“I don’t need to. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” She wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin. Don’t go there, she thought. Just don’t go there. Aloud she said, “I’m sorry. I’m just a little tense.”
The next morning, when they were back in the city, Mr. Big said, “Well, I’ll talk to you later.”
“Talk?” Carrie said. “You mean we’re not going to see each other this evening?”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Big said. “I think maybe we should take a little break, spend a couple of days apart until you get over this mood.”
“But I’m over it,” Carrie said.
She called him at work. He said, “I don’t know about things,” and she laughed and said, “Oh, come on, silly. Isn’t a person allowed to be in a bad mood? It’s not the end of the world. Relationships are like that sometimes. I said I was sorry.”
“I don’t want any hassles.”
“I promise I’ll be sweet. Aren’t I being sweet now? See? No more bad mood.”
“I guess so,” he said.
WHILE BIG’S AWAY
Time passed. Mr. Big went away on business for weeks. Carrie stayed in Mr. Big’s apartment. Stanford Blatch came over sometimes, and he and Carrie would act like they were two high schoolers whose parents had gone out of town: They smoked pot and drank whiskey sours and made brownies and watched stupid movies. They made a mess, and in the morning the maid would come in and clean it all up, getting down on her hands and knees to scrub the juice stains out of the white carpet.
Samantha Jones called a couple of times. She started telling Carrie about all these interesting, famous men she was meeting and all these great parties and dinners she was going to. “What are you doing?” she’d ask, and Carrie would say, “Working, just working.”
“We should go out. While Big’s away . . .” Sam said. But she never made concrete plans and after a couple of times, Carrie didn’t feel like talking to her. Then Carrie felt bad, so she called Samantha up and went to lunch with her. At first it was a good lunch. Then Sam started talking about all these movie projects and all these big cheeses she knew whom she was going to do business with. Carrie had her own project going, and Sam said, “It’s cute, you know. It’s a cute idea.”
Carrie said, “What’s so cute about it?”
“It’s cute. It’s light. You know. It’s not Tolstoy.”
“I’m not trying to be Tolstoy,” Carrie said. But of course, she was.
“So there you go,” Sam said. “Hey, I’ve known you forever. I should be able to tell you what I really think about something without you getting upset. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“Really?” Carrie said. “I wonder.”
“Besides,” Sam said. “You’re probably going to marry Mr. Big and have kids. Come on. That’s what everybody wants.”
“Aren’t I lucky?” she said, and she picked up the check.
r /> “I WANT THE TRUTH”
Mr. Big came back from his trip, and he and Carrie went to St. Barts for a long weekend.
The first night, she had a dream that Mr. Big was having an affair with a dark-haired girl. Carrie went to a restaurant and Mr. Big was with the girl, and the girl was sitting in Carrie’s chair and she and Mr. Big were kissing. “What is going on?” Carrie demanded.
“Nothing,” Mr. Big said.
“I want the truth.”
“I’m in love with her. We want to be together,” Mr. Big said.
Carrie had that old familiar feeling of hurt and disbelief. “Okay,” she said.
She went outside and into a field. Giant horses with golden bridles came out of the sky and down the mountain. When she saw the horses, she realized that Mr. Big and his feelings about her were not important.
She woke up.
“You had a bad dream?” Mr. Big said. “Come here.”