Nobody Does It Better (13 page)

That afternoon during computer lab, Serena was tempted to e-mail that melodramatic artist at Brown, those perky sorority weirdos at Princeton, and that lovelorn jock at Harvard, telling them to have nice lives, because from now on she was all about Yale. Instead, she permanently expunged then from her trash folder. At lunchtime she'd actually mailed in her deposit to Yale, and what a relief it was to finally come to a decision- even if she couldn't tell her best friend in the whole world about it. She skimmed the rest of her e-mail until she came to one from an unknown source.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: don't believe everything you read

So, we're an item. It's all very flattering. Problem is, we've never met. Want to? A bunch of people will be at my place in the Village Friday night. Hope you can make it.

Damian

Serena giggled and stood up partway out of her chair, searching the Constance Billard computer lab for Blair's dark shiny head. But Blair was working intently at her computer and didn't even notice Serena waving at her. Mr. Schneider, the uptight computer proctor with the deformed nostrils, glared at her, and Serena went back to her e0mail. She knew from their videos that the Raves' lead guitarist was extremely handsome and talented, and wouldn't it be crazy if they actually hit it off, turning myth into reality? So what if she'd kind of decided to take the serious route and be a full-time student next year? That was next year, and the rest of this year was all about having fun, fun, fun. Who knew- she might even change her mind, defer her admission, become a Raves groupie, and tour with the band for the next five years!

And only just a moment ago she was all pleased with herself for being so decisive.

Serena bit her nails for a few second, then hit reply and typed three letters using only her partially chewed-on, partially pink-polished index finger.

Y-E-S

Blair strolled the Internet for the exquisite Jimmy Choo shoes she'd seen in W but had yet to find in her size. They were made of green silk, hand-sewn with tiny mother-of pearl hearts all over the heels. They'd only distributed three hundred pairs of the shoes worldwide, but surely there had to be one size seven-and-a-half that hadn't been claimed- in Mexico City, maybe, or Hong Kong, where feet tended to be small.

Next to her, Vanessa Abrams was furiously typing, building some sort of feminist Web page or something. Blair glanced at her neighbors screen. Roommate wanted, she read in big bold letters. Female Only.

Blair had never been too fond of her shaven-headed, black-wearing, film auteur classmate. Every word Vanessa uttered in class was said with an air of I'm-only-talking-to-you-because-you-asked-me-a-question, like she was so much smarter and more astute than even the teachers. And she'd always suspected that Vanessa preferred girls to boys.

“I interviewed this guy this weekend. Turned out to be a serious weirdo.”

Blair glanced at her neighbor and discovered that Vanessa was actually addressing her.

“I decided to stick with female applicants only,” Vanessa added, clicking the enter button on her keyboard for emphasis.

Blair pressed her lips together and shifted in her chair. Vanessa really did seem to be talking to her. “I met a guy this weekend, too,” she confessed. She bit her lip and pointed to Vanessa's screen. “Why do you want a roommate anyways? I'd kill to live on my own.”

Vanessa shrugged her shoulders. It was weird enough conversing with bitchy Blair Waldorf, but even weirder still that Blair's question was actually worth thinking about.

“My sister's on tour in Europe. I don't know, I guess I get lonely,” Vanessa admitted before she could stop herself. As soon as she said it she felt like clamping her hand over her mouth. Why would Blair Waldorf of all people even care?

“What about your boyfriend- that geek-? Blair bit her lip and corrected herself. ”That boy with the... notebook."

“We broke up.”

Blair nodded, tempted to explain how she'd just broken up with her boyfriend, and how sometimes she felt lonely too. Discreetly, she sized Vanessa up. She kind of liked how Vanessa didn't gush about what a loser her ex-boyfriend was, complaining about gifts he'd given her, imitating the stupid way he tied his shoes, and reiterating the whole sad saga. Vanessa was weird, but at least she wasn't predictable. And it was well

known that Vanessa's parents lived in Vermont
, so if her sister was away, she was really all on her own.

So how does it work?“ Blair asked. ”Are you, like, interviewing prospective roommates?"

Vanessa had to wonder where all this was going.

“Well first I screen them through Instant Messenger, and if they sound normal I interview them. But so far, no one's been normal.”

Blair couldn't believe she was actually considering living with lesbo, baldo, weirdo, no-friends Vanessa, but she really did need a place to live. Her own home was intolerable, and after her run-in with Mrs. M this morning, she was pretty sure she couldn't live at the Plaza for the rest of the school year without completely ruining her chances of getting into Yale. And what if she needed to entertain... a guest? An apartment without parents or nannies or maids or cooks was the perfect place, even if it had to be in dirty, disgusting Williamsburg
. She might even convince Vanessa to hire a decorator, and introduce some color to the apartment. Not that she had actually seen Vanessa's place, but after going to school with her for the last one hundred years, she was pretty sure the entire apartment was done entirely in black. She could make the place over completely just like the frumpy, bookish Audrey Hepburn was made over into a fabulous fashion model in 'My Fair Lady'!

“Interview me,” she suggested.

“But-” Vanessa countered. “I live in Brooklyn.”

Blair twisted her ruby ring around and around on the ring finger of her left hand. “I know.” She sighed mournfully down at her black patent leather flats and closed her eyes, trying to picture herself as a hip, artsy Williamsburg
person. She'd wear drab green t-shirts with ironic decals on them like WILLIAMSBURG IS FOR LOVERS. She'd take her coffee black. She'd wear Converse sneakers without socks and carry a vintage purple plastic handbag. She'd get orange highlights and wear black octagonally framed glasses. She'd eat falafel. She'd write poetry. She'd get a lip ring and a tattoo! Oh, wouldn't Nate just die. A smile spread across her face. “I've always wanted to live in Brooklyn.”

Yeah, right.

“No, you-” Vanessa began in attempt to dissuade her.

“You have cable, TiVo, and a DVD player, right?” Blair demanded.

Wait, who's supposed to interview who?

“I have to watch my movies,” Blair insisted, like a TV-dinner-eating old biddy who couldn't survive without her daily dose of Regis and Kelly.

“Movies?” Vanessa repeated, wondering if Blair had completely lost her mind. She'd forgotten that Blair was a huge old movie fan. Back in November, Blair had even entered a film contest at school. all she'd done was replay the first ten minutes of 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' over and over to different music, because in her opinion it was the perfect first ten minutes of any film ever. Vanessa had won the contest with her version of 'War and Peace', starring her former best friend Dan Humphrey as the dying Prince Andrei. That had been before they'd even kissed- what seemed like a century ago.

“Anything starring Audrey Hepburn. Or Jimmy Stewart. Or Cary
Grant. Or Lauren Bacall.” Blair clarified breathlessly. “And of course, 'Gone With the Wind'.”

If there was one thing Vanessa had plenty of, it was film equipment, TVs, videos, and DVDs. “Don't worry. I'm majoring in film at NYU next year. I have everything,” Vanessa assured her. “All the classics.”

“And how do you get to school?” Blair demanded, wondering if she might have to learn to drive. Keeping her eyes on her computer screen, she wiggled her mouse to give the impression that she was hard at work. “Isn't there, like, some bridge you have to cross?”

Considering Manhattan is an Island, then yes probably a bride would be involved.

Vanessa decided to humor her. Not that Blair Waldorf really wanted to live in her dodgy, graffitied Brooklyn apartment building with its view of other dodgy, graffitied Brooklyn apartment buildings. “The L train goes to Union Square
and then I change for the 6.”

Huh?

Blair frowned. Was she talking about the subway?

“If the weather's really bad or I'm really late, I call a car service,” Vanessa admitted.

Aha!

“And do you mind... you know, visitors?” Blair asked.

As in male visitors?

Vanessa laughed. “As long as they don't smell and they bring food.”

Blair nodded seriously. She'd have her very own apartment in which to have wild crazy sex with Stan 5 or any other boy she chose, and she would turn herself into the sexiest, most pierced and tattooed girl in Williamsburg
, Nate would go absolutely crazy with regret. “I think this could work out, don't you?”

Vanessa's brown eyes has ceased blinking. “But we hate each other,” she said matter-of-factly.

Blair rolled her eyes and knocked her tanned bony knee against Vanessa's pale round one. “Oh, don't be such a snob,” she huffed, really getting into her new role as Vanessa's long-lost hipster sister. “Now, about your boyfriend problem,” she continued, as if the matter was already closed. “The thing is, and no offense, but I bet you're only attracted to guys who are kind of 'alternative', like you-” Blair clamped her mouth shut, as her brain underwent a light bulb moment. Why she'd never thought of it before she didn't know, but her dreadlocked so-called alternative stepbrother Aaron and the shaven-headed, black-wearing Vanessa were absolutely the perfect couple! They could paint each other's toenails black, cook vegan sushi, film each other's hair or lack thereof, and otherwise entertain themselves while she was busy seducing the boy who was going to get her into Yale.

See, maybe Williamsburg
really is for lovers!

Gossipgirl.net

THE ODD COUPLE

Who would've thunk it? A girl married to her eight-hundred-hundred-dollar Manolos has tentatively moved in with a classmate who has never worn anything on her feet but steel-toed Doc Marten boots and black Danskin knee socks. One thing is for sure, they won't be sharing clothes. But since they come from two entirely different planets, they definitely have a lot to talk about and a lot to learn. A sample conversation:

"Have you seen the brush for my Stila bronzing powder?

“Oh are you doing an art project?”

I'm taking all bets for how long this crazy sleepover is going to last!

QUEL DESATRE!

Word alsohas it that a certain French tie-dye-wearing hippie chick has told the entire world that she and our favorite stoner lacrosse jock aren't just seeing each other- they're in love. Uh-oh.

Your e-mail

Q: Dear GG,

I volunteer in the admissions office at my college, which happens to be one of the lvies, and my friends and I have spent a lot of time courting this one incoming freshmen because we think she'd be the perfect pledge for our sorority. She'd gorgeous and smart and talented- just like we are. The thing is, she hasn't answered a single one of our e-mails. I know it sounds corny, but what if we sent her, like, a care package or something- do you think it would help?

-PrincetonBabe

A: Dear Princeton Babe,

I hate to break it to you, but I don't think so.

-GG

SIGHTINGS

C at Tower Records buying a pirated version of the latest Raves single starring none other than D, who is supposedly his least-favorite person of all time. Is it the music or the words that he can't resist? K and I sampling acne-clearing Origins products at the Madison Avenue store and inadvertently slipping a few freebies into their Tod's bags when the sales assistant turned her back. B and V plying the grocery store delivery man with a box of Godiva truffles to get him to carry their shopping bags up three flights to their apartment door. And those were those black-and-white toile curtains with balloon valances we saw in the windows? Guess they're both learning to compromise!

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM,

This week I've actually witnessed my classmates hanging around in front of school after it gets out, chatting about their summer plans, and drinking iced lattes. A few weeks ago we were skipping class to sunbathe in the park, listening to out MP3s and barely speaking to one another. Now we don't know what to do with ourselves, and we can't stand to be alone. Chalk it up to the cloudy, humid, airless May weather, and the fact that in less than four weeks some of us will never see each other again. I'm also convinced that something's cooking. Just watch: Come Friday, all hell will break loose.

I'll be there with bells on!

You know you love me,

Gossip Girl

A nice-sized trust fund from his great-grandfather, who was involved in the invention of Velcro, and the money from the Raves' best selling album, 'Jimmy and Jane'. Had bought twenty-three year old Damian Polk a cute four story white town house with red shutters on quaint Bedford Street
was only three blocks long, dotted with intimate restaurants, cozy cafés, historic houses, a famous speakeasy, and gorgeous gay men walking their toy dogs. Outside, the house looked like an antique dollhouse, but inside it was a showplace for modern, minimalist white furniture. Rumor had it that although Damian wore all sorts of colors onstage, he never wore anything but white inside his house, and never allowed his guests to wear anything but white either, not even blue jeans.

Too bad he forgot to tell certain people that particular rule.

The front door was standing open, and Serena climbed the white and marble steps to the second floor, wearing her favorite pair of Blue Cult flares, a cropped hot pink T-shirt, and a crazy pair of Hollywood hot pink platform flip flops that were a challenge to walk in. She could hear some sort of psychedelic jazz music playing, the clink of glasses, and the murmur of voices.

Jenny Humphrey was sitting cross-legged on the white lacquered counter top of the island in Damian's white open kitchen, drinking a glass of milk. Her hair was in pigtails and she was wearing a white cotton undershirt and white cotton boxer shorts.

“Hey!” she cried, bouncing off the counter to greet Serena. “Damian said you were coming. He's in the shower.” She tip-toed over in her bare feet and tilted her lily white chin up to kiss Serena's cheek. “I'm so glad you're here.”

Well, hello, little hostess to the mostest! What a change from the Jenny who only last week was completely gaga at the opportunity to be invited into Serena's home. And wasn't she like banned from hanging out wit the Raves ever again?

As if that made a difference.

“I snuck out,” Jenny whispered. “Dad was watching some totally boring Allen Ginsberg documentary. He thinks I'm in my room, like, painting or something.”

Ah, painting. It used to be her only pastime, back when she was young and innocent.

Serena smiled down at her petite, curly-haired protégé, feeling oddly out of place. The other party-goers lounged on the white suede sectional sofa in the vaulted white living room adjoining the kitchen, dressed head-t-toe in white, drinking giant gin martinis with hard-boiled eggs floating in them. One wall of the living room was decorated with white paper snow flake cut-outs like the kind you made in kindergarten, and another wall was painted to look like bookshelves filled with white books.

Because real books are too colorful?

A tall skinny guy was sitting on a wooly white polar bear rug wearing only a white terrycloth bathrobe. A huge brown-and-black dog lay beside him, its enormous brown-and-black head buried in his lap- the only bit of color in an entirely white room.

“Ooh la la!” Jenny chirped giddily as Damian appeared, still damp from the shower and wearing nothing but a pair of white cashmere sweatpants. His reddish blond hair was still damp, and drops of water had collected in the indentations of his collarbone. His arms and chest were covered with tiny freckles and big muscles, and yes, he was even more good-looking in person than on his albums covers.

“Hello,” Serena greeted him, feeling uncharacteristically star struck. And how come no one told her about the all-white dress code? Was she just supposed to know?

“Now I know why everyone said I had to meet you.” He said automatically when he saw Serena.

Serena blushed at the compliment, but she couldn't think of anything to say. A rare occasion for her- the van der Woodsens were bred to say the right thing at the right time at all times.

Jenny took Serena's hand and then Damian's, standing between them like a buxom flower girl at an arranged marriage. “You have to show Serena your bedroom,” she told Damian. She turned to Serena. “His bedroom is so cool.”

Yeah? How would she know?

Damian shrugged and starting walking into the living room, pulling Jenny and Serena along with him. “Come, sit down. Kelly and Ping should be here any minute.”

“Cool,” Serena responded, although she had no idea who he was talking about. Kelly and Ping- were they another band? A clown act? DJs?

“Yum. They have the best pad Thai ever,” Jenny said, like she'd been eating from the SoHo Asian eatery all her life.

“Yum,” Serena agreed. What was wrong with her? She wasn't even hungry.

Jenny broke away from then and perched on some guy's knee. He had dark hair and dimpled cheeks and was wearing white painters overalls, looking every bit like the Raves' drummer, Lloyd Collins.

Cuz that's exactly who he was.

“Hi Serena,” Lloyd greeted her in that taunting, cocky way of his. “I feel like we're sisters already,” he added, flapping his wrists and pretending to be Damian's long-lost gay twin.

“Damian just made a recording of me singing 'Happy Birthday to Me'. He's going to sample it on the band's next track,” Jenny announced gaily to anyone who was listening. “I can't wait for Dan to hear it.”

“Isn't he here?” Serena asked, looking around for the cloud of Camel smoke that usually engulfed Dan Humphrey's head.

“Not yet,” Damian replied, and Serena thought she detected a note of malice in his voice.

Dan and Serena had gotten together that fall, but it had been short-lived- just like all of her relationships- and they hadn't exactly stayed in touch. But there were no hard feelings, and it might be nice to hang out and be friends now that they were both graduating. She wondered where eh was going to college next year, or if he was going to take some time off to tour wit the band.

“Cigar?” Damian asked, holding a box out to her. “They came in from Cuba
last night.”

“Breadstick?” Lloyd asked, flipping a breadstick up in the air like one of his drum sticks and catching it in his teeth. “They're Italian and super crisp.”

“No thanks,” Serena responded quietly to both offers. Here she was, a notorious party girl at what was bound to become a notorious party, yet she felt completely uninspired. Maybe the fact that everyone thought she and Damian were already together was ruining it for her. Or maybe seeing Jenny, the image of herself two or three years ago, was making her realize that she was ready to try something new. Or maybe it was because these were the very last weeks of her senior year, before the summer, and before Yale. She didn't care so much about meeting rock stars; she just wanted to hang out with her friends.

Blair was at Vanessa's apartment in Williamsburg right now- probably wallpapering the bathroom with little pink rosebuds or something- and there was no place Serena would rather be.

“Mind if I use your bathroom?” she asked.

Damian directed her through a set of white velvet drapes and down a long white corridor to a white-tiled, mirror-ceilinged, marble-bathed bathroom. Serena closed the door, yanked her tube of MAC Cherry Ice lip gloss from her back pocket, and smeared some on. Down the corridor, on the other side of the white velvet drapes, came the sounds of the doorbell ringing and Kelly and Ping delivering their Asian delicacies. She pushed opened the bathroom door again and hurried down the corridor, slipping past the cluster of arriving caterers and out onto the steamy sidewalk once more.

This from a girl known for dancing on the tables in bars throughout France
? This from the girl who'd had an unmentionable part of her body photographed and plastered on the sides of buses and in subways all over the city? Ditching a party before it even got started?

Then again, it didn't really matter whether she stayed at the party or not. Whatever Serena did was bound to make headlines.