You Know You Love Me

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  Suites?

  Suddenly Blair had an idea. She and Nate could get a suite! What more perfect place and time to lose your virginity than in a suite at the St. Claire on your seventeenth birthday?

  Blair put her fork down, dabbed gently at the corners of her mouth with her napkin, and smiled sweetly at her mother. “Can you book a suite for me and my friends?” she asked.

  “Of course we can,” Eleanor said. “That’s a fine idea.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Blair said, smiling excitedly into her coffee cup. She couldn’t wait to tell Nate.

  “There’s so much to do,” her mother said anxiously. “I’ve been making lists in my sleep.”

  Cyrus took her hand and kissed it. The diamond blazed on her finger. “Don’t worry, Bunny,” Cyrus said, as if he were talking to a two-year-old.

  Blair picked up a dripping pancake roll in her fingers and shoved it in her mouth.

  “Of course I want your input on everything, Blair,” her mother told her. “You have such good taste.”

  Blair shrugged and chewed, her cheeks bulging.

  “And we can’t wait for you to meet Aaron,” Eleanor said.

  Blair stopped chewing. “Who’s Aaron?” she said with her mouth full.

  “My son, Aaron?” Cyrus said. “You knew I had a son, didn’t you, Blair?”

  Blair shook her head. She didn’t know anything about Cyrus. He might as well have wandered in off the street and asked her mother to marry him. The less she knew about him the better.

  “He’s a senior at Bronxdale Prep. Smart kid. Skipped tenth grade. He’s only sixteen, a graduating senior, college bound!” Cyrus announced proudly.

  “Isn’t that impressive?” Blair’s mother chimed in. “And he’s so good-looking too.”

  “That he is,” Cyrus agreed. “He’ll knock your socks off.”

  Blair reached for another pancake from the platter. She didn’t care to listen to Cyrus and her mother go on and on about some geek wearing a pocket protector who skipped grades for fun. She could imagine Aaron exactly: a skinny version of Cyrus, with zits and greasy hair and braces and horrible clothes. The apple of his father’s eye.

  “Hey, that’s mine!” Tyler whined, dinging Blair’s fork with his knife. “Hand it over.”

  Blair could see now that the pancake she’d taken had a finger-sized hole in the middle of it. “Sorry,” she said and passed her plate across the table to Tyler. “Take it.”

  “So, will you stay home today and help me?” her mother asked. “I’ve got a whole stack of wedding books and magazines for us to go through.”

  Blair pushed her chair back abruptly. She couldn’t think of a worse way to spend the day. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve already made plans.”

  It was a lie, but Blair was sure that as soon as she was finished talking to Nate, she would indeed have plans. They could see a movie, go for a walk in the park, hang out at his place, plan their night at the St. Claire….

  Wrong.

  “Sorry, I’m meeting Anthony and the guys in the park to play ball,” Nate said. “I told you that yesterday.”

  “No, you didn’t. Yesterday you said you had to hang out with your dad. You said maybe we could do something today,” Blair complained. “I never get to see you.”

  “Well, I’m heading over there now,” Nate said. “Sorry.”

  “But I wanted to tell you something,” she said, trying to sound mysterious.

  “What?”

  “I’d really rather tell you in person.”

  “Come on, Blair,” Nate said impatiently. “I have to go.”

  “Okay. Fine. What I wanted to tell you was that my mom and Cyrus are getting suites at the St. Claire for their wedding. And seeing how it’s going to be my birthday and everything, I thought that maybe that would be the perfect time for us to … you know … do it”

  Nate was silent.

  “Nate?” Blair asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “So what do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It sounds fine. Look, I have to get going, okay?”

  Blair clutched the phone to her ear. “Nate?” she said. “Do you still love me?”

  But Nate was already hanging up. “I’ll call you later, okay?” he said. “’Bye.”

  Blair clicked off and stared at the Persian rug on the floor of her bedroom, the pancakes churning uncomfortably in her. stomach. But before she could even think about sticking her finger down her throat, she had to come up with a plan.

  She wasn’t going to see Nate today, and they probably wouldn’t see each other during the week, what with her one hundred and one extracurriculars and his sports. And next weekend she was going up to Yale and he was going to Brown. She couldn’t let a whole week go by with Nate mad at her for shutting him down Friday night and her worrying about him being mad at her. She had to do something.

  If only she and Nate could have had the kind of romantic fights couples had in movies. First they would yell hurtful things at each other until she began to cry. She would grab her purse and her coat, fumbling with the buttons because she was so upset. Then, just as she was shakily opening the front door, preparing to walk out of his life forever, he would come up behind her and wrap his arms around her, holding her tight. She would turn around and look searchingly up at him for a moment, and then they would kiss passionately. In the end, he’d beg her to stay, and then they would make love.

  The real thing was so much more boring, but Blair knew how to spice things up.

  She imagined walking over to Nate’s town house dressed in a long black coat, a silk scarf wrapped around her head, her face masked by huge Chanel sunglasses. She’d drop off a special gift for Nate, and then disappear into the night. When he opened the gift, he’d smell her perfume and long for her.

  Forgetting all about making herself sick, Blair stood up and grabbed her purse, ready to hit Barneys.

  But what do you get for a boy to remind him that he loves you and wants you more than ever?

  Hmm. That’s a hard one….

  to catch a thief

  “So tell me why you’re calling me again?” Erik said grumpily.

  “Nice to talk to you, too,” Serena joked. “I’m just calling to tell you that I’m definitely coming up to Brown next weekend. I have an interview scheduled for Saturday at twelve.”

  “Okay,” Erik said. “We usually have a party on Saturday nights. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind?” Serena laughed. “That’s perfect. Oh, and I’m probably bringing a friend.”

  “What kind of friend?” Erik said.

  “Just this guy Dan I’ve been hanging out with. You’ll like him, I promise,” she said.

  “Cool,” Erik said. “Listen, I’m kind of busy. I have to go.”

  Serena realized that Erik was most likely not alone. He always had at least three girlfriends whom he slept with on a rotating basis.

  “You’re such a stud. Okay. See you soon,” Serena said and clicked off. She stood up, padded over to her closet, and opened the door to get dressed.

  Inside were all the same boring clothes she always wore. But she was going to college next year, maybe even to Brown. Didn’t she deserve to buy herself something new?

  She pulled on a worn pair of Diesel jeans and a black cashmere sweater, getting ready to go to her favorite place in the whole wide world: Barneys.

  When she got there, Barneys was already crowded with Upper East Siders who had wandered in, unable to resist. The buzzing, brightly lit ground floor, its glass cases filled with unique jewelry, gorgeous gloves, and one-of-a-kind purses, and its countertops littered with sleek beauty products, made every day feel like Christmas. At the Creed counter, Serena admired the pretty glass perfume bottles with the same delight as a small child in a toy store. Moving on to the Kiehl’s counter, she was tempted by a jar of deep-cleansing natural clay face masque. Of course, she already had enough beauty products to last ten years, but she loved trying out new ones
. It was kind of an addiction.

  Nothing wrong with that. There are definitely worse addictions.

  Serena was about to ask the man behind the counter if the masque was okay to use on her skin, which tended to be dry, when she noticed a familiar figure striding purposefully through the store to the men’s department.

  It was Blair Waldorf. Serena put down the jar of masque and followed her.

  Blair wasn’t sure if Barneys was going to have what she was looking for, but that was because she didn’t know what she was looking for. Nate wasn’t going to be impressed by a new sweater or a nice pair of leather gloves. She had to find something unique. Sexy but not cheesy. It had to be cool. And it had to remind Nate that he still loved and wanted her. Blair headed straight for the underwear department.

  First she found a table covered with an assortment of colorful cotton boxer shorts. Further on were racks of luxuriously soft terrycloth bathrobes and flannel nightshirts, shelves filled with boxes of plain old tighty-whiteys, and skeevy bikini/thong-type pants. None of these would serve. Then Blair caught sight of a rack of gray cashmere drawstring pajama bottoms.

  She pulled a pair off the hanger and held them up. MADE IN ENGLAND, the tag said. PRICE: $360.00. They were casual yet sophisticated. Handsome, yet so soft and delicate that the idea of them brushing up against Nate’s bare skin made Blair feel almost motherly. She crumpled the pajama bottoms in her hands and pressed them against her cheek. The scent of fine cashmere filled her nostrils and she closed her eyes, imagining Nate wearing the pajama bottoms without a shirt, his perfect chest exposed as he poured them each a glass of champagne in their St. Clair Hotel suite.

  They were definitely sexy. There was no question about it: She had to have them.

  Serena pretended to be very interested in a red terrycloth Ralph Lauren bathrobe, size extra large. It was big enough to shield her from Blair, and the rack it was hanging on was set up so that her view of Blair was completely unobstructed. She wondered if Blair was buying something for Nate. Probably. Lucky guy: the pajamas she was looking at were gorgeous.

  Back in the good old days, Blair would have asked Serena to help her pick out a present for Nate. Not anymore.

  “Are you looking for a gift for someone?” a sales guy asked, approaching Serena. He looked like a bodybuilder, bald and tan and practically busting out of his suit.

  “No, I—” Serena faltered. She didn’t want the man to start dragging her around the store, showing her things, and risk being seen. “Yes. For my brother. He needs a new bathrobe.”

  “Is this his size?” the sales guy asked, pointing to the one she’d been looking at.

  “Yes, it’s perfect,” Serena said. “I’ll take it.” Her eyes darted over to Blair, who was walking to the counter carrying the pajama bottoms. “Can I just give you my credit card here?” Serena asked the guy, turning to bat her long-lashed blue eyes at him. She pulled her credit card out of her wallet and handed it to him.

  “Yes, of course,” he said, whisking the bathrobe off the hanger and taking her card. “I’ll be right back.”

  “It’s a gift,” Blair told the man behind the counter, handing him her credit card. The card had her name on it, but it wasn’t actually hers. It came out of her mother’s account. Blair’s parents didn’t give her an allowance, they just let her buy whatever she needed, within reason. A pair of nearly four-hundred-dollar pajama bottoms for Nate when it wasn’t even Christmas didn’t exactly fall into the “within reason” category, but Blair would find a way to convince her mother that the purchase had been absolutely necessary.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” the man behind the counter told her, “but your credit card has been denied.” He handed the card back. “Is there another card you’d like to use?”

  “Denied?” Blair repeated. Her face felt hot. This had never happened to her before. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Quite sure,” said the man. “Would you like to use our phone to call your bank?”

  “No, that’s okay,” Blair said. “I’ll just come back some other time.” She put her credit card back in her wallet, grabbed the pajama bottoms, and turned away, heading back to the rack where she’d found them. The cashmere felt so buttery soft in her hands it made her sick to think of leaving the store without them. What was the deal, anyway? It wasn’t like the money in her mother’s account had just, like, run out. But she couldn’t exactly call her mom and ask her about it, since she’d lied to get out of the house, saying she was going to a movie with Nate.

  The man had removed the heavy plastic security tag, Blair noticed before she put the pajama bottoms back on the rack. She also noticed that there were lots more pairs of gray cashmere pajama bottoms left. Would they really mind if she just … took them? It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to pay for them. Besides, she spent enough money in Barneys. She deserved a free gift.

  Serena waited for the burly sales guy to come back with the bathrobe she hadn’t meant to buy and her credit card receipt. She watched Blair start to put the pajama bottoms back and then stop.

  “I’ll just need your signature at the X,” the sales guy told Serena. She turned around, and he handed her a big black Barneys shopping bag with the robe tucked neatly into a black box inside.

  “Thanks,” Serena said. She took the credit card slip and knelt down on the floor to sign it, using the box as a surface. Across the carpeted floor, she saw Blair crouch down between two racks of flannel nightshirts and stuff the pair of cashmere pajama bottoms hastily into her purse.

  Serena couldn’t believe it. Blair was stealing!

  “Thanks so much,” Serena said, standing up. She pressed the receipt into the sales guy’s hand, grabbed her shopping bag, and headed for the exit. Even though she had done nothing wrong, seeing Blair steal made her feel like she had. She couldn’t wait to get out of there. After pushing her way out onto the street, she turned up Madison, walking quickly. The shopping bag banged against her leg as she took in big gulps of crisp, autumn air. She’d gone into Barneys to look for something cool and fun for herself and had come out with a men’s size extra large bathrobe. What was she doing spying on Blair, anyway? And what the hell was Blair doing stealing things? It wasn’t like she was hard up or anything.

  Still, Blair’s secret was safe with Serena. She had no one to tell.

  Blair left Barneys and turned up Madison, her pulse racing. No alarm had gone off, and no one seemed to be following her. She’d gotten away with it! Of course, she knew it was wrong to steal, especially when you had plenty of money to pay for things, but it still felt kind of exhilarating to do something so completely illegal. It was like playing the villainous femme fatale in the movie instead of the pure and steadfast girl next door. Besides, this was just a one-time thing. It wasn’t like she was going to turn into a major shoplifter or anything.

  Then she saw something that made her stop in her tracks. At the end of the block Serena van der Woodsen’s long blond hair gleamed in the sunlight as she waited for the light to change. A large black Barneys bag was slung over her arm. And just before she began to cross the street, she turned around and looked straight at Blair.

  Blair ducked her head down, pretending to be looking at her Rolex. Shit, she thought. Did she see me? Did she see me taking the pajama bottoms?

  Keeping her eyes down, she opened her purse and dug around for a cigarette. When she looked up again, Serena had crossed the street and was fading into the distance.

  So what if she did see me? Blair told herself. She lit a cigarette with nervous fingers. Serena could go ahead and blab to everyone in the world that she’d seen Blair Waldorf stealing from Barneys, but no one would believe her.

  Right?

  As she walked, Blair dipped her hand into her purse and fingered the soft cashmere pajama bottoms. She couldn’t wait for Nate to put them on. The minute he did, he’d know exactly how she felt about everything, and he’d love her more than ever. Nothing Serena could say would get in the way of that.
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br />   Not so fast. Giving someone stolen goods is bad karma. It can work against you in the most surprising ways.

  stood up in brooklyn

  “Why are you here?” Vanessa Abrams asked Dan when Dan and Jenny arrived at The Five and Dime.

  Dan shrugged. “I wanted to see how Serena’s film turned out,” he said, as if it was no big deal.

  Yeah, right, Vanessa thought. More like you had to come worship Serena’s bony ass.

  “Serena’s not here yet,” she told Jenny and Dan as they looked around. The dimly lit bar was nearly empty, with only two twenty-something guys sitting at a table in the back reading the Sunday Times and smoking cigarettes.

  “But it’s one-thirty,” Jenny said, looking at her watch. “We were supposed to meet at one.”

  Vanessa shrugged. “You know how she is.”

  It was true, they did know. Serena was always late. Neither Dan nor Jenny minded, though. It was an honor to be graced with her presence. But it drove Vanessa up the wall.

  Clark came over and ran his fingers through Vanessa’s short-cropped black hair. “You guys want something to drink?” he offered.

  Vanessa grinned at him. She loved it when Clark touched her in front of Dan. It served Dan right. Clark was the bartender at The Five and Dime, the bar down the street from the apartment Vanessa shared with her older sister, Ruby. Clark was twenty-two. He had red sideburns and beautiful gray eyes, and he was the only guy she’d ever met who didn’t make her feel pasty, pudgy, and odd. All this time Vanessa had thought Clark had a crush on Ruby, her cool, bass-playing, leather-pants-wearing older sister whose band played at the bar. But all along it had been Vanessa Clark was after. “You’re different,” he told her. “I love that.”

  And Vanessa was different. She was definitely way, way different from her classmates at the Constance Billard School for Girls. They lived with their well-to-do parents in penthouses off Fifth Avenue. She lived in a small apartment over a Spanish bodega in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. She had grown up in Vermont, but when she turned fifteen she’d begged and brooded until her artist parents had relented and let her come to New York to live with Ruby. The only condition was that she get a good, solid education at uptight Constance Billard. Vanessa’s classmates didn’t quite know what to make of her. While they were getting their highlights done and shopping at Barneys or Bendel’s, Vanessa was shaving her own head with electric clippers and bargain hunting for logo-free jeans and T-shirts, which were always entirely black and entirely unfeminine.