Nate kept right on smiling. “What do you mean?”
Blair was too fed up with things to mince words. She got straight to the point. “I mean,” she said, “I’m not wearing any underwear.”
Nate stopped smiling. “Okay.” He rammed his hands in his pockets, fingering Jenny’s pen.
“You haven’t even wished me happy birthday yet,” Blair pouted, sticking out her lower lip. She reached out and patted Nate’s pockets. “And you haven’t given me a present, either.”
Nate’s hand closed around the pen, hiding it from her.
“Why don’t you ask that guy if he’ll take our picture?” he suggested desperately.
The Vogue photographer was busily snapping romantic shots of Cyrus and Eleanor in the back of their Bentley. Blair went over and tugged on his sleeve.
“Take a picture of me and my boyfriend?” she asked him peppily.
But when she turned around, Nate was gone.
Down the block, Serena was waiting for Dan to emerge from the chapel, just like she’d promised. He came out and shuffled up to her, his head bowed.
“Sorry about that,” Serena said, giving him a little hug. “Hope it wasn’t too weird.”
Dan shoved his hands in his tuxedo pockets. “It was okay.”
“Well I thought it was weird,” Serena said. “And I know these people.”
She seemed so genuinely grateful that he was there Dan decided to loosen up a bit. “You look really great,” he said.
Serena smiled. “So do you. Come on,” she said, pulling him over to a waiting limo. She pushed him into the back seat. “Let’s go get drunk.”
They had the car to themselves. Dan loved the way the leather seats smelled. He sat close to Serena. Their legs were touching.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Serena said.
Dan turned his head and their eyes met. The car was about to pull away from the curb. Serena had the feeling Dan was about to say something serious.
Then the door to the backseat opened and Nate popped his head in.
“Hey, guys,” he said breathlessly. “Mind if I ride with you?” No way was he getting stuck riding in a car alone with Blair.
Erik appeared behind him. “Me too?” he said. He tossed a bottle of peach schnapps onto the seat. “I brought beverages.”
Serena scooted over to make room. “The more the merrier!” she said gleefully.
Dan didn’t say anything.
He lit a cigarette.
reception ain’t no party
“You must be thrilled.”
“Congratulations, dear!”
Blair hadn’t factored the receiving line into her script for this evening’s movie, and her mother and Cyrus seemed hell-bent on prolonging the agony. Her face hurt from smiling, and she was sick of people kissing her and making her tell them how happy she was for her mom. As if. It was bad enough that she’d already been forced to pose for the camera with her lips pressed against one of Cyrus’s fat, ruddy cheeks. Nasty.
“She’s really cool to hang out with,” Blair heard Aaron tell someone. He was standing next to her on the receiving line and he kept telling people how psyched he was to have such a cool new sister. Blair knew he was being sarcastic. She wanted to hit him.
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, Blair thought bitterly. As soon as this receiving line bullshit was over, she was going to find Nate and have a serious talk with him. Didn’t he understand how much she needed him right now? Couldn’t he see?
“At least they got this right,” Misty Bass whispered to her husband when they passed through the receiving line and entered the elegant ballroom of the St. Claire Hotel, where the wedding reception was to take place. The room sparkled with silver, white linen, crystal, and candlelight. A harp player sat in the corner, playing discreetly. Waiters in white jackets distributed flutes of golden champagne and escorted guests to their appointed tables.
If Blair had involved herself in the seating arrangements, things might have been slightly different, but Serena, Dan, Nate, and Erik were all seated at the same table, with Serena sitting between Nate and Dan. Across the table from them was Chuck Bass, Serena and Dan’s least favorite person in the entire zip code. He had shellacked his dark hair back with gel, which was a new look for him. It made him look like more of a penis man than ever.
(Penis man, noun: An insensitive, arrogant, annoying jerk. Usually, but not always, short and bald. Thinks he’s the studliest dude in the room.)
Chuck was actually devastatingly handsome, in an aftershave commercial kind of way. It was his personality that made him a penis man.
On either side of Chuck were Kati and Isabel, still squirming in their too-tight dresses.
Dan sat down at his place and eyed the array of silverware.
“It’s not that hard,” Chuck told him snottily. He pointed at Dan’s soup spoon. “Just work your way from the outside in.”
“Thanks,” Dan said miserably. He wiped his clammy hands on his tuxedo pants. He should never have come.
The waiters brought the first course. Pumpkin bisque, in honor of Thanksgiving, and a big basket of warm sourdough rolls.
“So I’m confused here,” Chuck continued, dominating the table in his usual obnoxious way. He pointed his bread knife at Serena. “Are you with him?” he asked, jabbing his knife at Nate. “Or him?” he thrust his knife at Dan.
Erik laughed. “Actually, Chuck,” he said sarcastically, “they’re a threesome. Nate’s had the hots for Dan forever. Serena introduced them.”
Serena stirred her soup up and rolled her eyes apologetically at Dan. “Dan’s my date,” she said. “And he’s probably hating me right now.”
Dan shrugged. “No, I’m not.”
But he wondered what the real answer to Chuck’s question was. Are you with him? Well, was she? Was she?
Finally all the guests had passed through the receiving line, and Blair and her new and improved family made their way to the head table. Blair sat down between Aaron and Tyler, practically back-to-back with Nate. Blair couldn’t believe it. Serena and Nate were sitting next to each other at the next table, while she was stuck sitting with her family. Un-fucking-believable.
She leaned back in her chair to whisper in Nate’s ear. “Can I talk to you? After the speeches?”
Nate nodded hesitantly. He looked at his watch. Jennifer would be there soon. It was possible he could avoid talking to Blair altogether.
Satisfied, Blair tilted forward in her chair and scooped up her champagne flute, downing its contents in one giant gulp. If she was finally going to lose her virginity to Nate, she wanted to be relaxed.
“Easy there, princess,” Aaron warned. “I don’t want you puking all over me.”
“Why not?” Blair replied, holding up her glass for the waiter to fill. “It would be an improvement.”
Cyrus was reading from a stack of index cards and mumbling to himself, practicing his speech.
“Don’t be nervous, darling,” Eleanor said, patting his shoulder. “Just be yourself.”
Blair rolled her eyes and downed another glass of champagne. That was the worst advice she’d ever heard.
The waiters cleared the soup bowls and poured more champagne. Cyrus Rose was sweating like a pig. He picked up a fork and banged it on his glass. Blair couldn’t stand to sit there one agonizing minute longer. She sloshed champagne around in her mouth to clean it of any impurities, turned around, and tugged on the sleeve of Nate’s jacket.
“Let’s just go now,” she said, between clenched teeth.
Nate turned around and stared at her.
“People, if I could just have a moment of your attention!” Cyrus said, still banging on his glass.
“Let’s go, Nate,” Blair ordered.
Nate looked at his watch. Jennifer was coming in a few minutes. No way was he going to keep her waiting because he was off somewhere letting Blair cry on his shoulder. “But Cyrus is making a speech,” he said.
Blair du
g her nails into his arm. “Exactly,” she said. “Come on.”
Nate shook his head. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Just relax,” he told Blair and turned around.
Blair stared at the back of Nate’s head in disbelief. “What?” she said, not sure if she’d heard him right. Her bare butt itched from her dress chafing against it. This isn’t happening, she told herself. Nate wasn’t acting like an asshole, and he didn’t just majorly diss her. It was all in her head.
Cyrus cleared his throat.
“Blair!” her mother hissed from across the table.
Aaron grabbed her hand and pulled her around in her chair. “Don’t be rude,” he said.
The entire room was quiet, waiting for Cyrus to begin his speech.
“Thank you for coming,” he began. “And thank you for cutting your Thanksgiving plans short so you could be here.” Then he launched into the same lame-ass speech Blair had heard him practicing at home all week, pacing up and down the hallway of their Seventy-second Street penthouse in the same kind of cashmere pajama bottoms that she had stolen for Nate.
Blair sat very still, watching the bubbles float from the bottom of her champagne glass to the top. If she moved one muscle, her head was going to explode.
Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.
hey people!
NY TIMES WEDDING ANNOUNCEMENT
Eleanor Wheaton Waldorf, Upper East Side society hostess, and Cyrus Solomon Rose, real estate developer, were married today amidst scandal, gossip, and intrigue. They met in Saks last spring, and have been dating ever since. She was suffering from a major lack of confidence when they met, having recently been left by her first husband for another man. But Cyrus made her forget all that. He fell in love with her smile, her newly slimmed-down physique, and her huge Fifth Avenue apartment, and he wasn’t going to let them go. He also couldn’t wait to leave his plastic-surgery-crazed wife. Eleanor fell in love with Cyrus’s cheery outlook on life, his naughty Santa Claus sex appeal, and his incredible Bridgehampton beach house.
How perfect for each other could they be?
The bride is the daughter of seriously rich bond trader Tyler August Waldorf, now deceased, and society hostess Mirabel Antoinette Kattrel Waldorf, also deceased. She has two children, Blair Cornelia Waldorf, who is seventeen today, and Tyler Hugh Waldorf, eleven. The groom is the son of Jeremiah Leslie Rose, former rabbi of Scarsdale Synagogue, now deceased, and Lynne Dinah Bank, a retired interior decorator, who resides in Mexico. His son, Aaron Elihue Rose, is seventeen.
After an absurdly short engagement, the two were married today. The couple chose the United Nations all-faiths chapel for the ceremony, since he is Jewish and she is Protestant and neither wanted to convert. The reception is going on as we speak at the swish St. Claire Hotel on East Sixty-first Street. Dinner includes a dish called quenelle, which is a fish mousse and is quite likely to make you very sick if you mix it with too much champagne. The couple will honeymoon on a yacht in the Caribbean for a month, leaving their children to fend for themselves at home while they are gone.
Hmm. That should get interesting!
The bride has taken the groom’s surname, as has her son, Tyler. Her daughter, Blair, remains undecided. “No effing way,” was her response when last asked.
Both the bride’s and the bridegroom’s previous marriages ended in divorce. It was all very scandalous at the time, but three cheers for them—they’ve moved on.
Better get back to the party!
You know you love me,
gossip girl
cheek to cheek
“I hope he’s waiting for us in the lobby,” Jenny said nervously.
“Don’t worry,” Vanessa soothed. “We’ll find him.”
They pushed their way through the St. Claire Hotel’s revolving door and glanced around the sumptuous lobby. Both girls were dressed in the little black ‘60s dresses they’d picked up for ten dollars at Domsey’s in Williamsburg. Jenny’s was embroidered with jet beads, and Vanessa’s had a velvet cat sewn into the skirt. She was also wearing black fishnet stockings, which was a first.
Both girls looked very retro and extremely cute.
“There he is!” Jenny squealed, making a beeline for Nate, who was sitting stiffly on a chair in the corner, gulping his champagne.
“Good,” Vanessa said, suddenly feeling completely out of place. What was she supposed to do while Jenny and her rich preppy boyfriend were groping each other’s asses? “I’ll see you guys over at the bar.”
She’d insisted that she was only coming along for moral support, but of course she had an ulterior motive. There was a chance Dan would pass by on his way to the bathroom or something. Then she wouldn’t feel like she’d wasted her time putting on a dress.
“Hey, Jennifer,” Nate said, kissing Jenny on the cheek and taking her hand.
“Hey,” Jenny said, her eyes wide with excitement. She took in Nate’s shiny lace-up shoes. His crisp black tuxedo. His wavy, golden-brown hair. His glimmering green eyes. “You look … really, really good.”
Nate smiled. “Thanks. So do you.”
“So what do you want to do?” she asked.
“Let’s just sit down and hang out for a while, okay?”
“Okay,” Jenny said. Nate led her over to a loveseat in a quiet corner by the bar.
“Is it okay if I just have a seltzer or something?” Jenny asked, crossing her legs and nervously uncrossing them again. “I feel kind of weird.”
“Sure,” Nate said. The waiter approached and he ordered for them. “Two seltzers.”
Wow, he really was reforming.
He took Jenny’s hand again and put it in his lap. Jenny giggled. It felt weird to be in a hotel bar with Nate instead of in the park or at his house. She felt like everyone in the hotel was watching them.
“Don’t be nervous,” Nate said quietly. He lifted her small hand and kissed the back of it tenderly.
“I’m trying not to be,” Jenny said. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned her head against Nate’s shoulder. It was easy to relax when she was with Nate. He made her feel so safe. She opened her eyes to find Nate smiling down at her, his green eyes shining.
“I have a feeling I’m going to get in a lot of trouble for this,” he said, as if he was looking forward to it.
Jenny frowned. “How come?”
“I don’t know,” Nate said. He wasn’t about to explain to Jenny that his girlfriend, Blair, was in the next room, probably armed and dangerous. “I just have a feeling,” he said.
Jenny gave his hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“So,” Blair’s mother said, when Cyrus had finished his speech and the quenelle and organic leaf salad were served. “Cyrus and Tyler and I have been talking about our name.”
“What about our name?” Blair said. She poked her quenelle with her fork. “What is this stuff, anyway?”
“Don’t you remember?” her mother said. “We chose it at the tasting.”
Blair took a tiny bite. “It tastes like cat food,” she said. She shoved her plate to the side and picked up her champagne glass.
“Anyway,” her mother continued. “Tyler’s agreed to change his name to Rose. And I’ve already done it. So that leaves you, Blair.”
Blair kicked her chair leg. This wasn’t the first time the subject had come up. “You’re changing yours?” she asked her brother incredulously.
Tyler nodded. “I decided to, yeah. Tyler Rose, It sounds cool, doesn’t it? Like a DJ or something.”
“Definitely,” Aaron agreed. He lowered his voice. “Laying on the phat beats it’s Tyler Rose, coming to you live from Seventy-second Street.”
“Shut up,” Blair mumbled. As if her middle name weren’t’ lame enough, now they were trying to stick her with an even lamer new last name? Blair Cornelia Rose—no fucking way. “I tol
d you before. I’m not changing it,” she said.
Her mother’s face fell. “Oh, Blair. It’d be so nice if we all shared a name. Like a real family.”
“No,” Blair insisted.
Cyrus gave her a sympathetic smile. “It would mean a lot to me and your mother if you’d at least think about it some more,” he said.
Blair pressed her lips together to keep from screaming in outrage. What part of “no” didn’t they understand? She turned around to look for Nate, but his chair was … empty. Oh, why was everything such a fucking mess?
“Sorry,” she said bitterly. The quenelle rose up in her throat, mingling fizzily with the liters of champagne she’d already consumed. Blair clapped her hand over her mouth and quickly fled the table.
Serena and Erik were making food sculptures with their quenelle. It was too nasty to eat, and the band hadn’t started playing yet, so there was nothing else to do. Erik had stolen Nate’s plate, and they’d stuck the three fish-shaped quenelles on top of each other, linking them together with two cocktail straws. Erik knew how to do this because he was studying architecture at Brown.
Dan actually liked the quenelle. He ate it very slowly, gathering courage for what he was about to do.
“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” he finally asked Serena, putting his hand on the table beside her plate to get her attention.
“Sure,” she said, turning around.
“Don’t mind me,” Erik said, sandbagging their quenelle stack with balls of butter. “I’ve got work to do.”
“What’s up?” Serena said. She tucked her hair behind her ears and leaned toward Dan, giving him her complete attention.
Dan looked into her nearly navy blue eyes and tried to find what he was looking for. Something that would tell him he’d been silly to worry. That she loved him just as much as he loved her. He couldn’t see anything but blue.
“I just wanted to say that I didn’t mean to … I didn’t want … when I sent you that poem, I thought …” Dan didn’t know what he was trying to say. It sounded like he was apologizing, and he wasn’t sorry. He wasn’t sorry about anything but the fact that Serena’s eyes were still blue, and nothing more.