bulldog.
?We?ve got some herb, bro,? announced Vince, who appeared to be Greg?s twin. ?Have a seat.?
Nate?s ears pricked up at this offer. He hated being called ?bro? by guys he didn?t even know,
and he hated guys who pretended to be cool when they were really losers, but he had to admit a
smoke?even with these dorks?sounded like his kind of dessert.
Tawny took a hit and handed over the slightly damp roach. Nate inhaled greedily.
?Good stuff, right the guy called Greg asked gruffly. ?I got it off my regular guy. He?s always
busiest in the summer, you know, but he saves the best shit for loyal year-round cus-tomers like
me.?
It wasn?t great stuff?the Hawaiian stash Nate had stored back in his bedroom was much
better?but he couldn?t complain.
?Fucking city kids,? growled Vince, taking the joint from Nate. ?They always fuck everything up
during the summer. Fucking traffic. Fucking clubs. Fucking pain in the ass.?
Eloquently put.
?Summer crowds, man,? mumbled Tony, who hadn?t yet spoken. He was glaring at Nate,
studying him suspiciously from under the perfectly creased bill of his Coney Island Cyclones
baseball cap.
Nate was zoning out as usual, the way he liked to when he was smoking herb, but he heard what
the guys were saying. Loud and clear.
?Totally.? Tawny yawned, lazily resting her blond, curly-haired head on Nate?s shoulder.
Nate glanced down at his tattered work outfit. It was pretty clear Tawny disliked the wealthy
crowd that flooded the Hamptons every summer, and Nate was definitely part of that crowd. With
his workingman?s tan and ragged clothes, she?d probably taken him for the kind of guy who had
to spend his summerearning his money, presumably to pay his way through Yale in the fall. He felt
a stab of guilt. He hadn?t exactly been honest with her.
Old habits die hard. ?Same old story every year,? Tony continued. ?Why don?t they find
someplace else to go, like France or some shit ?They?re not so bad,? Nate ventured. ?I mean,
I?m kind of from the city ?Youare Tawny demanded, lifting her head. She narrowed her
normally wide blue eyes. ?You never said anything.?
?You never asked,? Nate pointed out. There were murmurs from the other guys. Vince spat into
the sand. Out on the water, a fishing boat flashed its lights.
?I knew it,? Tony said, spitting on the ground. ?I could just smell it on you.?
?But I mean, it?s no big deal.? Nate shook his head. ?I mean . . . I?m not like a lot of those kids.?
?Well, I guess . . .? Tawny sank back into him, rubbing the side of her face against his
work-strong chest. ?Maybe you?ll take me back to the city some time
?Sure, sure.? Nate wrapped his tanned arm around her waist. ?That?d be fun.?
As long as he keeps her away from Blair Not-so-good-with-jealousy Waldorf.
come up and see me sometime
The evening after their study session and another disheart-ening day of rehearsal, Serena sat in
the backseat of a taxi on her way back to the Chelsea Hotel. But this time, she had something to
look forward to. She checked the text messages on her phone again, mostly because she wanted to
reread the note from Thaddeus.
Come down and see me. I miss you. xx
Serena had been starting to doubt herself after all the insults from Ken Mogul, but here it was:
incontrovertible, digital proof that she, Serena van der Woodsen, still had it.
The taxi made a wide turn onto Twenty-third Street and Serena felt her heart start to pound a little
faster?in just a few minutes she?d be at the hotel. She?d been with handsome guys before, but
she?d never fallen for anyone quite like Thaddeus. Of course he was gorgeous, but there was
something else about him. Serena felt like they could be more than costars, more than lovers?they
could be best friends, too.
Not that she needed a new best friend. Or did she? She could never remember.
When they reached the Chelsea at last, she stuffed a twenty-dollar bill into the driver?s hand,
burst from the back-seat, and dashed into the lobby of the hotel. Even though filming had begun at
Barneys, Ken had said she needed as much off-set practice as she could get. The familiar dark
hallways lined with famous paintings gave Serena a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, but
she tried to forget about all the negative things that Ken had yelled at her in the building and focus
on what was about to happen: she was about to get together with Thaddeus Smith.
She knocked softly on his door and he pulled it open almost immediately, a startled look on his
face. His very baggy cargo shorts had slid down to reveal his simple gray boxers.
?Serena,? he exclaimed. ?What?s going on
?Nothing,? she breathed, brushing past him and into the room. She tossed her khaki-colored
Marc Jacobs drawstring beach bag on the floor and plopped onto the couch.
Thaddeus closed the door and pulled his shorts up, blushing slightly. ?So,? he said. ?What?s
happening? Were you just in the neighborhood
?Something like that.? Serena laughed. It was cute to see the world-famous actor squirming. God,
she loved flirting with him.
?So,? Thaddeus mumbled, picking up his discarded T-shirt from the floor and pulling it over his
head. He sat in the arm-chair and placed his feet on the coffee table. ?Have you been rehearsing on
your own
?It?s such a drag,? Serena sighed. ?But Ken acts like I?m never going to get it right.?
?I always say it?s harder work than people think,?Thaddeus agreed. ?People think it?s all
glamour, all parties and premieres, but I fuckingearn my paychecks. I guess I don?t need to tell
you that.?
Making three million per movie must be hard.
?I wish someone had warned me.? Serena picked her bag up off the floor and dug her hand inside.
She?d gotten so worked up on her way over, she needed to relax. ?Mind if I smoke
?No, of course not.? Thaddeus gestured lamely at the coffee table, which was already set with an
ashtray and several lighters. ?The thing is, Serena, this isn?t a great time. My friend Serge is
supposed to stop by.?
Serena stayed where she was. Why was it so hard to get a minute alone with him?
?Well, your text message didn?t sound like you were that busy.? She smiled nervously. His coy
actwas a little confusing.
Only a little?
?Shit,?Thaddeus exclaimed.?Yougot my text message
?Uh-huh,? she murmured breathily.
?Well, I?m glad you did,? he stammered. ?I thought that we could, um, well, I thought that
maybe we should get some work done.?
Why was he so nervous? It was hard to believe that someone as gorgeous and successful as
Thaddeus Smith could be so shy around girls! ?Work.? She pouted. ?I thought you might want to,
you know, have a little fun
?Fun,? repeated Thaddeus. ?Work can be His chirping cell phone interrupted him. He glanced
at the display. ?Serena, I?ve got to grab this. I?m sorry. I?ll be just be a second.? He scurried into
the bedroom, so all Serena could hear was ?Hello.?
She stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette. Thaddeus?s freaky behavior was starting to make her
nervous. Was she coming on too strong? Not strong enough? He was the one who?d sent her a
sexy text message. Why would he invite a friend over? Maybe Thaddeus was kinky? That wasn?t
really her thing.
Oh, really?
?Sorry about that,? Thaddeus apologized, shuffling back into the room. He tossed his phone onto
the coffee table, where it landed with a bang. ?Anyway, as long as you?re here, let?s run some
lines.?
?Lines asked Serena.
?You can use my script,? Thaddeus said, sinking into the armchair with a sigh. ?I?ve got my lines
down.? ?Let?s start with scene seventeen,? she offered hopefully. ?You know, the love scene
Rehearsinga love scene might be as close as she?s going to get.
tea for two
?You okay Vanessa asked Dan. He was sprawled across his bed, wincing in pain. There were
Camel butts all over the worn brown carpet, as if he couldn?t be bothered to get up and get one of
the half-empty coffee mugs he usually used as an ashtray.
?Fuuuuu-uuuck,? he muttered. ?I think I pulled something.?
Vanessa picked up the dog-eared beige copy of the Bhagavad Gita from his unmade bed. She
knew it was some sacred Indian text, but she?d never had any interest in finding out any more
about it. Then she noticed Dan was working on a poem in his big black notebook. He rolled over
onto his back.
?Whatcha writing she asked, reaching for the notebook. She read the first couple of lines:
Pure love. Pure lust. Trust trust.
Buddha was no Jesus. Neither am I.
I?m just a guy.
News flash: Bikram yoga kills creative brain cells, causing poets who already write bad poetry to
writereally bad poetry.
?You can?t read that!? Dan snatched the notebook out of her hands. ?It?s, um, private.?
?Do you want some tea he asked, sitting up. ?I just bought some Mint Meltdown. It?s
supposed to empty the body of toxins and help your body reallybreathe .?
Vanessa snorted. ?You?re joking, right
?Come on.? Dan yawned. He rose to his feet unsteadily, and Vanessa followed him out of the
bedroom and down the dark hall, moving at a grandfather?s pace through the swinging door into
the kitchen, which was filled with stacks of dirty dishes. There were breadcrumbs all over the
counter and the toaster was lying on its side. Rufus had left a fondue pot filled with cheese in the
middle of the butcher-block island. Vanessa took a fork and poked at its thick skin while Dan
microwaved two mugs full of water.
Dan dropped two bags of Mint Meltdown into the mugs and handed her one. Vanessa tried to
catch his eye, but weirdly, he wouldn?t look at her. This was partly due to the fact that Vanessa
looked pretty in her new black cap-sleeve dress and partly because he was wracked with guilt for
getting sweaty with Bree and not even mentioning anything about it to his supposed girlfriend.
?So,? she began tentatively. ?I feel like I?ve hardly seen you.?
?I?ve been working a lot,? he replied, burying his nose in his mug. ?They really need me at the
Strand. And I?ve made some new friends.?
Vanessa chuckled. ?I guess the high-stakes world of used-book retail never quits.? Why was he
acting so bizarre? She?d been able to tell he was disappointed a couple days ago about her
working such long hours, but ever since she moved in they?d been likenew roommates who didn?t
even know each other.
?You don?t have to be rude,? Dan countered, tapping his spoon against the top of his
BEATPOETSDOIT ON THEROADtravel mug. ?Judgment leads but to the path of negative
energy.?
?Excuse me Vanessa whispered shrilly. ?Could you run that by me again
?I don?t expect you to understand.? He sipped his tea even though it was still scalding hot. ?It?s
one of the elemental sign-posts of the yogi?s philosophy.?
?The only yogi I know is the bear who steals the picnic baskets. I don?t know where you picked
up this New Age talk, but the Dan Humphrey I used to know and love and kind of had the hots for
would think you are full of shit.?
?Well, the Vanessa AbramsI used to know and love wouldn?t be caught dead slaving for a
Hollywood sellout,? Dan retorted angrily. He left out the ?kind of had the hots for? part since he
kind of had the hots for someone else at the moment.
?Excuse me Vanessa set her cup down. Now that was just plain unfair. Heknew Ruby had
kicked her out and she needed the money. And wasn?t he proud of her working on a feature film at
the age of only eighteen? ?At least my job requires more skill than alphabetizing dusty old books
by author name.?
He closed his eyes and breathed in noisily through his flared nostrils, something he?d learned
yesterday in yoga.In with the good, out with the bad. ?I thought living together would be so great,
but I think you?ve changed.?
Vanessa sighed over her steaming cup of tea. It tasted like Aquafresh toothpaste and
Pine-Sol. ?You?re the one who?s changed,? she shot back. ?Maybe I should just get out of your
hair.? She blew into her mug.
?Please,? Dan retorted angrily. ?You wantedme out of your hair, not the other way around.I was
the one who cared about this summer together.You just wanted to work.?
?Well, I guess we?re both getting what we want.? Vanessa took another sip of Mint Meltdown tea
before setting it down on the counter among the old newspapers and food-encrusted saucepans.
Then she stomped out of the kitchen and out of the apartment to get a decent cup of coffee at the
greasy deli up on Broadway.
Dan ran his hands through his messy light brown hair. He was having a meltdown all right, but
not the right kind of meltdown. He pulled a pack of Camels out of the pocket of his faded black
cords and lit one using the front burner on the gas stove.
Surely Yogi would not approve.
imitation is the sincerest form of flattery
Blair slipped her feet into the ivory calfskin Winter by Bailey Winter stilettos she?d chosen as the
finishing touch to her interview outfit. They were a tad over the top, maybe, but she had to wear
something by the man himself. It would have been so cheesy to show up in his clothes, but shoes
were a sly, subtle way to acknowledge his greatness without looking like some dorky, desperate
fashion groupie.
Blair was in baby Yale?s nursery?aka her former bedroom?admiring herself in the full-length
mirrors?the light was so much better there than in Aaron?s dingy room, where the stink of his
herbal cigarettes was embedded in the walls. She nodded at herself in the mirror. She looked
confident, but she felt nervous. Blair had a history of bad luck with interviews?she had
actuallykissed her interviewer when she was applying to Yale. Then, when she?d requested a
second interview with a Yale alumnus, she?d almostslept with him. Chances were slim she?d end
up making a pass at Bailey Winter?he was handsome enough in a supertan, blinding-white-teeth
kind of way, but Blair was definitely not his type.
Ahem. Not unless she changed her name toSir Blair.
She turned and glanced over her shoulder to catch her reflection from a different angle. Getting
this interview had been even easier than she?d hoped?all it had taken was a call from Eleanor
