Gossip Girl, Psycho Killer

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  Nate met Serena on the platform. She stepped off the train wearing a light blue silk slip dress and pink rubber flip-flops. Her still-wet yellow hair hung loose, covering her bare shoulders. She wasn’t carrying a bag, not even a wallet or keys. Nate needn’t know what she’d done to the ticket collector with his hole punch when he’d asked her to get off the train at Stamford if she couldn’t purchase a ticket. To Nate, Serena looked like an angel. How lucky he was. Life didn’t get any better than the moment when Serena flip-flopped down the platform, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the lips. That wonderful, surprising kiss.

  First they drank martinis at the little bar upstairs by the Vanderbilt Avenue entrance to Grand Central. Serena made Nate laugh by engineering little voodoo dolls out of olives and maraschino cherries and stabbing them with toothpicks and plastic swords. Then they got a cab straight up Park Avenue to Nate’s Eighty-second Street townhouse. His father was going to be out until very late, Lourdes and Angel had the day off, and Serena and Nate had the place to themselves. Oddly enough, it was the first time they’d ever been alone together, without Blair or any of their other friends, and without Serena compensating for her forbidden attraction by sneaking into Nate’s bathroom when he wasn’t looking and stealing the hairs out of his shower drain.

  It didn’t take long.

  They sat out in the garden, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. Nate was wearing a long-sleeved polo shirt and the weather was extremely hot, so he took it off. His shoulders were scattered with tiny freckles, and his back was muscled and tan from hours at the shore in Maine, hurling boulders into the ocean as he tried to exorcise all horny thoughts of Serena from his mind.

  Serena was hot too, so she climbed into the fountain. In the center of the fountain was a marble statue of Morta—a Roman goddess of death, holding the severed head and tail of an unfortunate snake—which the Archibalds had imported from Tuscany to ward off burglars. Serena sat on Morta’s feet, giggling and splashing herself with water until her dress was soaked through.

  At least it was water this time, not blood.

  It wasn’t difficult to see who the real goddess was. Nate staggered over to the fountain and got in with her, and soon they were tearing the rest of each other’s clothes off. It was August, after all. The only way to tolerate the city in August is to get naked.

  And push a few tourists off the Brooklyn Bridge.

  Nate was worried the neighbors might see them, so he led Serena inside and up to his parents’ bedroom.

  The rest is history.

  They both had sex for the first time. It was awkward and painful and exciting and fun, and so sweet they forgot to be embarrassed. It was exactly the way you’d want your first time to be, and they had no regrets. Afterward, they turned on the television and watched the coverage of the ongoing serial shark attacks on swimmers in the Red Sea. A single shark had maimed or killed five people standing in shallow water over the course of six days. Holding each other and looking up at the clouds through the skylight overhead, they listened to the narrator until Serena burst out laughing.

  “Your shark attacked my Red Sea!” she howled, wrestling Nate against the pillows.

  Nate laughed and rolled her up in the sheet like a mummy. Serena marveled at how relaxed she was. For the first time ever, she hadn’t had the urge to hurt anyone or set anything on fire. She hadn’t even pulled out any of Nate’s wavy golden brown hairs for safe-keeping.

  Nate ordered a raw eel roll, sea urchin roe, and warm sake from the local sushi place, and they lay in bed and ate and drank. Then Nate bared his teeth and pretended to be a shark, attacking her Red Sea a few more times before they both passed out from exhaustion.

  A week later, Serena went away to boarding school at Hanover Academy, while Nate and Blair stayed behind in New York. Ever since, Serena had spent every vacation away—reindeer hunting with her Swedish relatives at Christmas, bone fishing in the Bahamas for Easter, bar-hopping and dismembering and bagging boys throughout Europe over the summer. This was the first time she’d been back, the first time she and Nate had seen each other since the shark attacks on the Red Sea.

  “Blair doesn’t know, does she?” Serena asked Nate now.

  Blair who? Nate thought, with a momentary case of amnesia. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “If you haven’t told her, she doesn’t know.”

  But Chuck Bass knew, which was almost worse. Nate had blurted out the information at a party only two nights ago in a drunken fit of complete stupidity. They’d been doing shots, and Chuck had asked, “So, Nate. What was your all-time best lay? That is, if you’ve done it at all yet.”

  “Well, I did it with Serena van der Woodsen,” Nate had bragged, like an idiot.

  And Chuck wasn’t going to keep it a secret for long. It was way too juicy and way too useful. Chuck didn’t need to read How to Win Friends and Influence People. He practically wrote it. Although the only friends he had were the people who gave him a standing ovation every time he looked in the mirror, and they didn’t actually exist.

  Serena didn’t seem to notice Nate’s uncomfortable silence. She sighed, bowing her head to rest it on his shoulder. She no longer smelled like Chanel’s Cristalle, like she always used to. She smelled like honey and sandalwood and lilies and something he couldn’t identify.

  Squirrel poison?

  The scent was very Serena, utterly irresistible, but if anyone else tried to wear it, it would probably smell like rotting flesh.

  “Oh Nate,” Serena sighed, wishing this bittersweet moment would never end. “If you only knew how evil I was, you wouldn’t even be talking to me.”

  “What do you mean? What did you do that was so bad?” Nate asked, with a mixture of dread and anticipation. For a brief second he imagined her hosting orgies in her dorm room at Hanover Academy and having affairs with older guys in French hotel rooms.

  Leaving none of them intact. Thank goodness for House-keeping!

  “And I’ve been such a horrible friend, too,” Serena went on. “I’ve barely even talked to Blair since I left. And so much has happened. I can already tell she’s mad. She hasn’t even said hello.”

  “She’s not mad,” Nate said. “Maybe she’s just feeling shy.”

  Serena flashed him a look. “Right,” she said mockingly. “Blair’s feeling shy. Since when has Blair ever been shy?”

  “Well, she’s not mad,” Nate insisted.

  Serena shrugged. Everything would go back to normal once he was dead.

  “Anyway, I’m so psyched to be back. We’ll do all the things we used to do. Blair and I will cut class and run down to that old movie theater by the Plaza Hotel and see some weirdo film until cocktail hour starts. And then we’ll get drunk and pass out and eat a huge breakfast in the morning. And we’ll live happily ever after, just like in the movies.”

  Nate frowned. Where exactly was he in this picture?

  “Don’t make that face, Nate,” Serena said, laughing. “That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

  “No, I guess it sounds okay,” he said hesitantly.

  “What sounds okay?” a surly voice demanded.

  Startled, Nate and Serena tore their eyes away from each other. It was Chuck, and with him were Kati, Isabel, and, last but not least, Blair, looking very shy indeed.

  Chuck clapped Nate on the back. “Sorry, Nate,” he said. “But you can’t bogey the van der Woodsen all night, you know.”

  Nate snorted and tipped back his glass. Only ice was left.

  Serena looked at Blair. Or at least, she tried to. Blair was making a big deal of pulling up her black stockings, working them inch by inch from her bony ankles up to her bony knees, and up around her tennis-muscled thighs. So Serena gave up and kissed Kati, then Isabel, before she made her way to Blair.

  There was only a limited amount of time Blair could spend pulling up her tights before it got ridiculous. When Serena was only inches away from her, she looked up and pretended to be surprised.

&nb
sp; “Hey Blair,” Serena said excitedly. She put her hands on the shorter girl’s shoulders and bent down to kiss both of her cheeks. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call you before I came back. I wanted to. But things have been so crazy. I have so much to tell you!”

  Chuck, Kati, and Isabel all nudged each other and stared at Blair. It was pretty obvious she had lied. She didn’t know anything about Serena coming back.

  Blair’s face heated up.

  Busted.

  Esther had just put a sizzling pot of cod cheek fondue on the side table. Sharp, long-handled fondue forks ringed the pot. Blair could grab one, stab Serena through her annoyingly swanlike neck until the fork came out the other side, grab Nate, and whisk him away to the Pierre Hotel, where they could finally have sex without interruption.

  Nate noticed the tension, but he thought it was for an entirely different reason. Had Chuck told Blair already? Was he busted? Nate couldn’t tell. Blair wasn’t even looking at him.

  It was a chilly moment. Not the kind of moment you’d expect to have with your oldest, closest friends. It was more like the grisly face-off before a women’s wrestling match, minus the tiny bathing suits, fake tans, and inflated boobs.

  Serena’s eyes darted from one face to another. Clearly she had said something wrong, and she quickly guessed what it was. I’m so clueless, she scolded herself.

  “I mean, I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night. I literally just got back from Ridgefield. My parents have been hiding me there until they figured out what to do with me. And I have been so bored.”

  Nice save.

  She waited for Blair to smile gratefully for covering for her, but all Blair did was glance at Kati and Isabel to see if they’d noticed the slip. Blair was acting strange, and Serena fought down a rising panic. Maybe Nate was wrong, maybe Blair really was mad at her. She’d missed out on so much. The divorce, for instance. Poor Blair. But the sooner Nate died, the sooner she could make it up to her. Serena would have to start dropping hints to Nate about how much better this party would be if they were both very stoned. Then, hopefully, Nate would run home to get his pot and wouldn’t be able to resist doing a quick bong hit on his own. And then… bye-bye Natie.

  “It must really stink without your dad around,” Serena told Blair sympathetically. “But your mom looks so good, and Cyrus is kind of sweet, once you get used to him.” She giggled.

  But Blair still wasn’t smiling. “Maybe,” she said, staring out the window at the hot dog stand. She imagined stuffing about fifty of them, complete with buns and sauerkraut and ketchup and relish, down Serena’s lovely throat. “But I don’t think I want to get used to him.”

  All six of them were silent for a long, tense moment. What they needed was one more good stiff drink. And a pair of oars or a couple of baseball bats to bash each other’s heads in.

  Nate rattled the ice cubes in his glass. “Who wants another?” he offered. “I’ll make them.”

  Serena held out her glass. “Thanks, Nate,” she said. “I’m so fucking thirsty. They locked the damned booze cabinet up in Ridgefield. And took away all the knives and belts and scarves and shoelaces. Can you believe it?”

  Blair remained silent but shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “When you’re around, Serena, everyone has to prepare for the worst.”

  “If I have another drink, I’ll be hungover at school tomorrow,” Kati said.

  Isabel laughed. “You’re always hungover at school.” She handed Nate her glass. “Here, I’ll split mine with Kati.”

  “Let me give you a hand,” Chuck offered.

  Before the boys could get started on refills, Jeremy Scott Tompkinson staggered into the penthouse clutching his shaggy head. His face was blotchy and covered with a film of perspiration. In fact, he was a lot worse off than when Serena had bumped into him in front of Nate’s townhouse less than an hour ago. He sank to his knees in the middle of the living room.

  “Jeremy, what’s up?” Nate called. The party had started out so boring, he’d sent Jeremy home to pick up some pot. “You okay?”

  Jeremy gazed up at his friends with mournful, red-rimmed eyes. His long hair was matted with sweat and there was a bluish tinge to his lips.

  “Serrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…” he slurred nonsensically. He yanked a pair of neon yellow Adidas socks from out of his pocket and tossed them on the carpet.

  Serena blanched. Oopsie.

  “Dude!” Nate protested. Jeremy had never been one for subtlety.

  “Sreeeennnnnnn…!” Jeremy wheezed, still clutching his head. His bloodshot eyes were painfully huge.

  Blair glanced at Serena. Jeremy was trying to say her name and Serena was just standing there, staring at him like a dumb statue.

  “Dude!” Nate said again. This was bad. The pot in the socks was good Thai stick, the best. Should he pick up the socks and implicate himself in Jeremy’s mess, or just let it go?

  Serena reached for Nate’s hand, suddenly grateful that it was Jeremy this was happening to and not him. Nate’s eyes were too beautiful and he was too precious to simply poison like some ferret or mole or whatever. Jeremy didn’t look very good, but it was too late now. What could she do?

  Jeremy’s eyes bulged impossibly. Finally, they exploded.

  Pop! Pop!

  Blood spattered the walls and the furniture. Jeremy collapsed in a blood-soaked heap on the floor.

  “Son?” Mr. Scott Tompkinson demanded. “Are we going to have to send you up to Little Silver again?” Little Silver Ranch was a rehab center in Connecticut where Jeremy had spent many a long weekend.

  “He can’t hear you, dear,” Jeremy’s mother said. “He’s out.”

  That’s one way of putting it.

  Kitty Minky slinked out from behind a sofa and began to bat at one of the bloody eyeballs with a soft gray paw. Esther rushed in to usher the guests to the dinner table and close the pocket doors behind Jeremy and his family. It was a good thing Mrs. Waldorf had chosen red and brown for her new color scheme. The blood wouldn’t even leave a stain.

  Mrs. van der Woodsen touched her daughter’s arm. “Eleanor made an extra place for you next to Blair, so you girls can catch up.”

  Serena cast an anxious glance at Blair, but Blair had already turned away and was headed for the table, sitting down next to her eleven-year-old brother, Tyler, who had been at his place for over an hour, reading Rolling Stone magazine. Tyler’s idol was Cameron Crowe, the movie director who had toured with Led Zeppelin when he was only fifteen. Tyler refused to use an iPod or even CDs, insisting that real vinyl records were the only way to listen to music. Blair worried her brother was turning into the type of loser who would wind up living in a trailer in the woods, preying on chipmunks and robins for meat.

  Serena steeled herself and pulled up a chair next to Blair.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been such a complete idiot,” she said, removing her linen napkin from its silver ring and spreading it out on her lap. She felt more at ease now, knowing Nate was still alive, but also a little confused. Plan A had failed and there was no Plan B. “Your parents splitting up must have totally sucked.”

  Blair shrugged and grabbed a fresh sourdough roll from a basket on the table. She tore the roll in half and stuffed one half into her mouth. The other guests were still milling around and figuring out where to sit. Blair knew it was rude to eat before everyone was seated, but if her mouth was full, she couldn’t talk, and she really didn’t feel like talking.

  “I wish I’d been here,” Serena said, watching Blair smear the other half of her roll with a thick slab of French butter. “I went a little crazy last year,” she confessed. “I have the most insane stories to tell you.”

  Blair nodded and chewed her roll slowly, like a cow chewing its cud. Serena waited for Blair to ask her what kind of stories, but Blair didn’t say anything, she just kept on chewing. She didn’t want to hear about all the fabulous things Serena had done while she was away and Blair had been stuck at home, watching her parents r
ip each other’s hair out and spar themselves bloody with silver candle snuffers.

  Serena had wanted to tell Blair all about her exploits at Hanover. About Soren and Jude and how she couldn’t stand another winter in New Hampshire. How she just had to come back before she murdered everyone on campus. She wanted to tell Blair how scared she was to go back to Constance tomorrow because she hadn’t exactly been studying very hard in the last year and she felt so completely out of touch.

  But Blair wasn’t interested. She grabbed another roll and took a big bite. Jeremy Scott Tompkinson’s eyeballs had just exploded in her living room and she was pretty sure Serena had something to do with it.

  “Wine, miss?” Esther said, standing at Serena’s left with the bottle. Esther’s apron was spattered with Jeremy’s blood, but no one seemed to mind.

  “Yes, thank you.” Serena watched the Côtes du Rhone spill into her glass and thought of the Red Sea once more. Maybe Blair does know, she thought. Was that what this was all about? Was that why she was acting so weird? She glanced at Nate, four chairs down on the right, but he was deep in conversation with her father. Talking about sailboats, no doubt.

  “So you and Nate are still totally together?” Serena said, gnawing on her bloody thumbnail. “Bet you guys wind up married.”

  Blair gulped her wine, her little ruby ring rattling against the glass. She reached for the butter, slapping a great big wad on her roll.

  “Blair?” Serena said, nudging her friend’s arm in desperation. “Aren’t you going to talk to me?”

  “Um,” Blair slurred. It was less an answer to Serena’s question than a vague, general statement made to fill a blank space while she was tending to her roll. “I’m not sure I should.”

  Esther brought out the duck and the acorn squash soufflé and the wilted chard and the lingonberry sauce, and the table filled with the sound of clanking plates and silver and murmurs of “delicious.” Blair heaped her plate high with food and attacked it as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks. She didn’t care if she made herself sick, as long as she didn’t have to talk to Serena.