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“For his stuff.”
“Ouch.”
She nods dazedly. “I asked him why he wanted it. He said he realized it wasn’t going to work out between us and we shouldn’t waste each other’s time.”
My jaw drops. “Just like that?”
“He was so . . . clinical about it. Official. Like he was in court or something and I was being sentenced to jail. I didn’t know what to do, so I gave him the damn shopping bag. And it was from Saks. One of those big red expensive ones, too.”
I sit back on my heels. “Aw, sweetie. You can always get another shopping bag—”
“But I can’t get another Marty,” she wails. “It’s me, Carrie. There’s something wrong with me. I drive guys away.”
“Now listen. This has nothing to do with you. There’s something wrong with him. Maybe he was afraid you were going to dump him so he broke up with you first.”
She lifts her head. “Carrie. I ran down the street after him. Yelling. When he saw me coming, he started running. Into the subway. Can you believe that?”
“Yes,” I say. Given what happened to L’il, I’d believe just about anything right now.
She blows hard into a wad of toilet paper. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe he does think I’m too good for him.” And just as I’m beginning to hope I’ve gotten through to her, a stubborn, closed look comes over her face. “If I could just see him. Explain. Maybe we can get back together.”
“No!” I yelp. “He’s already run away once. Even if you do get back together, he’ll do the same thing. It’s his pattern.”
She lowers the toilet paper and gives me a doubtful look. “How do you know?”
“Trust me.”
“Maybe I can change him.” She reaches for the phone, but I yank the cord before she can grab it.
“Miranda.” I clutch the phone in my arms. “If you call Marty, I will lose all respect for you.”
She glares. “If you do not hand over that phone, I will have a very hard time considering you a friend.”
“That stinks,” I say, grudgingly passing her the phone. “Putting a guy before your friends.”
“I’m not putting Marty before you. I’m trying to find out what happened.”
“You know what happened.”
“He owes me a proper explanation.”
I give up. She picks up the phone and frowns into the receiver. She presses down on the hook a few times, and looks at me accusingly. “You did this on purpose. Your phone’s out of order.”
“Really?” I ask in surprise. I take the phone from her and try it myself. Nothing. Not even air. “I’m pretty sure I used it this morning.”
“Maybe you didn’t pay t
he bill.”
“Maybe Samantha didn’t pay the bill. She went to LA.”
“Shhhh.” Miranda holds up a finger as her eyes dart around the room. “What do you hear?”
“Nothing?”
“That’s right. Nothing.” She jumps up and starts flipping switches. “The air conditioner’s off. And the lights aren’t working.”
We run to the window. The traffic on Seventh Avenue is in a snarl. Horns honk as several sirens go off at once. People are getting out of their cars, waving their arms and pointing at the traffic lights.
