Don't You Forget About Me (10 page)

Avenue. But now it didn’t feel calming or familiar to have Blair sitting next to her—it felt
tense
. Serena shifted on the hard stone, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable.

“Nate told me earlier he couldn’t hang out because they were painting his room and the fumes were too much to bear. But clearly
you
were able to handle them,” Blair accused, looking straight ahead.

“Listen, I think you’ve got things all wrong. Please don’t freak out before I tell you what’s really going on.” Serena snuck a glance at Blair, whose eyes were hidden behind enormous blue aviators. She
seemed
mad, but Serena couldn’t really be sure, since cranky was kind of Blair’s natural state. She hadn’t wanted to ruin the surprise of the slide show, but she knew Blair would never trust her again if she didn’t explain what she and Nate had been doing.

Um, maybe she should’ve thought about that
before
writing her best friend’s boyfriend a three-page love letter?

“So you know the party at the Met?” Serena took a gulp of iced latte and looked out at the street below. A tired-looking mother was attempting to strap her writhing toddler into a stroller while her husband looked on helplessly. “Well, your mom asked me and Nate to go through all these photos to make a slide show for the party: a ‘This Is Your Life, Blair Waldorf’ kind of thing. That’s why we were hanging out today.” Serena reached into her tote and rummaged around at the bottom. “She asked us to keep it a secret, but clearly you’re too much of a sleuth for us,” she joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Seriously?” Blair perked up. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that Serena and Nate might be getting together to do something nice for her. And she loved surprises, as long as she knew about them.

That makes sense.

“Uh-huh,” Serena replied excitedly. “Look at
these.
” She pulled some old photos from her bag and handed them to Blair.

Blair stared down at the picture of Nate sleeping, the words BUCK NAKED scrawled across his adolescent, scrawny chest in black magic marker. She’d written the “BUCK” part, and Serena’s wavy script had filled in the “NAKED”—they hadn’t even talked about it, they’d just had the exact same thought at the exact same time. Blair laughed, running her fingers over the slick surface of the photograph. “I can’t believe you found this! What were we, like, thirteen? We were so freaking immature!” They looked so innocent, lying there with Nate between them. Blair smiled, suddenly feeling nostalgic. The Three Musketeers—that’s what their parents had called them since grade school, a cluster of adults shaking their heads and smiling as Serena and Blair tackled Nate in their various living rooms, sitting on top of him until he screamed.

Sounds like a dream come true.

“Oh my God.” Blair turned to face Serena and pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head. Some girl’s art portfolio nearly slapped Blair as the girl hurried up the stone steps. “Remember in seventh grade when we all drank a bottle of champagne, and Nate had to go out to dinner with his dad afterwards, totally tipsy?” Serena laughed as she stuffed the photos back into her bag. “How could I forget? And remember how we went back to your house and tried to make brownies? Except we were both so uncoordinated we spilled the batter all over the floor, and then Kitty Minky ate it and threw up in your mom’s closet—all over her new pair of Fendi boots? I’ve never seen your mom that mad before.” Blair laughed, moving slightly closer to Serena on the steps. Her anger was slowly dissolving. If Serena would just confess about that fucking love letter, Blair could just forgive her and they could move on. With her family turning on her, she really needed her best friend.

“Can I bum a smoke?” Blair eyed Serena’s slouchy black leather Gucci bag. Serena nodded and pulled out her pack of Gauloises, handing one to her. Even though she’d brought her own Merit Ultra Lights, Blair decided that with Yale coming up so soon, she’d better start smoking a more serious brand of cigarettes.

Doesn’t she mean more pretentious?

A horde of little kids dressed in shorts and T-shirts stumbled up the steps, holding onto a long piece of red rope. Blair watched as the kids struggled to make it to the top of the steps, yelling and laughing, all moving together in a group. She remembered how in first grade, for whatever ridiculous reason, everyone in her class had decided that she had cooties. Serena was the only one who would talk to her. And then, of course, as soon as she had accepted Blair, everyone else had been quick to follow. Serena never had trouble finding people to worship her and copy her every move, even back when they could barely form sentences.

Serena exhaled a cloud of sweetly scented smoke. “Sometimes I can’t believe we were ever that young.”

Like they’re so ancient now.

“I
know
.” Blair pushed her glossy dark hair off her shoulders. “I can’t believe we’re going to college in a week.” She looked at the group of kids again. Two girls were fighting over a place on the red rope. “I can’t wait to get to Yale and just start over again. Can’t you just picture it?” She closed her eyes, smiling happily as she conjured up the freshly-mowed green grass strewn with fall leaves and ivy-covered brick walls. Ah,Yale. She and Nate were going to move into a cozy colonial house and live happily ever after. They could even have Serena over for dinner sometimes. She’d regale them with stories about the single life, crazy frat parties, and silly hookups followed by morning walks of shame, and Blair and Nate would chuckle and smile at each other across the table, smugly happy that they’d found the
one
and weren’t out there getting drunk and sloppy.

Serena closed her eyes too, and tried her best to put herself there, beside Blair and Nate at Yale in the fall. But behind her closed eyelids lay a mass of empty, undefined darkness. She frowned. She couldn’t ignore the fact that every time she tried to imagine her life at college, she wound up drawing a complete blank. She snapped her eyes open and instantly felt comforted by the sight of Fifth Avenue, its sea of yellow taxis heading downtown, the stately green-awninged buildings with their impeccably dressed doormen who wore suits and white gloves no matter how hot it was.

Blair took a drag from her Galoise. “So, when I was saying I wanted to kill my family before . . . I’m kind of serious this time. They’re moving to L.A. because Cyrus is building some golf course or mall or something putrid that the people out there like. Of course they
would
leave the city for the fucking natural-disaster capital of the world.” She rolled her eyes, her bitterness starting to creep back in.

“What?”
Serena angled her body toward Blair’s, so that their knees were touching. “Are you serious?” Blair crushed out the cigarette beneath the heel of her leopard-print Repetto ballet flats. “She gave me this whole sob story about how poor baby Yale needed to be raised in a place that had a
backyard.
” “We didn’t have backyards and we turned out okay,” Serena replied, her normally smooth brow wrinkled in thought.
Had they turned out okay?
Another group of kids ran up the massive steps, screaming at the top of their lungs.

“That’s what
I
said.” Blair threw up her hands in exasperation. “I mean, we had the whole
city
to play in. Like those kids.
They
don’t look unhappy.” She gestured toward the group of five-year-olds, who were giggling as they raced each other up the giant stone steps. Blair straightened with a sudden thought. “But actually, maybe I won’t have to kill my family now. Maybe an earthquake will just swallow them up. Except my baby sister, of course. She can stay.” She tried to laugh but couldn’t. Nothing was funny right now.

If picturing her family dead doesn’t make her happy, maybe she should try something less violent, like meditation.

“Wow,” Serena observed glumly, twirling a long piece of golden hair around one finger, suddenly feeling sad and serious. She looked out to Fifth Avenue again, just as a bus with the
Breakfast at Fred’s
ad rolled by. She quickly turned away, not sure why seeing it made her feel jittery and unsettled. “I can’t imagine you anywhere else but right here. I mean, we’ve lived, like, ten blocks away from each other our whole
lives.
” Blair
had
always been here in the city, right by her side. Even when they weren’t getting along—which was a lot of the time—it had made her feel better to know that Blair was just half a mile away, sleeping in the room Serena knew so well. What would Thanksgiving or Christmas break be like now with her in California? Or the summers, for that matter? Serena had always thought they’d be together forever, and now she wasn’t so sure. She looked over at Blair, who was deep in thought.

“So, I told you about how the release date of my movie got pushed up, right? I’m totally stressed about the premiere,” Serena said, deciding to change the subject for both their sakes. She pushed her mass of hair over her shoulder. “There’s a press conference at the Soho House on Tuesday, and I’m really nervous.” Blair turned to her friend and took another swig of cold sweet coffee. Serena certainly
hadn’t
told her the release date had been moved up, but that explained why she’d seen her face and the words “True Love Never Lies” pass by on three different buses since they’d sat down. Serena was staring straight ahead, and Blair couldn’t tear her gaze away from her perfect profile. Even though her face was flushed and a little bit sweaty from the sun overhead, it should’ve been etched in glass and then minted onto a fucking coin. But however jealous she might be of the fact that Serena was going to be an overnight sensation, she had to admit she felt kind of proud, too. The only thing better than having fame and fortune happen to you was to have it happen to your best friend.

Excuse me, but what happened to the Blair we all know and love?

“Don’t worry.” Blair turned and gave Serena’s knee a squeeze. “You’re going to be fine.” “Thanks. That means a lot to me,” Serena replied slowly, her voice soft. “Oh, and will you come shopping with me for the Met party?” “Of course.” Blair nodded. She remembered how much fun they used to have playing dress-up when they were little, trying on clothes in her room all afternoon and drinking Campari and sodas with lime, giggling together in the bathroom mirror as Serena expertly painted Blair’s lids with black liner, or lacquered her nails with ballet slipper pink Essie polish.

Even if Serena had written Nate that stupid love letter, Blair was the one who was with him now. There really wasn’t any reason they couldn’t still be best friends. Serena would be the famous one and Blair would be . . . the happy one.

Right.

all n needs now is a peg leg

Nate crossed West Forty-fourth Street and headed toward the imposing beaux-arts limestone building that housed the New York Yacht Club. The large bay windows resembled the sterns of ships and made Nate wish desperately that he was still out at sea with Blair, her wet, sandy hair tickling his skin, nothing in the distance but blue sky and endless horizons. He only felt like himself when he was on board the
Charlotte
, far away from the city and the pressures of real life. Why did real life always have to be so
complicated
? He’d been back on dry land for one day, and he was already in serious trouble.

Story of his life.

He pushed open the front door and stepped inside the opulent interior of the old club. The paneling was all deep, rich mahogany, and everything in sight was gilded in gold. He pushed his shoulders back and tried to stand up a little straighter as he climbed the ornate, winding marble staircase toward an impeccably dressed attendant.

“I’m here to see . . . uh . . . Captain Chips,” Nate said stupidly, realizing he couldn’t even remember Chips’s last name. “I’m Nate, um, Nathaniel Archibald.” The attendant looked down at his metal clipboard and quickly found his name, placing a neat check mark right beside it.

“Right this way, Mr. Archibald. Captain
White
is expecting you in the Grill Room.” The attendant emphasized the name White, as if implying that Nate ought to remember it. Nate gulped and followed him down the wooden stairs to a set of heavy oak doors.

The gracefully curved ceiling of the Grill Room was fashioned out of planks of oak, the floors and walls paneled in the dark wood. Round tables covered in white linen tablecloths were scattered around the cozy, underground space. It was like being in the belly of a tall ship, and Nate instantly felt a thousand times more comfortable. He could almost hear the wood creaking under his feet as he was led toward a man dressed in full navy uniform, gold medals shining on his lapels. His white hair was neatly combed back from a deeply tanned, severely lined face. A gold wedding band winked from his wrinkled, leathery hand. As Nate approached, the man stood and gripped Nate’s palm.

“Nate Archibald. You’re the spitting image of your father,” Chips growled with a Scottish accent. He looked at Nate with crinkly-lidded blue eyes beneath bushy white brows, and motioned to the leather-cushioned chair across from his. “Sit. Have a drink.” Chips sat back down and gestured to the waiter, a man in his forties with neatly combed sandy hair falling over a wide forehead. Chips pointed at his glassful of amber-colored liquid and held up two wizened fingers. “You like scotch?” He cocked an eyebrow at Nate.

“Sure.” Nate shuffled his legs under the table. “Anything’s fine.” The waiter leaned in, speaking softly. “I’m sorry, sir,” he whispered apologetically. “I’m going to need to see some ID.” Nate paused for a second, feeling like he’d been trapped. He’d already agreed to have scotch, but now he’d have to show his fake ID. Was Chips setting him up? He gulped and reached into the back pocket of his cargo shorts, retrieving the battered brown leather wallet his dad had given him for his sixteenth birthday. He pulled out the fake ID he’d gotten off the Internet. It looked pretty good, and it usually worked—except for the fact they’d mixed up the hair and eyes categories, so if you read it closely it said “brown eyes, green hair.” The waiter peered at the ID for a long moment and Nate shifted in his chair guiltily. When the waiter looked up, he shot him a wry smile. “Very good,
sir
,” he added, handing Nate back the laminated card.