Summer and the City (The Carrie Diaries 2)

“Didn’t you always want to come here?”

She shrugs. “I was a wild child. I didn’t know what I wanted. I only knew I didn’t want to end up a waitress and pregnant at nineteen. Like Shirley.?

??

“Oh.”

“My mother,” she clarifies.

I’m not surprised. There’s an underlying pulse of determination in Samantha that has to come from somewhere.

“You’re lucky.” She finds the matching shoe and pushes it into the corner of the suitcase. “At least you have parents who will pay for college.”

“Yeah,” I say vaguely. Despite her confessions about her past, I’m not ready to tell her about my own. “But I thought you went to college.”

“Oh, Sparrow.” She sighs. “I took a couple of night courses when I arrived in New York. I got a job through a temp agency. The first place they sent me was Slovey, Dinall. I was a secretary. They didn’t even call them ‘assistants’ back then. Anyway, it’s boring.”

Not to me. But the fact that she’s come so far from nothing puts my own struggles to shame. “It must have been hard.”

“It was.” She presses down on the top of the suitcase. There’s practically her whole closet in there, so naturally, it won’t shut. I kneel on the cover as she clicks the locks into place.

The phone rings as we’re dragging the suitcase to the door. Samantha ignores the insistent ringing, so I make a move to grab it. “Don’t answer,” she warns. But I’ve already picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Is Samantha still there?”

Samantha frantically shakes her head. “Charlie?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound terribly friendly. I wonder if he found out it was me doing the cooking after all.

I hold out the receiver. Samantha rolls her eyes as she takes it. “Hello, darling. I’m about to walk out the door.” There’s an edge of annoyance in her tone.

“Yes, I know,” she continues. “But I can’t make it.” She pauses and lowers her voice. “I told you. I have to go. I don’t have a choice,” she adds, sounding resigned. “Well, life’s inconvenient, Charlie.” And she hangs up the phone.

She briefly closes her eyes, inhales, and forces a smile. “Men.”

“Charlie?” I ask, perplexed. “I thought you guys were so happy.”

“Too happy. When I told him I suddenly had to go to LA, he freaked out. Said he’d made plans for us to have dinner with his mother tonight. Which he somehow neglected to tell me. As if I don’t have a life of my own.”

“Maybe you can’t have it both ways. His life and your life. How do you put two lives together, anyway?”

She gives me a look as she picks up her suitcase. “Wish me luck in Hollywood, Sparrow. Maybe I’ll be discovered.”

“What about Charlie?” I hold open the door as she bangs the suitcase down the stairs. It’s a good thing it is a Samsonite. Most suitcases probably couldn’t take the abuse.

“What about him?” she calls out.

Boy. She must really be angry.

I run to the window and lean out over the parapet to catch a glimpse of the street below. An enormous limousine is idling at the curb. A uniformed driver stands next to the passenger door. Samantha emerges from the building as the driver hurries forward to take her suitcase.

The passenger door opens, and Harry Mills gets out. He and Samantha have a brief exchange as he lights up a cigar. Samantha slides past him and gets into the car. Harry takes a big puff on the cigar, looks up and down the street, and follows. The door closes and the limo pulls away, a puff of cigar smoke drifting from the open window.

Behind me, the phone rings. I approach it cautiously, but curiosity gets the better of me and I pick it up. “Is Samantha there?” It’s Charlie. Again.

“She just left,” I say politely.