Almost. Except for the whole puking-on-stage part. And now, on the verge of a road trip out West that would lead him God knew where, she was still here—and still holding his hand.
You love my lady lumps. Check it out!
The screen flicked to an ad for Serena’s Tears. Serena stood in Central Park in a skimpy yellow dress, one lone tear glistening on her smooth, perfect cheek. Next came a shot of Blair, starring in her fourth-grade production of Annie, an enormous grin on her face. She’d refused to wear a wig and had chosen brown pigtails instead, calling it artistic license.
Next Nate recognized a photo he’d taken of Blair sun-bathing on his roof, one eye closed in an adorable wink. Then there was a picture of Serena on the set of Breakfast at
Fred’s, wearing an enormous wide-brimmed black Bailey Winter hat, a triple strand of creamy white pearls around her throat, blowing the camera a kiss. And finally came a photo of Blair’s and Serena’s faces pressed together, beaming at the camera, the frame so tight that there was nothing else in the picture but their two gorgeous faces.
Nate ran his fingers through his hair. The only thing missing from the photo of Blair and Serena’s smiling faces was his own face wedged between them. He’d always been there, in between them—coming between them.
Nate watched as Serena got up from her seat and hurried across the room to Blair’s table. The two girls stood in front of one another for a moment and then Serena opened her arms, pulling Blair in for a hug and resting her shining blond head on Blair’s shoulder. Blair turned her head to the side, and Nate could see the tears streaking her face, even in the dim light of the darkened room.
As he watched the two girls he loved holding each other and crying, a smile crept across his face. It slowly grew and grew and the rest of his face brightened. He pushed through the glass doors of the Met just as the lights went up and slipped out into the warm August night, running down the stone steps. They were the same steps he’d sat on with Blair and Serena a million times, their perfect legs extending from their short, itchy Constance uniforms, cigarettes and coffees in their hands. At the bottom of the steps he stopped and looked back at the imposing stone building with its brightly colored banners. He was going to think with his balls once and for all.
Uh-oh. Is he going to steal more Viagra?
Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.
hey people!
This late night post-party wrap-up is coming at you from the luxurious confines of my boudoir, cats and kittens, where I’m lying in bed wrapped in one-thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. I’m also scarfing the only surefire hangover buster—chocolate croissants from Balthazar. But none of this is nearly as deliciously or delectably yummy as B’ s goodbye party. All I have to say is, if you weren’t there, too bad. You missed out on the party of the year—if not the century. But I won’t rub it in your faces—too much. After all, there’s always next year. Or not.
Anyhoozle, I’ve just taken my La Mer ice mask out of the freezer and am ready to lie back in bed and depuff my tired lids, so this will have to be a quickie. And everyone knows that sometimes, quickies are just what the doctor ordered. Not that kind of quickie! Get your mind out of the gutter.
sightings
C and his new friend G are inseparable—and the party was no exception. Those of you who stuck it out until the bitter end will remember C and G dancing around a fast-melting ice sculpture—while C’s fuzzy white snow monkey stuffed his furry muzzle with gold-flecked cupcakes. . . . K and I in the Met’s bathroom stalls, their arms and legs streaked with white paint, taking turns holding one another’s hair out of their faces. That flight down to Rollins together is going to be brutal. B having her picture taken arm in arm with S on the front steps of the Met—guess those two kissed and made up—again. . . . Speaking of performances on the steps of the Met, how about those crazy Czech weirdos, doing their encore performance of “Ode to Love” at about 4 a.m.? Were they even invited? . . . N walking down Fifth Avenue talking in hushed, excited tones on his cell. Was he calling his dealer?
Dawn will be here soon enough, and you know I’ll be the first to report on what the new day brings when I wake up. ’Night, all.
You know you love me.
gossip girl
all aboard—or not
Tick-tock, tick-tock . . .
Blair stood beneath the giant clock atop the information booth in the middle of Grand Central Station, searching the crowd impatiently for Nate. The main hall of Grand Central was mass pandemonium. Travelers rushed to their trains, suitcases dragging behind them, seemingly oblivious to the train station’s elegant beauty. Grand Central was so much nicer than any other station in the world, with its marble floors, gold leaf molding, and beautiful sea green mural of the constellations on the ceiling. When Blair was little she’d loved searching for the scorpion, her zodiac sign.
Not that she was really in any mood to appreciate the beauty of the old train station today. As the impatient commuters streamed past her, Blair felt like the only person standing still in the whole place. She checked her watch again—not that she needed to, considering she was standing under the biggest fucking clock in the world. Their train was leaving in less than ten minutes, and Nate wasn’t there. She hadn’t seen him since she’d toasted the good news about Yale last night with his dad. He’d disappeared at the end of the party, presumably to go home and pack. Of course, he was bound to bring all the wrong things and forget his lacrosse stick. He was so totally helpless when it came to packing. Blair grabbed her cell from her black-and-white Balenciaga bag and held down the number three again, sighing as it rang and rang and then went to Nate’s voice mail. Again. What was the holdup? She couldn’t wait to just get on that train and watch the landscape change as they sped away from the city—and everything that she knew.
She straightened the hem of her fitted black Chanel dress, which she wore with black ballet flats and gold hoop earrings, a chic white hat in her purse. The outfit reminded her of Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina, on her triumphant return home from a year in Paris. Sabrina had left her home in the suburbs of New York a brokenhearted and shy girl and had returned a stylish, sophisticated, and mature woman. Blair had always been stylish and mature, but at Yale she would become even more so. She threw her cell back into her bag, tapping one of her ballet flats against the floor as she waited, and waited, for her Humphrey Bogart.
Serena hurried through Grand Central, her yellow flipflops slapping the marble as she ran. She’d planned on getting to the train station at a quarter to ten to say one last goodbye to Blair, but of course she’d overslept—the result of one too many flutes of Dom Perignon last night. She’d thrown on her white eyelet Anthropologie sundress and her largest pair of vintage white Chanel sunglasses. Getting stopped for autographs would only slow her down and make her even later than she already was.
Tough life.
Finally she spied Blair standing in the middle of the main hall, tapping her foot impatiently and checking her watch. Seeing her all alone, looking so small amidst the bustling throngs of people, Serena felt horrible for not getting there earlier. Blair looked so worried, craning her head to look over the crowd.
But where was Nate? Serena had assumed he’d be there already to say goodbye to Blair. She smiled brightly as she approached. “Hey! I’m so glad I caught you!” “Hey.” Blair’s forehead wrinkled in surprise when she saw her. “What are you doing here?” “I just wanted to say one last goodbye,” Serena threw her arms around her friend and hugged her tightly.
Blair’s tense shoulders relaxed in Serena’s arms. “Thanks. That’s really sweet of you.” She frowned and glanced at her watch again. “I shouldn’t even still be here right now—Nate’s fucking late as usual.” Poor Blair. It was just like Nate to keep her waiting one last time. Serena pushed her sunglasses farther up on her head. “You must be excited to finally be leaving though, ri
ght?” Blair craned her head and looked over Serena’s shoulder, searching the crowd nervously. “Yeah, but I just want it to get on the train and go already!” Even though Blair was being impatient and crabby, Serena smiled. No matter how much things changed, Blair would always be the same. “So, did you ever end up getting in touch with your roommate?”
“Yeah, she wrote me an e-mail. She seems okay.” Blair pulled a black Nars compact from her bag and checked her makeup. “She’s from L.A. Her dad’s a dentist.” “That’s convenient.” Serena smiled. Maybe Blair would be okay at Yale on her own after all. “You can hang out with her on breaks and stuff.” “I seriously doubt I’ll be going to L.A. for break.” Blair slid her compact back inside her bag. “Nate and I will probably spend vacations together.” Serena felt a little sick. Blair really thought she and Nate would still be together come Thanksgiving.
Blair pulled her cell out of her bag and looked at it, checking her call log before tossing it back in her bag again. “Knowing Nate, he’s probably still packing.” “Huh?” Serena demanded, totally bewildered. “What for?” “For college?” Blair looked through her bag distractedly, pulling out her train ticket. “I mean, I know he wears about the same five shirts over and over again, but I seriously hope he’s bringing something.” “But . . . you told me he wasn’t going to Yale with you.” What was Blair talking about? What was going on? “He told me he didn’t even get his diploma.” “Oh . . . right. No, my dad got him back in. I didn’t tell you last night? I guess I forgot once I told him.” Blair put her ticket back in her bag. She couldn’t stop scanning the crowd of commuters for Nate’s face, or checking the time on the giant clock directly above them. She was starting to get insanely nervous. Not to mention pissed off. If Nate didn’t get there soon, he’d miss the train. Not that that would be the end of the world—he could always catch the next one. But she really wanted them to have the experience of starting their new life together. And if he didn’t get there now, it wasn’t going to happen.
“What? No. When did this all happen?” Serena’s normally smooth brow wrinkled in confusion. “He didn’t say anything—” “Last night. He must not have had the chance to tell you either.” Blair pulled her cell from her bag with an exasperated sigh and dialed Nate’s number again. It rang and rang and then went to voice mail.
Again.
hello, goodbye
“God, Dan.” Jenny’s voice rang out in the early-morning sunlight as she dumped a big box into the trunk of Dan’s robin’s egg blue 1977 Buick Skylark. Even though it was only 10 a.m., the pavement on Ninety-ninth Street and West End Avenue was already blazing hot, and the garbage bins were starting to smell like rotting dog poo. Jenny straightened up, wiping her hands off on her jeans. “Do you think you packed enough crap?”
Dan scowled, taking a scuffed-up Samsonite suitcase from his sister’s tiny hands. “They’re books,” he muttered, gently placing the luggage in the trunk, “not crap.”
“Well, whatever’s in there is heavy.” Jenny was panting in the oppressive August heat, her white FCUK wifebeater streaked with grime. Dan threw a duffel bag into the back-seat—along with a blanket and pillow, his notebook, and a few bags of stale H&H bagels. He couldn’t wait to park by the side of the road at night and sleep looking out at the stars. It was going to be so On the Road. He’d even brought the audio book to play on the car’s outdated tape player. He was going to spend the next week out on the open road, looking for truth and the meaning of life.
This from the guy who couldn’t figure out his own sexual bent.
Vanessa appeared from the Humphreys’ ramshackle apartment building, holding a plastic container of Folgers crystals. She looked cool and comfortable with her shorn scalp, wearing one of Dan’s old black Raves T-shirts and a pair of his black boxers.
“Hot enough for you?” Dan called lightly, even though the sight of her was breaking his heart.
Vanessa grabbed a bag from the sidewalk and stuffed it in the trunk. She stopped to wipe her face on the hem of her T-shirt. “I hate you,” she mumbled grumpily. “Don’t forget this,” she added, handing him a half-empty Folgers container.
“I can’t believe I’m actually leaving,” Dan said nervously, to no one in particular, mechanically grabbing the coffee from Vanessa as his mom and dad stepped out of the apartment building and onto the curb. Jeanette wore a bright purple satin kimono with a large dragon on the back embroidered in gold thread, and her mousy brown hair was a mass of snarls. Despite the heat, she was also wearing her favorite pair of purple fuzzy slippers. Rufus was wearing an obscenely tight pair of electric blue spandex bicycle shorts, and a canary-yellow T-shirt with a colorful picture of a sunset on the front, that said YOU BETTER BELIZE IT. Dan was certainly going to miss his parents, though he wasn’t sure whether he’d miss their bizarre fashion statements.
“You two could help, you know,” Jenny commented, throwing an army green duffel bag in the trunk and wiping the droplets of sweat from her eyes with the back of her hand.
Rufus crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you think we had you two? Free labor!” He and Jeanette burst into peals of laughter.
“Oh, Rufus,” Jeanette moaned, composing herself, a note of sadness creeping into her voice. “Our baby’s all grown up!” She flew at Dan, the sleeves of her kimono flapping in the breeze like wings, and Dan opened his arms, resting his head against his mother’s shoulder.
Looking around, Dan realized that this would be the last time that his family would be all together—for God knew how long. He was off to college today, and tonight his mom was flying back to Prague and her boyfriend, Count Dracula. Tears welled up in his eyes and he blinked them back. His mom patted him on the back like she was trying to burp him. “Sweetie,” she whispered in his ear, “I know you and Vanessa are back together, and I just wanted to let you know that it’s okay—I still love you, even though you’re straight,” she sniffed. “You’re my baby boy, and I just want you to be happy.” Dan just shook his head. Why his mother wanted a gay son so badly was beyond him. But if his brief venture into homosexuality had finally brought her back to visit, he couldn’t really complain.
“It’s okay, Mom,” he said between thumps on his back. “Just remember next time you send a gift that I’m a men’s medium, not a kids’ size four, and I’m sort of not into pink spandex anymore.”
“Well, Dan.” Rufus appeared at Dan’s side smelling like curry and enveloped his son in a huge, hulking bear hug. “It’s time to begin the next great adventure of your life.” Dan held onto his dad for a long moment. He knew that when he woke up tomorrow morning, that wherever he was—no matter how beautiful and picturesque the scenery —it would feel totally bizarre not to see his dad padding through the kitchen making brussels-sprout pancakes, wearing his long white nightshirt and purple flip-flops. “And don’t forget to write it all down,” Rufus added, slapping his shoulders affectionately.
Vanessa helped Jenny fit the last suitcase into the oversize trunk and stepped back. Was Dan imagining things, or did he see actual tears in Vanessa’s eyes? She swiped at them furiously, refusing to look at him. He walked over and took her in his arms, running his fingers over the stubbly scalp he adored. He could hear the rapid sound of her breathing, and he hugged her even closer.
“I’ll call you every day,” he said, his voice trembling. “I promise.” “Me too.” She sniffled.
Jenny slammed the trunk of the robin’s-egg-blue car shut. “Let’s get this boat on the road!” “It’s not a boat,” Dan snorted, letting go of Vanessa. “It’s a 1977 Buick Skylark convertible, and it deserves some respect.” “Okay, Mr. Only Got His License like, Yesterday.” Jenny gave him a sweaty hug. “I was only kidding.” She buried her head against his chest, her curls bobbing up and down. “I’m going to miss you so much,” she said quietly as the tears rolled down her round cheeks.
Dan closed his eyes, squeezing his little sister tight. “You too,” he muttered, trying not to cry any harder.
> “But I know you guys probably have some stuff to um . . . do.” Jenny looked up at Vanessa meaningfully and then shuffled away, fanning her face with one hand as she joined Rufus and Jeanette on the curb.
Vanessa grabbed Dan’s hand forcefully, pulling him behind the car so that they could have some privacy. She kissed him hard—a little reminder of their long night last night—and then pulled back, grinning. She was sad to see Dan go, but they were together again—and she had some ideas for how to stay in touch.
“Not only will I call you every day,” she said, swooping in for another kiss, then lowering her voice to a throaty whisper, “but I’ll be sending you some movies, too.” She winked, her face wicked.
Dan blushed bright red. “Rated R, I hope,” he whispered in her ear.
Finally she pried herself out of his arms, and he got behind the wheel of his huge automobile. He slammed the door and Vanessa backed slowly away, joining his family on the curb. There they were: his crazily dressed father, his long-absent mother, his sweet little sister, and Vanessa, the bald, beautiful, love of his life. He jammed the key into the ignition, fighting tears.
The car coughed once, twice, and then . . . died abruptly. Dan closed his eyes. He couldn’t face another round of goodbyes. He turned the key once more. This time, the engine caught, coughing and sputtering, before coming to life with a giant roar.
He jerked the car forward, trying to remember everything his dad had told him about defensive driving, and watched his family get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, all four of them waving wildly and wiping their eyes as he sped up West End Avenue. His blood felt electric, and he could hardly wait to get out on the open road, to feel the sun on his face as it streamed through the windshield. Hopefully, by the time he found an Internet café, he’d already have a Vanessa Abrams original in his inbox. One meant for his eyes only.
Don't You Forget About Me Page 20