your e-mail
Q:Dear GG,
So I e-mailed my new roomie, and she told me she’s from NYC and graduated from Constance Billard, and that got me thinking, OMG maybe she knows Serena van der Woodsen from Breakfast at Fred’s—my favorite movie of all time! My best friend’s movie producer dad screened it at their house a few weeks ago, and we’ve watched it, like, twenty-two times already! Did you hear that Serena is going to Yale? Guess what? Me too!! I so can’t wait to meet her.
—Crazy for Serena
A:Dear CFS,
Constance Billard is a pretty small school, and, on top of that, Manhattan is a pretty small island. Everyone knows everyone here—or at least, everyone worth knowing! You can be sure that your new roomie knows S, or at the very least has been at a party with her once or twice. Here’s a thought that might just make you pee your pants: maybe your new roomie isS?!
—GG
Q:Dear GG,
I just got back from Europe and I really want to score an invite to B’s party at the Met! Can you help? How can I get invited at the last minute?
—Missing Out
A:Dear MO,
Ah, the pain of not getting an invite—not something I can personally relate to, but I’m sure it really sucks. What I have to say won’t make you feel any better—but at least it’s honest: there’s always next year! So invite some friends over and spend the night watching Lost reruns. Your time will come—and sooner than you think.
—GG
sightings
A group of totally bizarro Brooklyn hipsters, doing a run-through of their “Ode to Love” in Prospect Park at sunrise. Practicing for something? There’s one invite we’re glad we didn’t get! And speaking of sunrise, a very intoxicated V and her soon-to-be-betrothed sister, R, were seen falling all over each other on their way up the stairs to R’s Williamsburg apartment—a long blonde . . . something . . . dragging behind them. C and some spectacled, cute geek at the Magnolia Bakery in the West Village, licking frosting off of each other’s pink cupcakes, and feeding C’s monkey spoonfuls of banana pudding, looking very smug and practically married.
pre-party planning
And you know what that means: it’s time to hit the stores. I’m off to stroll Fifth and take in more of Manhattan’s finest than my American Express black card can possibly hold. But, then again, it has no limits—and neither do I!
You know you love me.
gossip girl
s and b shop till they drop
Serena held an ivory Calvin Klein silk dress up to her slender shoulders, her blond hair falling over her back in a beautiful, tangled mess. The slick material draped over her perfect body like running water. Blair had tried that dress on earlier in the week, but it had looked like shit on her.
Jealous much?
“What do you think?” Serena turned to face Blair, her face flushed and glowing despite the unspeakably horrible fluorescent light of the dressing room. Blair didn’t answer. Shouldn’t Serena know by now that everything looked good on her? If she didn’t, Blair certainly wasn’t going to tell her.
“Ugh.” Serena placed the dress back on the hanger. “It’d probably look better on you anyway.” Blair rolled her eyes and stomped out of the dressing room. Serena had been tiptoeing around her since they’d met up in front of Barneys half an hour ago. First of all, she had brought her an iced latte and a fudge brownie—Blair’s favorite combination—and now there was all this ass-kissing talk about the dress. Why was Serena being so nice all of a sudden? Not that she wasn’t always nice—but this was overly, cloyingly nice.
Blair grabbed a Milly NY green-and-gold brocade print dress and held it up to her body, fluffing her newly extensioned hair with one hand. Her new golden streaks looked amazing against the metallic thread of the dress. Serena came thwacking out of the dressing room, her tanned legs extending from a short white miniskirt, turquoise flip-flops on her feet.
“Hey!” she exclaimed, walking up to Blair. “That’ll look incredible on you!” Blair stayed silent as she hung the dress back on the rack with a snap of her wrist and began manically flipping through a rack of Stella McCartney tunics.
“So,” she began, her voice casual as she turned to face her friend, “where were you yesterday? I called to see if you wanted to get your hair done with me, but I kept getting your voice mail.” Serena looked at the floor, the windows, at the rows of shining, expensive dresses surrounding them—anywhere but Blair’s face. Did Blair know what had happened between her and Nate? Had Nate said something? Serena didn’t think so, but she couldn’t be sure either. She’d thought that if she and Blair went shopping the way they used to, that everything would somehow magically go back to normal—in spite of the fact that absolutely nothing was normal anymore.
Blair had been in love with Nate for as long as Serena could remember. The problem was, so had she. And after spending the entire day and night in bed together yesterday, Serena was positive Nate loved her too. She tried to hide the ridiculous smile that was in grave danger of spreading across her face. She and Nate were finally, really, seriously going to be together soon—just as soon as Blair left for Yale on Sunday. Serena didn’t want to hurt her—that was the last thing she wanted to do—but she was ecstatic to have finally won Nate’s heart. Even if it meant breaking Blair’s. Ugh. Why did she always have to choose between her best friend and her boyfriend?
Um . . . because technically he’s Blair’s boyfriend?
“Yesterday? I don’t remember what I was doing,” she finally answered, looking up into Blair’s impassive face and narrowed eyes. Blair grabbed a black satin Dior dress and fingered the price tag. “I think I just forgot to turn my phone back on—and then by the time I got your messages, it was too late.” The haute couture department of Barneys was spare and intimidating. Light wafted in through floor-to-ceiling windows, warming the dark wood floor. Not a salesperson was in sight—Barneys prided themselves on their aloof, unpushy sales staff who turned out to be enormously helpful, but only when called upon. That was one of the reasons the girls liked the store so much. It was their home away from home.
“Huh.” Blair turned and walked at a brisk clip across the floor, her flat, delicate Dolce & Gabbana silver sandals barely making a sound. “Talk to Nate lately?” “No,” Serena answered quickly. “Not at all.” Blair ran her hands along a pile of electric-orange-and-robin’s-egg-blue TSE cashmere sweaters. Was it just her, or was Serena acting a little jumpy? She wondered if Nate had told Serena about not graduating and not going to Yale and otherwise ruining Blair’s life. “You sure?” She pushed.
“Not since, um, we did the slide-show stuff that day you caught us.” Serena laughed awkwardly and turned to rifle through the colorful Missoni knit dresses behind her.
Blair squinted distrustfully at the back of Serena’s blond head, trying to read her possibly evil, maybe lying, definitely-in-love with Nate thoughts. “Well, you missed Vanessa Abrams getting one hot makeover yesterday. You should really keep your phone on,” she finally said to her back. “I’m going back to look at the Prada dresses.” Serena followed Blair, trying to match her quick steps. “Vanessa got a makeover? How come?” Serena asked, grateful for the opportunity to change the subject. She stopped on the opposite side of the rack from Blair and started flipping through the chocolate- and mocha-colored Prada bubble dresses Blair had already passed over.
“Her sister’s getting married this weekend.” Blair lifted her eyes from the white silk Prada dress she was fingering. “And, you know—sometimes people just need a change.” Serena bent down and tried to make eye contact through a gap in the dresses. There was something else she was feeling guilty about not telling Blair. “Speaking of changes—there’s something I need to tell you,” she said quietly.
Blair pushed her hair off her shoulders and straightened the straps of her white Nation tank top. “I already know about Nate,” she snapped. “You don’t have to hide it from me.” “You do?” Serena gripped a plush han
ger with both hands. Blair knew about her and Nate?
“Of course I do.” Blair squinted, irritated that Serena would think for a second that Nate would not tell her, his girlfriend. “I cannot fucking believe he’s not going to Yale. Repeating senior year. He’s totally retarded,” she spat.
“Oh.” Serena looked at Blair, her navy blue eyes wide. That was a close call. “Oh! I mean that’s . . . that is awful. But that’s not what I was going to say. . . .” Her voice trailed off, her heart thumping hard against her rib cage.
Blair pulled a Lauren Moffatt houndstooth-print tunic over her head and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Serena stood behind her, standing almost a full head taller and looking nervous. She twirled a long blond lock around her finger. Blair wondered if Serena was finally going to confess to her about her love letter to Nate. Well, it was about time. Then Blair could forgive her and they could go off to Yale, best friends forever, and put all this behind them. Even if Nate had to stay in the city, at least she’d have Serena—and at least Serena would be far, far away from him. Blair took a deep breath and prepared herself to try and forgive her best friend.
“What is it then?” She moved on to the Diane von Furstenberg dresses Serena was practically hiding behind.
“I’m not going to Yale either,” Serena admitted sheepishly as she fingered a wildly patterned wrap dress, avoiding Blair’s eyes. “I’m going to defer for a year so I can do some more acting.” Excuse me? Blair felt like her brain was on fire. Not going to Yale, not going to Yale—the words spun around and around in her head until she thought she might pass out. First Nate, now Serena? She dropped the yellow DVF chiffon gown she’d been holding. The light silk fluttered soundlessly to the floor.
“You’re what?” Blair demanded in disbelief, shaking her head from side to side like she had water in her ears.
“I’m just . . . not going.” Serena shrugged. “I’m going to stay in New York and shoot the sequel to Breakfast at Fred’s.” Serena was staying in New York? With Nate? Blair felt the ground start to wobble beneath her.
Just then a group of tourists passed by, squealing and pointing at Serena, cameras hanging around their necks. The crowd engulfed both girls, and Blair was rudely shoved out of the way by a sharp, jabby elbow. They surrounded Serena in a mob.
“Thank you.” Serena blushed as she signed one of the tourist’s matchbooks from Fred’s, Barneys’ ninth-floor restaurant, about to become even more famous because of her new film.
Blair watched as Serena signed one autograph after another, bowing her head humbly and graciously without so much as a glance in Blair’s direction. How could Serena drop a bomb like that and then move onto her worshippers, completely ignoring her? Blair seethed, manically twirling her ruby ring around her middle finger, as the crowd around Serena grew. A man dressed in an avocado-and-vermillion seersucker suit kissed Serena’s hand, and a suburban mom took her picture with her Nikon Elph. Next year Blair would be just another freshman at college, and Serena would be . . . a movie star. A movie star living in the same city as her boyfriend. How could she ever compete?
Her sandals hit the floor with a rude slapping sound as she turned her back on Serena and her idiotic adoring fans. Damn Barneys. Damn Serena. She was getting the hell out of town, but no fucking way was she leaving Nate behind.
That’s what we’ve always loved about her—the angrier she gets, the more ingenious she is.
who’s your daddy?
Blair sat in the half-packed bedroom, surrounded by overstuffed trunks and clutter so deep that the pee-stained sea-grass mats on the floor were only a faint memory. She stared at the mess, her whole body shaking. Serena wasn’t going to Yale with her. She was staying here in New York for another year with . . . Nate? No way was Blair was going to leave both of them alone in the same city next year—she’d rather stab herself in the eye with the stiletto heel of one of her new Fendi boots.
Ouch.
A pile of T-shirts fell off of the bed and landed on the floor with a soft thud as she angrily flailed around. She yanked her shoes off and threw them angrily at the wall, needing to hear an even louder sound. How could Nate resist Serena when she was a huge star, and right here in the same city with him? No. It simply could not happen.
She reached for her cell and held down speed dial number 4. Number 1 was 911 for an emergency, which this was, but whatever; number 2 was for Serena—definitely not who she was looking for right now; and number 3 was for Nate, the completely effed-up love of her life.
“H-Hello?” the male voice sounded waterlogged with sleep.
“Daddy, it’s me.” Blair spoke tentatively. If she was going to get what she wanted from him, she’d need to tread lightly. “I’m sorry—did I wake you?” She made her voice small. There was a long pause, and she could hear sheets rustling and the click of a light being turned on halfway around the world.
“Of course you woke me, Blair-Bear—it’s four a.m. here.” Her father sounded slightly annoyed—not to mention sleep-deprived. The sound of the two babies wailing in the background reached her ear. She rolled her eyes in disdain.
“Well, it’s important,” she whined.
“I’m sure that it is,” Harold Waldorf said with a sigh. “But important things are happening over here too. Giles has been up all night with the twins—just the nastiest case of colic. We tried this fabulous new vaporizer, but nothing is working.” There was a pause, and Blair could hear the guttural cooing of a baby over the line.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the twins before now, honey. But it was kind of a spur-of-the-moment acquisition.” He chuckled, and Blair could hear one of the sniveling brats cooing again. “But let me tell you, it was the best one I’ve ever made.” Burberry baby bib: fifty dollars. Hermès Pacifier: six hundred dollars. Cambodian babies: priceless.
“Blair,” her father cooed over the din of baby-speak, “Ping would like to say hello—say hi to your new little brother!” She heard a rustling sound as the little monster was held up to the phone, and then a series of gurgling noises that sounded like the baby was drowning in its own spit. “Pong is still sleeping, but when she wakes up she’ll say hi too.” Blair rolled her eyes. Ping and Pong?
Isn’t it technically called table tennis?
“Daddy,” she snapped. “I need to talk to you!”
What happened to treading lightly?
“There’s no need to get snippy about it,” her father replied, rather snippily himself. “Just let me put the baby down.” Good. Maybe now he could pay some attention to his firstborn.
“You know how Nate and I were going to Yale together?” Blair plowed ahead, not waiting for her father to respond. She could hear the sound of him whispering in French to someone in the background. “Well, Nate didn’t get his diploma from St. Jude’s, and now it looks like he can’t go to Yale in the fall—they want him to repeat senior year instead.” “Oh, honey.” Her father’s voice was sympathetic now. “I’m so sorry.You must be devastated.” “Well, I was.” Blair picked up her Mason-Pearson hairbrush and whipped it through her smooth, chestnut-and-gold locks. “Until I remembered that you’re on the board of trustees. Isn’t there something you can do about it? Maybe talk to the dean of admissions and put in a good word for Nate or something? Everyone respects you so much, Daddy,” she said, back to her original plan of kissing ass. Her father sighed, and then there was more rustling.
“It’s not so easy, Blair-Bear. . . . I can’t just make a diploma magically appear.” He whispered something in French to Giles, and Blair momentarily wished she’d actually learned the language in her AP French class. “I’d really like to help, but I can’t just snap my fingers and make Nate’s problems go away. Besides, with the new twins and all, this isn’t the best—” “Daddy, you owe me.” Blair cut him off midsentence with an exasperated sigh. “First you move to France during my formative years, and now you’ve replaced me with these twins.” She took a deep breath and tried to stop herself from compl
etely losing it. Had everyone gone totally insane? First her mother had announced the family was moving to Los Angeles, next Serena and Nate had told her they were staying in New York, and now her dad was going to bail on her when she needed him most?
Blair heard footsteps in the hall, and suddenly the door swung open to reveal her stepbrother, Aaron, wearing electric yellow Quicksilver board shorts and a burgundy Harvard T-shirt, followed by his disgusting boxer, Mookie—who immediately bounded up to Blair and began covering her crotch in dog drool.
“Get off me!” she yelled, rubbing the wet, goopy places on her legs where Mookie had licked her. The dog trotted over to the corner where Blair had tossed her dirty laundry, picked out one of her pink Cosabella thongs, and lay down, the lace hanging from his jowls.
Well, at least someone’s interested in getting in her pants these days.
Blair rolled her eyes to the ceiling and threw a pillow at Aaron. He sat down on the floor next to the boxer and lit one of his foul herbal cigarettes, chuckling as Mookie ripped Blair’s expensive underwear to shreds. His normally pale face was tan, and his dark, short dreadlocks were streaked with copper, like he’d been living on a beach all summer. Aaron was annoying, but at least he didn’t look anything like his dad, Cyrus, who was the most revolting human specimen of a stepfather Blair had ever encountered.
“Daddy, are you still there?”
“I’m here, Blair-Bear—and I’ll try. But no promises, okay? I want you to be realistic about the situation. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.” The babies started wailing again, and her dad offered a quick “Love you, see you in a few days!” before signing off.
Oh, it was meant to be, all right, Blair thought as she tossed her phone down on the bed. You couldn’t stop destiny—and she and Nate were destined to be together forever.
“Thanks for the friendly welcome, Sis.” Aaron grinned and leaned up against Mookie, throwing his arm around the dog’s neck in a half nelson. Good. Maybe he’d strangle the thing by accident. Mookie offered him a wet lick across his face.