Don't You Forget About Me (9 page)

“Dan!” Rufus bellowed. “There you are!” He put his arm around his son’s shoulders and turned to the group of bearded Rufus clones surrounding them. “Dan, these are the members of my gastronomic society—they brought the wild boar pâté.” The group of men raised their glasses in greeting, and Rufus pointed to a plate of suspiciously lumpy brown pâté over on the battered wooden coffee table. “Try some—it’s fantastic.” Silence = death.

“And Dan.” Rufus leaned in to speak more privately, “I was thinking about this whole transition you’re going through.” He stopped and scratched his mess of a beard. “Well, maybe its not so much a
transition
as it is a realization,” Rufus mused, stuffing a mushy glob of pâté into his mouth. “But I think,” he continued, the boar pâté sputtering out of his mouth in chunks, “that in the long run it will probably make you a better writer, like Oscar Wilde or W.H. Auden.” Rufus took a gallant swig from the Cosmo in his hand, washing down his meaty mouthful. “Just think of all you’ll have to say now!” he exclaimed. “I imagine that your marginalized position will be very productive for your writing.”
Marginalized position?
Dan didn’t feel very marginalized—more like completely overwhelmed. And curious. What else had his mother e-mailed? And to whom? He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Greg had taken a seat on the sofa next to Chuck and his idiotic pink-Cosmo-stained monkey. They seemed to be giggling over the rims of their martini glasses. Just then Greg looked up, caught Dan’s eye, and waved, smiling happily. “C’mere,” he mouthed, gesturing with one hand.

“I’ll be right back,” Dan told his father, who was chewing another massive slice of pita bread with some of the scary pâté smeared on it.

Greg untangled himself from Chuck and met Dan halfway across the living room. Some of the rainbow crepe paper was falling down, and it brushed Dan’s shoulders as he moved.

“Listen.” Greg ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “Not now, but sometime soon, I’d really like to talk to you about some stuff.” He looked meaningfully into Dan’s eyes, and Dan took a sip of his Cosmo—fruit punch flavor be damned—and swallowed hard. What with Greg’s grandmother dying, Dan knew he had to be supportive—be there for him in his time of need and all that. But what if what Greg wanted was to make things between them more . . .
official
—just like everyone else?

Dan’s head was still spinning with the discovery that he was gay—and that he’d probably
always
been gay. But if he was going to be gay, shouldn’t he at least find a boyfriend who made him feel something besides awkward and nervous? His eyes scanned the room, finally landing on Vanessa, who was talking to his mother and nodding like she actually had some clue as to what Jeanette was talking about. She caught his eye and winked, and Dan instantly felt a little bit better.

“Sure,” he replied weakly. “That’d be good.”

A look of relief swept over Greg’s face. “Thanks. You’re the best.” He gave Dan’s hand a little squeeze before returning to sit next to Chuck, who was feeding his monkey wild boar pâté, its fingers covered with the soft brown goo. Dan watched in horror as the monkey screeched, throwing its furry head back and smearing the pâté all over the freshly washed white wall.

So much for redecorating.

things worth having are worth cheating for

“Oh my God, you
have
to burn this one!” Serena held out a picture of her first-grade self in a fuzzy alligator costume and dug her feet into the butter-soft forest green Pratesi sheets covering Nate’s bed. His bed was always unmade, despite the fact that his family had a maid who bulldozed through his room every day, washing everything in sight. Serena and Nate lay side by side on their stomachs, a worn leather photo album between them.

“I don’t even remember
wearing
that,” she mused, tossing the aging photo onto the already messy floor. Even though he’d only been home for one day, his room was a total disaster. Piles of clothes were strewn everywhere, and his huge wooden desk was completely covered with notebooks, magazines, and PlayStation games. A broken Brine lacrosse stick leaned dejectedly in one corner.

“
I
do.” Nate laughed, retrieving the photo. “It was Halloween. We’d just gone to the Bronx Zoo on some field trip, and you became obsessed with alligators.” He smiled lazily at her. “You ran around telling everybody you were going to live with the alligators.” Serena’s bare foot was right next to Nate’s, and she moved it a fraction of an inch closer, feeling the heat from his body as he turned the pages of the photo album. She bit her lip. She needed to focus on the job they’d come there to do—to choose the pictures for the slide show at Blair’s graduation party. Blair. Nate’s girlfriend. The love of his life. She looked down at the tan leather photo album again and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. There was Blair’s tanned, happy face, her arms entwined around Nate’s neck as she pulled his face closer to hers, grinning into the camera. They’d probably kissed moments after they took that picture. Because they were
in love
. Her heart sank with the thought.

“This is so weird,” Nate said, turning the page.

“What is?” Serena asked, hoping Nate hadn’t suddenly developed the ability to read minds. She twirled a lock of blond hair around one finger, waiting for him to finish his thought.

“Oh, no
way
!” she exclaimed, pointing at the photo album as he turned to the next page.There was Nate, blissfully passed out between a smiling Serena and Blair, the words BUCK NAKED scrawled in red marker across his bare, hairless chest. “I didn’t even know we had this! I’ll let you keep the alligator one if you promise
never
to burn this one. . . .” She looked up and gave him a mischievous smile.

“Deal.” Nate stuck his hand out, and she shook it, slowly drawing her hand away.

Looking down at eighth-grade Nate, so peaceful and sleepy, Serena couldn’t help remembering how warm his skin always was, and how, on the night they’d lost their virginity to each other, she hadn’t needed a blanket at all—sleeping with Nate was like sleeping with your own personal furnace.

And just as dangerous . . .

“What were you saying though before—what’s weird?” Serena looked down at the ends of her hair again, afraid of his answer.

“I don’t know.” Nate flipped the page and pointed to a picture of Blair on the steps of the Met with Serena, their arms wrapped around each other, tongues sticking out at the camera. “Things seemed so much easier back then. No college. No worries. No responsibilities.” “Like taking the
Charlotte
for a month without asking?” she said, grinning. “It must’ve been awesome.” She cleared her throat and rolled over onto her back, her hands on her belly. Her stomach dipped and rolled in anticipation and nervousness. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know the answer to that question, but at the same time, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from asking.

“It was.” Nate closed the photo album and looked at her. “Being out there with no parents, nothing to worry about, just me and Blair . . . it was probably the best month of my life,” he said, although he was really thinking about how kissable Serena’s lips always looked—the way they were always a little parted, with just a trace of a smile.

Serena’s heart plummeted in her chest. She wanted so badly to have been the one out there with him, totally alone, nothing around but the endless expanse of blue water and their half-naked bodies. She wondered for the millionth time if he had found her letter and read it. Somehow, she doubted he had. If he’d found the letter, he would’ve said something, right? But there was probably no point in asking anyway. He loved Blair. There was no question. She felt dizzy at the thought. How could she go up to Yale with them in a week and watch as Nate and Blair stared into each other’s eyes for four long years? She didn’t think she’d be able to stand it.

Nate’s phone rang, breaking the peaceful silence. He grabbed it from the floor and as he reached out, his T-shirt rode up a little, exposing the smooth, tanned skin of his back. Serena swallowed and tried to look away. Nate pushed the speakerphone button and a gravelly, decidedly grumbly voice was released into the air.

“Nate? Is that you?”

Nate looked over at Serena in confusion, wrinkling his forehead.

“Uh, yeah,” he said cautiously. “This is Nate.”

“Well, this is Chips,” the voice growled menacingly. “Meet me at the New York Yacht Club in half an hour.” There was a click, then the sound of a dial tone.

“Fuck,” Nate mumbled under his breath. After a moment he jumped to his feet and slid them into a beat-up pair of black and white Marc Jacobs Vans.

“I’m sorry,” he said, putting his cell phone into his pocket. “But I’ve gotta go.” “Sounds like you’ve got a hot date.” She winked and waited for his sly comeback, but he only gave her a halfhearted smile. Serena searched his eyes, trying to figure out what was going on. Nate turned and started digging through one of his desk drawers, pulling out some rolling papers, a stick of deodorant, and some random unicorn stickers Blair had probably given him in, like, seventh grade or something. “But before you go, I just wanted to tell you that they’re pushing up the release date for
Breakfast at Fred’s. . . .
” “Seriously?” He turned to look at her again, producing his iPod from the drawer and throwing it into his navy blue Jack Spade canvas backpack along with his keys. “I guess you’ll be a real movie star soon.” He grinned, closing his backpack. “Sure you’ll still have time for us little people?” “I’ll always have time for you, Natie.” Her voice was small but serious. As she held his green-eyed gaze, Nate leaned over and kissed her softly on the forehead, his lips lingering for a moment on her skin. He stroked the top of her head briefly with one hand and then walked quickly to the door. Before the door swung shut, he looked back at her —a kind of wordless question swimming in his green eyes. And then he was gone.

Serena sat there in a daze, one hand tracing the path of his lips on her face. Her forehead felt strange and electric—like her skin had just been branded by the soft pressure of Nate’s mouth. She could still feel the silky warmth of his lips, and all she wanted was to chase him out the door and kiss him back.

But not on the forehead this time.

b stakes out her best frenemies

“Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs here!”

Blair perched on a fire hydrant directly across from the Archibald’s town house on Eighty-second Street. A Sabrett hot dog cart was parked on the sidewalk a few feet from her, and the salty aroma of hot dogs, sauerkraut, and hot, golden pretzels was making her feel slightly insane, and very hungry. Her stomach growled and she rolled her eyes in annoyance. Even though she was totally starving, she wasn’t going anywhere or eating anything—especially not a greasy, disease-filled hot dog—until Serena came out and explained to her what the hell was going on and why she was hanging out at Nate’s house. Rumbling stomach or not, right now the only kind of dog Blair was interested in was her lying, cheating boyfriend.

Woof!

She crossed her arms over her chest, her forest green canvas Kate Spade tote resting in her lap. She pushed her tinted blue Prada aviators up on her forehead and watched as the heavy wooden door to the town house swung open. Nate came tumbling out, shoving his white iPod headphones in his ears and practically running down the street. Where was he off to in such a hurry? Maybe the “paint fumes” had gone to his head. Moments later, Serena appeared, looking right, then left, her black leather tote swinging from her shoulder, blond hair gleaming in the sunlight. Aha!

Blair watched as Serena proceeded to practically
tiptoe
down the street toward the park. As she reached the corner, she stopped suddenly, pulling her cell from her bag. Who was she calling now? Did she need to call Nate only seconds after parting to plan their next rendezvous? Blair leaned forward on the bench, trying to make out Serena’s expression as she held the phone to her head.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Blair jumped as her cell began to vibrate and ring from the confines of her tote. She grabbed it and looked at the caller-ID screen.Well, of course.

“Hello?”
she answered shrilly, unable to keep the iciness from her voice.

“Hey.” Serena’s voice was bright and casual. “What are you doing?” “Hey. Nothing. Contemplating killing my family.”
And you?
Blair added silently.

Serena laughed. “What’d they do this time?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Blair sighed. She watched as Serena stopped walking and held onto a streetlight, kicking one foot against the metal base.

Oh-kaaay . . .

“So, where are you right now?” Serena asked, her voice questioning. Blair watched as she leaned against the pole, crossing her legs at the ankles.

“You know, just out and about.” Blair kept her voice neutral.

An ambulance rushed down the street, siren wailing, and the sound echoed through both phones. “That’s so weird—it sounds like you’re right next to me.” Serena sounded confused . . . and maybe the slightest bit nervous?

“It’s funny you should say that.” Blair’s tone was icy as a January frost. “Because I’m looking right
at
you.” She watched as Serena whirled around, checking the crowd frantically. “Oh!” she exclaimed, spotting her. “I’ll be right over.” Now this should be a fun reunion!

Ten minutes later, they sat side by side on the cool stone steps of the Met, smoking cigarettes, iced vanilla lattes sweating in their hands. The sun beat down on their heads and shoulders like a reprimand, and brightly colored banners hung from the entrance to the museum, advertising the latest Picasso and Van Gogh touring collections.

“So,” Blair’s voice was cool and measured, “what were you doing over at Nate’s?” She glanced at Serena’s low-cut black cotton Tory Burch tank top. “Because it certainly doesn’t look like there was any
painting
going on.” “Painting? What are you talking about?” Serena knew it must be weird for Blair to have caught her and Nate hanging out without her, but the iciness in Blair’s voice felt totally wrong, especially
here.
The two of them had met on these steps countless times. They’d drunk hundreds of coffees and smoked probably thousands of cigarettes here. Usually they would gossip wildly until the sky grew dark and it was time to head home, linking their arms and walking down Fifth