Sounds, um, fun!
Maybe it was because the schedule sort of reminded him of his life aboard the Belinda with Chips, but he liked waking up at 5 a.m. to milk the cows, then heading to the old-fashioned one-room schoolhouse to discuss Plato. He’d always half-assed it in high school, so this was the first time he’d ever really tried to study and learn. It was surprisingly satisfying. It was sort of like what Chips had taught him: that you have to own the work before you can own yourself. Chips had given him a ton of good advice. And now he was gone.
Nate sighed in frustration. It turned out he’d known he had cancer the whole time they were aboard the Belinda. Nate thought of the days they spent exploring the world, docking on islands that seemed almost untouched by man. Days spent at sea so far out you couldn’t see land, methodically fishing. Of their quiet dinners on board, where they ate their daily catch and contemplated the multicolored sunset. He’d had all the time, all the opportunities in the world—why hadn’t Chips said anything? His father squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. Chips had been the Captain’s mentor as well.
“Thanks for coming,” Captain Archibald said, shaking hands with Chuck, who had been standing at a respectful distance. Nate and Chuck had become close this year, and when he heard the news about Chips, Chuck had insisted that he come with Nate, for moral support.
“Well…” The Captain trailed off uncomfortably, shifting from one tan leather Gucci loafer to another. “I’ll be off now. You’ll be all right?” he asked, as if unsure whether it was okay to leave.
“I’ll be fine,” Nate said stiffly. He looked down and realized his knuckles were white from gripping the iron railing. He loosened his grip and held out his hand. The Archibald men weren’t huggers. His dad took his hand, but instead of shaking it, gave it a gentle squeeze before turning crisply on his heel, heading down the stairs and up the avenue. There was hardly any traffic today, as if out of respect for the dead.
“You okay, man?” Chuck asked, clasping Nate’s shoulder. Nate nodded, glad that Chuck had insisted on coming with him. In a crisp charcoal Turnbull and Asser suit with a white handkerchief in his breast pocket, Chuck looked like he had back in high school, but he still acted like the guy Nate had come to think of as his best friend at Deep Springs.
Nate squeezed his green eyes shut, hoping when he opened them he’d discover he’d been dreaming during one of his daily naps in the cow barn. But when he opened his eyes, he saw the dark, overcast sky, hovering above the Upper East Side rooftops. The clouds looked ominous, ready to unleash a torrent of hail that would destroy the white lilies outside the church.
A tear begin to trickle down the side of Nate’s nose. He squinted to try to stop the flow, but it was no use.
“Fuck it.” He roughly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Dude, you okay?” Chuck pulled his gold Gucci aviators out of his pocket and handed them to Nate. “You’re crying,” he remarked, unnecessarily but not unkindly.
“Thanks, man. It’s just a lot….” Nate’s voice cracked. Chuck had been surprisingly thoughtful this trip, but he hadn’t known Chips, and Nate felt like this was something he needed to handle on his own.
“Are you Nathaniel?” A tiny, elderly woman wearing a pink tweed St. John’s suit wobbled from the church entrance toward him on a pair of black Prada pumps.
Nate nodded. Did he know this lady?
“Well, aren’t you handsome,” she mused, smiling broadly as if they’d met at a charity event and not outside a funeral.
“Thanks,” Nate grunted. He was used to women of all ages commenting on his looks. It was just a fact of his life, like the fact he liked to sail and was naturally good at lacrosse.
Hey, it’s not bragging if it’s true.
“You know, Charles never had a son. I see why he took a shine to you. I’m his sister, Nan. He and I had our differences, but I won’t speak ill of the dead,” she clucked as she reached into her ivory-colored Chanel purse. “This is for you,” she said, thrusting a thick, ivory-colored envelope in his hand. “And, of course, you’re invited to the small luncheon I’m having for friends. It’s at my apartment. Shall I give you the address?” she asked expectantly.
“I’m afraid—I can’t attend,” Nate said haltingly, hoping he wasn’t being rude. All he wanted to do was go home, curl up in his bed, and shut the world out. He wondered if he had any pot knotted in a black dress sock stuffed in the back of his top drawer. He hadn’t wanted to smoke in ages, but right now he wanted to enter a deep pot-induced haze and never come out.
Nan gazed at Nate quizzically. Deep crinkles appeared around the edges of her blue eyes, eyes that if he looked at from a certain angle, reminded him of Chips’s. “Of course. Good luck, son,” she added as she tottered away on her high heels.
“Thanks.” Nate regarded the wrinkled cream-colored envelope quizzically. A wet snowflake landed on the envelope, smearing the N in his name. Now it looked more like Fate.
“Ready to get out of here?” he asked Chuck as he marched down the wide stone steps. He wondered if he could get a flight back to California tonight. “I think I’m going back to the airport. See if I can get back to Deep Springs,” Nate explained as they waited for the light to cross Lexington.
Chuck looked at him skeptically. There was a glimmer of how he used to look back in high school, whenever someone suggested leaving a party. “Are you sure about that?”
Nate stiffened, balling his hands in his jacket pockets. “Yes,” he said firmly. There was no one in New York he wanted to see. New York was bad for him—full of past mistakes and regrets.
In little black dresses.
The light changed and they crossed the street. “It’s New Year’s Eve. No way will you be able to get out of here. Just stay a couple days.” Chuck pointed out, trailing behind him across Eightieth Street. Snow was beginning to stick to the street, blanketing the city in a thin layer of white. “Besides, I’m having a party.”
Nate stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to Chuck. Didn’t he get it? He’d just been at the funeral of someone who’d meant a lot to him, and all Chuck could talk about was a party? “I don’t party anymore,” Nate said flatly.
“Too busy feeling sorry for yourself?” Chuck asked, briefly losing his patience.
Nate narrowed his green eyes. Chuck sounded like Chips. Nate could almost conjure the salt-sea air, standing on the deck of the Belinda, Chips angrily waving his tumbler of scotch out to an uncaring ocean. “Come on!” Chuck said, slapping Nate on the back as if to force him to buck up.
Chuck put hailed a cab. “You’re coming with me,” he commanded, pushing Nate into the backseat.
Aye, aye, Captain!
bohemian like them
“Is that it? Or was that just your winter-into-spring wardrobe? At least summer into fall might be slightly lighter.” Hollis wiped his brow theatrically and plopped down on the red hemp-fiber sewn couch. He sighed in exhaustion, as if he’d nearly broken his back. Really, all he’d done was help Vanessa carry her two suitcases of worldly possessions into the new Williamsburg apartment.
The new apartment, on the right side of the sugar factory this time. In a brand-new luxury building with a concierge. “Shut up!” Vanessa teased, perching on the overstuffed taupe ottoman across from him.
After Dan had kicked her out of the Humphreys’ last year, Vanessa had felt lost and heartbroken. Not to mention very, very guilty. Everything with Hollis had happened so quickly, she didn’t really have time to think about it; they had kissed once, and then they had kissed again, and then suddenly there was Dan, watching it all happen. After he told Vanessa that he never wanted to see her again, a tiny part of her had died. But there was nothing she could do to change what had happened. She had to look forward, not back. With nowhere else to turn, she’d called Hollis. They’d slowly gotten to know each other over long nights of falafel, cheap red wine, and Vanessa with no place to crash except Hollis’s bed.
For the last year, she’d spent most nights at Hollis’s Alphabet City apartment. But technically she resided in a curtained-off corner of the living room of a Bushwick apartment with Mackenzie and Rhiannon, two girls from NYU. It was a far cry from what she now called home: an eighteen-hundred-square-foot glass and exposed-brick apartment with its own elevator, black-stained wood floors, and a winding staircase that connected a sleeping loft to the sprawling main living area. It was incredible. She and Hollis had been planning to move in together after her lease was up on December 31, but she hadn’t expected an apartment so…
“It’s so big here,” Vanessa said, her voice echoing off the still-bare walls. Hollis had hired a decorator to furnish the apartment with the basics, but neither of them had put up any artwork yet. She couldn’t wait to find cool prints and stills together to put on the walls, and really make it their own. For now, she just wanted to run around the loft in her socks. Because she could.
That’s one way to dial down the maturity level.
It was all like a fairy tale, with Hollis as her indie prince. He hadn’t even told her how expensive it was, assuring Vanessa that her tiny contribution to the rent from her student job working in the digital film archives at school would more than cover her share.
At first, Vanessa had protested. It felt so terribly cliché. She was practically a kept woman! Although it wasn’t her fault Hollis’s film Between the B and the A, a coming-of-age story about a twenty-one-year-old’s spiritual journey, had been the darling at Sundance and a surprise indie hit the summer before. It was pretty obvious he wasn’t exactly living off a TA salary anymore. And Hollis had countered Vanessa’s protests by explaining that his success was her success and vice versa. They were a team. Even though it was sort of corny, she couldn’t help but swoon a little.
She wandered over to the large arching windows, where she could just make out the East River rushing by in the distance. She could hear Williamsburg denizens on the sidewalk below, just getting started on their New Year’s Eve festivities. Vanessa was happy she and Hollis weren’t going out.
There are plenty of ways to have fun staying in.
Hollis hoisted himself up from the couch and wrapped his strong, lean arms around her. Vanessa smiled and leaned back into him, feeling safe and protected. Before Hollis, she’d always been a teenager dating other teenagers. Even when she and Dan were serious, it had always felt to her like they were still so young, still so unformed. But now, Vanessa felt like an adult. And she was surprised by how much she liked that feeling.
“What are you thinking?” Hollis murmured in her ear.
“That I’m happy.” Vanessa tilted her chin up to kiss him, enjoying the way his slight stubble scratched her chin.
“I’m happy too,” Hollis said, pulling her in closer.
“And I’m hungry.” Vanessa pulled away, breaking the mood. She was in love, but Vanessa Abrams was never going to be sappy about it.
And we love her for it.
Vanessa skidded on her socked feet toward the kitchen and pulled open the Sub-Zero refrigerator, which was stocked with osetra caviar, Cristal champagne, and other presents from talent agents, producers, and A-list directors.
“Champagne?” Vanessa handed one of the bottles to Hollis. “And then can we order from Sea? I’m in the mood for Thai.” She watched him expertly open the bottle and suddenly laughed. “You know, the first time I had champagne was for my eighteenth birthday. The Raves played.” That was when Ruby was touring Prague with her band, SugarDaddy, and Blair Waldorf had moved in as a temporary roommate. Things were so different now. Ruby was married and five months pregnant. But back then, they all seemed so young.
A smile crossed Vanessa’s face at the memory of Blair living in the tiny, ramshackle one-bedroom apartment. She’d tried to class it up by having her mom’s interior decorator redo the living room in shades of lilac and celery, but eventually, Blair had realized that she’d never be a Brooklynite. They’d had fun, though, and Vanessa would always remember that time fondly.
Hollis opened the glass-fronted cabinets and poured two glasses of champagne. “To us.”
“To us,” Vanessa repeated absently. Her mind was far away, trying to piece together the events of her eighteenth birthday party. The night had begun as just a few friends coming over, but had morphed into an all-night rager, the one and only she’d ever thrown. She plunked down on one of the metal stools surrounding the granite kitchen island and furrowed her brow. “The Raves were obsessed with Serena van der Woodsen. And Dan was writing their lyrics and serving as front man. Or he was, until he threw up all over himself onstage.” Vanessa giggled at the memory. It had gone down in history as an anecdote she or Jenny would always bring up to annoy Dan.
“Wait, the Raves were at your party to hook up with that actress from Coffee at the Palace?” Hollis asked, ignoring Vanessa’s reference to her ex.
Hollis sat down across from her at the counter and ran a hand through his jet-black hair. His gray eyes were smiling. “You, Ms. Abrams, are full of surprises. You told me you were the girl with a shaved head and no friends in high school. Now, I hear you were partying with Serena van der Woodsen, getting the Raves to perform at your birthday… and you say I’m the one who sold out by working with a distribution company?” He laughed.
“No.” Vanessa shook her head and polished off the rest of her champagne. The tiny bubbles tickled her throat. Saying it out loud made everything sound so fun and carefree, but it had never really been like that. She’d been completely out of place at school; all the prim and proper Constance Billard girls had made fun of her Doc Martens and shaved head. Now, her straight, shiny black hair fell in a curtain to her shoulders, she occasionally wore black mascara and a smudge of lip gloss, and she had a wardrobe of skinny jeans, form-fitting sweaters, and colorful tops to offset her black skirts, pants, and hoodies. She would’ve had a much easier time of it at Constance if she looked then the way she did now. But even if she could go back in time and change things, she wouldn’t. Her experience as an outsider had made her who she was. It had given her the sharp point of view that led her to become a filmmaker.
“Most of the time, it was really hard. I mean, I was fifteen when I moved here to live with my sister. Ruby was out a lot with the band, but she had a bird named Tofu and seriously, sometimes he was the only living thing I spoke to all day.” She sighed. “One time we had this weird roommate, Tiphany, who moved in with a ferret named Tooter… and then there was the time that I got kicked out by Piotr, my sister’s husband,” Vanessa babbled. Once she started talking about some of the crazier things that happened during her high school career, it was hard to stop, especially since Hollis was staring at her with such intensity.
“Wait.” He grabbed her hand and stared deep in her eyes. “How come I’ve never heard any of these stories?”
Vanessa shrugged. “It’s not that interesting.” She’d never really talked about her past before. Not because she thought Hollis wouldn’t care, but because so much of her past involved Dan. It was kind of awkward.
You think?
“No, it’s great. Girl moves to Brooklyn and everything goes so wrong, it’s right. The ferret’s name was Tooter? You can’t make that shit up,” Hollis laughed. “It’d be a great movie. It’s gritty and raw and funny as hell. It makes me want to know more. I want to see it! I want to see it all!” Hollis began pacing back and forth in the kitchen, the way he always did when he was trying to work out the logistics of an idea.
“Are you going to make a movie about my life?” Vanessa teased, refilling both of their champagne glasses.
“No.” Hollis took the glass and cocked it toward Vanessa. “We are.”
Vanessa shook her head. Her life wasn’t a movie! It was just… her life. Tragic and absurd, she thought randomly. Dan had probably said that. But maybe that was the point. Her life-—her high school life, anyway-—had been tragic and absurd, but she’d gotten past it and was now happy and in love.
She thought of her high school self. Shaven-headed, self-righteous Vanessa would have scoffed at a film about a naïve Vermont girl who learns to tell people to go fuck themselves. No. Actually she would have loved it.
“Let’s do it.” Vanessa drained her champagne glass, slipped off her stool, and hugged Hollis hard.
“We can start tonight,” Hollis murmured into her now-shoulder-length black hair.
Vanessa grinned and kissed him softly on the lips. “I have another idea for tonight,” she said boldly, looking him straight in the eye.
This particular film will go unrated.
everyone loves a reunion
“Serena van der Woodsen’s here,” Laura Salmon whispered to Rain Hoffstetter. Isabel Coates nodded. They were perched on one of the low-slung black leather couches in the Bass suite at the Tribeca Star. The expansive space was decked with plain white Christmas lights, and large plate glass windows led to the terrace overlooking the shining lights of the city below. Laura had gained ten pounds for each semester at Wellesley and was now squeezed into a stretchy black Narciso Rodriguez dress. She looked exactly like her mother.
“I heard she got married to Breckin O’Dell. It’s still super secret, though,” Rain whispered back, taking a long swig of her vodka tonic. Her hair was pulled into a messy chignon, revealing a slightly off-center infinity symbol tattooed on the back of her neck. It looked like she’d drawn it on herself with an eyeliner pencil.
“I heard she’s pregnant. She’s due in June. Her agent wanted her to have an abortion,” Isabel Coates chimed in, straightening the hem of her black satin Marc by Marc Jacobs dress.
“Guys!” Serena called, pleased to recognize some of her old classmates huddled on the black low-slung couch in the corner. She’d been close to staying in tonight, tempted by the idea of ordering an extra-large pepperoni pizza and watching movies in her one-bedroom apartment on Perry Street. But she’d surprised herself by coming to Chuck’s party at the last minute.
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