“If I know one thing about you, Vanessa Abrams, it’s that you’ll be fine on your own.” Aaron grinned. “Though I can’t imagine you’ll be on your own for very long. Kind of makes me wish I was staying all over again.” As soon as he said the word stay, the spell of Aaron’s warm brown eyes was broken.Yes, he was gorgeous, and yes, he obviously still liked her, but all Vanessa could hear was Dan’s poem. Fall down with me. And stay. She kept replaying the way he’d looked deep into her eyes as he’d uttered those lines—as if he’d written them just for her. But if that were true, then where the hell was he?
Forget Greek gods. The theme for this party should have been “Love Stinks.”
hands off my lady, bob marley
Dan ducked around a Greek sculpture, vodka gimlet in one hand, feeling particularly small and insignificant beneath the giant marble statues looming over him. They were just the right height that their, um, anatomy was practically being shoved in his face. And it wasn’t exactly a turn-on.
Jenny sipped from her glass of champagne, her eyes wide with excitement. “Don’t you want to dance?” she demanded. “Come on, there are enough cute guys here for both of us.” “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Dan gulped his drink, the ice clinking against his teeth and numbing his tongue. “I wouldn’t even know how to ask another guy to dance, much less dance with him.” Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone? After the intense moment at the wedding, locking eyes with Vanessa while he read his poem, Dan wasn’t sure what to think. It was like something was still . . . there between them. But then, just as he was about to finally talk to her, five different Williamsburg guys had come up to him to personally let him know how “touched” they were by his words. Before he knew it, he’d ended up with five phone numbers in his pocket . . . and five more assurances that he was gay.
Jenny rolled her eyes. “That’s the easy part. You just sort of mush your bodies together and grind.” She gave her hips a slight wiggle. Dan glanced nervously at one of the almost-naked man statues. He was so not ready for grinding.
“Hey, look, it’s Vanessa.” Jenny pointed toward the far corner of the immense hall. Dan craned his neck to get a good look, peering through the mass of beautifully dressed moving bodies. He finally spied her prickly head bobbing excitedly as she spoke to a handsome, dreadlocked Bob Marley wannabe. It was Blair’s stepbrother, Aaron, who had nearly succeeded in stealing Vanessa away from him once before. “Who’s the guy she’s talking to?” Jenny asked, her voice full of admiration. “He’s cute!” Dan slouched, completely dejected. Vanessa and Aaron were laughing and flirting, and they’d probably get back together before the night was even over. Looking so beautiful and confident in her sky blue sheath dress, it was hard to believe Vanessa had ever been his girlfriend. Dan was a sexually confused, cream-puff-eating geek who was about to drive cross-country in a car that was practically extinct. What had she ever seen in him, anyway?
“What’s wrong?” Jenny demanded, titling her head in concern when Dan didn’t respond. He could feel her examining him closely. She definitely seemed more self-assured after her summer away, and in a couple of days she was headed to boarding school.
Kids. They grow up so fast.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he snapped, gazing forlornly into his glass. He wished Jenny would just dance away into the night so he could sit by himself and be as morose as his poetry.
Life of the party, isn’t he?
“Oh my God!” Jenny shouted excitedly. “You’re jealous!” She put her hand on his arm and looked earnestly up in his face. “This is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve tried to be supportive all along, and stop me if what I’m about to say is totally off base but—” Dan looked up into his sister’s big brown eyes. He was reminded of the hundreds of times they’d sat in their crumbling apartment eating Rufus’s disgusting leftovers and talking in half-sentences but understanding exactly what the other was saying.
“Honestly,” Jenny went on, “you don’t seem very gay to me.” “I don’t?” Dan grabbed her freckled shoulder.
“Sorry.” She shrugged.
Across the room Aaron and Vanessa were flirting mercilessly. Dan was practically dying to go over there and punch the guy out. Jenny was right—he was jealous. He wasn’t gay, despite what his mom and everyone else in the world seemed to think. When he’d kissed Greg, he’d been drunk and confused. Actually he hadn’t even been awake for part of it.
He frowned, not sure what to do now that he wasn’t gay anymore.
Jenny poked him in the gut. “So talk to her, you idiot!” she squealed excitedly. “Get her away from that boy so I can flirt with him.” Dan gave his brilliant little sister a quick kiss on the cheek. Across the room, Vanessa’s face was flushed and gorgeous in the museum’s soft light. Despite the vodka sloshing around in his head, everything was finally completely clear. He didn’t want to just talk to Vanessa, he wanted to be with her. He loved her because she was Vanessa—his Vanessa. And he was going to get her back.
Dan crossed the room determinedly, his gaze fixed on her. She looked so beautiful, teetering unsteadily in her glittery blue heels. He wanted to be there to catch her if she fell. He marched past table after table, knocking over drinks and stepping on people’s toes.
It felt like it took years for him to finally reach her. “So, how about a dance?” Aaron was saying, holding his hand out to her.
Dan reached out and grabbed her hand instead. “Excuse me, but if she’s going to dance, I’d rather it was with me.” Vanessa’s chocolate brown eyes grew huge. “Dan—you’re here.” “I’m sorry, Aaron,” Dan apologized with a slow smile, his eyes never leaving Vanessa’s face. “But I need her for a minute. Actually, longer than that.” Aaron stared momentarily and then kissed Vanessa wistfully on the cheek. “Take care.” He nodded to both of them as he took off for the bar.
Dan’s arms circled Vanessa’s waist. You’re beautiful, I’m not gay, I love you, I want you back. He was about to say all of it in a big, confused rush, but then Vanessa kissed him on the lips, a long, lingering, very ungay kiss full of promises and apologies.
“I know,” she murmured, holding him. He brushed his chin over the top of her prickly head and smiled happily. The best part was, they were still roommates, if only for one more night.
Looks like someone’s not going to get much sleep tonight.
nothing like a little father-son bonding
Nate stood at the mostly undiscovered bar under the enormous main staircase, as far from the other partygoers as he could get. A toga-toting bartender poured amber liquid into his empty glass for the hundredth time that night. Things were crazy tonight, so he might as well make them even crazier. And if drinking didn’t work, he was going to go out and sit on the steps of the Met and smoke all six of the emergency joints in his pocket.
Old habits die hard.
He raised his glass to take another slug and felt a big slap on his back, causing him to nearly choke. He turned to see his father standing right beside him.
“There you are.” The Captain was wearing his custom-made English double-breasted tuxedo, a black satin bow tie set at his throat, his gray hair neatly combed back from his aristocratic face. He set his empty champagne glass down on the bar next to Nate’s.
“Well, I hear someone’s bailed you out—as usual,” the Captain proclaimed. “You’re one lucky boy. Do you know that?”
Nate ran his hands through his hair, nodding mechanically. Leave it to his dad to reduce him to a drunken asshole with no dick.
“Though I suppose I shouldn’t give Lady Luck all the credit for your good fortune.You’ve got one industrious girl-friend,” his father remarked. “You don’t deserve her.” Nate blushed and looked at his feet. He knew his dad was right—he hadn’t done a goddamn thing to deserve getting back into Yale—he’d simply been lucky. Lucky that he had a girlfriend who didn’t give up until she got her way. Lucky that she had a father who was on the board of trustees.
Bl
air sidestepped one of the Adonises as she walked over, her azure dress floating around her like waves. Through the window behind her, Nate could see the cars flying down Fifth Avenue, some of them slowing as they passed the gala happening inside.
“Blair, darling.” The Captain slipped an arm around Blair’s tiny shoulders. “I was just telling my ungrateful son here that he doesn’t deserve you.” He cracked a smile. Nate hated it when his father tried to be charming—especially when it was at his expense.
“That’s true.” Blair’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “But he knows that.” She slipped her arm through Nate’s and rested her head on his shoulder. It occurred to Nate that she’d come to rescue him from his father. He really didn’t deserve her.
“This calls for a toast,” Captain Archibald announced jovially, picking up two champagne flutes filled with golden liquid from the bar and handing one each to Nate and Blair before raising his own glass. “You’re Yalies now.” The
Captain motioned in their direction with his full glass. “Here’s to the navy blue!” Nate opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. A Yalie? He certainly didn’t feel like one. “You know, Dad,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I wanted to thank you for introducing me to Chips—er, Captain Chips.” He paused to swallow a gulp of champagne. “He really taught me a lot about being a man . . . and uh . . . thinking with your . . . you know.” Blair nodded distractedly, and Nate followed her gaze—she was staring at Chuck Bass, of all people. Nate was about to be jealous when he noticed that Chuck was standing with a nerdy blond spectacled kid in a too-small tux, his orange-and-blue monkey-patterned socks exposed above his scuffed loafers. Chuck was holding his chattering, screeching monkey up to an enormous, ancient mirror so the monkey could admire his tuxedo and hot pink bow tie identical to Chuck’s. Wow. And Nate thought he had problems.
Nate turned away and searched his father’s face for some kind of recognition or understanding, but Captain Archibald seemed oblivious to what Nate was trying to say.
His father smiled and clinked glasses with Nate again. “I’m glad it helped, son.You certainly are one lucky kid,” he repeated, looking at Blair appreciatively. Blair giggled and squeezed Nate’s hand. Nate just buried his nose in his champagne.
Glug, glug, glug.
“Nathaniel!” He heard someone call from behind him and turned around to see his mother approach from the neighboring Egyptian exhibit. She wore bright red lipstick, a red poppy in her dark hair, and a sweeping red gown that looked like it had come straight from the set of Carmen. “Darling,” she cooed in her French accent, kissing her son on either cheek. “Your father’s told me the good news. I’m so glad. But I’m afraid we can’t stay to celebrate—we’re off to the opera.” Throughout Nate’s life, his mom had spent more time shopping and attending the opera or a gala to benefit the opera than she had with her only son, leaving precious little to talk about. Once a year, at Christmas time, she met him for a drink at the bar in the Carlyle Hotel, where she’d attempt to pry into his love life. It was totally embarrassing.
“I’m so . . . glad you’re glad, Mom,” he responded lamely. “Congratulations, mon cherie.” His mother gave him another kiss, squeezing his hand before she dragged the Captain away to their waiting town car.
Nate turned to Blair, ready to confess to her how confused and freaked out he felt, but she was chatting with the bartender while he tried pathetically to get her number. Maybe Blair had bigger balls than he did, but she couldn’t figure this out for him. No one could.
Except maybe that joint in his pocket.
this is your life, b. . . .
Eleanor Waldorf Rose stood on the landing of the Met’s great staircase, a tiny silver microphone in one hand. The gold sequins of her gown glittered in the spotlight, casting a disco-ball effect across the Met’s Great Hall. Blair thought she looked like a seventies-era Statue of Liberty.
“Hello everyone,” she chirped, beaming at the collection of partygoers who had been shuffled from the Ancient Greek room into the Met’s impressive entryway. “I hope you’re having a good time!” “We are!” Cyrus cheered from his perch on the steps below. He raised his nearly empty glass, his eyes bulging idiotically. Blair sank a little lower in the thronelike seat Davita had provided for her next to a table adorned with special gold-flecked Magnolia cupcakes. She could tell things were about to get extremely embarrassing.
“I can’t believe all of you wonderful children are leaving for college tomorrow,” Eleanor gushed into the microphone. “It seems like just yesterday that we were dropping you off at preschool! And now you’re all grown up.”
The crowd cheered wildly. The anticipation of being at college in only a day or two was getting to them. Eleanor nodded at Davita, who was in the far corner of the room, murmuring instructions into her headset. “But before you go forward into your new lives,” Eleanor continued, “I thought it might be fun to take a look back and see just how far you’ve all come!” she crowed. She stepped back and the lights dimmed. A huge screen was lowered from above, as if it had come from the heavens.
Nope, just from Bang & Olufsen.
Blair picked at an uneaten cupcake, steeling herself for “Lean on Me” or whatever cheesy-ass song her mom had chosen to set the slide show to.
What you gon’ do with all that junk? All that junk inside your trunk?
Suddenly the first notes to the Black Eyed Peas’ “My Humps” filled the air. Had her mom seriously picked this song for the slide show of Blair’s life? Wasn’t it a song about boobs? Or butts? Or vaginas? What in hell was she smoking?
And where can we get some?
Photographs began flashing over the screen. First came Blair’s kindergarten class picture, Blair and Serena holding hands and kneeling in the front row wearing matching dorky white turtlenecks. She remembered that they’d had to take the class picture five times, because every time the photographer got to “cheese,” Blair and Serena had promptly stuck their tongues out, not caring that all the other girls were getting fidgety and annoyed—that had made it all the more fun.
Next came a photo of the two girls at tennis camp, the one summer Serena’s parents had forced her to go. Both girls wore their hair in ponytails, their skin tan against their tennis whites. Serena was playing her racket like a guitar, her eyes closed as she strummed the strings in a rock-star pose, while Blair was doubled over laughing right next to her, tears in her eyes.
Blair looked up at the enormous photograph, and much to her surprise, her own eyes began to fill with tears. She wiped them away hastily, trying not to ruin her makeup. Looking up at their smiling, happy faces, she couldn’t help really missing Serena—and how simple things used to be. She couldn’t believe that as of tomorrow they’d be in two totally different places, living totally different lives. Blair looked over at Serena, who was sitting at a table next to Chuck and his disgusting primate. On the other side of the table were Kati and Isabel, Isabel perched on a chalky white fake-statue model’s lap.
At least someone’s enjoying the party!
Serena turned and caught Blair’s eye. She grabbed a plate from the table in front of her and pretended to strum it like she’d played the tennis racket in the picture, putting it back down again and giggling. Then she blew Blair a kiss.
Blair laughed, then sniffled. For the first time in their lives, she and Serena wouldn’t be able to walk over to each other’s houses whenever they felt like it, or sit on the steps of the Met gossiping for hours. Soon she and Nate would be at Yale, living together like real grown-ups, and Serena would be here in the city, busily becoming the next big thing. Blair shook her head, bewildered by how much things had changed in what really was so little time.
Serena watched Blair’s foxlike profile as the slide changed in time to Eleanor’s completely ridiculous music selection. On-screen, Serena, Nate, and Blair were ten years old, eating Fudgsicles in Central Park on Blair’s favorite navy blue Yale blanket. Nate sat cross
-legged while the girls perched precariously on each of his knees. Serena’s eyes filled with tears at the realization that even back then, they were sharing him.
Sharing is caring, right?
As much as things had changed, some things had always been the same. She looked around for Nate and spied him standing near the Met’s front doors, his gaze locked on the screen. She raised her hand and waved, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t see her. She grabbed the snowy white tablecloth in her fist and squeezed the material between her fingers as Chuck’s white monkey climbed onto her arm and began picking at her blond hair.
“Sorry,” Chuck whispered, removing the monkey from her shoulder and placing it in his lap. “If you don’t behave”—he wagged his index finger in the monkey’s face—”I’m sending you to the zoo. And I think we both know they don’t have cupcakes and champagne there.” Vanessa watched the screen, surprised to see her own enormous face smiling down at her as an image of her Williamsburg apartment appeared. Her shaved head was tilted toward Blair’s shining brunette mane, their tongues stuck out at the camera, near-white polish gleaming on Blair’s nails as she held one hand up in the peace sign. Vanessa smiled, still clinging to Dan’s hand as she waited for the next slide.
“It’s so weird that you guys were roommates,” Dan muttered.
“Totally,” Vanessa whispered. But even though they still had nothing in common, Vanessa was glad she and Blair were friends. As different as they were, they’d accepted their differences and painted each other’s toenails. And wasn’t that what true friendship was about? Vanessa nearly gagged at her own sentimentality, but it was all true, so fuck it.
Dan stared up at a large photograph of Serena at the Raves show, suddenly noticing himself up on stage in the background, sweat dripping from his black T-shirt, his hair flying as he jumped into the air, mike cord wrapped around one skinny arm. He laughed at his own idiotic antics and squeezed Vanessa’s fingers for reassurance. Vanessa had been with him through every bizarre moment over the last year—from back when he was just a nerdy guy scribbling in a shabby notebook all the time, to a published poet in the New Yorker, to an almost rock star.
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