Nobody Does It Better (14 page)

“So, this drawer is where we'll keep all our cleansers, moisturizers, toners, exfoliators, masks, and makeup removers. All the bath gel is on the bottom drawer, closet to the tub. And see? That's an Egyptian cotton bath rug to cover that icky gray linoleum tile.” Blair pointed to the new peach-colored rug that she'd just installed in Vanessa's bathroom.

Vanessa pulled open the drawers in the cracked, cream colored vanity beneath the bathroom sink. Everything had been alphabetized and color-coded to Blair's control-freak specifications. Not that Vanessa owned any beauty products herself. It was all Blair's stuff anyway.

“You can borrow whatever you want,” Blair offered generously. She pulled out a tiny porcelain jar of La Mer eye cream and started dabbing some under her eyes. “This stuff is amazing,” she declared, “I just wish it didn't smell like cold cream.” She reached out and dabbed some under Vanessa's eyes. One application wouldn't do much, but if she could get Vanessa to use it once a day, in a week those eggplant-sized puffs would be totally gone. Maybe Vanessa would even let her do a total makeover on her. They could go jeans shopping together at Bloomingdale's SoHo, and even buy Vanessa a nice wig!

Nice try.

“Where's my shaver?” Vanessa grumbled, twisting her face away from Blair like a kid who hates to have her face cleaned. “I have to re-shave my head like once a week, you know.”

“Shavers?” Blair repeated cluelessly. She pointed to a bag of trash slumped against the door outside the bathroom. “I think they might be in there.” She grabbed an eyebrow brush from out of the freshly organized drawer and ran it over Vanessa's prickly head stubble. “Have you ever thought about maybe growing it-?”

“No!” Vanessa told her adamantly, swiping the eyebrow brush away. She dumped the bag of trash out onto the peach-colored carpet, and rescued her electric shaver, placing it in the top vanity drawer next to Blair's eyelash curlers.

“Sorry,” Blair allowed. “I should have asked first.”

“That's okay.” Vanessa fingered the eyelash curlers curiously. “What the fuck are these anyways?”

Blair snatched them up eagerly and sat Vanessa down on top of the toilet seat. “Don't close your eyes. And don't worry this doesn't hurt.” She held the curlers an inch away from Vanessa's lashes, squinting. Then she put them down again. “You know what?” she told her new roommate. “You don't need these. Your lashes are think and curly.” She squinted again, as if she couldn't quite believe it. “In fact they're completely perfect.”

Vanessa stood up and examined her eyelashes in the bathroom mirror, feeling extremely flattered, although she'd never have admitted it. “Can we get something to eat now, god-dammit? We've been redecorating all god-dammed day.”

For once Blair had been so preoccupied, she hadn't even thought about food. Tonight would be her first night in the apartment, and she'd spent the whole afternoon unpacking and organizing. What did Vanessa usually do for dinner, she wondered. Cook?

The two girls wandered out of the bathroom and into the open kitchen, surveying the apartment with their hands on their hips. Blair's mother's nursery decorator had sent a team of painters over on Wednesday and Thursday while Vanessa was at school, and the whole apartment had been redone in shades of celery green and dove gray- nothing too girly, so as not to offend Vanessa. After school on Thursday Vanessa had discovered a set of used curtains at Domsey's that she could actually tolerate, even though they were covered in exotic-bird-and-palm-leaf-print toile, because they were black and white. And this morning the decorator ad scheduled a delivery of six twentieth-century modern wooden chairs, a small oval dining table, a cool kidney bean-shaped Noguchi glass coffee table, and two gray suede beanbag chairs, which Blair and Vanessa kept moving around the living room just because it was fun.

“I can't believe I'm saying this, but I like it,” Vanessa admitted.

“Really?” Blair asked cautiously. It was kind of a major transformation, and she wouldn't have been surprised if Vanessa kicked her out before she'd even unpacked her Louis Vuitton suitcases.

“We could have a diner party.” Vanessa mused. She walked over to the oval-shaped birch dining table and readjusted the six funky birch swivel chairs surrounding it. “Except I don't have anyone to invite.”

Nobody did a party better than Blair Waldorf. Even if it was just a chic little bohemian Brooklyn dinner party.

Blair whipped out her cell phone out of her James jeans pocket and speed dialed Serena's number. “Unless you and that rock star are, like, in bed already, wanna come to dinner at my new place?”

“I'm already on my way over,” Serena told her. “Sorry to disappoint you, though- I'm on my own.”

Then Blair called Stan 5. “What took you so long?” he wanted to know.

And she called her stepbrother Aaron. “What are you cooking?” he asked suspiciously. “Should I bring over some tempeh?”

Blair hadn't exactly worked out the food part. “We can order from Nobu.” She put her hand over the mouth piece. “Do they even have Nobu in Brooklyn?”

Vanessa waved a pizza menu in her face, and Blair saw that there was something called the Cheeseless Paradise Pie under vegetarian selections. “Don't worry,” she told her stepbrother. “I got you covered.”

“So what's Vanessa like exactly?” Aaron asked curiously.

Blair grinned devilishly. “That's for me to know and you to find out.”

“Allo?” Lexie's distinct French- accented English rang out over Nate's intercom. “Mayee I pleeze come up?”

Locked in his room all week with a bong, playing Grand Theft Auto San Andreas on his Xbox, Nate hadn't received any visitors except Jeremy, Anthony, and Charlie, who stopped by every now and then to replenish his stash and fill him in on what was going on at school. His wing of the house smelled like half-eaten burritos, spilled bong water, and pizza flavored Pepperridge Farm goldfish- not that there was anyone around to smell it. After grounding him, his parents had taken the Charlotte up the Hudson to visit friends in Kingston
and to ensure that Nate didn't steal the boat again before their benefit cruise. If only he hadn't messed things up with Blair, they'd have had the whole house to themselves and could have had sex on top the grand piano in the living room if they'd wanted.

Oh, well.

“I'm sick,” he lied into the intercom. “It's really contagious. I've missed a whole week of school.”

“It's okay, I'm sick too!” Lexie responded brightly. She coughed to demonstrate just how sick she really was. “We can share our germs!”

What fun!

Nate had just heisted a Hummer, but when Lexie buzzed he'd gotten distracted and the cops had gone right up his ass. He kicked the Xbox controls across the room and licked his bong-chapped lips. His mouth felt like it was coated with pot-flavored road tar, and he hadn't changed his shirt in how many days.

“I smell,” he confided into the speaker. “Seriously, It's bad.”

“We'll 'av a bath,” Lexie told him gaily. “Buzz me in. I'll give you a mah-ssage, bay-bee,” she added, sounding even more French than she'd sounded only a moment ago.

Nate could tell she wasn't going to give up, and it wasn't like Blair wasn't cheating on him right then too. Besides, Lexie was hot and obviously desperate for it, and he was seriously bored.

“Okay,” he replied slowly, about to press the buzzer to let her in.

“Oh, I love you!” Lexie cried into the intercom.

Nate blinked slowly. Did she say love? He let his hand drop. Girls- all they ever seemed to do was fall in love with him and get him into trouble. Blair, Serena, Jennifer, Georgie, and now this horny, fake-accented, hippie French chick, Lexie.

Wait, is this like, another ephiphany?

The thing was, he was about to graduate and go off to Yale. He wanted to hang out with the girls he'd grown up with and always known and loved. Not some new chick.

Especially not one who didn't even speak the same language.

“Look, I'm grounded,” he said firmly. “Go home.”

“Mais non!” Lexie wailed, starting to cry.

Mais oui.

The door to Vanessa and Blair's apartment stood open. Serena stepped inside, her freshly glossed mouth agape at how changed it was since Vanessa's birthday party. Only a few weeks ago there had been black sheets hanging in the windows and plaster crumbling onto the barely furnished floors. Now it was freshly painted and filled with cool modern furniture. Lemongrass-scented candles burned on the coffee table, and cool black-and-white toile curtains billowed from the open windows in the living room.

“Whoa,” she gasped.

“I know,” Vanessa called over from the open kitchen where she was busy filing little ceramic bowls with Greek olives, baby carrots, and tamari-roasted almonds so their guests would have something to munch on before the pizza arrived. “Can you believe it?” she trust her pale leg into the air and waggled her foot so Serena could see that she'd borrowed Blair's wedge-soled black patent leather Sigerson Morrison Mary Janes. “Like my shoes?”

Blair padded barefoot out of the bedroom with an empty tumbler of ice in her hand, looking very Williamsburg
in a tight black T-shirt, a short black Seven jeans skirt, and mod silvery pink lipstick. She kissed Serena's cheek. “Isn't it great?” she asked. Looking genuinely thrilled.

While her cab idled in traffic on the Williamsburg
bridge on the ride over, Serena had geared herself up to tell Blair that she'd decided to go to Yale next year. But now that they were face-to-face, she could feel herself chickening out.

She dipped her hand into Blair's glass and stole a vodka tonic-soaked ice cube. “I hope you took before and after pictures.”

Don't worry.“ Vanessa stomped out of the kitchen in Blair's shoes and handed Serena a vodka tonic of her own. ”I even got the painters' butt cracks."

Of course she did.

The three girls sat down on Ruby's old futon sofa, which had been refurbished with a new birch frame and a new gray faux-suede cover.

“So what happened with Damian?” Blair wanted to know. “I thought we were going to be reading about you guys in the paper tomorrow.”

Serena rolled the leg of her jeans up to her bony knees. “Well, he's good-looking and everything, but...” she hesitated and rolled her pant leg back down again. Then she took a sip of her drink and quickly changed the subject. “Who else is coming over tonight anyway?”

Blair bit her lip. It hadn't really occurred to her that Serena might be the odd one out. “You're not going to like this, but I kind of invited that Stanford Parris kid from the Yale party? And Aaron- you know, my stepbrother? I think he and Vanessa are, like, made for each other.”

Vanessa took a huge gulp of her rum and Coke. “We'll see,” she belched loudly.

Serena's huge dark blue eyes shone as she digested this information. She'd actually been in love with Aaron for a week or two that winter, but enough time had passed now that she could handle hanging out with him on a just-friends basis. And Blair was right- Vanessa and Aaron were perfect for each other. “Cool,” she told her friend graciously, even though she thought that Stan 5 guy was a conceited jerk.

The downstairs buzzer rang and Blair and Vanessa shot out of their seats and bolted to the window overlooking the street. Aaron Rose and Stanford Parris V were standing on the sidewalk, each looking dubiously up at the second floor apartment.

“Oh my God, they're here!” the oddly paired roommates squealed in unison.

All of a sudden Serena felt like a chaperone at a junior high sleepover party. She rolled her eyes. “Do you girls want me to get the door so you can fix your hair or something?” she offered jokingly.

“Yes, please!” Blair cried. She grabbed Vanessa's arm and dragged her toward the bathroom.

Serena chewed on a piece of ice and pressed play on Vanessa's CD player as she waited for the boys to mount the stairs. The Raves song “Ice Cream” came on and she quickly selected the next disc one of Ruby's weird German disco albums.

Someone knocked on the door and she hurried over to answer it. Now if they could just avoid the topic of college for the rest of the evening...

Not likely.

Dan would have perfectly happy eating sushi with Monique and taking in an old French film down at the artsy movie theater on Twelfth Street
. But Monique had insisted that they could slip into Damian's party unnoticed, steal a bottle of champagne and a few cigars, and then creep out onto one of the fire escapes and have a party of their own.

Bedford Street was exactly the kind of uber-cool, exclusive, West Village neighborhood Dan envisioned himself living in when he became an absurdly famous rock star, and it felt extremely cool to swagger down the street with gorgeous Monique on his arm. She was wearing an ankle-length, completely see-through, white silk sundress and white sandals, and he was wearing his favorite pair of worn-in rust-colored corduroys and a soft black T-shirt. He thought they looked pretty good together.

Guess no one told him about the white thing either.

The door to Damian's town house was standing open and the scent of shrimp pad Thai wafted out of it. Before they wanted reached the top of the white marble steps, Dan distinctly heard the voice of his sister, Jenny. And she wasn't talking- she was singing.

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me!

Dan let go of Monique's hand and blinked in the bright whiteness. His fingers trembled and his palms began to sweat. Damian's entire place was white, white, white. Even all the other guests at the party were wearing white. Sure, it was cool. He just wished someone had told him.

Jenny's voice continued to blare out over the stereo.

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me!

“Hey,” Dan called unevenly. He walked over to where Jenny sat on the white sectional sofa, her butt in Lloyd's lap and her calves resting on Damian's knees. “What's going on? Dad told me you were spending the weekend up at Elise's country house.”

Jenny giggles, obviously enthralled with her own craftiness. “Elise is in the country.” She giggled and leaned back against Lloyd's chest. “But I'm here. Dad's so totally gullible.”

Dan didn't like the idea of Jenny lying to their dad. Sure, he'd told his share of harmless untruths, but little sisters were supposed to be pure and innocent and true, not lying schemers who sat on older guys' laps, flirting their heads off while dressed in flimsy, see-through white undershirts and a pair of guy's boxer shorts. He would have written a poem about how she kind of reminded him of Ophelia, except he was too friggen' pissed off.

“With doz breasts, you must get away with murder!” Monique pointed at Jenny's barely clad boobs.

Dan's hands were shaking uncontrollably now. He reached for the pack of Camels in his back pocket and trust one ion his mouth. “I don't even know what you're doing here,” he growled at his sister with the unlit cigarette between his teeth. “This is my band,” he added, sounding completely immature.

Damian raised his nicely arched strawberry blond eyebrows. “Actually, Jenny is singing for us now.”

Dan waited for Damian to bust into a fit of giggles and tell him he was joking, but Damian kept a straight face.

“Dad's always saying I need a job to support my shopping habit,” Jenny gushed, her face shinny with excitement and full of adorable dimples.

“And we decided we need a softer sound,” Lloyd added, stroking Jenny's curly hair. "Of course, we'll still use your songs. Just with Jennifer's voice.

Excusez-moi?

Dan lit his cigarette with his neon green plastic Bic and tossed the lighter on the white sofa out of sheer rebellion. The way Damian was holding Jenny's bare feet while not wearing a shirt over his well-developed, manly chest was totally infuriating.

Damian eyed Monique warily. “I thought you went back to St. Barts, sweetie.”

Monique grinned. “Vell, I have been trying to get Dan to o there with me, but he says he has to finish school first.” She rolled her eyes. “Boring.”

“Serena van der Woodsen was here,” Jenny told her brother. “But she left. Not that you care.”

“And she'd prettier than you, Monique,” Lloyd added bitchily. He squeezed Jenny around the waist. “But not nearly as cute as you, dumplin'.”

Dan sucked furiously on his cigarette, trying desperately not to scream his fucking head off. It would have been nice to see Serena, but he kind of had other things on his mind. “Uh, Damian, could I talk to you for a minute?” he demanded between gritted teeth.

“Ciao, ciao, darling!” Monique called to someone across the room and drifted away from Dan to smother a bald Moby look-alike in a white linen tracksuit with her wet, pine nut-scented kisses.

Dan waited for Damian to remove his hands from Jenny's feet, stand up, put a shirt on, and talk to him in private, like a man.

Yeah.

But Damian stayed where he was. “Anything you need to say can be said in front of Lloyd and your big sister. We're all family right?”

Big sister?

Dan's free hand closed in a sweaty fist. “Jenny's not my big sister,” he hissed. “I'm turning eighteen in two weeks. And she'll be fifteen in July.”

“Thanks a lot!” Jenny complained.

Damian and Lloyd's eyes bulged a little ebit, but they didn't say anything. Then Lloyd cracked a grin. “Well at least she's not married.”

Damian elbowed him in the ribs. “I'll handle this.” He pulled a tiny bottle of Stoli out of his back pocket and took a swig. His red-blond hair was shorter than it had been only a week ago, and more stylishly tousled.

Maybe that was because he had it cut by Sally Hershberger only yesterday?

“Dan,” Damian continued. “You sang like shit last Saturday. And you basically threw up on stage. Then you hooked up with my wife.”

Wife?

Dan's stomach dropped. Monique had never said anything about being anyone's wife. He had a sudden urge to take a very long shower.

“We're estranged,” Damian clarified.

Oh, well, that's a relief.

“I respect your words, yeah?” Damian told him solemnly. “But I'm just not feeling the love.”

Dan shifted his gaze to the other party guests- visions of coolness and sophistications, wearing white designer clothes, happily quaffing their boiled-egg martinis and munching on shrimp shu mai and rice noodles, their hair as shiny and Sally Hershberger- groovy as Damian's. Dan wore corduroys from Old Navy and got a haircut at Supercuts once a year. He liked instant coffee and hot dogs bought on the street. He liked coming home in the evenings and laughing at the local news with his dad. His bedroom had linty maroon wall-to-wall carpeting that he was actually sort of fond of. He only owned two pairs of shoes. He was never meant to be a rockstar.

“Come on, Jenny. Let's go home.” He held a grim hand out to his little sister.

Jenny glared at him. Was he crazy? The guys in the Raves didn't mind that she was only fourteen. She was definitely staying. “You go home,” she challenged.

Dan flapped a sweaty hand at her. “We can get a cab. I'll pay.”

Jenny shrank away from him, her back pressed against Lloyd's chest. “Please don't be an idiot, Dan,” she yawned dismissively. “And don't say anything to Dad. I'll deal with him on my own.”

“Fine.” Dan shoved his hands in his pockets. He had a feeling Jenny sort of wanted to get into trouble with their dad, but he wasn't going to tell on her. She was doing fine in the trouble department all on her own. “If you think I'm going to give you any of my poems, though, you can forget about it.”

Damian raised his eyebrows, Lloyd rolled his eyes, and Jenny kicked at the white sofa with her bare feet- as if they were all bored with Dan's little tirade. Across the room Monique was eating noodles right out of the serving dish with a pair of ivory-lacquered chopsticks. A girl in a white embroidered bolero jacket who looked a like Chloe Sevigny was braiding Monique's long, honey-colored hair while she ate.

“Tell you wife I said good-bye,” Dan grumbled at Damian. He hesitated, giving Jenny one last chance to leave with him, but she'd shifted around on Lloyd's lap so her back was to him.

“Bye, Dan,” she said, sounding like she couldn't wait for him to be gone.

Dan shuffled down the white marble steps and out onto Bedford Street
, unsure whether to laugh or to cry. It was kind of a relief knowing he'd never had to sing onstage again. He could go to college, be a normal kid, have a normal girlfriend, and a normal life.

Whatever that meant.