a) I thought there were some casting problems—for example, the young ingenue could’ve had more ingenuity—but it wasn’t bad....
b) The costumes were pretty, although my belief has always been that when it comes to costumes, less is more.
c) Have you started casting the sequel yet?
3) A world-famous, unbelievably handsome, internationally recognizable movie star asks you to tango. Your response:
a) Tango? I’d rather go somewhere quiet, far from all these paparazzi.
b) Hold me close. Please, just hold me close.
c) I’ve always found that gay guys make the best dancers!
4) Some leggy starlet type trips and spills her fruity cocktail allover your new taupe suede Sigerson Morrison ballet flats. Yourresponse:
a) Nothing—you just hurl your drink in her face.b) My shoes! My pride and joy! My raison d’être!c) Screw it. I’ll dance barefoot!
Done yet? Don’t cheat. Okay, the answer to each one is C. Like you didn’t know that. See you tonight!
You know you love me.
gossip girl
d’s got a golden ticket
Dan had seen Bree in several variations of exercise gear and, of course, completely naked, but he’d never seen her all put together for an evening out. So when he emerged from the 6 train station at Seventy-seventh Street he was taken aback to find her waiting for him, a vision in a simple white silk camisole, with her blond hair—which he’d never seen down— cascading over her sun-kissed shoulders. Her long, below-the-knee embroidered turquoise skirt looked like something she’d unearthed at a flea market in Turkey.
Dan was wearing the closest thing he had to a party outfit: a sharp charcoal gray slim-cut Agnès B. suit, a gift from his former agent, back when he’d been poised to be the literary world’s next big thing.
Not a fickle almost-college-dropout who cheats on his live-in girlfriend.
“Hey beautiful,” he called boldly, springing off the last step and onto the sidewalk. Taking the steps was easier since he’d started his exercise regimen.
“Thanks.” Bree kissed his cheek. “Feeling centered? You look good. I hope I’m not underdressed.”
“No, you’re just right. Should we go?”
They strolled down Lexington amid clouds of bus exhaust. The early evening light shimmered on the windows of Starbucks.
“So.” Bree wrapped her arms around herself as she walked. “I’m still not sure I understand why you were invited to this party.”
“I’m not sure,” Dan admitted. “I know Serena from way back.... Or maybe Vanessa put me on the list? Who cares? Party’s a party, right?”They turned onto Seventy-first Street.
“That’s true.” Bree nodded stiffly. She looked a little nervous and uptight for someone who was usually so Zen. “Speaking of Vanessa . . .”
“Right.” Dan dug instinctively into his pockets for his Camels.
Too bad he forgot his wheatgrass-and-ginseng cigarettes.
Bree sighed. “I think maybe you need to think this through. Meditate. Breathe deeply. Center yourself. Eventually you’ll find clarity. I can’t tell you what to do, you know. It’s your life. But I’d like to see you find some answers. That’s all we want in life, after all, isn’t it?”
“Sure, right,” Dan mumbled, looking both ways before they crossed Third Avenue. Maybe a taxi would just plow him down and he wouldn’t have to have this conversation.
“I don’t know.” Bree sighed, absentmindedly braiding her hair over one shoulder. “I’m going to Santa Cruz at the end of the summer anyway. I have no claim on you. But we’ve had a great time, haven’t we?”
“Sure. It’s been amazing.” He paused. “Do you hear that?”
A dull roar broke the evening’s quiet: the sound of honking horns and idling cars mixed with the occasional scream and the relentless clicks of a thousand cameras.
“Is that the party?” Bree remarked. “It’s so . . . noisy.”
Did she expect the party of the month to be a quiet affair?
“Come on,” Dan urged, grabbing her hand, thrilled he had an excuse to cut the conversation short. He was not in the mood to discuss the state of his relationship with Vanessa. And the truth was, he had no answers. “I don’t want to be late.”
Holly Golightly’s quiet street was quiet no more. There were barricades and bouncers stationed at both ends of the block, and an honest-to-God red carpet right down the middle of the street and up to the town house. On Second Avenue, the line of limos was two blocks long, and on the corner was a roped off area heaving with reporters and photographers.
At the door of the town house, Dan surrendered his invite to the massive goateed bouncer, who nodded gruffly and stamped their hands much more forcefully than was neces-sary.
“Want something to drink?” Dan asked Bree as they strolled past a long table set with elegant champagne flutes.
“I’m not sure I should be drinking tonight,” Bree replied in such a stern tone that Dan couldn’t help but think she was implying that he shouldn’t drink either.
Well, isn’t she the life of the party?
Dan grabbed two glasses—if she wasn’t going to drink, then he could drink for two—and downed one immediately. Burping quietly, he dropped the empty glass on the table and wound his way through the thick crowd, one hand clutching Bree’s, the other his chilled champagne. They pushed through the crowd and stepped into the foyer. Bree bounded through the foyer and up the stairs ahead of him. Maybe she was getting into the idea of this party?
“This is great exercise,” she observed.
“Yeah, great,” Dan agreed, panting along behind her.
As they climbed higher, the din of squealing girls and thumping bass grew louder. The crumbly walls of the town house were surprisingly solid, but even they couldn’t contain the racket. When they reached the fourth-floor landing, they ran into the overspill from the apartment above: leering at them from the next floor, the final landing, was the disturbingly groomed Chuck Bass, pet snow monkey perched on his shoulder wearing a pink tutu and brandishing a glistening silver magic wand.
“Romeo!” Chuck called down to Dan in a girly falsetto.
Dan nodded at Chuck hospitably. He loathed that asshole and his freaky vintage eighties mint green Prada zipper suit. He took Bree’s hand and pulled her up the steps behind him: it would take some maneuvering to get her safely past Chuck.
“Who’s that?” Bree wanted to know.
“No one,” Dan told her firmly. They hurried up to the top landing, dodging bodies and bulldozing past Chuck Bass, until they nearly collided with Vanessa. Again.
They had to stop meeting like this.
Vanessa was accompanied by the same little boys she’d had in tow in Central Park a couple of days before, only instead of being smeared with ice cream, the kids were all cleaned up, sporting snazzy blue blazers with brass buttons, seersucker shorts, and perfectly pressed white cotton oxfords. Their blond hair was parted in slick, tidy hairstyles. They looked miserable.
“Dan,” Vanessa stammered, clearly surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I ... I thought maybe you put me on a list ...before ...” he stammered. “I didn’t think you’d be here, after, you know—”
“Their sister worked on the movie.” Vanessa put her hands on top of the boys’ heads. “So I had to.” “Hi,” said Bree uncomfortably. “I’m Bree. We sort of met the other day.” “I’m Vanessa.” She smirked. Bree? What kind of bullshit name was that?
“I’m Edgar,” offered one of the twins, puffing his chest out proudly. He removed his hand from Vanessa’s and extended it in Bree’s direction. Maybe he’d forgotten his little puking episode?
“I’m Nils,” said the other boy, gently pushing his brother out of the way and beaming at Bree. Dan couldn’t help noticing they sounded a little like mini Chucks.
They start early, those Upper East Side boys.
Bree knelt down and looked at the two little boys inte
nsely. “You guys have really clear auras.”
Vanessa snickered. Dan cocked his head and studied her. She was basically the same: shaved head, lots of attitude, but instead of her usual black jeans, she was wearing fancy-looking shiny black trousers and instead of a black cotton tank she was wearing a semi-sheer black top that was soft and delicate—it might even have been silk. She looked almost feminine, and although it sounded strange, sometimes Dan forgot she was just that: a girl.
“Want to go somewhere and talk?” he asked tentatively
Vanessa shrugged. “If you can tear yourself away.” Bree had the boys in her lap and was reading their palms.
“We kind of have a lot to talk about, don’t we?” Dan allowed. Bree began to chant in Sanskrit.
That’s the understatement of the year.
all the world’s a stage
Because the apartment didn’t have any real furniture to speak of, the drunken crowd had turned the large main room into an impromptu dance floor. Blair had downed three Bellinis, so she was ready to answer the call of duty and dance her cute little ass off. Besides, she’d memorized the party scene in Breakfast at Tiffany’s and knew what was expected of her. Sure, Serena was Holly—there was no denying that at this point—but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t have a great fucking time, too. She had plenty of booze and the party of her dreams at her disposal.
Not to mention a hot guy.
“Hey,” Jason murmured in her ear. “It’s good to see you again.”
She shimmied a perfect imitation of one of the partygoers from the original movie’s big party—but only a true expert like her would recognize that bit of choreography. Her flapper-inspired Blumarine dress moved sexily in time with her body’s gyrations, and she clutched an old-fashioned mother-of-pearl cigarette holder in her hand. The only touch she’d decided to skip was the diamond tiara.
She didn’t need the headgear to play the part of a princess.
“Dance!” she commanded, grabbing hold of Jason’s long, smooth fingers and pulling him closer to her. He had the nicest, wide-open smile she’d ever seen and was so tall and clean looking.
“Yes, ma’am!” He unbuttoned the top button of his light blue Steven Alan oxford. His near-dorkiness was such a turn-on!
Blair drew closer to him, enjoying the way his tremendous height made her feel tiny and delicate and sexy.
Like a certain moon-eyed Hollywood waif?
She could smell the soap on his skin and the beer on his breath, and the rest of the crowd receded into the background as she gazed up at his bright smile dreamily. In that moment, it was hard to remember that she’d ever liked anyone else, including Lord Whateverhisnamewas or Sir Stoner.
“So, you know . . .” Blair batted her eyelashes suggestively. “Serena’s heading back to her parents’ apartment for the rest of the summer, but I think I might stay here....”
“We’ll be neighbors.” He smiled. “That could get us in trouble.”
“I kind of like trouble.”
Hello, understatement.
“Well then . . .” Jason grinned. He bent down and kissed her slowly. His lips were the flavor of the sweet ale he’d been drinking all night and something pepperminty. He was delicious. It was a perfect, perfect first kiss.
Afterwards she smiled back at Jason before surveying the room. She was slow dancing with him even though everyone else was jumping and spinning to the upbeat Madonna the DJ had just put on. Blair pulled Jason’s warm body even closer, despite the fact that it was basically a hundred and ten degrees inside the overcrowded apartment. And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sir Stoner himself. Fucking fuck. Even now, she could still count on Nate to ruin a perfect moment.
Nate Archibald was hand in hand with someone Blair definitely did not recognize, and not one of those slutty, Marniclad L’école girls, either. This girl was definitely not wearing Marni but rather . . . Target.
Everything about this girl was exaggerated—her tan, her boobs, her lips, her makeup. It all looked fake. Worse than her overteased hair and ridiculous orange-bronzed skin was her outfit: she was wearing peach-colored capri pants and a sequin-encrusted tank top and had accessorized her party ensemble with dirty espadrilles and a bought-on-a-street-corner fake peach satin Prada backpack. She looked like nothing Blair had ever seen. She was a disaster. Blair glanced at Bailey Winter standing on the other side of the room. She’d have paid money to hear what he was whispering to Graham Oliver just then.
“Something wrong?” asked Jason, nuzzling at her neck.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered pulling out of his embrace. “I just need a minute.”
It takes more than a minute to get over seeing your first love with someone else, though.
what up, roomie?
“Are you okay?” Vanessa asked, because Dan had been quiet too long and was starting to creep her out. “Let’s sit.” She gestured toward the windowsill behind them. The window over-looked the backyard and was open a bit, admitting a gentle evening breeze. Down in the back garden a group was huddled around a forlorn lilac bush, smoking.
“Things have really changed since graduation, huh?” Dan reached out but put his hand down before actually touching her. “I don’t know what’s happened this past couple of weeks.”
Cut off my fingers. I can’t feel anymore.
Can’t feel you. Or you. You.
“I guess what’s happened,” Vanessa began, sternly but not unkindly, “is that you’ve met someone else. It’s okay. I mean, I’m hurt, I guess. But mostly I wish you hadn’t tried to keep it from me, especially after you made that scene at Blair’s graduation party about staying with me this fall—”
“Scene?” Dan repeated. “I made a scene?” He’d talked to her privately, in a corner. There’d been no scene. Okay, his graduation speech had been a scene, but thankfully she’d missed it.
“Anyway that’s not the point. The point is,” Vanessa continued, “I haven’t been completely honest either.”
A facially unattractive drunk girl whom Vanessa remembered was an extra on the movie stumbled up the stairs. She was wearing a cherry red TEAM JOLIE T-shirt and a million silver bangles up her wrist. She glanced at Vanessa but pretended not to recognize her. Being at this party was definitely not Vanessa’s idea of a good time.
Party pooper.
“You’re seeing someone?” Dan looked like he was going to cry.
“No, of course not.” She swatted at the air in front of her. “But I have some weird news: Your dad said I could rent a room from him . . . even though we’re broken up....”
Dan winced and rubbed the sole of his shoe against his ankle. He hadn’t really thought they were officially broken up, but he guessed they were now. “And?” he asked.
“And I said I wanted to.” Vanessa looked at Dan, to see if she could read him, but he was still rubbing his shoe against his leg like a dog with an itch. “I mean, I can’t really afford much, and he said he’d give me a really good deal, so . . .”
“Well,” Dan said after a moment. “I don’t think it’ll be weird.”
It won’t?
“I think it’ll be fun,” he continued.
It will?
“So, friends?” he asked.
“Friends,”Vanessa confirmed.
Friends ...?
look what the cat dragged in—and who he brought with him
Thaddeus Smith downed his icy caipirinha and leaned toward Serena, whispering sexily, his breath scented with the spicy rum.
“Who is that?” he asked.
He didn’t point but there was no need to: anyone would know exactly who Thaddeus Smith was talking about. Nate Archibald had arrived.
They were huddled together in the minuscule kitchen, the best place to survey the entire room, and from that outpost Serena had a clear view of Nate for the first time since the night of Blair’s wild graduation party. While Serena had danced her butt off, Nate had sat on the floor, looking more baked than usual, until
he’d finally stood up and randomly kissed little Jenny Humphrey. Captain Archibald had been so pissed when Nate failed to actually bring home his diploma that the day after graduation he’d driven Nate off to East Hampton himself, to begin his summer of labor. Serena hadn’t had a chance to say good-bye but she’d known she’d see Nate again soon. And here he was, sporting a deep, been-outside-all-day tan that made his already-perfect teeth look whiter and his already-stunning eyes gleam even more green. His chest looked broader, his forearms stronger. Of course Thaddeus Smith had noticed him.
“That’s Nate,” Serena announced casually.
“Straight Nate?”Thaddeus wanted to know.
Serena shrugged. “He’s up for anything,” she giggled. “But it looks like he’s not alone.”
A very tan, very blond girl was clinging to Nate’s arm as though he were a life preserver, digging into his bicep with her long, fire-engine-red-manicured nails. Her eyes were wide open and darting around excitedly like she was on drugs.
A distinct possibility.
“Please tell me that’s his sister,” Thaddeus whispered. “Is she wearing teal eye shadow? Wait till I tell Serge when I get back to the hotel.”
Serena studied the new girl. She was indeed wearing blue eye shadow. She was also wearing head-to-toe peach, which was so . .. peach. Her hair was blond and vaguely frosty looking—she looked like Stripper Barbie at the beach.
Stripper Beach Barbie? Now that’s catchy.
“And where did she get that outfit?” Thaddeus gasped bitchily.
Serena didn’t have time to indulge in more catty gossip: Blair was racing toward her, a panicked look on her face that Serena knew all too well.
“Shit,” Serena muttered in a low voice.
“Who. The. Fuck. Is. That?” Blair hissed angrily, pushing through the gawkers and into the narrow kitchenette.
There was no need for Serena to ask who she was talking about.
“Oh, honey,” Thaddeus declared kindly. “She’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“I cannot believe,” Blair snapped, “that Nate had the balls to show up tonight with that trash. Where did he pick her up—the mall?”