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I leave the apartment and walk blindly downtown, trying to make sense of L’il’s departure. I rack my brain for everything she told me about herself and where she was from. Her real name is Elizabeth Reynolds Waters, so that’s a start. But what town is she from specifically? All I know is that she’s from North Carolina. And she and Capote knew each other before, because as L’il said once, “people from the South all know each other.” If L’il left on Sunday, she must have reached home by now, even if she was driving.
I narrow my eyes, determined to find her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Without knowing exactly where I’m going, I realize I’m on Capote’s street. I recognize his building right away. His apartment is on the second floor, and the yellow old-lady curtains are clearly visible through the window.
I hesitate. If I ring his bell and he’s home, no doubt he’ll think I’ve come back for more. He might even presume that his kiss was so wonderful, I’ve fallen head over heels for him. Or maybe he’ll be annoyed, assuming I’ve come to yell at him for his inappropriate behavior.
What the hell? I can’t live my life worrying about what stupid Capote thinks. I press hard on his buzzer.
After a few seconds, the window flies open and Capote sticks his head out. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me.” I wave.
“Oh. Carrie.” He doesn’t look particularly happy to see me. “What do you want?”
I open my arms in a gesture of exasperation. “Can I come up?”
“I’ve only got a minute.”
“I’ve only got a minute too.” Jeez. What a jerk.
He disappears for a moment, and reappears, jangling some keys in his hand. “The buzzer isn’t working,” he says, tossing the set down to me.
The buzzer is probably worn out from all his female guests, I think, as I trudge upstairs.
He’s waiting in the entry in a ruffled white shirt and black tuxedo pants, fumbling with a shiny bow tie. “Where are you off to?” I ask, snickering at his getup.
“Where do you think?” He steps back so I can pass. If he has any memory of our kiss, he certainly isn’t acting like it.
“I wasn’t expecting to find you in a monkey suit. I never figured you for the type.”
“Why’s that?” he asks, somewhat offended.
“The right end goes under the left,” I say, indicating his bow tie. “Why don’t you use one of those clip-on things?”
As expected, my question rattles him. “It isn’t proper. A gentleman never wears a clip-on bow tie.”
“Right.” I insolently run my finger over the pile of books on his coffee table as I make myself comfortable on the squishy couch. “Where are you headed?”
“To a gala.” He frowns disapprovingly at my actions.
“For what?” I idly pick up one of the books and flip through it.
“Ethiopia. It’s a very important cause.”
“How big of you.”
“They don’t have any food, Carrie. They’re starving.”
“And you’re going to a fancy dinner. For starving people. Why don’t you just send them the food instead?”
That’s it. Capote jerks on the ends of his bow tie, nearly choking himself. “Why are you here?”
I lean back against the cushions. “What’s the name of the town L’il comes from?”
“Why?”
