I Will Always Love You (18 page)

Serena shook her head slowly. She’d forgotten how intense Dan Humphrey was. She leaned in close. “Tell me about it.”

“Oh, well, it’s about this architect who decides to accept obscurity and ridicule instead of compromising his ideals in his
designs. It’s about choosing good art above all else,” Dan said seriously. “And that’s what I feel like college is all about.
Figuring out what’s important to you in life, the thing you’ll follow to the end of the earth. Figuring out what you care
about most.” Dan blushed and looked down into his mug. If she didn’t think he was a giant dork before, she definitely would
now.

Serena nodded. That made sense. “I could see that,” she offered. “I’ve been taking a break from acting to figure out what
I want, but I still don’t know.” She grabbed the pitcher and refilled their plastic cups. “I’m not really passionate about
anything like you are.”

“I think you’re passionate,” Dan said. “I mean, I think you must have a passion.” He blushed and gulped his beer. What was
his problem? The more he tried not to sound like a creepy stalker, the more stalkerish he sounded. “Would you ever think about
college?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound like a pushy parent.

“I’m actually deferred from Yale right now.” Serena sighed. Instantly, her blue eyes seemed clouded by sadness. “It’s sort
of a long story.”

“You should go,” Dan said seriously. Instantly, he felt like an idiot. Why was he telling his dream girl to move hours way?

“Really?” Serena stared into her cup of watery beer. She had been thinking a lot about going back to school, recently…. And
besides, it wasn’t like Blair was in charge of Yale. If Serena wanted to go to Yale, she should go to Yale. “Are you trying
to get rid of me?” she asked, raising a playful eyebrow at Dan, who instantly reddened.

“No!” Dan protested. “But there’s more to college than beer pong and a T-shirt. I think you might like it.” Why had he been
so nervous about meeting Serena? Sure, she was beautiful, but she was also goofy and fun and smart and sweet.

Serena smiled across the table. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had listened to her—really listened. “Well, if
I do go to Yale, I’ll still come back and visit. New Haven’s not far from the city, you know.”

“No, it’s not far at all.” Dan smiled back, sloshing his beer so a tiny dribble fell onto his blue Gap sweater. But he didn’t
care. Serena was still beaming at him, and in her deep blue eyes was the promise of the future. “I’d like that,” he said finally.

See what I mean about history coming back to haunt you?

if you don’t know who you’re sleeping with, who does?

“Shut up!” Blair screamed, hitting the wall by her headboard on her way from the minibar toward her bed. She was on her fourth
vodka soda refill and the couple in the room next door seemed to be on their fourth round of noisy, athletic sex. Blair had
had enough. Even if they were on their honeymoon, didn’t they get tired? And hadn’t the Tribeca Star heard of soundproofing?

And doesn’t she have anything better to do than sit in her room and listen to them?

The noises in the next room subsided slightly. There. That was better. It was only ten o’clock, but Blair was exhausted. For
the past twenty-four hours, she’d been holed up in her room. Nothing bad ever happened in the hotel room.

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 stomach 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.”