here.” I take the bar stool next to him and order a beer.

  “Where’s The Mouse?” he asks.

  The Mouse? What about me? “She’s in the bathroom. So when did you get back?” I ask eagerly, although I know when he got back—he called me.

  “Yesterday afternoon.” He scratches his arm.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk—but The Mouse called and told you, right? What happened with Dorrit?”

  Lali and Sebastian exchange a look. “Actually,” he begins, “when your father hung up on me I called Lali. She told me something had happened to Dorrit on Friday night.”

  “So we went to The Emerald,” Lali says, finishing his sentence.

  “I knew you were indisposed,” he adds quickly, tapping my nose with his finger. “I didn’t want to sit at home with my parents another night.”

  A rock tears through my insides and comes to rest in the pit of my stomach. “So how was the vacation?”

  “Boring,” he says.

  I catch Lali’s expression over his shoulder. She looks sick. Did something happen last night? Did Lali and Sebastian…? No. She’s my best friend. He’s my boyfriend. They should be friends. Don’t act jealous, I berate myself. It will only make you look weak.

  “Hi, all.” The Mouse comes up to the bar. Sebastian envelops her in a bear hug. “Mouse!” he exclaims.

  “Hey.” She pats him on the back, as confused by his effusive behavior as I am. Sebastian has never been this friendly before.

  I gulp my beer. Am I crazy, or is something very odd going on?

  “I have to go to the bathroom.” I hop off my barstool and look at Lali. “Want to come?”

  She hesitates, glances at Sebastian, and puts down her beer. “Sure.”

  “Is it my imagination or is Sebastian acting weird?” I ask from the stall.

  “I haven’t noticed anything.”

  “Come on. He’s being really strange.” When I come out of the stall, Lali is standing by the sink, staring at herself in the discolored mirror as she fluffs her hair.

  She won’t look at me. “Maybe it’s because he’s been away.”

  “Do you think something happened? While he was on vacation? Maybe he met another girl.”

  “Maybe.”

  This is not the proper response. The correct answer is: no. No way. He’s crazy about you. Or something along those lines.

  “So you guys went to The Emerald last night,” I say.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he mention anything about another girl?”

  “No.” She fusses with a strand of hair on the back of her neck.

  “How long were you there?”

  “I don’t know. We had a drink. He wanted to get out of the house. I did too. So—”

  “Yeah.” I nod, desperate to know more. Which songs they listened to and what they drank and whether or not they danced. I want to probe her, get inside her brain and find out exactly what happened. But I can’t. I don’t want to hear something I know I can’t handle.

  When we return, The Mouse is deep in conversation with Sebastian. “What are you guys talking about?” I ask.

  “You,” Sebastian says, turning to me with uncharacteristic seriousness.

  “What about me?” I laugh lightly.

  “How hard it is for you,” he says.

  Not this again. “It’s not that hard,” I say dismissively. I finish my beer and order another. Then I order a shot.

  “Let’s all have shots,” Sebastian says.

  The thought of alcohol lightens the mood. We lift our shot glasses and clink—to the new year, to the summer ahead, to our futures. Sebastian smokes a cigarette with his arm around my shoulder. The Mouse talks to Lali. I lean in to Sebastian, sharing his cigarette. “Is anything wrong?”

  “What do you mean?” He takes a drag of his cigarette, turning his head away, a note of aggression in his tone.

  “I don’t know. You’re acting sort of funny.”

  “Really? I think you’re the one who’s acting weird.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah,” he says. He stares at me wide-eyed.

  I back down. “Maybe I am. All the stuff with Dorrit—”

  “Mmmm.” He averts his glance as he stubs out his cigarette.

  “Anyway, I’m not going to let it affect me. I want to have fun.” And I drag him onto the dance floor.

  Then I have too much fun. The band comes on, and we all sing along. The alcohol works its magic and I suddenly don’t care about anything anymore. I take off my stole and make the mink heads drink beer. Other people gather around to join in the fun. Nine o’clock comes and goes and I don’t even notice until it’s too late.

  At ten fifteen, The Mouse points to her watch. “Bradley, we should go.”

  “I don’t wan
t to go.”

  “Two more songs,” she warns. “Then we’re going.”

  “Okay.” I grab my beer and push through the crowd to the front of the stage, catching the eye of the lead singer, who smiles at me, amused. He’s cute. Really cute. He has the smooth face and curly hair of a guy in a Renaissance painting. Lali has had a crush on him since we were fourteen. We’d play his records while Lali stared longingly at his photograph. When the song ends, he leans over and asks what I want to hear. “‘Cosmos Lady’!” I shout.

  The song begins. The lead singer keeps looking at me, his mouth moving above the microphone as the music rises up, enveloping me like a puffy cloud of helium. Then it’s only the music and the singer and his full, soft lips, and suddenly, it’s like I’m back at the club in Provincetown with Walt and Randy, wild and free. Listening to the music isn’t enough. I must participate. I must…sing.

  On the stage. In front of everyone.

  And then it’s like I’ve willed it to happen, because the singer holds out his hand. I take it and he pulls me onto the stage, making room for me next to the microphone. And there I am, singing my heart out, and before I know it, the song is over and the crowd is laughing and clapping. The singer leans into the mike and says, “That was—” and I shout, “Carrie Bradshaw,” my name echoing like a blast.

  “Let’s have a round of applause for…Carrie Bradshaw,” he says.

  I give the audience a little wave, stumble off the stage, and wobble through the crowd, giddy with the silliness of my behavior. I am, I think.

  I am…here.

  “I cannot believe you just did that,” Lali says, aghast, when I reach the bar. I look from Lali to The Mouse to Sebastian, and with a shaking hand, pick up my beer.

  “Why?” As the beer trickles down my throat, I can feel my confidence going with it. “Was it bad?”

  “Not exactly bad,” Sebastian says.

  “Bradley, you were great,” The Mouse exclaims.

  I look at Sebastian accusingly.

  “I didn’t know you could sing,” he says, defensive again. “I’m surprised, that’s all.”

  “Oh, Carrie’s always singing,” Lali says, her voice toxic. “She sang in the school play in third grade.”

  “We’d better go,” says The Mouse.

  “Party’s over.” Sebastian leans over and kisses me briefly on the lips.

  “Are you guys going?” I ask.

  Lali and Sebastian exchange yet another mysterious look before Lali’s eyes slide away. “In a minute.”

  “Come on, Bradley. Your father doesn’t need any more trouble,” The Mouse says, handing me my stole.

  “Sure.” I wrap the mink around my neck. “Well—” I begin awkwardly.

  “Well,” Sebastian says. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Yeah.” I turn and follow The Mouse.

  But then, in the parking lot, I’m suddenly overcome with remorse. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Done what?”

  “Got up on the stage. Maybe Sebastian didn’t like it.”

  “If he didn’t, it’s his problem. I thought it was funny,” The Mouse says firmly. We get into the car and she starts the ignition. We’re backing out when I bang my hand on the dashboard. “Stop the car.”

  “What?” she says, hitting the brakes.

  I scoot out of the car. “Something’s wrong. I need to apologize. Sebastian is pissed off. I can’t go home feeling like this.”

  “Carrie, don’t!” The Mouse shouts, but it’s too late.

  I pause inside the door, scanning the club. My eyes sweep the bar, and suddenly, I’m confused. They’re not here. How could they have managed to leave before we did? I take a few steps closer, and that’s when I realize I’m wrong. They are here. They’re still at the bar. But I didn’t recognize them at first because their faces are pressed together, bodies entwined, making out like they’re the last people left on earth.

  This can’t be. I must be seeing things. I’ve had too much to drink.

  “Hey,” I call out. My eyes aren’t fooling me: They are making out. But my mind still hasn’t processed the reality of the scene. “Hey,” I say again. “Hey!”

  Their eyes swivel in my direction, and then, reluctantly it seems, they release their mouths. For a moment, everything is still, as if we’re frozen in a glass snow globe. And then I feel myself nod. Yes, says a voice in my head. You knew this was going to happen. You knew this was inevitable.

  And then I hear myself speak. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” I start to turn, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Lali jump off the barstool, her mouth forming my name, while Sebastian reaches out and grabs her wrist.

  I walk through the room and out the door. I don’t look back.

  The Gremlin is idling outside the entrance. I get in and slam the door. “Let’s go.”

  Halfway home, I ask The Mouse to stop the car again. She pulls over to the side of the road where I get out and am sick several times.

  The downstairs lights are blazing when we finally creep into my driveway. I walk resolutely up the path and into the house, stopping at the door to the den. My father is sitting on the couch, reading a magazine. He looks up, closes the magazine, and places it carefully on the coffee table.

  “I’m glad you’re home,” he says.

  “Me too.” I’m grateful he doesn’t scold me about not calling at nine.

  “How was the play?”

  “Fine.” I picture a house of cards, each card imprinted with the words, “What if?” The cards begin to tumble, breaking apart and collapsing into a pile of ash.

  What if Dorrit hadn’t run away? What if I’d been able to see Sebastian last night? What if I hadn’t gotten up on the stage and made a fool of myself?

  What if I’d given Sebastian what he wanted? What if I’d had sex with him?

  “Good night, Dad.”

  “Good night, Carrie.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Girl Who…

  A coffin. Except it isn’t really a coffin. It’s more like a boat. And it’s leaving. I have to get on it, but the people keep blocking my way. I can’t get around them and one of the people is Mary Gordon Howard. She grabs my coat sleeve and pulls me back. She jeers. “You’ll never get over it. You’ll be scarred for life. No man will ever love you—”

  No. Nooooooooo.

  Wake up. Feel like crap. Remember something bad happened last night.

  Remember what it is.

  Deny it is true.

  Know it is true.

  Wonder what to do. Freak out and call Lali and Sebastian and scream? Or dump a bucket of pigs’ blood on them à la movie Carrie (but where would I obtain said blood, and besides, too gross). Or feign a serious illness, attempt suicide (then they’ll be sorry, but why give them the satisfaction?), or pretend nothing happened at all. Act like Sebastian and I are still together and the Lali incident was merely a weird aberration in a long and happy romance.

  Five minutes pass. Think odd thoughts. Such as: In life, there are only four kinds of girls:

  The girl who played with fire.

  The girl who opened Pandora’s Box.

  The girl who gave Adam the apple.

  And the girl whose best friend stole her boyfriend.

  No. He cannot like her better than me. He cannot. But of course, he can.

  Why? Pound fists on bed, attempt to rend garment (a flannel pajama top that I do not remember putting on), and scream into pillow. Fall back onto bed in shock. Stare at ceiling as terrible realization dawns:

  What if no one ever wants to have sex with me? What if I’m a virgin for life?

  Scramble out of bed, run downstairs, grab phone. “You don’t look so good,” Dorrit says.

  Snarl, “I’ll deal with you later,” then scurry, squirrel-like, with phone into room. Carefully shut the door. With trembling hand, dial Lali’s number.

  “Is Lali there?”

  “Carrie?” she ask
s. She sounds slightly fearful, but not as afraid as I’d hoped. This is a bad sign.

  “Please tell me what happened last night didn’t happen.”

  “Um. Well. It did.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “How could you do this?” Agonized cry.

  Silence. Then: “I didn’t want to tell you—” Pause, as I’m drowning in emotional quicksand. Death appears imminent. “But I’m seeing Sebastian now.” So simple. So matter-of-fact. So unarguable.

  This cannot be happening.

  “I’ve been seeing him for a while,” she adds.

  I knew it. I knew something was going on between the two of them, but I didn’t believe it. I still don’t believe it. “For how long?” I demand.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes,” I hiss.

  “We’ve been together since before he went away.”

  “What?”

  “He needs me.”

  “He told me he needed me too!”

  “I guess he changed his mind.”

  “Or maybe you changed it for him.”

  “Think whatever you want,” she says rudely. “He wants me.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” I spit. “You just want him more than you want me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Don’t you get it? We are no longer friends. We will never be friends ever again. How can I even talk to you?”

  Long, dreadful silence. Finally: “I love him, Carrie.” Click, followed by a dial tone. I sit on my bed, stunned.

  Cannot face assembly. Slink up to dairy barn instead. Maybe I will spend the whole day here. Smoke three cigarettes in a row. It’s fucking freezing. Decide to use the word “fucking” at every opportunity.

  How could this happen? What does she have that I don’t? Okay, have already been over this. Apparently, I am inadequate. Or I deserve this. I took him away from Donna LaDonna and now Lali has taken him away from me. What goes around comes around. And eventually, some other girl will take him away from Lali.

  Why was I so stupid? I knew all along I could never keep him. I wasn’t interesting enough. Or sexy enough. Or pretty enough. Or smart enough. Or maybe I was too smart?