Psycho Killer (23 page)

That’s all for now. See you at brunch with the parents on Sunday.

You know you love me,

The Star Lounge in the Tribeca Star Hotel was big and swanky, filled with comfy black velvet armchairs and ottomans and circular black velvet banquettes, so that the guests could feel like they were having their own private party at each table. The walls were painted dark purple with the ash from that big Icelandic volcano thrown at them, giving the place an eerie, celestial air. Panda bear rugs were tossed willy-nilly across the floor. Black candles flickered on low black-lacquered tables. A famous DJ wearing a hockey mask played the soundtracks to old movies like
Rocky Horror Picture Show
and
The Exorcist
, layering in sitar music and chill dance beats. It was only eight o’clock, but the Star Lounge was the bar of the moment, and it was already jammed with people, all dressed in the hottest fashions and sipping the newest cocktail concoctions.

Blair didn’t care what time it was or what she was wearing or what she drank—she just needed a drink.

The stupid bitch of a cocktail waitress was ignoring her because she was wearing faded Hudson jeans and a boring black sweater. Pretty soon, though, she’d be naked, greeting Nate at the door, her body covered in paint.

Sex was a big deal, and Blair had decided to decorate herself with body paint for the occasion, with colorful, suggestive arrows and street signs leading to all the right places, sort of like a Keith Haring painting. Nate was going to love it. Her face grew hot just thinking about it! She looked around the room self-consciously. She felt like a loser sitting all by herself without even a drink. Where was Serena, anyway? She didn’t have all goddamned night. She still had to straighten her hair and pick the right glasses for the wine.

If Serena doesn’t show up within five minutes, I’m going to shove that burning black candle up that rude cocktail waitress’s left nostril, and then get the fuck out of here
, she told herself sulkily.

“Ooh. Look at
her
,” Blair heard a woman whisper to her friend. “Isn’t she something?”

Blair turned to look. And of course it was Serena.

She wore blue suede knee-high boots and a real Pucci-print minidress with swirls of neon blue, traffic cone orange, and lime green. The dress was long-sleeved with a mock turtleneck and a beaded crystal belt. In an ode to Vidal Sassoon, Serena had pulled her hair into a high, tight ponytail on top of her head, with the ponytail part swooping down toward her perfect chin in an angular blond Nike swoosh. Pale blue eye shadow brought out the lake blue of her eyes, and her smiling lips wore a creamy shade of light pink. She waved at Blair from across the room and wove her way through the crowd. Blair watched the heads turn as she passed, and her stomach churned. Just wait ’til she choked them all with the belt of Serena’s tacky Pucci dress.

“Hi!” Serena plunked herself down on the black velvet ottoman beside Blair’s chair.

Immediately, the cocktail waitress appeared.

“Missy,” Serena greeted her with a warm kiss.

“Hey!” Missy exclaimed, delighted that Serena remembered her name. “My sister said she saw you a few days back at a party she was working down in Chelsea. Said that’s you in the picture on all those buses. That true?”

Blair rolled her eyes in disgust. All she wanted was a fucking drink.

“That’s me. Pretty crazy, huh?”

“You are so rad!” Missy squealed. She glanced at Blair, who was glaring at her. “What can I get you girls?”

“Black Russian,” Blair told her, looking her straight in the eye, daring her to card them.

But Missy would rather slit her own wrists than hassle Serena van der Woodsen for being underage.

Hotels are havens for heathens. Which is why we love them so.

“And for you, sweetie?” Missy asked Serena.

“Oh, I’ll have a Dark and Stormy,” Serena said. “With extra lemons.”

Missy hurried away to fetch the drinks, eager to tell the bartender that the girl in the Remi brothers’ photo that was all over town was sitting in their bar, and they were pals!

“Sorry I’m late,” Serena told Blair, looking around. “I thought everyone else would be here with you.”

Blair shrugged her shoulders. “I thought we could hang out by ourselves for a while. No one really comes out until later, anyway.”

“Okay,” Serena said. Talking alone was a good start. She smoothed out her dress and dug around in her little red purse for a pack of cigarettes. Gauloises, from France. She tapped one out and stuck it in her mouth. “Want one?” she offered Blair.

Blair shook her head no. “You can’t smoke in restaurants in this country, remember?” She rolled her eyes. Serena was worse than the girls from L’Ecole.

“Oh, I don’t care.” Serena laughed. She was about to light up with a match when the bartender swooped in with a lighter.

“Thanks,” Serena said, taking a puff. The bartender winked and swiftly stepped back behind the bar. Blair wanted to grab his lighter, pour vodka on the floor, and set the whole place on fire, but before she could move Missy brought them their drinks.

“To old times,” Serena said, clinking her glass against Blair’s and taking a long sip. She sat back on her stool and sighed with pleasure. “Don’t you just love hotels?” she said. “They’re so full of secrets.”

Blair raised her eyebrows at Serena in silent response, sure that Serena was about to tell her all the wild and crazy things that had happened to her in hotels while she was in Europe last summer. All the boys she’d had sex with and then decapitated or scalped. Whatever. As if Blair cared.

“I mean, don’t you always think about what everyone’s doing upstairs in their rooms? Like, they could be watching pornos and eating cheese puffs, or they could be stabbing each other in the shower. Or maybe they’re ODing on baby aspirin.”

Sounds like she’s speaking from experience.

“Uh-huh,” Blair murmured, gulping her drink. She would have to get pretty drunk if she was going to make it through the night, especially the body paint part. “So what’s this about your picture being all over buses and stuff?” she said. “I haven’t seen it.”

Serena giggled and leaned toward Blair confidentially. “Even if you saw it, you probably wouldn’t recognize me. It has my name on it, but it’s not a picture of my face.”

Blair frowned. “I don’t get it,” she said.

“It’s art,” Serena said mysteriously, and giggled again. She took a sip of her drink.

The two girls’ faces were only inches apart, and Blair could smell the musky essential oil mixture Serena had started wearing. It smelled like the stuff the exterminator sprayed into the corners of her penthouse.

“I still don’t get it. Is it something dirty?” Blair demanded, annoyed.

“Not really,” Serena answered with a sly smile. “Lots of people have had theirs done too. You know—celebrities.”

“Like who?” Blair said.

“Like Lady Gaga and Justin Timberlake.”

“Oh,” Blair said, sounding unimpressed.

Serena’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

Blair lifted her chin and tucked her straight brown hair behind her ears. “I don’t know, it’s like you’re willing to do anything just to shock people. Don’t you have any pride?”

“Um, last time I checked it wasn’t illegal to have your picture taken,” Serena replied. “Besides, I’ve done worse. And I’m pretty sure you have too.” A sick, gory, fast-motion film of every person she’d ever murdered flashed before Serena’s eyes. It happened when she drank sometimes. It was sort of disturbing.

“Did you ever think about the fact that these are like, the most important years of our lives? Like, for getting into college and everything?” Blair said. “You can’t just go around doing what you want when you want. You have to think about the future.”

Missy brought them another round. This time Serena only nodded her thanks. She looked down at the floor, her jagged,
bloody pinky nail between her teeth. “Yeah, I’m just realizing that now,” she admitted. “I hadn’t thought about it before—how I should have been joining teams and clubs. You know, getting really into the school thing. But that’s why I want you to help me make a movie. Just think how great a team we’d be….” Serena’s voice trailed off. Like the bitch that she was, Blair was shaking her head.

“I feel sorry for your parents,” Blair said quietly. “You don’t know how lucky you are to have parents who are still together. Who still read the paper together on Sunday morning and tuck you in at night. Look at you.” She shook her head again. Even the way Serena was biting her nails disgusted her. “You don’t deserve them.”

Serena’s eyes grew big, and her lip began to tremble, but she was determined not to have a tantrum—at least, not yet. Maybe Blair was just getting her period. That always turned her into a monster.

Serena took a huge gulp of her drink and wiped her mouth with her cocktail napkin. “So, I never heard what you and Nate did all last summer. Did you go up to Maine? See that boat he built?”

Blair shook her head. The topic of Nate was completely off limits. “I had tennis camp. I hated it.”

They drank their drinks in awkward silence.

“And what about this party next week,” Serena demanded, her irritation mounting. “The one you didn’t invite me to. What’s it for again?”

Blair knew the cause sounded lame and unsexy. That’s why she’d named the party
Kiss Me or Die
. To give it an edge.

“It’s for those birds of prey that live in Central Park. They’re endangered, and everyone’s worried that they’re going to die or
starve or the squirrels will raid their nests or whatever. So they set up a foundation for them,” she explained. “Shut up. I know it’s stupid.”

Serena blew out a puff of smoke. “I didn’t say anything. But it’s not like there aren’t
people
that need saving. I mean, what about the… I don’t know… orphans?”

Or the paraplegic, scalpless survivors of her infamous temper tantrums?

“Well, it’s as good a cause as any. We wanted something that wasn’t too heavy to start off the season,” Blair huffed, annoyed. It was fine for
her
to laugh at the cause she’d chosen for the party, but Serena had no right.

“So is the party like, just for us, or is it for parents, too?” Serena asked.

Blair hesitated. “Just… us,” she said finally. She downed the rest of her drink and looked at her watch. “Um, I kind of have to take off.” She slid the handle of her Mulberry bag over her arm.

Serena frowned. She had taken her time getting dressed, psyching herself up for a wild night out with her friends. She’d expected a big group—Blair and the remaining girls, Nate and his gang, Chuck and his boys—all the people they always used to hang out with. What was left of them anyway. And once Blair got drunk enough, Serena would just blurt it all out, confess to sleeping with Nate that one time—oops, those two times—and then they could start over as best friends and make a movie together. Serena might even start taking an SAT prep course so they could take practice SAT tests together. It would be fun.

That was the story she kept trying to tell herself. Deep down she knew she was just toying with Blair, like a cat toys with a
rodent, until she grew tired of the game and was finally ready for Blair to die.

“Where are you going, anyway?” she asked suspiciously.

“I have a tennis match in the morning,” Blair said, feeling extremely superior, even though she was lying her ass off. “I need to sleep.”

“Oh.” Serena crossed her arms and sat back on her stool. “I was hoping we’d all wind up partying in the Basses’ suite upstairs. They still have it, don’t they?”

Back in tenth grade, Serena and Blair used to drink themselves silly in Chuck’s hot tub and do all sorts of crazy, masochistic things.

Like beat each other with sticks?

When their bodies had turned into prunes they’d climb out of the tub and pass out on the king-sized bed, sleeping there until their heads cleared and the wounds had healed, or the maids kicked them out to sterilize the room.

“The Basses still have the suite,” Blair said, standing up. “But they really don’t appreciate people using it. This isn’t tenth grade anymore,” she added coldly.

“Okay,” Serena said. She couldn’t say anything right, could she? At least, not to Blair. She ought to kill her now, just to shut her up, but she’d come to the bar unarmed.

Not that that ever stopped her.

She surveyed the table, taking an inventory of everything she could use to do it. The candle holder. Their drinks glasses. The panda bear rug. The heels of her boots. She could whack Blair in the head, suffocate her with a rug, and gouge her eyes out with the boots.

Serena’s lower lip was trembling. Red spots appeared on her eyelids beneath the powdery blue eye shadow. “I really have to
go,” Blair said, eager to get the fuck out of there before Serena went ballistic.

“Wait!” Serena cried, her blue eyes huge and crazed-looking. Blood from her bitten cuticles was smeared on her teeth.

Blair looked at her watch and sighed impatiently. “What now?” she demanded, tapping her foot.