You're the One That I Want (5 page)

Ruby grabbed the phone out of her hand. "Hey Dan, guess what? I'm going on tour for like eight months with SugarDaddy. We're leaving next week. Why don't you move in here? You and my sister can have, like, your own little love pad!"

Vanessa glared at her. Leave it to Ruby to completely mess things up in the most tactless, embarrassing way possible. Ruby handed back the phone and Vanessa held it a few inches away from her ear. What the fuck was she supposed to say now?

Dan wasn't opposed to the idea of living parent-free in a cool neighborhood like Williamsburg, and living with Vanessa might actually be kind of great. She could make her films, he could write. It would be like Yaddo--one of those retreats for writers and artists that his dad had gone to back in the old days. Maybe they'd even wind up getting back together and having lots of sex all the time, just like all those artists and writers were rumored to have done back in the seventies.

Still, everything was happening kind of fast. His cleared his throat. "I'll have to talk to my dad about it. We're going out for Chinese tonight to celebrate. How 'bout we meet at that party on West Street afterwards?"

Vanessa was hardly the partying type, but she supposed Dan had a reason to want to celebrate. "Sounds good," she agreed.

"And I'll talk to my dad about the moving-in thing. I think it could be kind of cool," Dan told her, sounding rather cool himself.

Vanessa suddenly felt like the girl in those cheesy happy-ending movies she'd always hated. The one who lives happily ever after with her adoring husband in a house with silk cur-tains in the windows instead of black sheets like she and Ruby had.

"Cool" she enthused, even though it had always been one of her least favorite words. She clicked off and handed the phone back to her sister, who was still jabbering on her cell phone. "Can I borrow some stuff from your closet?" Vanessa whispered.

Ruby cocked an eyebrow at her and nodded silently. Looks like this is going to be some party.

like she was actually in the mood to celebrate?

Blair stepped off the elevator and stood staring at the home-made banner taped to the front door of the penthouse. "YAY , blair! we're so proud of you!" it read. She pushed open the door. Mookie, Aaron's exuberant brown-and-white boxer, waggled over and shoved his wet nose between her legs.

"Fuck off," Blair growled. For a brief moment she won-dered if a miracle had occurred. Maybe her France-living gay dad or some other benevolent fairy had put in a call to Yale and they'd decided to accept her right away. It was unlikely, but--

"Serena told us what happened!" her pregnant mother crowed, swaying hugely in the foyer. "Wait list, shmait list. I can't imagine why you got so upset, darling. Yale has just as good as accepted you!"

Blair peeled off her cardigan and threw it on the antique chaise in the corner. Mookie threatened to sniff her crotch again and she kicked him away. "It's not that simple, Mom."

Pregnancy had made Eleanor's highlighted blond hair grow superfast, and it hung down to her shoulders in what Blair thought was a pathetic attempt to look like she was of appropriate childbearing age. Eleanor clapped her bejeweled hands together. "Well, my little sourpuss, we're having a spe-cial family celebration for you anyway. Everyone's waiting in the dining room!"

A family celebration. Oh, goody.

The table was laid with Eleanor's finest crystal and silver, and she'd ordered in from Blue Ribbon Sushi, Blair's favorite. Cyrus and Aaron were already merry with champagne. Even twelve-year-old Tyler looked a little drunk.

"And you thought you'd wind up at Norwalk Community College," Aaron said as he poured champagne into Blair's empty glass. "We all knew you could do better."

Cyrus winked at her with one of his bulbous, bloodshot, muddy blue fish eyes. "Yale rejected me flat when I applied. It's about time I made them sorry. If you'd like me to give them a kick in the pants about your application, I'd sure enjoy doing it."

Blair grimaced. As if she wanted Yale to know she and Cyrus were even remotely related?!

"I'm not going to college," Tyler announced, sipping his champagne like a pro. "I'm going to DJ in clubs all over Europe. And then I'm going to open a casino."

"We'll see about that." Eleanor forked a six-inch-long California roll onto her plate and giggled. "Baby's hungry again."

Blair had a feeling her mother wouldn't look like she was twenty months pregnant instead of only seven if she'd stop eating so much. She downed her entire glass of champagne and reached for an untouched box of sushi. First she was going to stuff her face with eel roll and pour enough cham-pagne down her throat to make her puke her guts out. Then she was going to meet Nate at that stupid party on West Street, but only for ten minutes, because watching everyone celebrate when she had nothing to celebrate was going to make her puke even more. And then she was going to fall asleep watching Breakfast at Tiffany's, her all-time-favorite movie, starring her all-time-favorite star. Audrey Hepburn hadn't even gone to college, but she'd still had a charmed life.

Her mother picked up her log of sushi and bit into it like a hot dog. She and Cyrus had known each other for less than a year and had only been married since November, but Eleanor seemed to have picked up his eating habits. She put the remaining sushi down and dabbed her lips with a white linen napkin.

"Now that we're all gathered here, I have a favor to ask you, darling."

Blair looked up from her eel. It appeared her mother was addressing her.

Oh, boy.

"You know it's been a while, so my doctor thought it might be good for me to take a childbirth class, to refresh my memory. I signed up for the intensive one. It meets four after-noons for two hours. The thing is, Cyrus is working on his new project out in the Hamptons, and he's rather squeamish about these kinds of things anyway. Do you think you could come with me, darling? I have to have a partner, and it's only a couple of hours after school."

Blair coughed the rest of the eel into her napkin and lunged for her champagne. Childbirth class ? What the fuck? "I thought Aaron was the one who wanted to be a doctor," she complained. "Why can't he go?"

"You always take such good care of your mother," Cyrus told her.

"I have band practice," Aaron said. As if he'd ever planned on volunteering.

"Me too," Tyler put in quickly.

And it wasn't as though Eleanor could ask any of her middle-aged socialite friends to go with her. Their children were all college-age, or nearly. To them, Eleanor's pregnancy was a tremendous, horrifying embarrassment.

"Fine. I'll go," Blair agreed sullenly. She pushed her plate away and stood up. The thought of talking to them any longer made her want to puke already. Besides, everyone seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be celebrating, anyway. "May I be excused?" she asked. "I have to get ready to go out."

Her mother reached over and snaked an arm around her. "Of course, darling." She gave Blair's waist a squeeze. "You're my best friend."

Ew?

Blair wriggled free and escaped to her so-called bedroom. At least Georgetown was further away than Yale--it had that going for it. And it wouldn't hurt to call the number on the acceptance letter and make arrangements for a visit.

If only she'd applied to the University of Australia.

She peeled off her jeans and T-shirt and made a half-hearted effort to dress for the party, putting on a tighter, darker pair of jeans and a black sleeveless shirt. Her arms looked pale and slack, and she pinched them angrily.

"Hey sis," Aaron called from outside her door. "Can I come in?"

Blair rolled her eyes at her reflection in her bedroom mir-ror. "It's not like I can stop you," she replied miserably.

Aaron opened the door, wearing his Harvard T-shirt like the asshole he was. It was kind of a tradition to wear an arti-cle of clothing from the school you wanted to go to right after finding out that you'd gotten in, but Aaron had found out months ago. "I thought we could head down to the party together."

"Fine," Blair sighed. "I'm almost ready." She picked up a stick of Chanel eyeliner and drew a dark gray line beneath each of her eyes. Then she smeared on some MAC Ice lip gloss and ran her fingers through her hair. There. Done.

"Aren't you going to wear your Yale T-shirt?" Aaron asked, watching as she searched under the bed for an appropriate pair of shoes. "I won't tell anyone about the wait list."

"Gee, thanks," Blair retorted as she shoved her feet into a pair of boring black Coach loafers. She yanked the bedroom door open all the way and stomped down the hall, not even caring that her tight jeans made her bulky cotton underwear bunch and ride right up her butt.

So much for the days of dressing for success! gossipgirl.co.uk

topics previous next post a question reply Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

HEY, PEOPLE!

How to get off the wait list and into the college of your choice

Stage a hunger strike in front of the admissions office. Take the SATs again, cheat, and get a perfect score.

Learn to play "Yankee Doodle" on the violin and serenade the admis-sions office until they beg you to enroll, if only you'll stop playing.

Buy more shoes than Imelda Marcos, get in the Guinness Book of World Records, write a tell-all memoir, and win the Pulitzer Prize for literature.

Use your platinum Amex to buy the dean of admissions that new BMW convertible all your guy friends want for graduation.

Your e-mail

Dear GG,

I met this boy a while ago at a party in NYC. He totally convinced me he was going to Georgetown next year and would be cap-tain of our lax team. He was going to keep his sailboat some-where nearby and we were going to sail down to Florida together for spring break. I never heard from him again, and now I don't think he even applied.

--brokenhrt

Dear brokenhrt,

Guess he must have found another port to dock his ship in. I'm so sorry.

--GG

Dear GG,

I heard that dumb blond Constance girl got in everywhere because she slept with all her interviewers.

--beast

Dear beast,

I don't know if we're even talking about the same blond Constance girl. But maybe she's a lot smarter than everyone thinks.

--GG

Dear GG,

Just so you and everyone else knows, I work in the admissions office at the Dorna B. Rae College for Women in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, and we are still accepting applications. Come and check us out! --camil

Dear camil,

Sounds tempting. I'll def. make sure B knows about this, and anyone else who's really desperate.

--GG

Sightings

N and his buds celebrating their acceptances on the roof terrace of his town house. Passersby were getting high on the secondhand smoke. That old girlfriend of N's from Greenwich--you remember, the crazy, drug-addicted heiress?--at a convent in Sweden, "reform-ing." J having a free makeup consultation at the Clinique counter in Bloomingdale's SoHo. It's important to know your pore size and what type of exfoliator to use before you become a famous super-model. V, also in Bloomingdale's SoHo, getting made over by a glam-orous transvestite at the MAC counter. Hot date tonight? S at an ATM withdrawing a hot-pink alligator Birkin bag full of cash. Paying off the admissions offices at all the schools she got into? Making a contribu-tion to charity? Buying herself an "I got in!" gift at one of those exclu-sive meatpacking district boutiques that only take cash? D with his dad in a Broadway liquor store, buying a magnum of Dom. That's one proud papa. And B returning a get-lucky outfit in Barneys' lingerie department. Guess she decided it was bad luck.

I believe I have a little college acceptance celebrating to do myself.

See you at the party tonight!

You know you love me,

gossip girl n has something to confess

True West was one of those places that felt brand-new every night, but it was also so classic, it might have been around forever. The walls were covered in mirrors with the drinks menus and specials scrawled all over them in waxy orange crayon. White leather horseshoe-shaped banquettes were scat-tered haphazardly around the dining room, and on each table a faux deerskin served as a tablecloth. Waiters dressed in denim Dries van Noten tunics and turquoise snakeskin cow-boy boots wielded cocktails on vintage orange cafeteria trays. Weird Japanese country music drifted through the air, and behind the bar stood a wall of orange-tinted windows looking out over the Hudson River.

Except for her battered black combat boots, Vanessa was barely recognizable in a black stretch faux-leather miniskirt and fluttery red-and-black zebra-print shirt. Thanks to the nice transvestite at the Bloomingdale's SoHo MAC counter, her lips were painted red, and her eyebrows had been plucked for the first time ever. She stationed herself on a stool at the far end of the bar and propped her camera upon her shoulder.

The party had a giddy, first-day-of-school vibe. Girls in matching BU T-shirts squealed and threw their arms around one another. Boys in Brown sweatshirts gave each other high five. Vanessa observed them silently, waiting for one of them 10 approach her and volunteer for an interview.

"I think I have something to say," announced an extraordi-narily handsome boy wearing khakis and a plain white button-down shirt. He set his Tanqueray gin and tonic on the bar and took a seat on the stool next to Vanessa. "Do you want me to tell you my name and what school I go to and all that?" he asked.

Vanessa trained the camera on his bloodshot but still glit-tering green eyes. "Not unless you want to," she replied. "Just tell me a little bit about how the getting-in process has been for you."

Nate took a sip of his drink and looked out the orange-tinted windows. Across the river, planes circled over Newark Airport.

"The funny thing is, I wasn't really stressed out until now," he admitted. He pulled a Marlboro Light out of a pack someone had left behind and rolled it back and forth on top of the bar. "And the stupid thing is, I shouldn't be stressed out. I should be celebrating."