Gossip Girl

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  There’s a first time for everything.

  Besides, what was the point of even trying anymore, Blair thought as she took a gulp of her drink, then hiccupped. She knew drinking away her sorrows wasn’t exactly ideal, but she didn’t want to face her gigantic shitstorm of a life right now. Her relationship was ruined. She hated Serena. Nate was just a dumb, horny boy, and the thing that sucked about that was that she’d known it for years. And she had no idea where the fuck she’d even live when she got back to Yale. Would she be homeless?

  Maybe she should just move to another country and start all over again.

  She drained the rest of her drink and switched out the light. Maybe if she lay still and focused on breathing in and out, she could at least fall asleep for a few hours. Then tomorrow would be a new day. She’d make herself leave the hotel, buy a pretty orange leather Hermès notebook, sit in Amaranth, order a vodka gimlet, and write a to-do list. She always used to make to-do lists for class, and they helped keep her on track. Maybe she’d also buy herself a bag from Hermès, just as a congratulatory present for making it through what was probably the worst winter vacation anyone had ever had.

  Just as she was falling asleep, she was aware of the sound of the door clicking open. It was either Pete or a serial killer. And really, what did she have to lose either way?

  Blair quickly adjusted the straps of her Cosabella tank top and folded her hands by her head, as if she’d just moved in her sleep. If it was Pete, she wanted him to see her sleeping sweetly. He’d soften and profess his love, thinking that she couldn’t hear. Then, he’d kiss her awake, like the prince waking Sleeping Beauty, and they’d live happily ever after.

  And if it’s a serial killer?

  Blair felt a warm hand on her hip, just above her La Perla boy-cut panties. She murmured slightly, nestling into the warm body settling in next to her. She smelled the scent of L’Occitane soap and a little bit of pot. As soon as she inhaled, a tingly feeling shot through her. It smelled like Nate. Nate had somehow sensed her distress, and come for her. Maybe this was all a dream, but at this point, she’d take dream Nate. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to wake up and break the spell.

  “You’re my East, my West, my North, my South. Blair, you’re my girl,” the voice said hoarsely.

  Blair bolted upright and reached for the lamp. Bright light filled the room. There, wearing a pair of rumpled khakis and a misbuttoned dark blue Ralph Lauren shirt, was Nate. Real Nate. Not Dream Nate.

  “What the fuck?” Blair’s heart was hammering in her chest. She yanked the duvet cover around her body and covered herself.

  Not like he hasn’t seen it all before.

  “You’re beautiful,” Nate said slowly. His large green eyes were hazy and his hair was sticking up on one side.

  “You’re drunk and high and you need to get out of here,” Blair said shortly.

  “I love you,” Nate said simply. He propped his head up on his hand and continued to gaze at Blair. “I needed to see you.”

  “Oh,” Blair considered, still blinking in the bright light. What was she supposed to say to that? She felt like she was watching a foreign film whose subtitles had suddenly stopped running. “How did you know I was here?” she finally asked. Nate was obviously hammered, but he looked so sincere and innocent lying on his side, as if they were back in high school. It made her want to punch him, then hug him, then push his hair back and tell him everything would be all right. She appraised him again. Maybe after he took a shower.

  The door clicked open, shedding amber light from the hallway onto the off-white rug.

  “Blair?”

  Blair whirled around to see Pete standing in the doorframe, holding a bouquet of red roses. His face drained of color as his blue eyes flicked between Blair and Nate. He opened and closed his mouth, like a goldfish.

  “Pete!” Blair squeaked.

  He exhaled loudly, the sound of his breath filling the room and morphing into a strangled cry. He hurled the flowers to the ground and an explosion of red petals scattered on the thick blue carpet.

  “I can explain,” Blair said in horror. She knew how bad this looked. She knew there really wasn’t a logical explanation. But she needed Pete to know this was a total misunderstanding. “Please listen,” Blair choked out, diving toward Pete.

  “You’re in bed with that asshole?” Pete asked. And then he laughed, one short, angry bark. “Of course you are.” He shook his head.

  “No,” she protested. She felt like she was going to throw up. This could not be happening. Please believe me, she silently begged. “He’s drunk and he just found me. He just came in like two seconds ago. I thought he was you.”

  Pete shook his head sadly, as if Blair’s explanation was so ridiculous he felt embarrassed even to be hearing it.

  “Dude, sorry,” Nate said, trying to stand up. He understood this was bad. He didn’t want Blair to go back to that other guy, but he also didn’t want to hurt her. And now he was, and it was all so fucking confusing. His foot got caught in a tangle of sheets and he face-planted on the floor.

  Karma’s a bitch.

  “You deserve each other,” Pete said, turning on his heel and slamming the door. Blair could hear his footsteps tromping down the hall. The elevator whooshed open and he was gone. She turned and gazed down at Nate, pathetically collapsed in a pile.

  “Fuck you,” she whispered, her eyes finally filling with all the tears she’d held in for the past day. Every time. Every time. Every time she was almost happy, Nate managed to fuck it up. Even worse, every time she managed to fall for it.

  “But Blair…” Nate struggled to his feet.

  Suddenly, she felt the vodka sodas from earlier swirling in her stomach and knew she was going to throw up. Just like always. She felt like a confused and lonely fifteen-year-old. And it was all Nate’s fault.

  She ran into the bathroom, kneeled down, and retched into the toilet bowl again and again. When she was finished, she leaned her forehead against the cool whiteness of the toilet seat, knowing she looked as pathetic as she felt.

  “You okay?” she heard from the other side of the door. Nate’s voice sounded whiny, the way it sometimes did when he was really, really baked. That was what gave her the motivation to stand up, splash her face with water, vigorously brush her teeth with her imported Marvis toothpaste, and emerge from the bathroom. Nate was standing at the door, his hands at his sides, shifting from foot to foot.

  “Blair—” he began.

  “Get out!” Blair yelled with every force of her being. “You’re bad for me. I never want to see you again.” She opened the door, her whole body shaking, but Nate just stood there.

  “Fine,” she said. “If you won’t leave, I will.” And with that she was gone.

  Sometimes misery doesn’t love company.

  puppy love

  Vanessa banged around the kitchen of the loft, feeling like an angry housewife. It was almost ten o’clock and she hadn’t heard from Hollis since she stormed out of their pitch meeting. No, scratch that. Since she stormed out of his pitch meeting. She pulled out a mug from the cabinet and boiled water to make tea. She wasn’t one of those people who drank when she was upset, so organic chai would have to do.

  The worst thing about it was that she’d done this to herself. She used to be a shaven-headed, black-garbed, kick-ass filmmaker who always wore steel-toe boots and didn’t put up with shit from anyone. Now she was this needy girlfriend type without any projects of her own, without an apartment of her own, and with no one she could even talk to. Last year, Vanessa had spent practically every Friday night with the other NYU film majors at Bushwick Country Club, a Williamsburg bar with mini golf. But ever since she and Hollis had become serious, it had become harder and harder to carve out time to meet with her old friends. She considered calling her sister, Ruby, but all she and Piotr could talk about was whether the fetus was the size of a gerbil or an avocado.

  She heard the whir of the elevator and felt her s
tomach twist in contempt. What the fuck was the point of living in Brooklyn if you had an elevator leading straight to your apartment?

  “Hey.” Hollis sheepishly walked into the apartment, holding a box of Franzia wine out like a peace offering. In his other hand was a leash—attached to a brown and white puppy. The wine was an inside joke, since one of their first dates had been at a tiny Chinese restaurant that served free boxed wine.

  And the puppy?

  “Celebrating your new deal?” Vanessa refused to take the wine from his hands or even ask about the dog. She grabbed her mug of tea and walked into their newly set-up corner office. One side was hers, the other his. She opened her MacBook Pro and clicked onto the apartment listings on Craigslist. She didn’t really want to move or break up with Hollis, but she didn’t know what else to do.

  “Don’t be mad.” Hollis put his hands on Vanessa’s shoulders and whirled her Aeron chair around so she faced him. His gray eyes were wide with concern, and his chin had a tiny bit of the five o’clock stubble that Vanessa had always found so sexy. “I have someone for you to meet. This is Norma Desmond. She sort of has this diva-ish personality, but I think there’s a lot going on beneath the surface. She’s certainly a charmer.” He scooped up the tiny puppy and waved its paw at her.

  “You decided to get a dog. Any other decisions you made today that you didn’t tell me about?” Vanessa asked crisply. She gazed down at Norma, who was shaking her tiny butt uncontrollably. The name was from Sunset Boulevard, a film Vanessa and Hollis both loved.

  “Look, Vanessa, I know you’re mad. I’m really, really sorry about the way everything went down. I should never have had you pitch the film to Streetscape.” Hollis’s eyes looked so sweet and sincere that Vanessa wanted to believe him.

  “So then why were you going along with them? Why didn’t you leave with me?” Vanessa asked sharply. She glanced down at her beat-up Doc Martens so she wouldn’t have to look at his face when he lied. She willed her boots not to kick him.

  “Because Streetscape has changed. I realized that when I saw it was Stacy handling the meeting. Stacy is under a lot of pressure to make movies that will sell. Before, no one knew who she was, so she could afford to take risks. Now, she’s known in Hollywood and she’s scared shitless. That’s why she called that other exec in. I know the demo talk is bullshit, but it’s the formula that works. I mean, I’m still building my career and they’re the best and I trust them, but I know they’re not the best for you,” Hollis explained. “And I just got Norma because I felt so guilty and she’s so cute. She’s part chow and part poodle. She’s a choodle,” Hollis explained proudly. “And I wanted to see you smile.”

  The puppy was adorable, and Vanessa fought a smile. She didn’t want to be won over so easily. “Why did you even set up the meeting?”

  “I got excited. I love your story,” Hollis said earnestly. “But what they want to do isn’t your movie. Once I saw how off-track they were getting, I pushed them away from your idea on purpose. I didn’t want you to wind up making a movie that would compromise your vision.”

  “Really?” Vanessa grinned shyly. Now that she thought about it, Hollis hadn’t really spoken up at the meeting until after the story had gotten so off-track—and after Stacy had made it clear she wasn’t going to have it any other way.

  “Of course. So they want me to direct the film. It’s on location—in Iceland. And I’ll have to go to Australia too, to cast the Maoris. The twin kids evolved into a whole family, like Cheaper by the Dozen but with Maoris, in Iceland. But I told them I needed to think about it. I’ll drop it in a second if you want me to.” Hollis gazed down at Vanessa.

  Vanessa glanced around the apartment—the brand-new ecochic furniture, the clean, bare walls they hadn’t decorated, the expansive living room they planned to throw so many dinner parties in. If Hollis went to Iceland, it would be a long time before they really lived in this apartment together. But dropping a Streetscape project was equivalent to career suicide.

  Just then, Norma whined plaintively. “Well, I’m going to take Norma’s protest as a no,” Hollis shrugged, scooping up the puppy.

  “No.” Vanessa shook her head definitively. They had plenty of time to build a life together. After all, she was only a sophomore. “You need to do it. I want you to do it—we both do.” Vanessa reached for the puppy and buried her nose in its soft and fluffy fur. “How long will you be gone?” she asked.

  “A few months. But you can come to Reykjavík whenever you want. I mean, you need to. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

  “You’re not gone yet,” Vanessa murmured. It was a lot to process. She was sad, but not upset. Yes, Hollis was leaving, but somehow, their relationship seemed stronger than ever—strong enough to stand the distance. And maybe a few months apart would be good for her, too. She could concentrate on her own work.

  “Thanks for bringing me a friend,” she added, still cuddling with the puppy.

  “I’ll miss you guys,” Hollis said huskily. He kissed Vanessa’s forehead, then the puppy’s. “Take care of each other. You two are my family now.”

  Vanessa smiled. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? And a few months isn’t too long,” she insisted.

  Right. And Iceland isn’t very far away at all.

  on some nights, frenemies beat strangers

  “Vodka tonic,” Blair said brusquely to the Tribeca Star bartender, a pretty platinum blonde who looked like she’d never had her heart broken before. Unlike Blair, who’d had her heart broken—five? Seven? Nine times?—by the exact same guy.

  “Another one?” The bartender arched one penciled-in eyebrow.

  “Yes,” Blair said icily. It was her right to get as drunk as she wanted after the night she’d had. She pulled out her cell and dialed Pete’s number again. Of course it went to voice mail. Tears pricked her eyes. It was really over.

  Blair felt a tap on her shoulder. She whirled around, ready to tell whoever thought it was a good idea to talk to her to fuck off.

  “You okay?”

  Blair looked up and into the eyes of… Chuck Bass? What the hell? Where was his pinky ring? Or pet monkey? Blair had heard that Chuck had transformed, but seeing it in person was so shocking she almost forgot her tragedy of a life. His dark brown hair was cut close to his head, and his dark eyes looked serious and friendly at the same time. He wore a blue cashmere sweater, khaki pants, and loafers. He looked surprisingly good.

  “Hi,” Blair said finally.

  “Good to see you,” Chuck said enthusiastically. He slid onto the metal bar stool next to her. “Jameson on the rocks,” he ordered. “And we’ll also have a grilled cheese. And the hummus plate,” he added.

  “I’m not hungry,” Blair said shortly, hoping Chuck would get the hint and leave. After all, she hadn’t come down to the bar to socialize—she’d come down because her drunk ex-boyfriend was in her bedroom and she had nowhere else to go.

  “Well, in case you change your mind. You want to talk?” Chuck asked.

  Blair considered. She and Chuck had never really gotten along, but they’d known each other forever, and someone was better than no one. “Have you seen Nate this break?”

  “I have. He’s been a little… bent out of shape. Have you?”

  Blair nodded. “He thought it would be a brilliant idea to come here. To find me. And then crawl into bed with me. Which was fucking perfect, because five minutes later, my boyfriend came into the hotel room and got the wrong idea. So let’s just say I’ve had a shitty night,” Blair said tightly. She grabbed a cocktail napkin and began shredding it. Tiny pieces of paper rained down on the oak bar like snowflakes.

  “That’s rough,” Chuck exhaled. He stared into his drink contemplatively.

  “I just don’t know why he always does that. He always fucks up my life. He always has,” Blair said in a small voice. The tears started again. Chuck took another cocktail napkin from behind the bar and offered it to her.

  “You’r
e probably the only person he can trust,” Chuck said gently as the bartender placed the grilled cheese and hummus plate in front of them. Blair eyed it hungrily. She’d never been one of those girls who lost an appetite in a crisis. “Here.” Chuck grabbed half of the sandwich and held it toward her. For a second, Blair thought he was going to try to feed it to her, but he didn’t. She took the sandwich from him and Chuck pushed away her half-finished drink.

  “What you need is a bubble bath, some candles, and some chocolate,” Chuck said. Blair rolled her eyes. Of course. This was what the whole conversation was leading up to. Chuck just wanted to take advantage of her.

  “And I suppose I need company in that bubble bath,” Blair replied sarcastically, draining the rest of her drink and standing up. She grabbed the bar counter for support, feeling shaky.

  “Look, you can stay upstairs in my suite, and I’ll sleep in my apartment.” Chuck gently put his arm on her shoulder to steady her. “And tomorrow, we can go to brunch.”

  Blair wanted to shake him off, but she was too tired. Instead, she gratefully leaned into him.

  Upstairs, Chuck led Blair down the hallway to the Bass suite. “Good night, Blair,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”

  She may be down and out, but that doesn’t stop the boys from falling for her.

  if all else fails, move across the ocean

  Serena sat at a banquette of the Star Bar at the Tribeca Star hotel on Saturday afternoon, nervously chewing on a pink star-shaped cocktail stirrer. She wore a clingy blue Alice+Olivia dress and Christian Louboutin over-the-knee boots, her hair pulled into a high bun. She was utterly oblivious to the admiring glances shot her way, lost in her own little world.

  The Star Lounge had never carded, so she’d been coming here since she was fifteen, when she used to meet Blair for a drink before going up to Chuck’s suite. The lounge looked the same as always: black leather ottomans and couches surrounded the perimeter, and the walls were covered with shelves of flickering candles. It was only Serena who’d changed.