picked up the Browns of London shopping bag she’d lugged all the way home from school.
Not that she’d actually walked all the way.
“I got you a dress for graduation. It was too perfect, and I figured you didn’t know where to buy anything that isn’t black. I even have the perfect shoes you can have to go with it.”
Vanessa tugged the white-tissue-wrapped bundle out of the bag and shook out the dress. Even though it was white, it was awesome. Sort of Morticia-Addams-meets-Bride-of-Frankenstein. Of course, she didn’t have the heart to tell Blair that Aaron had proposed they leave town before graduation even happened.
And we thought she’d forgotten all about that.
Vanessa stood on one foot and scratched the back of her calf with the black-painted toenails of her other foot, still holding the dress. She was already freaking out about graduating and what lay ahead, and now this. “Shit. This is sad.” She threw her arms around Blair. “I’m going to miss you.”
Blair hugged her back. “Look, we’re practically the same height,” she murmured gently, giving Vanessa’s doughy half-naked body an affectionate squeeze. “We’ll totally be next to each other in the graduation lineup.”
Vanessa smiled and wiped away a stray tear. She pointed to one of the myriad pairs of Manolo stilettos scattered on the dusty wooden floor. “Not when you wear those.”
“Well, you can always borrow a pair,” Blair offered gently. The two girls laughed, and in an instant all was forgiven. Even the loud sex with Aaron last night and the random sex with Dan on the roof in what was supposed to have been Blair and Vanessa’s special spot. If that was what she needed to do to fend off pregraduation jitters, then so be it.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Dan announced, even though neither of the girls was paying any attention to him.
Vanessa picked up the black jean skirt Blair had discarded on the floor and pulled it over her butt without even attempting to button it. Then she slung the handles of one of the Louis Vuitton duffel bags and two of the Barneys bags full of shoes over her shoulder. “Come on. I’ll help you carry your bags downstairs.”
Chuck was waiting on the corner behind the wheel of his new silver convertible Jag—an early graduation present. The car looked completely incongruous with the funkily rundown neighborhood. He popped open the trunk and the girls dropped Blair’s bags inside.
“I left some other stuff for you in the closet.” Blair gave her classmate a quick hug. “See you tomorrow in English.”
Vanessa hugged her back. “See you tomorrow, bitchface,” she answered tenderly.
Blair watched the graffitied door slam closed behind her as Vanessa went inside. Then she opened the Jag’s passenger-side door.
“I heard that back in the forties all the alums used to keep prostitutes at the Yale Club,” Chuck announced as Blair reached for her seat belt. “And they didn’t even have a ladies’ room.” He pulled away from the curb and slipped his hand over Blair’s bare knee. “I knew it would never last. You’re a boy’s girl, not a girl’s girl.”
Blair shoved his hand away and rolled her blue eyes in annoyance. Chuck was and always would be a slimeball, tolerated only because he and Blair and the rest of their ilk had all been born at Lenox Hill Hospital at Seventy-seventh and Park and had all gone to nursery school together. They’d attended dancing school together and vacationed with their families in St. Barts. Their parents were on the boards of the Metropolitan Museum and the Metropolitan Opera, and they all spoke the same unspoken language. But unlike his other Upper East Side cohorts, Chuck had failed to get into any of the private colleges he’d applied to. His parents were sending him to a random military academy in northern New Jersey instead. So it was easy to understand why he was so critical of the Yale Club: He was a teensy bit jealous.
You
Not that she’d actually walked all the way.
“I got you a dress for graduation. It was too perfect, and I figured you didn’t know where to buy anything that isn’t black. I even have the perfect shoes you can have to go with it.”
Vanessa tugged the white-tissue-wrapped bundle out of the bag and shook out the dress. Even though it was white, it was awesome. Sort of Morticia-Addams-meets-Bride-of-Frankenstein. Of course, she didn’t have the heart to tell Blair that Aaron had proposed they leave town before graduation even happened.
And we thought she’d forgotten all about that.
Vanessa stood on one foot and scratched the back of her calf with the black-painted toenails of her other foot, still holding the dress. She was already freaking out about graduating and what lay ahead, and now this. “Shit. This is sad.” She threw her arms around Blair. “I’m going to miss you.”
Blair hugged her back. “Look, we’re practically the same height,” she murmured gently, giving Vanessa’s doughy half-naked body an affectionate squeeze. “We’ll totally be next to each other in the graduation lineup.”
Vanessa smiled and wiped away a stray tear. She pointed to one of the myriad pairs of Manolo stilettos scattered on the dusty wooden floor. “Not when you wear those.”
“Well, you can always borrow a pair,” Blair offered gently. The two girls laughed, and in an instant all was forgiven. Even the loud sex with Aaron last night and the random sex with Dan on the roof in what was supposed to have been Blair and Vanessa’s special spot. If that was what she needed to do to fend off pregraduation jitters, then so be it.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Dan announced, even though neither of the girls was paying any attention to him.
Vanessa picked up the black jean skirt Blair had discarded on the floor and pulled it over her butt without even attempting to button it. Then she slung the handles of one of the Louis Vuitton duffel bags and two of the Barneys bags full of shoes over her shoulder. “Come on. I’ll help you carry your bags downstairs.”
Chuck was waiting on the corner behind the wheel of his new silver convertible Jag—an early graduation present. The car looked completely incongruous with the funkily rundown neighborhood. He popped open the trunk and the girls dropped Blair’s bags inside.
“I left some other stuff for you in the closet.” Blair gave her classmate a quick hug. “See you tomorrow in English.”
Vanessa hugged her back. “See you tomorrow, bitchface,” she answered tenderly.
Blair watched the graffitied door slam closed behind her as Vanessa went inside. Then she opened the Jag’s passenger-side door.
“I heard that back in the forties all the alums used to keep prostitutes at the Yale Club,” Chuck announced as Blair reached for her seat belt. “And they didn’t even have a ladies’ room.” He pulled away from the curb and slipped his hand over Blair’s bare knee. “I knew it would never last. You’re a boy’s girl, not a girl’s girl.”
Blair shoved his hand away and rolled her blue eyes in annoyance. Chuck was and always would be a slimeball, tolerated only because he and Blair and the rest of their ilk had all been born at Lenox Hill Hospital at Seventy-seventh and Park and had all gone to nursery school together. They’d attended dancing school together and vacationed with their families in St. Barts. Their parents were on the boards of the Metropolitan Museum and the Metropolitan Opera, and they all spoke the same unspoken language. But unlike his other Upper East Side cohorts, Chuck had failed to get into any of the private colleges he’d applied to. His parents were sending him to a random military academy in northern New Jersey instead. So it was easy to understand why he was so critical of the Yale Club: He was a teensy bit jealous.
You
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