Beth joined them at the back of the store. "Give us your impression of these suits we've selected, please," Sam requested.

Beth looked at Carrie's suits. "Great suits. Great lines. Comfortable. Great for swimming." "And these?" asked Sam, presenting her selection.

Beth looked at the suits and then over at Carrie. "Those are the brain fryers."

"Thank you very much," said Sam, taking Carrie's suits and returning them to the rack. "You just saved me twenty minutes of pointless argument. Here, Carrie.

Take these suits and try them on. I'll keep looking." With a resigned sigh, Carrie took the suits into one of the three booths. She closed the wooden door and undressed. The first suit was a leopard print with black mesh down the front and up the sides.

She swung open the door. "What do you think?" she asked nervously.

"Completely hideous," Sam decided instantly. "My mistake. The print is tacky, the mesh looks cheap, and there's way too much bra. It looks like you have highway cones instead of b.o.o.bs. Next." "Thank goodness," sighed Carrie. "I was afraid you were going to try to talk me into this one." Sam rejected the next suit-a black one-piece with a plunging neckline-as being too conservative.

Carrie was about to return to the booth when an annoyingly familiar voice pierced the air.

"Why, h.e.l.lo there, girls," Lorell drawled, carrying an enormous amount of clothes toward the dressing room. Behind her trailed Daphne, looking as thin and nervous as ever and holding two or three items to try on. "Why, Carrie, don't you look sophisticated in that little number. Tres chic." Carrie quickly looked at Sam. "I don't think it's really Carrie's style," Sam told Lorell.

Lorell dropped her clothing on a nearby chair. "Hmmmmm, I suppose not," she agreed, critically a.s.sessing Carrie. "Here's one that's more your style." Lorell grabbed a one-piece flowered cotton suit off the rack. It had a small frilly skirt around the hips.

"I don't think so, Lorell. Thanks anyway," Carrie said, ignoring the implied insult.

Dragging her clothes into the next dressing room, Lorell began tossing off her own clothing. Daphne went into the third dressing room.

"Don't bother trying on that third suit," Sam told Carrie. "I have just found the perfect suit for you." She tossed a red-and-purple suit over the top of Carrie's door.

"That's it, all right!" Sam declared when Carrie emerged from the dressing room.

The suit had a neckline that plunged to the waist in the front and back. It was cut high at the hips, revealing lots of thigh and cheek. A purple band at the waist set off the red of the rest of the suit.

"Are you sure?" asked Carrie as she glanced over her shoulder into the full-length mirror. She tugged at the bottom of the bathing suit. "It shows a lot of b.u.t.t." "They're wearing thong-back suits this year," said Sam. "That suit looks prudish by comparison." "I don't know. Maybe if I saw it on someone else, I'd appreciate it more," Carrie said slowly. "It makes me look awfully curvy, though." "You are curvy," Sam reminded her. "If you've got it, flaunt it!"

"You're right," Carrie agreed, determined not to be a wimp. "I'll take it." At that moment Lorell emerged wearing a pair of black racing shorts and a short cotton top. "Ta-da!" she sang.

Suddenly Carrie had a deliriously wicked idea. A very wi-goody-goody idea. She pulled Sam into the dressing room with her. "Pretend you want this leopard-print suit and we're fighting over who buys it," she whispered into Sam's ear.

Sam shot her a bewildered expression, but nodded. Sam was always game for anything, even when she wasn't sure exactly what it was she was game for.

"I saw it first," said Carrie, coming out of the dressing room.

"But it will look fabulous on me," Sam protested.

"You'd have to go all the way to New York to find another suit like that,"

Carrie said, trying to pout without cracking up. "I saw the exact same one in Vogue last month." Lorell watched, wide-eyed, as Sam and Carrie began to tug gently on the suit, each trying to get the other to let go.

"What are we doing?" Carrie said, suddenly softening. "We can't let a bathing suit spoil our friendship. If we both can't have it, then neither of us will buy it. I'll take this red-and-purple one instead." "You're right," Sam agreed in her best saccharine tone. "You're so wise." The great thing about habitually insincere witches like Lorell was that they never realized when other people were playing the same game.

Daphne stepped out of her dressing room. "These shorts make me look like a hippo," she told Lorell forlornly. "So did the jumpsuit. I am just too fat." Sam and Carrie exchanged gIances. Daphne was as thin as a rail. A hippo was the last thing she looked like.

"Yes," Lorell agreed, to their surprise. "These racing shorts are all wrong for me, too," she added. "Too common." "We've got to go," Sam said. "See you."

"Toodles, Sammi, Carrie," Lorell said.

"What was that all about?" Sam asked as soon as they were far enough away so Lorell couldn't hear.

"She is going to buy that suit," Carrie told her. "Watch. She'll buy it just because we wanted it." "It'll look absolutely awful on her," groaned Sam.

"Exactly," Carrie said with an impish grin.

At that moment Emma walked into the store. From behind the counter, Beth's face lit up. The last time Emma had come in she had spent almost two thousand dollars. And the Cheap Boutique paid their sales help by commission. "Can I help you?" she asked Emma eagerly.

"No thanks," said Emma. "I'm just meeting- oh, there they are." Emma joined Carrie and Sam. They told her about the little charade they'd played out for Lorell's benefit.

"You girls are wicked," laughed Beth, who couldn't help overhearing.

"Total spite work," Carrie agreed. "If it works." As if on cue, Lorell cam& to the counter with several items she wanted to buy. And among them was the leopard-print bathing suit.

"Oh, you girls still here?" she trilled. "And Emma, too, I see. Emma, dear, I hope you're not angry with me for having Trenty show up on the isIand. It was really all Diana's idea." Trenty was Trent Hayden-Bishop III, a boy Emma had dated casually.

One of the meaner tricks Lorell had pulled recently was an attempt to use Trent to try to wreck Emma's romance with Kurt. She'd imported the most obnoxious girl from Emma's old boarding school, Diana De Witt, to Sunset IsIand. Then the two of them had invited Trent, knowing it would give Kurt the totally wrong idea at the same time they would cruelly and publicly unmask Emma as a rich girl masquerading as a regular kid. It had been the most awful moment of Emma's life, and there had been a lot of hurt feelings and terrible things said before it was all straightened out. Still, it had all been straightened out, and Emma was thankful she had true friends she could count on instead of pathetic schemers like Lorell and Diana.

"Diana is dating Trenty now, you know," Lorell went on, oblivious to their obvious lack of interest. "Really, the whole thing was her very own idea. She goes too far sometimes. Half the time I don't even know why I'm friends with her." Sam whispered in Carrie's ear, "Because bloodsucking vampire bats of a feather flock together." "Frankly, Lorell," said Emma in her most aristrocratic voice, "you, Diana, and even Daphne here are so unimportant to me that I'm barely aware that any of you are alive." Spinning neatly, Emma headed toward the door.

"Well, I never," Lorell huffed.

With a small, insincere smile, Carrie shrugged her shoulders and followed Emma out.

Sam put her hand on Lorell's shoulder and leaned close. "I just want you to know I really envy you getting that suit," she whispered. "It's going to look fabulous on you." Then she hurried out to join the others outside.

As Sam joined them Emma and Carrie were in the parking lot, doubled over with laughter. "I don't believe she fell for it," gasped Emma, falling back against the Jaguar. "Did the suit really look awful?" "It is the ugliest suit I have ever seen!" Carrie managed to say between gulps of laughter.

"She could poke somebody's eye out with that bra," giggled Sam. "Shh! Shh! Here she comes." Barely suppressing their giggles, the girls clammed up as Lorell and Daphne walked out of the store. Lorell threw a suspicious glance their way, but kept walking. When she and Daphne were half a block away, the girls exploded with laughter all over again.

"Revenge is sweet," chuckled Sam, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. "Man, that Daphne is really a strange one, isn't she?" "She's so skinny, but she thought she looked too fat in the stuff she tried on," Carrie told Emma.

"Maybe she has some sort of psychological problem," Emma ventured.

"You'd have to be a mental case to hang out with Lorell," said Sam. "Or maybe she used to be this perfectly normal girl but hanging around with Lorell has made her a nervous wreck." "If she really does have a problem, we shouldn't laugh," said Emma.

"Her problem is that she's a toady little n.o.body who follows Lorell around, that's all," said Sam.

The girls had lunch at the Bay View, an inexpensive outdoor cafe not far from the Cheap Boutique. Then they decided to take a ride in the Jaguar. Emma directed Carrie down a country road that Kurt had shown her on the north sh.o.r.e, which was the less-trendy side of the isIand and not overrun by tourists.

"Wow! This is beautiful," Carrie breathed as she stepped out of the car onto the dunes overlooking the ocean. "Knowing Kurt has given you a real insider's view of the isIand, hasn't it?" Emma nodded wistfully. "The townies mostly use this beach. And the fishermen. Most of the locals live around here." For the next hour the girls sunbathed. Then they went to Ruble's Diner-another unknown but wonderful spot Kurt had shown Emma-for some of Rubie O'Malley's fantastic homemade pie and coffee.

Finally, around five, the girls had to get home. Carrie dropped each of them off and then returned to the Templetons'. She pulled up the drive just as the family was returning from their day on the yacht. Carrie met up with them in the garage as she parked the Jaguar.

"I see you bought some new things," Claudia said pleasantly as she stepped out of the Alfa-Romeo.

"Just a new bathing suit," Carrie said, taking Chloe's inflatable dinosaur from Claudia. "Do you and Graham have any plans for Friday night?" Carrie asked.

"After the clambake, I mean?" "Not right now," Claudia replied. "Do we have anything, Graham?" Graham was helping Ian untangle his fishing rod. "Not that I know of," he said.

"Good," said Carrie under her breath.

"I caught a bluefish!" Ian told Carrie happily, holding up a plastic bucket. "Do you know how to scale it and everything? I want to have it for supper." As it happened, Carrie did know how to scale and gut a fish. In fact, she was a pretty accomplished fisherwoman. "Come on, Ian, I'll show you," she said.

As they climbed the inside stairs to the house, Carrie felt nervous but excited.

She had her hot new suit. Graham and Claudia weren't going out. Beach party, here I come, she thought. This date would be different from the last one. She'd make sure of it. Positive thinking was important, but Sam was right about one thing: direct action was the way to go. No more wimping out.

"We're home," Carrie called in the front door. It was eight-thirty Friday evening, and Carrie had just returned with Ian and Chloe from the town clambake.

"Did you have fun?" Claudia asked, coming to the hallway stairs wrapped in a gorgeous silk paisley-print robe.

Chloe's eyes were bright with excitement. "We had corn on the cob and chicken and hamburgers and ice cream and sodas!" she told her mother.

"What about clams? Did you have any of those?" "Yuck! Gross me out!" cried Ian.

"I convinced Ian to try a steamer," Carrie explained. "It wasn't a hit." "At least you tried it," said Claudia.

"Never again," he said, bouncing cheerfully up the stairs. Despite the unpopular clam, the clambake had been lots of fun. Emma had brought the Hewitt kids. Chloe had played well with three-year-old Katie Hewitt, and Ian had hung out with eleven-year-old Ethan. The boys even allowed six-year-old Wills Hewitt to tag along.

Buoyed by the easygoing success of the clambake, Carrie was now ready for her big beach-party date. She bathed Chloe and tucked her into bed. Then she ran to her room and got ready to leave.

With her new suit on she reminded herself of a picture in the swimsuit issue of Sports Ill.u.s.trated. The annual issue always brought out mixed emotions in her.

The girls did look gorgeous. There was no denying that. But why, Carrie would wonder, were they parading around in a sports magazine? It wasn't as if they were selling bathing suits, like in a fashion magazine. No. They were simply there for guys to drool over. Something about it made Carrie uncomfortable. It was as if the women weren't meant to be thought of as people. They were just bodies in bathing suits.

Is that how I'm presenting myself tonight? As a body in a bathing suit?

Turn off the hyperactive conscience! she told herself. Her object tonight was to look good. And she did. So that was that.

Over her bathing suit, Carrie put on a pair of jeans and a cotton shirt. "Dweeb city," she said to her image in the mirror. She opened two of the top b.u.t.tons and tied the shirt ends together in front. "That's a little better," she muttered. After applying her makeup the way Sam had shown her, she was ready to go.

With a spring in her step, Carrie headed out of her room, but the sound of Claudia's voice made her freeze. "I'm going to have to talk to Chloe about playing with my things," she was saying to Graham. Their bedroom door was open, and Carrie could hear them clearly. "I tell her over and over that my clothes and shoes aren't for dress-up but she seems determined to disobey." "Calm down,"

said Graham. "What are you looking for?" "My new open-toed sandals. You know, the ones you really like, with the metallic straps." Graham laughed wearily.

"Oh, you mean the most expensive pair of shoes known to humankind?" "They're Raffelli originals," replied Claudia, unruffled. "They're works of art." "Then I don't think you should be walking around on them. Let's just have them bronzed and put them on a pedestal." "Fine, and we'll just bronze the Alfa Romeo while we're at it," Claudia shot back.

Carrie had heard Graham and Claudia snap at each other several times before. It seemed to her that it happened when they'd been partying a lot. Like little kids, they got strung out and overtired. But now Carrie felt guilty. This fight was over the shoes she'd lost. And moreover, it looked like Chloe was going to be blamed for it.

Then an even more upsetting thought hit Carrie. Why was Claudia looking for her shoes now?

They were supposed to be staying home that night.

Her heart pounding, Carrie went up to their room and knocked lightly on the open door. "Chloe is asleep," she said. "Ian's playing Nintendo in his room. If it's okay with you I'd like to go out for a while." Claudia looked daggers at Graham.

"I asked you to tell Carrie that Phil called," she reminded him tensely.

"You did not!" Graham disagreed.

"Graham!" Claudia shouted.

"Well, excuse me, but I was sure you'd changed your mind. I don't see why we have to have dinner with your ex-boyfriend and his new wife. This guy suddenly appears on the isIand and we have to put on a command performance. I'm the rock star; I don't play command performances for anyone!" They seemed to have completely forgotten that Carrie was standing there. But it seemed to Carrie that they might not have cared, anyway. Graham and Claudia were not reserved people, to say the least.

"Phil and I are friends and I would like to see him!" Claudia shouted. " have to go to every G.o.dforsaken music-business party on earth. / have to be nice to record executives who are so ba.n.a.l and self-impressed that I feel as if my brain is going to explode from boredom. But you, the royal rock star, can't do a simple thing for me!" Suddenly bursting into tears, Claudia rushed past Carrie and down the stairs.

Pulling himself up to his full height, Graham stepped out into the hall. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. Instead, he picked up a pair of Claudia's black straw sandals that had been tossed carelessly on the floor and hurled them down the stairs. "You forgot your shoes!" he bellowed as Claudia slammed out the front door.

Graham then slammed the bedroom door shut with a matching crash.

Carrie leaned up against the wall and slowly let herself slide down. Now what was she supposed to do?

Prom Chloe's room came the sound of whimpering. Carrie went to the little girl, who sat up in her bed. "I'm frightened," she told Carrie, her auburn curls sticking to her tear-stained face. "Mommy and Daddy are fighting!" Sitting on the bed, Carrie hugged Chloe. "It's okay," she said soothingly. "Do you love Ian?" Chloe nodded as she rubbed her eyes.

"But you and Ian fight sometimes, don't you?" "Uh-huh. Ian hogs the videos. He won't let me watch mine." "So even though you and Ian fight, you still love each other. It's the same with your mom and dad. Once their fight is over, they'll make up and be friends again. Just like you and Ian." Chloe yawned widely.

Carrie laid her down and retucked her covers. "Everything is fine, sweetheart.

You just go to sleep now." Carrie stepped back out into the hall in time to see Graham dashing down the stairs. "Carrie," he said over his shoulder, "I'm going out to find Claudia and take her to this ridiculous dinner. Don't wait up for us." Graham scooped up the black shoes on the stairs and was instantly gone out the door.

"But . . . but ..." Carrie stammered helplessly. How could this be happening to her? How could it? "d.a.m.n!" she cried, slamming her hand against the wall angrily.

Running back to her room, she called Emma. "She's out with Kurt, I believe,"

Jane Hewitt told her.

Next she phoned Sam. "I can come over, but only till one-thirty," said Sam. "You know Mr. Jacobs has this dumb one-thirty curfew thing. I hate it, but I did agree to it." "I'll have to be home by one-thirty, then," Carrie said. "It's better than nothing. I just can't leave the kids alone again, but I'll die if I don't get to this party." "Cool your jets, I'll be right there," said Sam.

In ten minutes Sam was at the front door. "Hi, bye," she said, quickly checking out Carrie's appearance. "You look terrific. Have fun." "Thanks a million," said Carrie as Sam pushed her out the door. "I'll be back by one-thirty. Promise." In less than ten minutes, Carrie was pulling the Jaguar into the parking lot of the Play Caf. The music blared into the warm, star-filled night.

After reapplying her lipstick in the rearview mirror, Carrie hopped out of the car and climbed the wooden steps to the club.

Inside, the place was mobbed. The dance floor was packed with young people dancing to the music of Flirting with Danger, which was playing at an almost deafening volume. Carrie looked around and saw that all the tables were full, so she leaned up against the wall and watched.

A tap on her shoulder made her jump. Howie Lawrence stood beside her. "You here alone?" he shouted, though she could barely hear him.

"I'm waiting for Billy " she shouted back just as the song ended. Heads turned to look at her. A hot blush burned in her cheeks.

Billy turned toward her also. He flashed her his most gorgeous smile. He held up his hand, his fingers spread. "Five minutes," he said, mouthing the words.

Tonight his hair was untied and hung loose to his shoulders. He wore tight, ripped jeans and a faded black T-shirt that was sleeveless and open at the sides, showing off his muscular body.

More people turned and saw that he was talking to her. Carrie smiled back at him, feeling very cool.

"Are you here by yourself?" she asked Howie. She could see from his expression that he was disappointed that she was with Billy.