Rose?but this was her big chance and she didn?t want to blow it.
Serena could have her Hollywood stardom; Blair would have a career in fashion. She knew all
the right designers, stores, and magazines: she really understood clothes and how to wear them.
One day very soon she?d be a world-famous fashion muse. She?d sit in the front row at every
Bailey Winter show, have a fragrance named after her, and appear in his ad campaigns. Their
relationship would be just like Audrey Hepburn?s relationship with the house of Givenchy?the
stuff of legend. Let Serena play at being Audrey Hepburn onscreen: Blair wouldbe Audrey
Hepburn in real life.
But didn?t Serenaalready have a perfume named after her? Oops.
The insistent chime of her Vertu cell phone echoed from Aaron?s old room, interrupting her
daydream. She?d been back in New York for forty-eight hours, but no one had called her, on either
her U.K. line, which only Lord Marcus had the number to, or her regular phone, which was how
the whole world reached her. She was living in exile, she told herself, and refused to rejoin society
until she could make some dramatic statement?for example, that she?d flown back from the U.K.
at Bailey Winter?s special request. She couldn?t have it leaking out that she was back because
Lord Marcus was more interested in making googly eyes at his horse-faced cousin than in
ravishing Blair in her huge hotel bed.
As if we don?t have ways of finding out the truth.
She dashed back to Aaron?s room and whisked the phone off the bureau. The display read
MARCUS. His Lordship himself.
She pressed the receive button. ?What she demanded rudely.
?Blair, darling, what happened? I?ve been trying to reach you.?
?I don?t really see what we have to talk about,? Blair replied icily. ?If you wanted to talk, you
had plenty of time when we were still on the samecontinent .?
?You mean you?ve left Lord Marcus remarked, clearly surprised. ?I thought maybe you?d just
moved hotels or gone off to Paris to see your father or something. I was so worried.?
?I?m sure you were,? Blair snapped sarcastically, heading back toward Yale?s room.
?This isn?t about Camilla, is it, dearest? Because, you see, we?re second cousins, so of course
?Of coursewhat Blair demanded, watching her face flush in the full-length mirror. ?To be
honest, I?d rather not know, honestly. If you want to get allFlowers in the Attic , it?s your business.
Anyway, I don?t have time for this?I?m a woman in demand. I?m a muse!?
?You?re amused, love? It was all a misunderstanding then Lord Marcus responded
happily. ?Camilla is asking about you as well. She?ll be so relieved.?
?Send her my regards,? Blair quipped. She pressed end, then slipped the battery out of the
telephone?s body and it went dead. After inspecting it closely to make sure there were no tiny
parts that might come off, she left it in baby Yale?s crib.
Because you?re never too young for your first cell.
Blair glanced at her Chanel bracelet-watch. She was due at Bailey Winter?s soon, and it
wouldn?t do to be late. She walked down the long hall toward the kitchen, where she found her
mother stationed at the marble-topped island, nibbling on a cold rillette sandwich despite the fact
that they were supposed to be leaving any minute. Blair?s younger brother, Tyler, and his
girlfriend, Jasmine, were clustered around her on low-backed stools, sipping Cokes.
?Nice to see you again, Blair.? Jasmine beamed an adoring smile across the cool white kitchen.
Jasmine was Blair?s stalker. This had become infinitely clear when she showed up at Blair?s
graduation party wearing the exact same white Oscar de la Renta suit Blair was wearing. Her
nearly-black hair was remarkably shiny and healthy looking, but she was probably the most
annoying person alive.
?Mom,? Blair ordered, ignoring Jasmine. ?Put that down. We?ve got to get going.?
?Hush,? her mother reprimanded, dusting some invisible crumbs off the marble-topped
island. ?We?ve got time. Besides, I?ve been going to Bailey Winter?s house for years. That man is
always ten minutes late. It?s a known fact.? She took another bite of her sandwich.
?Bailey Winter Jasmine looked excited. She spied Blair?s shoes. ?Thoseare Bailey Winter! I
have the same ones in black. I should?ve gotten the ivory.?
Blair glared at her.
?Hey Blair asked Tyler as he simultaneously downloaded songs onto his iPod and sent a text
message. His eyes kept darting from one screen to the next.
?Yes She tapped her stilettoed foot impatiently. Could they please just get the fuck out of here?
?Did you really go all the way to London and not bring me, like, even one present
?Sorry,? she sighed. ?I came back in kind of a hurry.?
?Although you certainly found time to buy yourself a few things,? Eleanor observed, popping a
picholine olive between her lips.
?I?m Jasmine.? Tyler?s girlfriend hopped to her feet and extended her hand to Blair. ?You?re
Blair, of course. We actually met before, but you were hosting your graduation party, so you may
not remember.?
As if Blair could possibly forget her little imitator.
There was something suspicious about a thirteen-year-old with such good manners. In fact, there
was something suspicious about Tyler having a girlfriend?he?d never seemed even remotely
interested in girls before, preferring instead the company of his computer, his hookah, and his
vinyl record collection.
?Let?s go, Mom,? Blair demanded. ?I don?t want to be late. This is my chance to make a really
great impression.?
?Oh, honey.? Eleanor finished her sandwich and tossed the remains on the counter for Myrtle to
clean up. ?I?m so glad to see you taking this so seriously.?
?Wait, are you going tosee Bailey Winter Jasmine demanded.
Wouldn?t she like to know.
?He?s interested in hiring me,? Blair informed her icily.
?I justlove his clothes,? Jasmine gushed. ?Of course, I?m not supposed to buy anything that?s not
B by Bailey Winter? my mom says I have to wait until I start high school before I?m allowed to
get my hands on the good stuff, but that?s okay by me. I mean, I have to wear a uniform anyway,
so
?Yeah, whatever.? Blair cut her off. Did sheask for this kid?s life story? ?I?m going down to ask
the doorman to hail a cab. Mom, you better be ready in five minutes or I?m going without you.?
Blair rode down to the lobby alone and stood in front of the building smoking and keeping time
on her Chanel watch. After precisely five minutes had passed, Eleanor breezed out of the building
in a grapefruit-colored Bailey Winter shirtwaist dress and beige Tod?s flats. But she wasn?t alone:
Jasmine was scurrying excitedly next to her like a three-year-old before her firstNutcracker
performance. Blair was unfazed. There was a movie playing in her head: the waifish muse was on
her way to visit her genius couturier. Even Jasmine couldn?t fuck it up.
When they reached Bailey Winter?s grand Beaux Arts mansion on Park Avenue, Blair was first
out of the car. Her mother and Jasmine followed behind like ladies-in-waiting. When it came time
to edit her little film, the bit players could easily be removed.
They were greeted at the door by an honest-to-God English butler, in a morning suit and
everything, who announced them by name after he led them to the second floor parlor: ?Miss
Eleanor Rose, Miss Blair Waldorf, and Miss Jasmine James-Morgan,? he cried in his booming
voice. It reminded Blair of Lord Marcus, but all thoughts of him were erased the second she
stepped inside the grandest room she?d ever seen. The walls were paneled mahogany and hung
with massive oil paintings of beautiful, aristocratic women in incredible confections of lace and
silk, smiling peacefully. There were marble pedestals topped with pure white sculptures of male
torsos and heads, and high above, set into the wall that kept out the noise of Park Avenue, was a
massive stained-glass window.
?Oh my God!? cried the familiar, shrill voice of Bailey Winter. The dignified Park Avenue
designer skipped into the room like a schoolgirl, his yellow-white hair sticking straight up on end
as if he?d been electrocuted while using his hair dryer. He was astonishingly short, like a man in
miniature, and dressed in a blue blazer with brass buttons, an open shirt, white linen pants, and
bare feet stuffed into supple cream-colored leather loafers that made a funny squeaking sound on
the hardwood floors. Tied jauntily around his neck was a bold yellow ascot in the same print he?d
used in his last collection. ?Eleanor Rose, you bitch, you?re so skinny!?
?Bailey!? cried Eleanor. They embraced, dropping loud, wet kisses on one another?s cheeks.
Mwa, mwa, mwa, mwa!
?And who are these two gorgeous creatures Bailey asked, dramatically ripping his signature
aviator sunglasses off of his face and cupping his chin in his hand. He inspected Blair and Jasmine
intensely. ?Fabulous. They?re just fabulous, aren?t they he asked of no one in particular.
?Bailey,? Eleanor told him, proudly, ?this is my daughter, Blair, and my son Tyler?s girlfriend,
Jasmine.?
?Eek!? Bailey Winter squealed.
Blair had never heard a grown man make a noise like that in her entire life.
?They?re incredible,? he gushed. ?Come on, sit down. Let?s get some tea in us and talk things
over, shall we, ladies The designer beckoned to the butler, waving his palm in the air like it had
come loose at the wrist. He led them over to an enormous sectional sofa and froze suddenly. ?Psst,?
he hissed, turning and grinning maniacally at Blair. ?Teais just a code word formartinis .? He
winked.
Blair winked back at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. This was not what she?d been
expecting.
It was way,way better.
will v ever eat lunch in this town again?
?Okay, let?s do a take,? Ken Mogul said to his first assistant director. He slouched glumly in a
tall canvas chair embla-zoned with his initials, clenching a chewed-up ballpoint pen in his teeth.
Vanessa focused her camera on the table where she?d be shooting. Fred?s, the Barneys restaurant
that was central to the action of the movie, was a mob scene. Instead of the usual lunch crowd, the
restaurant was flooded with harsh, industrial lighting and crammed full of the
hundred-strongBreakfast at Fred?s crew. They?d moved out most of the chairs and tables to help
accommodate everyone, but between the makeup people, prop people, hair people, lighting people,
gofers, assistant directors, assistants to the assistant directors, and interns, it was kind of a tight fit.
Just like the shoe department during the end-of-season sale.
?Okay, let?s do a take!? the assistant yelled. Everyone scurried away and Ken Mogul waved at
Vanessa, who was stationed to his right, peering through the viewfinder of her camera.?Go ahead
and roll,Vanessa.?
?We?re rolling!? Vanessa shouted proudly. She?d always dreamed of saying that, although she?d
imagined saying it inside a morgue or some other grim place where her first inde-pendent feature
would be set. Certainly not in Barneys with Thaddeus Smith playing the lead. Still, she?d come a
long way since directing an adaptation ofWar and Peace for school.
Today was the second day of shooting and they were scheduled to wrap a pivotal dinner scene
between Thaddeus, playing Jeremy, and indie starlet Miranda Grace, who was playing Helena, the
villain.Breakfast at Fred?s was the first film she?d made without her twin sister, Coco. Officially,
Miranda was striking out on her own, but really, Coco was in rehab. She?d been replaced by a girl
named Courtney Pinard Ken had discovered skateboarding in Washington Square Park, who could
actuallydo the skating stunts Coco had been too wasted to learn.
On set, Miranda picked up her ice-filled cocktail tumbler, gave it a swirl, then drained it in one
sip. She cleared her throat noisily and reached across the table to grab Thaddeus?s hand. ?Darling,
do you believe in fate she asked.
Her words echoed around the set, which was quiet enough that Vanessa could make out the
tinkling of ice in Miranda?s glass.
?I?m not sure what I believe in anymore,? Thaddeus responded quietly. ?I do know one thing,
though.? He paused.
This was the moment that Vanessa?that everyone on set? had been dreading. Serena was
supposed to burst into the restaurant, trailing a tattered mink stole, and join the couple at their
table.
A moment passed. Then another.
No Serena. No Holly. No one.
?Fucking cut!? barked Ken Mogul.
?Cut, everyone,? echoed the first assistant director calmly, and suddenly the set came alive: a
swarm of makeup people and hair stylists emerged from the shadows, teasing Thaddeus?s hair,
reapplying gloss to Miranda?s lips. A prop assistant refilled the glass Miranda had been swirling,
wiping her lipstick from the rim.
?Will someone,? Ken whispered, ?please tell Miss Fucking van der Fucking
Whatever-the-fuck-her-name-is to get on her damn mark and make this fucking picture, please
?Sorry, sorry!? called Serena, stumbling onto the set, bran-dishing a menacing Bailey Winter
stiletto. ?I was still in wardrobe. I?m sorry, these shoes, they?re just
?Serena on the set!? cried the second assistant director.
Thanks for the update.
?Holly, Holly, Holly.? Ken Mogul shook his head. ?To your mark, okay? Let?s do this again.?
The army of assistants retreated to the shadows and they ran the scene once more. This time, as
Thaddeus was on the verge of responding to Miranda?s question, Serena burst into the restaurant,
right on cue, adjusting the stole that had slipped from her bare shoulder.
?I?m here, I?m here,? she chirped, striding past the other tables, swishing her tiered chiffon
Bailey Winter dress. She dragged over a chair from an unoccupied table and sat.
?Can I help you snapped Miranda.
?Cut, please, cut, right now,? Ken Mogul muttered.
?Cut!? cried his loyal loudmouthed assistant.
?Miranda and Serena, please, you?re Helena and Holly now. Make us believe it,? he
said. ?Miranda, make me believe that you?re a woman who could run the world.?
Miranda nodded blankly, batting her fake eyelashes. She was from the Lower East Side. She?d
