“I haven’t slept with another man for fifteen years. Well, okay, maybe seven,” Brigid said. “But I’m thinking about leaving my husband, and I had this incredibly amazing ski instructor, and I just decided, what am I doing with my life? So I told my husband I was going out, and I went to meet him, Justin, the ski instructor, at this bar in Snowmass, and then I went back to his little apartment with him and we had sex all night.”
“Does your, uh, husband know about this?” Carrie asked.
“I told him this morning when I got in. But what could he do? I’d already done it.”
“Jeez,” Carrie said.
“He’s inside the restaurant now,” Brigid said. “Freaking out. And I told Justin I would meet him later.” Brigid took a final drag on the cigarette. “You know, I knew you were the one person who would understand,” she said. “I want to call you. When we get back. We should go out and have a girl’s night.”
“Great,” Carrie said. Thinking, That’s just what I need.
“MY FEET ARE COLD”
They went snowmobiling with Tyler and Rock. Tyler and Mr. Big drove too fast and some people yelled at them. Then Mr. Big made Carrie ride on the back of his snowmobile and she kept screaming at him to let her off because she was afraid they were going to tip over.
A couple of days later, they went to Tyler’s house. It was a fort in the woods that had once belonged to a porno star. There were bearskin rugs and animal heads mounted on the walls. They drank shots of tequila and shot bows and arrows. They raced the go-carts, and Carrie won every race. Then they went for a walk in the woods.
“I want to go in. My feet are cold,” Mr. Big said.
“Why didn’t you wear sensible shoes?” Carrie said. She stood at the edge of the stream, pushing snow in with the toe of her boot. “Don’t,” Mr. Big said. “You’ll fall in.”
“No I won’t,” Carrie said. She kicked more snow into the stream, watching it melt in the water. “I always used to do this when I was a kid.”
Tyler was standing behind them. “Always pushing the limits,” he said. Carrie turned, and they stared at each other for the briefest second.
On their last night, they all went to a party at the home of Bob Milo, a famous Hollywood movie star. His house was up on the other side of the mountain, and to get there, they had to park the car and ride on snowmobiles. The house and grounds were decorated with Japanese lanterns, even though it was February and snowy. Inside the house, there was a sort of grotto with koi swimming in it and a bridge you had to walk over to get to the living room.
Bob Milo was holding forth in front of the fireplace. His girlfriend and his soon-to-be-ex-wife were there, looking almost like twins except the wife was about five years older than the girlfriend. Bob Milo was dressed in a sweater and the bottom half of his long underwear. He was about five feet tall and was wearing felt slippers with pointy toes, so that he resembled an elf.
“I work out six hours a day,” he was saying, when Stanford interrupted him. “Excuse me,” he said, “but who decorated the interior of your jet?”
Milo glared at him.
“No, I mean it,” Stanford said. “I’m thinking of buying a private jet, and I want to be sure to get the right decorator.”
Carrie was sitting at a table, eating her way through a pile of stone crab claws and shrimp. She was talking to Rock, and they were both being horrible little cats, whispering jokes about the party and laughing, being more and more obnoxious. Mr. Big was sitting next to Carrie, talking to Tyler, who had two women draped over him. Carrie looked at Tyler and thought, I am so glad I don’t have to deal with a man like that.
She went back to her shrimp. And then there was a sort of mini commotion and a blond girl came over, waving her arms and talking in some kind of accent, and Carrie thought, Uh oh, I’ve heard that voice before, and decided to ignore it.
The girl came over and practically sat in Mr. Big’s lap. They were both laughing about something. Carrie didn’t turn around. Then someone said to Mr. Big, “How long have you two known each other?”
“I don’t know. How long?” the girl said to Mr. Big.
“Maybe two years?” Mr. Big said.
“We bonded at Le Palais. In Paris,” the girl said.
Carrie turned. She smiled. “Hello Ray,” she s
aid. “What did you do? Give him one of your famous blow jobs in the corner?”
There was a moment of shocked silence, and then everyone began laughing hysterically, except Ray. “What are you talking about? What do you mean?” she went on and on in her stupid accent.
“It’s a joke,” Carrie said. “Don’t you get it?”
“If that’s your idea of humor, honey, it’s not funny.”
“Really,” Carrie said. “So sorry. Everyone else seems to think it was hysterical. Now, if you don’t mind removing yourself from my boyfriend’s lap, I’ll get back to my conversation.”