Stanford Blatch was strolling along the top of Aspen mountain in a pair of pony-skin apres ski boots and swinging a pair of binoculars, on his way to meet Suzannah at the lodge for lunch, when he heard a familiar voice scream out, "Stanford!" followed by "Watch out!" He turned just as Skipper Johnson was about to ski into him and deftly jumped back into a snow bank to avoid being hit. "Dear, dear Skipper," he said.
"Don't you love mnning into your friends on vacation?" Skipper asked. He was dressed in a ski suit that resembled what a Boy Scout might wear for inclement weather: Floppy yellow ski jacket and a hat with earflaps that stuck out at right angles.
"That depends on the friends and how one runs into them," Stanford said.
"I didn't know you were a bird watcher," Skipper said. "I'm not looking for birds, I'm looking for tail," Stanford said. "I'm checking out the private jets so I'll know what kind to buy." "You're getting a jet?" Skipper asked. "Soon," Stanford said. "I'm thinking about getting married and I want to be sure my wife gets around properly."
"Your wife?"
"Yes, Skipper," Stanford said patiently. "In fact, I'm on my way to have lunch with her right now. Would you like to meet her?"
"I can't beheve this," Skipper said. "Well," he said, snapping off his skis, "I've already hooked up with three different girls. Why not you?"
Stanford looked at him pityingly. "Dear, dear Skipper," he said. "When are you going to stop pretending you're straight?"
Carrie and Mr. Big went for a romantic dinner at the Pine Creek Cookhouse. They drove through the mountains, and then they took a horse-drawn sleigh to the restaurant. The sky was black and clear, and Mr. Big talked all about the stars, and how he was poor as a kid and had to leave school at thirteen and work and then go into the air force.
They brought a Polaroid camera and took pictures of each other in the restaurant. They drank wine and held hands and Carrie got a httle drunk. "Listen," she said. "I have to ask you something."
"Shoot," said Mr. Big.
"You know at the beginning of the summer? When we'd been seeing each other for two months and then you said you wanted to date other people?"
"Yeah?" Mr. Big said cautiously.
"And then you dated that model for a week? And when I ran into you, you were horrible and I screamed at you and we had that big fight in front of Bowery Bar?"
"I was afraid you were never going to talk to me again."
"I just want to know," Carrie said. "If you were me, what would you have done?"
"I guess I never would have talked to you again."
"Is that what you wanted?" Carrie asked. "Did you want me to go away?"
"No," Mr. Big said. "I wanted you to stick around. I was confused."
"But you would have left."
"I didn't want you to go. It was like, I don't know. It was a test," he said. "A test?"
"To see if you really liked me. Enough to stick around." "But you really hurt me," Carrie said. "How could you hurt me like that? I can never forget that—you know?" "I know, baby. I'm sorry," he said.
When they got back to their house, there was a message on the answering machine from their friend Rock Gibralter, the TV actor. "I'm here," he said. "Staying with Tyler Kydd. You guys will love him."
"Is that Tyler Kydd, the actor?" Mr. Big asked. "Sounds like it," Carrie said, aware that she was trying to sound as if she couldn't have cared less.