Because I'm Worth it (24 page)
“Mookie, no!” Aaron shouted. Everyone on the bridge, including Serena, turned to look.
“Mookie!” Serena squealed, crouching down to kiss the dog on his wet nose as he wriggled excitedly between her legs. “How’s it going, handsome?”
Aaron ambled over to the footbridge, his hands shoved deep into his green army pants pockets. “Sorry,” he mumbled to the crew of makeup artists and stylists.
“That’s okay,” Serena said, standing up. She broke away from her entourage and kissed Aaron lightly on the cheek. Her yellow dress was stenciled with iridescent blue birds and her lip gloss smelled like watermelon. “We’re just shooting a perfume ad. You can watch if you want to.”
Aaron kept his hands in his pockets. There were a million things she could have said to make him feel guilty for hiding out in Scarsdale and never calling her, but Serena was too cool for that. She was truly magnificent, which was part of the reason he had to let her go. It was too much effort to match someone who shone as brightly as she did.
“Don’t let me keep you,” Aaron said. He opened his tin of herbal cigarettes and offered her one. She took it and held it between her coral-glossed lips as he lit it for her. “Oh, and thanks for the roses.”
Serena exhaled, blowing sweet smoke into the chilly air. “We never got our tattoos.”
Aaron smiled tenderly. “That’s probably a good thing.”
A perfect tear began to form in the corner of Serena’s right eye and trembled on the edge of her lower lid.
“Let’s get this done!” the photographer shouted from his inflatable boat.
Serena turned to wave at him, her yellow dress fanning out around her knees and her blond hair flying. In that instant, the tear dropped onto her lovely cheek, a perfect illustration of every human emotion Les Best wanted to encapsulate in his new perfume ad. They’d have to airbrush out the cigarette in Serena’s hand and the goosebumps dotting her arms and legs, but you’d be surprised how easy that is to do.
After watching
The Great Gatsby
twice in a row, Blair clicked off the TV and picked up her phone. She was eager to talk to someone; to let the world know she was still alive despite everything. The thing was, she absolutely
dreaded
speaking to every single person she knew, including her gay, France-living dad, whom she had always counted on to cheer her up. If only there were someone else, someone new and different who—
Actually, there was
one
person she could bear to speak to. And why the fuck shouldn’t she call him when he had called her completely out of the blue last week while she was getting her hair cut?
She speed-dialed Nate’s cell phone number, and, to her surprise, he answered it.
“Natie?” Blair crooned into the phone. “I heard all about what happened. How
are
you? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, actually I’m really good,” Nate responded, sounding suspiciously unstoned. “My dad’s still pretty pissed off about what happened, and I don’t know how it’s going to affect my chances at Brown, but I’m still good.”
Blair pointed her bare toes into the air and frowned at the day-old cotton-candy-pink polish that she’d painted on herself out of complete boredom. “You poor baby,” she sighed sympathetically. “Rehab must totally suck.”
“Um, actually—and I know this sounds weird—I’m starting to kind of
like
it,” Nate admitted. “I wish it wasn’t such a haul to get up there, but it’s a really cool, modern place, and it’s kind of, I don’t know . . .
relaxing
to do something totally unrelated to school.”
“Really?” Blair fluffed up the pillows behind her and sat up in bed. Rehab was
relaxing
? Maybe it was exactly what she needed—a respite from the travails of her quotidian existence. She could picture herself wrapped in a downy white spa robe, her face lathered in green clay masque, her feet and hands stuck with acupuncture needles, sipping detoxifying herbal tea as she lounged on a daybed chatting to an attentive counselor in a white linen tunic.
“If you could be any sort of animal, what would you be?” the counselor would ask her. Nothing too challenging.
Rehab
. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Sure, there might be a little therapy involved, but she’d never had a problem talking about herself. And best of all,
Nate would be there
—the two of them alone together, away from the city and all its messy baggage. She’d always dreamed of spending a weekend with Nate at a romantic bed-and-breakfast on the Cape or in the Hamptons. A rehab clinic in Greenwich, Connecticut, would be almost as good. Sure, she’d thought she’d wanted to erase Nate’s arrogant, cheating presence from her life entirely, but Nate sounded like he was turning over a new leaf, which was exactly what she was trying to do!
“So how do you get into rehab anyway? Can you just sign up, or do you have to be sent there by somebody?” Blair asked. She glanced at herself in the mirror on the back of her closet door. With her hacked-off hair and pasty face, she looked enough like a heroin addict that they were sure to admit her.
“I think you can sign yourself in, but who’d be crazy enough to do that?” Nate asked.
Blair smiled.
She would.
“So do you want to get together tomorrow night or something?” she asked. “I know I act like a bitch sometimes, Nate, but I always wind up missing you.”
“Sorry. I have to be at Breakaway for group,” Nate responded. He hadn’t seen Georgie since the night of the snowstorm and Jackie had promised Georgie would be returning to group tomorrow. “I take the train, so I don’t get home until pretty late.”
“All right. But let’s get together sometime soon, okay?” Blair said. “You know you love me,” she added in a seductive whisper and hung up.
Hopping off her bed with newfound energy, she removed the Pucci scarf from her head and messed up what little hair she had left with a dime-sized squirt of Bed Head texturizing hair gel. Then she opened her bedroom door for the first time all week. “Mom!” she shouted down the hall. “Come quick. I need your help with something!”
What better way for the leading lady to make a comeback than to emerge from rehab, refreshed and rejuvenated, with her handsome leading man at her side?
Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.
hey people!
Serena’s Tears
The Les Best people didn’t waste any time getting their new perfume ad out and by now you’ve all seen it. Magnifique, non? The perfume’s not available until April unless, like me, you have access to things no one else does. It’s a heady jasmine scent with subtle undertones of sandalwood and patchouli. I’m wearing it right now and I have to admit it’s just as divine as the ad. But when a certain blond is involved, we wouldn’t expect any less would we?
Teen heiress donates portion of inheritance to rehab
It seems
N
’s poor little rich girl has been bitten by the generosity bug. To show her gratitude to those who have helped her in the last few weeks she’s funding the construction of state-of-the-art stables on Breakaway’s rambling Connecticut property. The stables will house horses, pigs, goats, dogs, cats, and chickens, which will be used for therapeutic purposes, of course. Apparently milking goats can work wonders on the drug-addled minds of coke fiends. Let’s just hope our beloved heiress keeps her hands off the stables’ medicine cabinet!
Your e-mail
Q:
Hi GG,
I’m an outpatient at Breakaway and I was there today when this girl with messy short hair and fur boots came in and tossed her platinum credit card at the nurse at reception. She wanted to book a private room for two weeks, preferably with a view of the fountain.
Hello?
They told her she couldn’t stay there unless she was harmful to herself or others, but that she was welcome to come to teen group if she wanted.
—sun
A:
Hello sun,
I’m surprised she didn’t try booking a series of facials! If you’re in teen group I’d steer clear of her. It sounds like she’s on a mission.
—GG
Sightings
J
and her two new pals at
Bowlmor Lanes
. They look so cute together, but I’ve been there, and threesomes never work.
S
home sick from school on Friday with bronchitis. That will teach her to wear sundresses in February!
B
shopping for her rehab outfit in a vintage store on
Mulberry Street
. If she’s going to get the part of the desperate junkie, she has to look authentic.
D
practicing for the
Rivington Rover Poetry Club
open mike on the subway, whispering to himself over the clackety-clack of the train.
It’s time to get out and do something cultural for once. See you at the open mike tonight!
You know you love me.
gossip girl
“I’m glad you’re here,” Dan told Mystery as she ran her chewed-on, yellow-nailed fingers through his fashionably tousled hair. By total coincidence he and Mystery had arrived at the Rivington Rover Poetry club at the same time, and for the last fifteen minutes they’d been smoking unfiltered Camels and groping each other in a stall in the graffiti-ridden ladies’ room, trying to get psyched up for their reading. “I’m kind of nervous.”
“Don’t be,” Mystery loosened his narrow black tie and clasped his hand. “Come on. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
They emerged from the ladies’ room hand in hand, Mystery in a transparent canary yellow silk sheath through which her black cotton underwear was completely visible, and Dan in his new black suit: the Bonnie and Clyde of poetry.
The small, dark basement club was already crowded with people sipping coffee and lounging on the tattered old sofas haphazardly dotting the room. A random disco ball spun from the black ceiling and over the sound system Morrissey whined a depressing song from his latest album.
The lights blinked on and off twice and a tiny Japanese girl wearing a black leotard and pink ballet tights took the stage. “Welcome all to open mike at Rivington Rover. It is so special to have you here,” she whispered into the microphone. “Tonight two of New York’s most special poets will recite for us simultaneously. I’m honored to give the stage to Mystery Craze and Daniel Humphrey!”
The dark, crowded room erupted in applause.
“I heard they stayed up all night on E and wrote a book together,” somebody whispered.
“I heard they were husband and wife.”
“I heard they’re fraternal twins, separated at birth,” remarked someone else.
Vanessa slipped into the back of the club unnoticed. “What kind of name is Mystery Craze?” she wondered as she put her camera to her eye and zoomed in on the stage.
Dan’s entire body was covered in a cold, freaked-out sweat. Everything was happening so fast. He hadn’t even had a chance to contemplate how he’d gone from writing strange, morose poetry in notebooks no one ever read to performing onstage with an almost-famous girl in a cool club, wearing a fancy designer suit. But there was no time to doubt himself. He’d acted in plays, performed in Vanessa’s movies. He was the new Rilke. He peeled off his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. He could do this.
Mystery was already waiting for him onstage, her bony fingers clenching the microphone in white-knuckled anticipation. Dan could see now that there were two mikes, one for him and one for her.
“What’s your favorite noun?” Mystery asked the audience in her low, husky voice.
“Pie!” an obviously shitfaced ponytailed guy in the front row shouted back.
“You’re the antithesis of pie,” Mystery hissed at Dan as he took the stage. “I want to eat you alive.”
Dan cleared his throat and reached for the microphone stand to steady himself. “What’s your favorite verb?” he asked in response, surprised by how sure of himself he sounded.
“Sex,” Mystery answered coolly. She dropped to her hands and knees, slithering toward him with the microphone between her teeth. “Sex,” she repeated, crawling between his legs and clawing her way up his body until their faces were only a centimeter apart. The yellow dress made her teeth look even yellower.
The camera wobbled in Vanessa’s hands. So
this
was why she hadn’t heard a peep out of Dan lately, not even to work on
Making Poetry
. Dan had been making poetry with Mystery Craze. And as much as it hurt to watch the boy she’d been in love with for almost three years fall under the spell of a girl whose real name was probably something totally boring and unpoetic like Jane James, Vanessa couldn’t bring herself to stop filming. Something was happening to Dan that she had to get on film. He seemed to be discovering himself, right before her eyes.
“Feed me,” Dan growled into the mike as Mystery writhed beneath him. “Bare your naked body on my plate.”
The crowded whooped and shrieked in delight. Dan couldn’t believe what a total blast he was having. He was a rock’n’roll poet, a sex god! Forget Rilke, he was Jim Morrison! He dragged Mystery off the floor and dove at her mouth in a hard and hungry rock-god kiss.
