Apparently that was the only rumor she’d heard about him.
“What are you drinking?” Thaddeus shouted when their waitress approached to take their order. They were seated in what was supposedly the VIP section, but there was nothing to distinguish it from the rest of the narrow terrace, except for the fact that they had the best, most unobstructed view of the Hudson. At least they’d chosen the right night to drink by the river. Fireworks were going off all over, in celebration of something or other. Gay Pride, maybe? Or maybe there was a marathon today. Serena could never keep things like that straight.
“Caipirinha,” she practically shouted into his ear.
Thaddeus repeated this to the starstruck waitress, who hurried off to fetch the drinks that would probably be on the house. Thaddeus never had to pay for anything, but then again, Serena had never really had to pay for anything either: The notorious fashion designer Les Best had given her a ton of clothes when she modeled for his perfume ad, and guys were always buying her drinks or picking up dinner no matter where she went.
Guess stardom was in her stars.
Thaddeus idly drummed on the surface of the table in time with the Scissor Sisters tune that was blaring out of the cleverly hidden speakers. He stared out over the Hudson and smiled.
“It’s a great night,” he observed.
“It is,” Serena agreed. She was squeezed in between Thaddeus and the protective railing that snaked around the terrace. “I’m so glad we get to be out and not have to worry about going over our lines or what Ken’s going to yell at us tomorrow.”
“Fucking tell me about it.” Thaddeus lit a cigarette, took a quick drag, and then passed it off to Serena.
Serena inhaled the slightly damp butt—she’d already made out with Thaddeus on camera, so a bit of his spit didn’t bother her—as the waitress set down their drinks. Thaddeus slid her cocktail across the table to her. “A toast,” he suggested, lifting his pink cosmo into the air.
Pink cosmo?
“Definitely.” Serena clinked her glass to his. “To an incredible movie.”
“To an incredible costar,” Thaddeus corrected, cocking his eyebrow. “And an incredible debut.”
He draped his arm over the back of the bench and pulled Serena a little closer, resting his left hand on her left shoulder. “The fireworks are going to really get going soon, huh?” He nodded toward the river, where a small one had already exploded.
The DJ started playing a mellower tune, something by the Raves.
“I know this song!” Serena cried. It sounded familiar but she couldn’t place it.
“It’s the Raves,”Thaddeus explained.“I’m pretty tight with their drummer.” He reached over and took the burning cigarette from Serena, inhaling furtively.
“Really? I know the girl singing. Her name’s Jenny. We went to high school together. Wait, I think she might have dated your friend, the drummer, what’s his name ...?”
“No.” Thaddeus laughed. “I don’t think she’s quite his type.”
Oh? And what type is that?
Serena wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but she hadn’t come there to discuss Jenny Humphrey’s romantic life. She sipped her sugary drink and batted her eyelashes at the crowd of girls that had assembled just beyond the velvet rope bordering the VIP area. The girls, all boasting hideous blowouts and way too much eyeliner, were giggling and taking pictures of her and Thaddeus with their cell phones.
They’re probably going to e-mail them to some gossip Web site, thought Serena with annoyance.
Oh, don’t be such a ninny.
A massive round of fireworks erupted with a violent bang, and Serena gave a frightened little yelp, burying herself in Thaddeus Smith’s warm, muscular embrace.
“Don’t worry.” He laughed. “It’s just noise.”
“I think our cover is blown,” Serena told him, gesturing with her eyes toward the gaggle of girls.
“I’ll never quite get used to it.” Thaddeus frowned. “I mean, no doubt some fuzzy little camera phone picture of us will end up in the papers.”
“Yeah, it’s weird,” Serena whispered, accidentally grazing Thaddeus’s ear with the tip of her nose.
“Do me a favor?”Thaddeus asked.
Before Serena could open her mouth to answer, he leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. The timing was perfect: over the Hudson a massive explosion of fireworks resounded with a bang, their lights twinkling and then fading in an instant. It was totally cheesy but totally romantic: a totally Hollywood moment.
Like, whoa.
n’s woman trouble
“Dude! Nate!” Anthony Avuldsen leaned out the window of his black BMW M3, honking the horn.
Nate was locking his bike to a PRIVATE PROPERTY ,NO TRESPASSING sign on the edge of Main Beach’s dirt parking lot. He was supposed to meet Tawny but Anthony’s appearance was a welcome surprise. After talking to Blair on the phone . . . he just couldn’t help but feel like he was with the wrong girl. Plus, he was about twenty minutes early.
There’s a first time for everything.
“Hey,” Nate called, strolling over to the driver’s side of the car. “What’s going on?”
“Not much.” Anthony grinned. “I was just on my way home from the beach, but why don’t you get in and we’ll go for a ride?” He reached into the car’s ashtray and plucked out a freshly rolled joint, waving it in the air. “Just a quick drive, you know?”
That was all the invitation Nate needed. He walked around the car and hopped into the passenger side, settling into the soft, cream-colored leather seat.
Anthony turned down the stereo and pressed a button so that Nate’s window lowered quickly. He circled the car around the parking lot and out onto the street. “Go ahead and start it up,” he urged.
Nate grabbed the joint, pulled his trusty Bic from his sock, and lit it.
“Good time the other night at Isabel’s.” Anthony reached over to take the joint from Nate. “Sorry you couldn’t make it.”
Nate exhaled a long plume of smoke out the window. He studied his reflection in the windshield: he hadn’t had time to shave that morning and was looking kind of stubbly. His T-shirt was filthy and his deodorant had given out hours ago: his jeans were grass-stained and dingy. He was sporting an incredible tan but still looked a bit unhealthy, probably because he hadn’t been sleeping much, and his eyes were a little bloodshot.
Is lack of sleep really the culprit here?
He turned to take the joint back from Anthony and studied his friend more closely: Anthony was wearing a pair of crazy printed Vilebrequin board shorts, some beat-up old flip-flops, and a pair of sunglasses. He had a tan to rival Nate’s but no bags under his crystal-clear eyes and he looked like a million other guys in the Hamptons: like a guy on vacation, driving home from the beach, having a quick smoke. Nate exhaled unhappily. The pot was great but it didn’t change the fact that he was tired, he was bummed out, he was . . . jealous. Why did Anthony get to chill at the beach all day while he had to work like a dog?
Maybe because Anthony didn’t steal performance-enhancing drugs from his lax coach?
Nate drummed on the windowsill in time with the old Dylan disc on the stereo and drifted off for a moment, imagining the ideal summer: he’d be at the beach, of course, surfing at Montauk or just lazing around on the sand, tooling around in his dad’s Aston Martin convertible, smoking with Anthony and his other friends from the lacrosse team, staying in bed with Blair until the early afternoon. Or maybe he’d take Blair sailing for a couple of weeks along the coast of Maine. Teach her how to fish. Eat lobster. Have lots of sex. Sleep. Have more sex. Go for a swim. Sex again.
“Dude, you there?” Anthony asked.
“Sorry,” Nate mumbled, coming back to reality.
“It’s cool.” Anthony pulled up to a red light. Three girls sauntered by in bikini tops and surf shorts. They were only about thirteen but they were still cute. “So what’s the deal with that Tawny chick, man? Sh
e’s hot.”
“Yeah,” Nate replied, passing the joint back. “She’s cool. I don’t know, though. Maybe I’m off girls right now or something.”
Anthony burst out laughing, choking a little on the joint. “Right, right. I’ve heard that before.”
“Shit, man,” Nate clarified. “She’s just no Blair, you know what I mean?”
“Well, there’s only one Blair,” replied Anthony in his stoner drawl, stubbing out the roach in the car’s built-in ashtray. He ran his hand through his beach-blond shag of hair. “So, you two getting back together?”
Nate shook his head miserably. He was stuck with life as an indentured servant. Blair was busy being a fashion maven. He’d been so stupid, always fucking everything up with her, always taking her for granted or mistakenly hooking up with her best friend or whatever, that he’d been blind to the reality that without Blair his life was nothing.
Looks like Blair isn’t the only drama queen.
back to the scene of the crime
Serena crept up the creaky metal steps to her trailer quietly— or as quietly as was possible in her clunky metallic silver Michael Kors wedges. She wasn’t even supposed to be there; the actors had all been released from their duties and the only people around were the crew responsible for striking the set. But Serena had decided to tag along with Blair that Wednesday—she wanted to grab the tiny black dress that Bailey Winter had designed for her to wear, as Holly, in the climactic party scene in the movie. It was the perfect thing to wear to her real party the next night.
Stepping into the trailer, Serena switched on the light and closed the flimsy door behind her. The vanity was still littered with makeup and hair supplies, and all of her costumes, lovingly labeled and steamed to perfection by Blair’s stalker/intern, were hung, an inch apart, on a rolling rack.
Gotcha. Serena grabbed the perfect little black dress. It was cut to fit her proportions exactly, and though the thin shoulder straps were covered with a subtle spray of jet-black bead-ing, it was otherwise sleek and simple. This was so much easier than shopping.
Right, shopping is a total drag.
Tearing open the plastic cover that kept the dust at bay, Serena slipped the dress off its hanger and wadded it up into her bag. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to just help herself to the costumes. Stealing it out of the trailer gave her a rush she’d only experienced one other time, when she was ten and stole a Bonne Belle bubblegum Lip Smacker from Boyd’s. A knock on the trailer door made her freeze, petrified.
“Who is it?” she asked shakily, quickly zipping up her orange Hermès canvas tote.
“Thad?” A thin, gorgeously tanned guy poked his head through the trailer door. His spiky brown hair was in artful disarray, and beneath his perfectly arched eyebrows his eyes were huge and green, with long, beautiful lashes. He wore a snug black sleeveless tee and sported intricate tattoos of fish up and down his long, skinny arms.
“No, it’s me,” Serena apologized. “Thad’s trailer is the next one over.”
“Oh my gosh!” The boy blushed deeply. “I’m so sorry. I guess I should know better than to go charging into trailers.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” Serena relaxed when she realized he wasn’t there to bust her for stealing. “I’m Serena.”
“Oh my gosh, hi!” the stranger cried, skipping into the trailer, wallet chain jingling, hands extended, letting the door slam behind him.
So much for stealing clothes in the still of the night.
“Oh my gosh, Serena. It’s so good to meet you finally.” He grabbed her free hand in both of his and held it.
“Um, you too,” she stammered. He had the faintest accent that she couldn’t quite place and she was drawing a total blank. Was she supposed to know this guy?
“Damn, would you look at me? Just barging in here? You’re in the middle of something and I just swoop in like any gushing fan off the street. I’m so sorry. You must think I’m crazy.” The boy released her hand and shook his head, laughing.
“No, no, I’m not busy or anything,” she lied, clutching her tote close to her chest. “I was just picking up something I left behind.”
“So Thad said you guys are all done shooting?” the boy asked. “Do you mind if I sit? I’m gonna sit.” He settled into the chair in front of the vanity and crossed his legs.
Please sit.
“Yeah, we’re done. Thank God!” Serena tried not to look as perplexed as she felt. Who was this guy?
“It’s crazy work, but somebody’s got to do it.” He recrossed his legs and leaned back, studying her from head to toe. “But you look fabulous. Gorgeous. Just like Thad said.”
“Right. Thad,” she repeated, growing suspicious.
“Oh my gosh, I totally didn’t introduce myself. I have a tendency to do that. I just talk and talk, because I get nervous usually, although you’re so sweet and pretty I don’t see how you could make anyone nervous, unless it was some boy who wanted to ask you out....”
Serena blushed. Who was this person?
“And I’m still babbling,” he continued. “Oh my gosh, I’m so stupid sometimes. I’m Serge. It’s so great to meet you finally.”
“Serge,” she repeated. Serge? Serge? Who the hell was Serge?
“Serge. Thad’s boyfriend?” he clarified. “I can’t believe it’s been so long and we haven’t met before now. I’ll have to punch Thad when I see him. Keeping us apart like this. Ridiculous.”
Thad’s ... what?
“Oh, Thad talks about you so much,” she lied. “I can’t believe that we never met either.”
“I guess it kind of makes sense,” Serge admitted, grabbing a tub of concealer off the vanity and fiddling with it. “We’ve got to be kind of discreet, so most of the time I’m just sitting around my room. I mean, we’re not even in the same hotel. I’m holed up at the Mercer. But you know how it is—you’ve been posing with those photos with him all around town. You’re the sweetest. We both really appreciate it.”
Those photos? The kiss had been just for photographers? Thad had been using her? Serena slumped against the wall. She couldn’t believe she’d been so mistaken. She’d thought they’d had a real connection, but he was just a beautiful gay guy with an adorable boyfriend he had to keep secret. She had to sit down.
“Yeah.” Serena dropped her bag on the ground and took a seat on the builtin sofa, kicking off her wedges and curling her legs up underneath her.“Well,you know,Thad’s the greatest. I’m just happy to help out.” She sighed. It was almost the truth. She should have been annoyed or mad or hurt or something, but really, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t figured it out sooner.
Not that she’d gotten too many clues.
“I told him he was so lucky to be working with such an awesome costar. I mean, sometimes his leading ladies get so crazy and possessive they actually think they’re dating. It’s like they can’t tell the difference between fantasy and reality. I mean, hello? It’s just pretend.”
“Mmm.” Serena nodded.
“But not you,” Serge gushed. “You’re like an old pro, even though this is your first movie! I want you to be in all of Thad’s movies from now on. Promise you will!”
“Oh, stop.” Serena giggled. It was hard to be upset or hurt when both Thaddeus and his boyfriend were so nice.
“No, I mean it,” Serge cried, leaping out of his seat and throwing himself onto the couch next to her. “You have to come to our place in Palm Springs for the weekend. We’ll have such a ball! And if you’re interested ... I think I might know an awesome guy for you.”
“Oh, really?”That sounded fun.
And she could definitely trust his taste in men!
Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.
hey people!
I have literally five minutes to write this—I don’t know when summer vacation got so hectic, but between tennis lessons at Ocean Colony and cocktail hour on the
roof of the Met, I just don’t know where the day goes. Let’s start with your e-mail, because there’s only one subject on everyone’s mind lately....
Q:
Dear GG,
Do you know how I can get an invite to the big party that’s coming this Thursday? My boyfriend claims to be taking me, but I suspect he’s bluffing and at the last minute his Jeep will break down or something. But I really, really want to go, so I need a plan B. Help!
—*Struck
A:
Dear *Struck,
The word is they’re watching the guest list pretty closely. So hopefully your man isn’t bluffing—or you’re going to be stuck watching the limos arrive like just another commoner. Sorry!
—GG
Q:
Dear GG,
I was just in Amsterdam with my family and managed to sneak away to check out the real sights. After smoking some hash in a coffee shop, I swear I saw that girl J dancing in a window in the red light district. Now I wish I’d asked for a lap dance. Tell me it was her!
—Despr8
A:
Dear Despr8,
Sorry. Her parents might be alternative, but I’m afraid our J isn’t. She’s off studying fine art and maybe the fine art of fine boys, but lap dancing in the red light district and skeezy tourists are not part of the curriculum.
—GG
perfect your party small talk
A handy refresher course for all my fellow revelers. Enjoy!
1) You’re cornered by a lecherous, badly dressed aspiring director who wants you to come back to his place for a private audition. Your response:
Only in Your Dreams Page 17
