I Like It Like That (6 page)

Vanessa knew it had been a mistake to come the minute she laid eyes on Misty Bass's gold dress. Never mind the fact that her dad was wearing a wool poncho and a skirt—she was still wearing her school uniform!

But her parents didn't seem at all self-conscious. “Look at Dad checking out the free booze,” Ruby whispered in her ear. “He's in freaking heaven.”

“They need to turn the music up so people can dance,” their mother commented, snapping her fingers and bobbing up and down in her moccasins. She was probably the only woman in the building not in heels—even Vanessa and Ruby were wearing platform boots.

A hushed, horrified murmur slithered through the room.

“Who the hell are they?” Chuck Bass asked his mom. Misty Bass was one of the grandes dames of New York Society. She knew everyone.

“I'm not sure,” his mother answered. “But I do love a man in a skirt. It takes such courage!”

“You know, I recognize those two,” Titi Coates told her husband. “They're the artists from the opening we went to last night—the one with that wonderful horse!”

“Gabby! Arlo!”

A woman in an elegant black floor-length gown, her highlighted brown hair pulled back in a stylish, professionally done 'do, was waving energetically at the Abramses from a table in the corner.

“I think that must be Mrs. Rosenfeld,” Vanessa dragged her parents over to the gesticulating woman.

Mwa! Mwa!

“We are just too glad you're here!” Pilar Rosenfeld cried, kissing each one of the Abramses twice on each cheek. “Isn't it wonderful, Roy?” she asked, touching her husband's crisp, tuxe-doed arm. “Here we all are together again after all these years.”

“Splendid!” Roy Rosenfeld said in his deep, dapper voice. The Rosenfelds had gone to art school with the Abramses and had once worn only tie-dyes, cutoffs, and no shoes, even though they were both from wealthy New England families. Obviously their shoeless days had been just a phase.

Next to Mr. Rosenfeld, a tall, dark-haired boy wearing wire-rimmed Armani glasses stood peering down his formidable nose at Vanessa, as if trying to place her.

“Jordy, you remember Gabriela and Arlo and Ruby and Vanessa?” his mother asked.

The boy's haughty stance didn't change. “I think the last time I saw you, you were only a baby, but I'm pretty sure you had more hair.”

Vanessa had just noticed Serena van der Woodsen and Blair Waldorf basking in their glory at the next table, making her even more aware of the fact that she was wearing her school uniform. “Last time I saw you, you were wearing tie-dyed diapers.”

Jordy pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his tremendous nose. “Well, now I'm prelaw, at Columbia.”

Ruby sat down at the table and poured herself a huge glass of champagne. “Mom? Dad? Are you guys okay?”

Their parents were standing stiffly together, propping each other up like one of their found-art statues. Vanessa wondered if they'd expected to be dancing barefoot around a fire to welcome the coming of spring instead of sitting down at a black-tie affair.

“Please.” Mr. Rosenfeld pulled out the empty chair next to him and gestured for Vanessa's mother to sit down.

“I just love your skirt,” Mrs. Rosenfeld noted, pointing to Arlo's accidental fashion statement. “Is that Galliano by any chance?”

Arlo stared at her blankly. A white-jacketed waiter arrived to serve the first course, a duck pate terrine. Arlo began to poke at it with his dessert spoon, checking it for signs of life. Vanessa's mother picked up her cloth napkin and blew her nose into it. Ruby snorted and giggled into her champagne.

“Are you still making art for peace, or have you given all that up?” Gabriela asked Pilar.

Pilar smiled. “Roy and I are in real estate law. Jordy wants to get into law, too, when he's done with school. Forget about it—we don't even have time to recycle anymore!”

Vanessa's parents both blanched. Recycling was what found art was all about. Without recycling, they and their art would cease to exist. “Well, that's a pity,” Gabriela said, frowning down at her paté. “You don't suppose I could ask them to make us a salad, do you?”

Vanessa dug into her pate, delighted with this entertaining turn of events.

“What kind of law do you want to practice?” she asked Jordy.

He waved cigarette smoke away from his weirdly long nostrils. Behind him, Blair Waldorf and Serena van der Woodsen were smoking like chimneys while Blair's pregnant mother polished off the food on their plates. “Probably real estate, just like my parents.”

Vanessa nodded. It was sort of hard to relate someone's desire to emulate his parents when her own parents were such freaks. But Jordy's lack of imagination was also strangely appealing. And he wasn't bad-looking either, with nice wavy black hair that looked like he probably spent a lot of time grooming it, and that nose. Vanessa wouldn't have minded getting Jordy's nose on film. “I like your glasses,” she told him.

Just because she had a shaved head didn't mean she didn't know how to flirt.

“Thanks.” He pulled them off and then put them back on again. “You're a senior, right? Know where you're going to college next year?”

Vanessa glared at Ruby, daring her to blurt out the information about Vanessa's early acceptance at NYU. But Ruby remained loyally silent, which was a major challenge for a motormouth like her.

“What does it matter?” Arlo demanded grumpily. “Any school that can help her discover something she's passionate about would be fine.”

Gabriela tugged on her long gray braid, her brown eyes passing over Vanessa absentmindedly. “That's right, you are going to college next year.” She turned to Pilar. “Arlo always hoped Vanessa would go to Oberlin. I don't know where he got that idea. After all, it's an arts school.”

“I'm sure some school will be dumb enough to take me,” Vanessa said quietly.

“That's the spirit, dear!” Pilar chirped. “And all this time, you two girls have been living on your own in Williamsburg,” she added, changing the subject. “My, you're independent!”

“Ruby's got to keep up with her music,” Gabriela gushed. “Her band might get signed to a label soon.”

Vanessa smiled tightly. “While I just sit around the house all day, eating meat-flavored Pringles and watching violent TV.”

Next to her Jordy grunted, the only one at the table who'd gotten the joke.

The band began to play, a little louder this time. Duke Ellington, or something of that ilk. chuck Bass shimmied over to Serena and Blair's table, his hands on his hips for added gayness. “This party would be so much less boring if you girls would dance with me.” He leaned over the backs of their chairs and breathed down their bare necks.

Serena and Blair glanced at each other sideways. Their only surefire escape was to sprint to the ladies' room for more cigarettes. Grabbing their drinks, they scooted their chairs back and leapt to their feet.

Rrrriippp!

Whoosh!

Oops!

Blair's borrowed too-tight pink dress ripped obscenely down both sides, revealing the fact that she was wearing only a pair of sheer black stockings underneath and absolutely no underwear. Worse still, Serena's strapless dress got caught on the back of her chair and was yanked down to her waist, revealing her completely bare 34Bs.

“It's all right, we're all girls here,” Chuck tittered.

“Close your eyes, dear,” Titi Coates snapped at her husband, Arthur.

“Oh, my!” Mrs. van der Woodsen exclaimed, reflexively reaching for her drink.

“Whoa,” Nate breathed, suddenly glad he wasn't high.

The girls giggled hysterically, frantically clutching themselves and each other as they tore past Chuck, dashed to the coatroom to fetch their coats, and beat it out of the Frick as fast as their three-and-a-half-inch heels would allow.

No one at Vanessa's table had even noticed. The elder Rosenfelds and Abramses were too busy being offended by each other as the band struck up the Irving Berlin song “Puttin' on the Ritz.”

Vanessa hated to dance, but she grabbed the sleeve of Jordy's expensive suit jacket, anyway. “I love this song. Come and dance with me?”

Jordy stood up and pulled back her chair for her, all manners and conformity. Then he led her onto the dance floor and twirled her around with the confident ease of someone who'd been to dancing school.

Vanessa surprised herself by feeling a little giddy as she was spun and dipped. He was such a good dancer, she completely forgot about her stupid school uniform.

Even though most of the other girls in the room would never forget.

gossipgirl.net

Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

hey people!

That so-called boring, pointless party we all had to go to

Wasn't it so much better than you expected? Just think, there are only a few more hours left until spring break—and now we all have something to talk about on the airplane!

Not that I won't be talking about the thing I never get tired of talking about …

Sex

Sure, some of us have had it and some of us haven't, but the truth is, we're all thinking about it and we're definitely all talking about it. There's the who-do-you-think-has-already-done-it-in-our-grade-and-with-whom breakdown, which always involves one girl getting accused of doing it with a teacher in sixth grade. A total lie by the way, because I happen to have been that girl. Then there's the who-would-you-do-it-with-if-you-could-do-it-with-anyone quiz, which usually involves a celebrity like Jake Gyllenhaal. Then there's the penis debate, which usually morphs into a shrieking, giggling fit, because face it, penises are ugly and weird. Then there's the my-ideal-first-time fantasy, which also usually involves celebrities. For some reason, my ideal-first-time fantasy was always with Jake, on top of a washing machine, at sunrise (our laundry room happens to have a great view of the sunrise over the East River). But then I realized how completely uncomfortable that would be—and how awkward if the maid needed to do the laundry! Needless to say, we can't stop talking about sex. And now that I've spilled my guts, I herewith give you permission to spill yours. Don't be shy. After all, it's totally anonymous.

Unless you don't want it to be.

Your e-mail

Q: Hey G,

So last night I was at that party and I'm pretty sure I saw you. There was this weird family that I've never seen before. The dad was wearing sneakers and like, a wraparound skirt. Do you shave your head?

—xstream

A: Dear xstream,

Your sleuthing abilities are admirable but way inaccurate. Even if I did shave my head, might I not wear a wig or a funky hat every once in a while, especially for a fancy-dress occasion like last night's party? And as I recall, the only girl in the room with a shaved head last night was also wearing her school uniform, which I must loudly insist I would never, ever do.

—GG

Q: dear gossipgurl,

so did you see S and N practically, like, doing it in the corner of the room at the Frick last night? they r so far in denial it's crazy. like why don't they just admit they want to be together? they would make a great couple, right?

—spec.tater

A: Dear spec.tater,

Methinks you err on the side of exaggeration. S and N are friends. Are friends not allowed to touch each other? Although it's hard not to believe they don't enjoy it a little more than they should …

—GG

Sightings

S and B streaking—literally—out of the Virtue vs. Vice benefit last night before dessert was even served. Personally I think B planned the whole thing and wired their dresses so she could escape being in the same room with N when he was looking so dashing. V skipping out of the party with that boy with the unusual nose to share intimate cappuccinos at the Three Guys Coffee Shop a few blocks away. True love? Was she just trying to get rid of her parents? Or both? And J's new blond boyfriend, L—yes, we are quite sure it was him—arriving late to the Frick, all dolled up in a gorgeous tux, with Madame T, the renowned arts benefactress, on his arm. He was also seen on the Upper West Side last night, so perhaps it was just another cute blond boy. There seems to be a bounty of them in these parts.

Have a kick-ass vacation, and try not to break anything or lose anything I wouldn't break or lose! Wink, wink.

You know you love me.

gossip girl

“The last time I was here, our house was definitely on this road,” Georgie insisted stubbornly. “But you don't know my mom. She would totally move the house somewhere else just to spite me.”

Nate looked out the Sun Valley taxi window at the stunning log cabin mansions on Wood River Drive in Ketchum, Idaho, the main town in Sun Valley. Behind them rose the snow-covered mass of Mount Baldy, its robust sides alternating between pristinely groomed ski runs and swatches of dense conifer forest. Squinting, Nate could just make out the antlike trickle of skiers zigzagging down the slopes. His new board was tucked snugly in the back of the minivan in its padded red Burton case, and he couldn't wait to try it out.

“Maybe you could call and ask exactly where it is,” the driver suggested, glancing at Georgie in the rearview mirror. The ride from the airport to her house was only supposed to take about twenty minutes, but they'd been driving around Sun Valley for forty-five.

“Just keep driving,” Georgie commanded as she rested her head heavily against Nate's shoulder. The sleeping pill she'd mooched off the old man sitting next to her on the plane still hadn't worn off, and as usual she wasn't making any sense. Also, she was wearing purple satin Miu Miu sandals and a flimsy black halter top, which was kind of strange, considering the fact that they were going skiing. Still, her smooth, pale arms felt good in Nate's hands, and her thick, dark brown hair was so sleek and luxurious, he didn't mind. It was nice just being together in person instead of on the phone.

“Do you remember how many floors it has?” he asked, trying to be helpful. “Or if there's like, a stream next to it or something?”

“Not really,” Georgie yawned. “I remember one time when we were here for Christmas, Nanny and I built a snowman together. I stole one of my mother's Fendi purses for it to carry on its stick arm.”

Very helpful.

The driver was sort of creeping along the road back toward town. He seemed to have given up.

“Wait a minute,” Georgie cried, sitting up.

The car jolted to a halt.

“That's it!” She grappled with the door handle and slid the minivan door open, completely unmindful of the fact that she was getting out in the middle of the road on a blind turn. “Come on!” she called to Nate impatiently. Obviously she expected the driver or the house staff to deal with the luggage.

Don't we all?

Nate had admired the sprawling timber ranch house the two other times they'd driven by it, wondering who lived there and if they were famous or something, since there were seven matching black Mercedes SUVs parked outside.

“Whose cars are these?” he asked as he followed Georgie down the snow-dusted driveway to the imposing eight-foot-high brushed-steel front doors of the house.

Georgie bit her bloodred lower lip with eager anticipation. She didn't even seem to notice that her satin sandals were already completely ruined. “I guess someone knew we were coming.” The massive doors swung open with barely a nudge. “Mom doesn't believe in locks,” Georgie explained. “She likes her friends to feel welcome even if she's not here.”

“She's not here?” Nate had sort of assumed when Georgie first told him about the trip that they'd be hanging out with Georgie's mom—that they'd help her cook dinner and then watch movies together until her mom fell asleep on the sofa and they could sneak upstairs to have sex.

“Nah. She's in the Dominican Republic or Venezuela or somewhere. She always goes south in the winter.”

They were inside the lofty foyer of the house now. The floor was made of red clay tiles. Big exposed wooden beams crisscrossed overhead. The foyer opened onto a huge sunken living room with an entire wall made of glass facing the mountains. Off the living room was a wooden deck, where steam from a hot tub rose into the air, barely masking the seven heads of the people sitting in it.

“Ooh, the hot tub's turned on!” Georgie squealed, kicking off her sandals. “Last one in has to bring the drinks!”

Nate let her run on ahead as he gazed up the wide plank staircase to the second floor. Clothes littered the stairs, and along the windowsill on the landing above were the small round skulls of wildcats.

He crossed the living room, sunlight pouring through the wall of glass and drenching his face. In front of the great stone fireplace was a grizzly bear rug.

We should be fooling around on that rug right now, he thought bitterly, but instead he had to go out and talk to a bunch of strangers in Georgie's mom's hot tub.

There were seven of them altogether, which sort of explained the seven cars, although if they were comfortable enough to sit in the hot tub together, then couldn't they just share one SUV? Georgie was already in the tub, wedged between a grinning blond guy and Chuck Bass. And they were all naked.

“Georgina told me she had a special someone,” Chuck said, leering at Nate. His chest was covered with thick, dark hair. “But she didn't tell me it was the infamous Nathaniel Archibald!”

Nate sat down on the wooden bench skirting the railing of the deck. He didn't feel like getting wet or naked, not in front of all these guys.

“And this is the Dutch Olympic snowboarding team!” Georgie said, sweeping her snow-white arm in the direction of the seven blond guys dozing lazily in the hot water. “Chuck met them on the half-pipe just before the lifts closed.”

“That's Jan, that's Franz, that's Josef, Conrad, Sneezy, Dopey, and Gan! Aren't they too yummy?” Chuck asked, sliding down into the tub until only his nose and eyes were out of the water. Then he popped up again. “And I'm Snow White!”

“No, I'm Snow White,” Georgie insisted.

“Nice to meet you.” Nate said, barely hiding his annoyance. If Georgie was already naked in the hot tub with the Dutch Olympic snowboarding team, then where did that leave him? A few of them could've been gay, since they were hanging out with Chuck, but they couldn't all be gay.

“Hey!” Georgie cried, splashing water in Chuck's face. “Quit pinching my tits!” She smiled sweetly up at Nate. “Chuck's and my mom's sisters are cousins. Or something like that,” she explained. “We lost our virginity together in sixth grade.”

Nate tucked his hands into his coat pockets. There wasn't much you could say to that, but it made him realize how very little he actually knew about Georgie. She was definitely full of surprises, and most of the time they weren't good ones.

All of a sudden, Georgie splashed out of the water and streaked into the house. “I'm getting us some champagne! And if you're not in when I get back, Nate, I'm going to freaking push you in!”

But Nate had no intention of getting in. Instead, he stood up and followed her wet footprints into the kitchen. Georgie was rummaging through cases of champagne in the walk-in pantry. Her white, naked ass caved in at the sides because she was so skinny, but other than that she was perfect.

“I'm going upstairs to unpack.” Nate announced, giving Georgie the opportunity to come with him so he could take his clothes off, in private.

“Suit yourself,” Georgie replied, scooting by him with a magnum of champagne under each arm.

Upstairs Nate discovered his clothes had already been folded and put away in a cedar closet in one of the guest bedrooms. So instead of unpacking, he did a quick sweep of the bathrooms to get rid of all the random bottles of pills and anything else Georgie might try to ingest just for fun. If her mom really wasn't around, it was his responsibility to make sure she didn't drink a bottle of Nyquil and set the house on fire or something.

Once he was finished Georgie-proofing the bathrooms, he was definitely going to call Serena and Blair at the lodge. Because if he and Georgie weren't going to have a romantic week together, skiing and having sex, and she was going to be all crazy all the time, then he'd rather have a little company.

And who better to help entertain his hyperactively insane, drug-addicted girlfriend than the über-girl he'd always lusted after and his vicious-but-still-beautiful ex-girlfriend?