“Omigod,” she said. “My best friend . . .”
“I think I see my friends now,” Stanford said.
In one corner, two men and a woman were drinking and laughing. Stanford approached. The guy in the middle looked up. He was about forty, tanned, with bleached hair. Stanford could see that he’d had his nose and cheeks done, and probably had hair plugs. “Hercules?” Stanford asked.
“Yeah,” the guy
said.
“I’m Prometheus,” Stanford said.
The girl looked from the guy back to Stanford. “Hercules? Prometheus?” she asked. She had an obnoxious, nasally voice, and she was wearing a cheap, fuzzy, pink sweater. Not good enough to clean my grandmother’s attic, Stanford thought, and decided to ignore her.
“You don’t look like much of a Prometheus to me,” Hercules said, taking in Stanford’s long hair and fancy clothes.
“Are you going to invite me to sit down and have a drink, or are you just going to insult me?” Stanford asked.
“I think we should just insult you,” said the other guy. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Another loser I met on the Internet,” said Hercules. He took a sip of his drink.
“Takes one to know one,” Stanford said.
“Man. I don’t even know how to turn on a computer,” the girl said.
“I check out every guy who comes through Aspen. Then I take my pick,” said Hercules. “And you don’t . . . make the cut.”
“Well, at least I know how to pick my plastic surgeon,” Stanford said calmly. “It’s such a shame when people remember your plastic surgery and not you.” He smiled. “Have a pleasant evening. Gentlemen.”
CAN YOU KEEP A SECRET?
Carrie and Mr. Big were having lunch outside at the Little Nell when they ran into Rock Gibralter. And Tyler Kydd.
Tyler Kydd saw them first. He wasn’t handsome like Mr. Big. But he was cool. Craggy face. Longish blond hair. Lanky body. He caught Carrie’s eye. “Uh oh,” she thought.
Then Mr. Big said, “Rocko. Baby.” And stuck his cigar in his mouth and slapped Rock on the back and pumped his hand.
“I’ve been looking for you guys,” Rock said. And then: “Do you know Tyler Kydd?”
“No, man,” Mr. Big said. “But I know your movies. When are you gonna get the girl?” They all laughed and sat down.
“Big just got accosted by a mountie,” Carrie said. “For smoking his cigar on the gondola.”
“Oh, man,” Mr. Big said. “Every day, I’m smoking my cigar on the gondola and the girl keeps telling me there’s no smoking. I just say it’s not lit,” he said to Tyler.
“Cuban?” Tyler asked.
“Yeah, man.”
“Something like that happened to me once in Gstaad,” Tyler said to Carrie. She thought to herself, He would be perfect for Samantha Jones.
“Hey baby, can you pass the salt?” Mr. Big said, patting her leg.
She leaned over and they kissed briefly on the lips. “Excuse me,” she said.
She got up. She went into the ladies’ room. She was a little nervous. If I wasn’t with Mr. Big . . ., she thought. And then she thought that it wasn’t even a good idea to think that way.
When she came out, Tyler was smoking a cigar with Mr. Big.