The Carlyles (12 page)

Partay Part Deux

On Wednesday morning, Avery changed into the gross blue and white Constance Billard gym uniform for her first gym class of the year. It was the day after her tea party disaster, and she was determined not to let that little blip color her entire Constance career.

She walked out onto Ninety-third Street, where the rest of the girls had gathered to jog over to the Central Park Reservoir. The gym teacher, Coach Crawford, was swinging a whistle around one finger. She had stringy brownish hair with gray streaks in it and was wearing a way too small tank top that showed off her cleavage. It looked like she had stuffed two grapefruits down her shirt.

“Hey.” Avery was surprised to see Baby wearing a Constance Billard T-shirt and athletic skirt, especially since she had skipped French class that morning. On Baby, the gym outfit was so big it looked ridiculous but cool. Avery glanced down at her own uniform. Her T-shirt hugged her chest uncomfortably, making her look like a Midwestern cheerleader. They must have gotten their uniforms mixed up. “How’s it going?” Avery asked.

“Another fun class with the Harpies,” Baby said lightly. “What could be better?” She nodded at Genevieve and Jiffy. Surprisingly, Jack was nowhere in sight. Coach led the group down Ninety-third Street toward Fifth Avenue.

“So, I was thinking we should have a party this weekend,” Avery decided, glancing at Genevieve and Jiffy out of the corner of her eye. She liked the idea of having a second, real party. She would get Owen and Baby on board, so it would be just like old times, and Avery could use that night to lock in the student liaison votes. “No dogs allowed. But you have to come or else I’ll disown you as my sister,” she added.

“Sure, okay.” Baby nodded, wondering how they were going to have a party when they didn’t know anybody yet. The only person she’d really talked to here was J.P. But actually, maybe she could bring him to the party.

“Tall Girl and Shorty! Come on!” Coach growled as she herded the group to the crosswalk, her whistle twirling.
Tall Girl?
Avery sniffed. This was what they called personal attention in private school? There were
certainly
going to be some changes made when she got into power. Ahead of them, Jiffy and Genevieve bounced across the cross-walk.

“Hey, girls. Sorry you couldn’t make it to my meeting the other day, but I’m having a party on Saturday night if you’re interested,” Avery announced, cornering Jiffy as they crossed into the park and the group started to jog up the concrete path to the reservoir. Jiffy’s eyes widened.

She glanced at Genevieve, who smirked. “Who’s going?”

Baby rolled her eyes and took off down the reservoir path, her hair streaming behind her. How could Avery go from hating these bitches to turning into their total best friends? She had never seen that side of Avery, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. She didn’t like anything about Constance Billard—or New York, for that matter. Although the reservoir
was
actually really pretty—there was something dramatic about the skyscrapers towering above an expanse of lush green trees. It sort of expressed all the contradictions of New York: it was modern yet classic, enormous and yet so, so small. Not that she was actually starting to appreciate the city or anything.

Of course not.

“Well, I’m inviting a bunch of Constance girls and then some St. Jude’s guys. My brother and I thought it would be fun if we could all hang out,” Avery invented as she watched Baby tear down the path as if she really cared about running. The girls climbed the stone steps leading up to the reservoir and paused by the water fountain, pretending to get ready to run.

“You have a brother?” Jiffy demanded excitedly. Avery nodded. It was the same story back in Nantucket. Mention the promise of a boy, and suddenly all the girls came running.

“Yeah, Owen—he’s on the swim team at St. Jude’s, so a bunch of them will be there too,” Avery mentioned casually. She shook her wheat blond hair out of its ponytail and tied it tighter at the crown of her head.

Sarah Jane and Genevieve sidled up. “So, where is the party?” Sarah Jane asked Avery, stretching her leg on wrought-iron fence surrounding the reservoir.

“My grandmother’s town house on Sixty-first and Park. I hope you can come.” Avery flashed a smile. “My brother is really looking forward to meeting all my new friends.”

Avery took off after Baby. She could feel Jiffy, Genevieve, and Sarah Jane watching her curiously as she sprinted around the reservoir, and easily caught up to her sister. Popularity was sort of like fishing: all you had to do was bait the line.

Hook, line, and sinker!

gossipgirl.net

topics / sightings / your e-mail / post a question

hey people!

Is it me, or is it suddenly stressful on the Upper East Side? Overnight, people seemed to have gone from happily traipsing up Madison Avenue in their best summer frocks to scurrying back and forth from school, their foreheads knit in Botox-before-thirty consternation. And, as we all know, with stress comes difficulty sleeping. Let’s take a look at some common high school nightmares to put our own lives in perspective.

4.
No date for the Gold & Silver Ball.
Your parents should be well connected enough to find someone you can go with, even if it is your second cousin Ned from New Jersey with a halitosis problem (that’s bad breath for all you juniors who haven’t started your SAT prep courses yet).

3.
Didn’t get into a single college.
Well, we all know how that works out for some people. As long as Daddy has enough cash to sponsor a study-abroad winemaking program in France, you should be fine.

2.
Accidentally appearing naked in some horrific location,
like the Metropolitan Museum of Art or on some public transit ad that appears everywhere. Huh. That’s actually a
goal
for certain girls . . . so, moving on to the number one fear . . .

1.
Having a party that no one shows up to.
If something this socially debilitating happens, most people would say you should immediately move to an island off the coast of nowhere . . . unless that’s where you already came from. However, if you’re like me, you could say screw ’em. Screw ’em all! Which brings me to . . .

The Energizer Bunny

You know those people who just won’t quit? They’re the survivors—the Chers of the world, the tireless reality show contestants, the heavyweights who won’t go down without a fight. Well, it seems like here on the Upper East Side, we have our very own heavyweight: feisty newcomer
A
. After a disastrous two-woman tea party last night, she’s quickly rebounded, and was seen on the steps of a certain three-story brick school building this afternoon, excitedly spreading the word that she’ll be having
another
party—this one bigger than the last. I should hope so! Hats off to her tireless efforts. We’ll see how well they go over. . . .

Sightings

A
standing outside Constance Billard with a very scruffy
O
, staging a party-publicity blitz. Is
he
the party favor? Seems like a good strategy to me . . . Her classmates
G
,
SJ
, and
J
, sans their auburn-haired leader, staring at
O
hungrily. Down, girls . . . !
B
buying a chai latte from
Starbucks
and promptly throwing it away. Have something better in mind? . . .
J
practicing her grand battements in Central Park, looking like she wanted to kick someone. Hard . . .
R
with an awkward goatee and a molester-mustache, trying not to cry. I know bad hair can be traumatizing, but really!

your e-mail

Dear GG,

So, my girlfriend says she’s an academic lesbian, and she makes me wear shirts that say things like
MY GOAL IN LIFE IS TO KICK THE PATRIARCHY’S ASS
. It kind of makes me uncomfortable. What should I do?

—Emo Boy

Dear EB,

If you’re into her, I say, wear ’em with pride, even though personally, I think all T-shirts with slogans should be outlawed. And maybe you should start picking out a few T-shirts for her to wear. I like
MY GOAL IN LIFE IS TO EMASCULATE MY BOYFRIEND.
It has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?

—GG

Dear GGI,

I’m calling you Gossip Girl Impostor, GGI, because I don’t think you’re the real thing. First of all, it’s weird that you say you’re still around, because I’m pretty sure I know who the real Gossip Girl is and she is off at college. You even sound different. Are you, like, her little sister or something? Did she hand the job over to you? Or did you steal her computer? I bet you kidnapped the real Gossip Girl, and she’s tied up in your basement or something creepy like that.

—Nonbeliever

Dear NB,

All I’ll say on the topic is this: people always question whether Shakespeare really penned all the great works attributed to him. But we’ll never know, will we?

—GG (no I)

Dear GG,

This girl in my ballet class has missed the past few classes. She’s, like, supposed to be the next prima ballerina, but now our artistic director is getting so pissed about her attendance that she might get kicked out. I think she probably had a nervy b from the pressure and is holed up somewhere eating cookie dough out of the tube. Do you know what’s going on?

—Diva to Be

Dear DtoB,

Nervy b? Is that ballerina-speak for nervous breakdown? If we’re talking about a gazellelike girl with perfect posture and to-die-for legs, she may be holed up, but I don’t think she’s about to hang up her pointe shoes anytime soon.

—GG

Okay, kiddies. I’ve found the perfect antidote to the almost-fall blahs—it’s the Hotel Gansevoort rooftop pool. It’s heated and glass-enclosed, and it’s where I’m planning to spend every afternoon. Stop by and say hi!

You know you love me,

gossip girl

B
Runs with the Big Dogs

Baby made her way to the Cashman Complexes Wednesday after school, looking forward to some alone time with the dogs. Of everyone she’d met in the city, they were by far the most human.

Because that makes sense.

She spotted J.P. standing outside the building, his three dogs straining on their leashes. He smiled when he saw Baby, and she walked toward him, bending down to greet the eager pups.

“Well, they’re all ready for you—they’re so excited, it’s almost as if they knew you were coming.” J.P. smoothed a nearly invisible wrinkle on his olive J.Crew pants. “Mind if I come with you?”

“Kind of,” Baby countered gruffly, straightening up. She thought getting back to nature with the animals might help her relax, but not if a pretentious tycoon-in-training was following her. She grabbed the three leashes and began walking ahead of him.

“I’ve just been stressed out recently. I thought hanging out with the mutts might do me good,” J.P. said, walking quickly to match Baby’s stride.

“They’re not mutts.” Baby glared at him. She wondered what spoiled J.P. could possibly have to stress out about, but she decided not to ask. The sun was already beginning to set, lacing the brilliantly blue September sky with streaks of goldfish-colored orange.

“So, Baby, how’d you get that name?” J.P. asked as Nemo stopped to sniff an elm tree on the corner of Fifth near the Frick Museum. The dog’s shaggy blond behind twitched eagerly back and forth.

“Baby of the family,” she began, giving a condensed version of the story, which she hated. Even though Baby was all for happy-go-lucky, anything-can-happen bohemianism, it was always sort of weird that no doctor in Nantucket had figured out how many babies Edie was going to have. “I was an unexpected surprise. I’m a triplet and my mom thought she was having twins. What about you?”

“My dad worked as a trader at J.P. Morgan Chase after business school,” J.P. admitted.

Baby stared at him, then burst out laughing.

“Hey!” J.P. said in mock protest as they crossed into the Park. Ahead of them, the path split in several directions. “I didn’t make fun of
your
name!”

“I apologize,” she said contritely, pulling the dogs toward the grass. Darwin lifted a leg to pee, and Nemo crouched to take care of his business too. His butt was dangerously close to J.P.’s Jack Spade sandal.

“Shit!” Baby yelled automatically, then burst into giggles when she saw a coil of poop land on the shoe’s leather strap.

“Shit!” J.P. repeated, looking down; then he laughed too. He grimaced as Nemo looked up at him innocently. He slid the sandal off his foot and hobbled to the nearest trash can, next to a green and yellow Sabrett hot dog cart.

“You didn’t mean it, did you?” Baby cooed down at Nemo as the hot dog vendor glared warily at the drooling dog.

“I think he did. Nemo has
issues
with me,” J.P. growled menacingly at the dog, who looked noncommittally back at him with his doleful brown eyes.

“It’s not all about you.” Baby turned, pulled the dogs back toward the bridle path, then looked back, smiling when she saw J.P. standing helplessly by the trash can with only one shoe.

“Come on—walking barefoot won’t kill you.” Baby pulled J.P.’s wrist. “As for your dog here, when was the last time he ran?”

“Ran?” J.P. looked down at Nemo blankly.

“See, your owner can’t even remember!” Baby said in a playfully accusing voice to Nemo, who seemed to be smiling up at her. She looked over at J.P. “He’s bored! Big dog’s gotta run!”

Baby marched the dogs toward the fenced-in East Lawn, where people were sunbathing or picnicking, trying to enjoy one of the last warm-weather afternoons. She unhooked Nemo’s leash, and he bounded around the perimeter of the grass, woofing maniacally.

“See, look!” Baby looked triumphantly at J.P., who was hobbling across the grass, one shoe on, one shoe off.

“I don’t think dogs are allowed off the leash here,” he said nervously, gesturing at a green and white sign posted on one of the fences surrounding the lawn.

“Live on the edge!” Baby burst into a run, chasing after Nemo and making barking sounds. J.P. tore off his other sandal and took off after them, stepping on beach blankets as he crossed the lawn. Finally, he cornered Baby and Nemo by an oak tree, where Baby had collapsed, panting, with the drooling dog standing above her.

“See, that’s the type of workout they want. Not just marching around the block,” Baby grinned up at J.P. The sky looked pretty behind them. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed an overweight pug trying to mount Shackleton. He was panting insanely and looked like his round eyeballs were about to pop out of his fat, smushed face.

“I think you need to have a girl talk with this one,” J.P. noted, handing Shackleton’s Louis Vuitton leash to Baby. His polo shirt had come untucked and he looked more casual and relaxed than the preppy red shorts–wearing guy Baby had met two days ago.

“And I think you better start wearing closed-toe shoes,” Baby teased, leaning back against the oak tree. “So why’s a guy like you spending time with a bunch of dogs, anyway?” she couldn’t help asking. “Don’t you have anybody better to hang out with? Morgan and Stanley? Some possessive girlfriend?”

J.P. shrugged, and eased down next to Baby by the foot of the tree. “These guys are easy to be around.” He ruffled Nemo’s blond fur. “What about you? Don’t
you
have anyone better to hang out with?

“I just moved here, remember?” Baby retorted, pushing a stray lock of wavy brown hair out of her eyes. “Not that there’s anyone here I’d actually want to spend time with,” she muttered. She dug her heel into the grass.

“Hey,” J.P. said seriously. He leaned back against the tree and his warm brown eyes searched hers. “Give New York a chance.”

Sounds like he means give
him
a chance. . . .

Baby nodded slowly. Now that she was barefoot in the grass, the city seemed almost nice. If it weren’t for the bitchy girls, the awful uniforms, and leaving her boyfriend behind, she might actually like it here.

Well, well. Look who’s having a change of heart.