"What are you going to do with your life?" he'd ask. "I'm
going to become famous."
"That is so sad. You won't like it when you get there." "Get off
our planet."
Then he'd go and smoke a cigar and sulk, or go to the store again with Mr. Marvelous. In the middle of July:
"Is there someone else?"
"This is not about anyone else. This is about us." "That's
not answering the question." "This is about us."
"It's a yes or no question. Is there somebody else?" "No."
"Liar. %u've been coached, haven't you?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Someone's been coaching you on what to say."
"This is about us. Not about anyone else."
"See? There you go again."
"Why do you have to make this harder?"
"I'm not making it harder. I have to get a cigarette."
"I have to go to sleep. Why won't you let me sleep?"
"You don't deserve to sleep."
"I haven't done anything wrong."
"You haven't done anything right, either. I want to get to the bottom of this coaching business." "What are you talking about?"
"Someone's been telling you what to say. It's an old shrink trick. When you're in a difficult situation, you keep repeating the same phrase over and over again. That way, you can't have a conversation." One hour later:
"What are you doing? Who are you seeing? What time are you getting home?"
"Early. I'm getting home early." "A bu're out of control." "I am not. I'm home at eleven." "Don't lie to me." "Don't lie to me."
"I could have you followed. How do you know that I'm not already having you followed? I'm rich enough to have you followed."
This was several weeks after Carrie had begged to be taken to a mental institution.