Of course, I don’t really expect Teensie to take the pill. Even I, who know nothing about drugs, was smart enough to realize Colin’s big white pill wasn’t an aspirin. I don’t give it much thought until an hour later, when I’m dancing with Ryan.
Swaying precariously on bended knees, Teensie appears in the middle of the floor, clutching Bobby’s shoulder for support. She’s giggling madly while attempting to remain upright. Her legs are like rubber. “Bobby!” she screams. “Did I ever tell you how much I love you?”
“What the hell?” Ryan asks.
I’m overcome by hysteria. Apparently, Teensie took the pill after all, because she’s lying on her back on the floor, laughing. This goes on for several seconds until Cholly swoops in, pulls Teensie to her feet, and leads her away.
I keep on dancing.
Indeed, everyone keeps dancing until we’re interrupted by a loud scream followed by several shouts for help.
A crowd gathers by the elevator. The door is open, but the shaft appears to be empty.
Cries of “What happened?” “Someone fell!” “Call 911,” echo through the loft. I rush forward, fearing it’s Rainbow and that she’s dead. But out of the corner of my eye I see Rainbow hurrying to her room, followed by Colin. I push in closer. Two men have jumped into the shaft, so the elevator must be a mere foot or two below. A limp woman’s hand reaches out and Barry Jessen grabs it, hauling a disheveled and dazed Teensie out of the hole.
Before I can react, Capote elbows me. “Let’s go.”
“Huh?” I’m too startled to move.
He jerks my arm. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
“What about Teensie?”
“She’s fine. And Ryan can take care of himself.”
“I don’t understand,” I protest as Capote propels me to the exit.
“Don’t ask questions.” He flings open the door and starts down the stairs. I pause on the landing, baffled. “Carrie!” He turns around to make sure I’m following him. When he sees I’m not, he hops up the stairs and practically pushes me down in front of him. “Move!”
I do as he says, hearing the urgent thump of his feet after me. When we get to the lobby, he bangs through the door and yanks me out after him. “Run!” he shouts.
He races to the corner as I struggle to keep up in the Fiorucci boots Samantha gave me. Seconds later, two police cars, lights flashing and sirens wailing, pull up to the Jessens’ building. Capote slings his arm around my shoulders. “Act normal. Like we’re on a date or something.”
We cross the street, my heart exploding in my chest. We walk like this for another block until we get to West Broadway and Prince Street. “I think there’s a cool bar around here,” Capote says.
“A ‘cool’ bar? Teensie just fell down the elevator shaft, and all you can think about is a ‘cool’ bar?”
He releases me from his grasp. “It’s not my fault, is it?”
No, but it is mine. “We should go back. Aren’t you worried about Teensie?”
“Look, Carrie,” he says, exasperated. “I just saved your life. You should be grateful.”
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be grateful for.”
“You want to end up in the papers? Because that’s what would have happened. Half the people there were on drugs. You think the police aren’t going to notice? And the next day it’s all over Page Six. Maybe you don’t care about your reputation. But I happen to care about mine.”
“Why?” I ask, unimpressed by his self-importance.
“Because.”
“Because why?” I taunt.
“I have a lot of people counting on me.”
“Like who?”
“Like my family. They’re very upright, good people. I would never want them to be embarrassed. On account of my actions.”