Mr. Big was away for the whole month of October, and everything was just a little bit off. On the streets on the Upper East Side, people were walking around in their fall clothing, but the weather was too warm and sunny. At first, Carrie stayed home nights, not drinking and reading Jane Austen’s Persuasion instead of seeing the movie. She’d read it twice before, but this time the book was boring, the characters going on in long speeches, and Carrie was depressed from a lack of alcohol and parties. Then she tried going out, but no one had changed or was doing anything new.
One night, Stanford Blatch came late to Wax, the new nightclub in SoHo, with a man’s handkerchief tied around his neck.
“What’s up?” Carrie asked, and Stanford said, “Oh, you mean with this? It’s the Goose Guy’s fault.” The Goose Guy was a man who liked to have his neck wrung during sex. “Which was fine,” Stanford said, “until he tried it on me. Meanwhile, I’ll probably see him again. That’s how sick I am.”
The next night, she had dinner with Rock McQuire, a TV actor. “I really want a boyfriend,” he said. “I think I’m finally ready for a relationship.”
“You’re such a great guy,” Carrie said. “You’re smart, cute, really successful. You shouldn’t have a problem.”
“But it’s not that easy,” Rock said. “I don’t want to go out with a twenty-two-year-old pretty boy. But if I go out with someone in their thirties, they have to be really successful, too. And how many guys are there around like that? So instead, I end up going to a sex club and having an encounter and going home. At least it’s not, you know, emotionally messy.”
The next morning, Miranda called up. “You’ll never believe what I did,” she said, and Carrie said, “What, sweetie?” while her right hand curled into a fist, a gesture she’s been repeating a lot lately.
“Got a second? You’re gonna love this.”
“I don’t, but I’m dying to hear it.
“I went to a party with my friend Josephine. You know Josephine, right?”
“No, but . . .”
“I introduced you. At that party that my friend Sallie had. You remember Sallie, don’t you? Motorcycle Sallie?”
“Motorcycle Sallie.”
“Right. There were all these baseball players there. And guess what? I made out with one of them, and then I went into a bedroom with another and we did it, right at the party.”
“That’s incredible,” Carrie said. “Was it great?”
“Awesome,” Miranda said.
Something’s gotta give, Carrie thought.
BEHIND THE WALL
“Let’s go to some clubs,” the Girl said. They were sitting on a banquette. Carrie, the Girl, and the Girl’s friends, who turned out to be unattractive guys in their twenties with short, frizzy hair. “They’re richer than anyone you’ll ever meet,” the Girl whispered, earlier, but Carrie thought they were completely forgettable.
Now the Girl was pulling her arm, pulling her to her feet. She kicked the guy who was closest to her. “C’mon, asshole, we want to go out.”
“I’m going to a party in Trump Tower,” the guy said, with a fake Euro-accent.
“Like hell you are,” she said.
“C’mon, sweetie. Come out with us,” she whispered to Carrie.
Carrie and the Girl crammed into the front seat of the kid’s car, which was a Range Rover, and they started going up-town. Suddenly the Girl yelled, “Stop the car, you shithead!” She leaned over and opened the door and pushed Carrie out. “We’re going,” she said.
And then they were two girls running down the streets west of Eighth Avenue.
They found a club and they went in. They walked all through the club holding hands and the Girl knew some people there and Carrie didn’t know anyone and she liked it. Men looked at them, but they didn’t look back. It wasn’t like two girls going out looking for a good time; there was a wall up. On the other side of the wall was freedom and power. It felt good. This is the way I’m going to be from now on, Carrie thought. It didn’t feel scary.
Carrie remembered that at a party recently a woman named Alex told her a story about a friend of hers who was bisexual. She went out with women and men. She’d be with a man she liked, and then she’d meet a woman she liked and leave the man for the woman.
“I mean, I’ve never been with a woman,” Alex said. “Maybe I’m the only one—but who hasn’t said, ‘I wish I could be a lesbian just so I wouldn’t have to deal with men.’ But the funny thing is, my friend said being with a woman was so intense because you’re both women in the relationship. You know how women always want to talk about everything? Well, imagine that times two. It’s constant talking. About everything, until four in the morning. After a while, she has to leave and go back to a man because she can’t take the talking.”
“Have you ever been with a woman?” the Girl asked Carrie. “You’ll like it.”
“Okay,” Carrie said. She was thinking, I’m ready for this. It’s time. Maybe I’ve secretly been a lesbian my whole life and I just didn’t know it. She imagined the kissing. The Girl would be softer and squishier than a man. But it would be okay.