gone to a slutty Catholic school. Her favorite food was Kraft mac & cheese. She clearly had no
idea what he was talking about.
Did anyone?
During the third take, everything seemed to come together. Thaddeus and Miranda sparkled,
nailing their lines perfectly, even throwing in some adlibbed business about that day?s specials.
The lighting looked beautiful and natural, with no accidental glares or twinkles, the sound quality
was perfect. And Serena arrived on time, didn?t fumble a line or any of her blocking, and when
Ken yelled, ?Cut!? it was because the scene was in the bag.
?Maybe this won?t be so bad after all,? the director stage whispered to Vanessa. ?That?s it for
now, people,? he yelled. ?Let?s take fifteen.?
He turned back to Vanessa and said, in a normal tone of voice: ?You?re up, kid. Let?s see what
you got.?
No problem,Vanessa thought. Things might be all fucked up with everything else?like whatever
the hell was going on with Dan?but she knew what to do with a camera.
Ken Mogul dragged his canvas director?s chair over to the playback monitor, where he?d be able
to screen the footage Vanessa had just shot. Vanessa?s assistant camera guy rolled the footage and
Vanessa joined the director, watching over his shoulder.
The first time they?d run the scene, Vanessa had used a straightforward angle, moving the camera
in and then out to capture the nuances in the performances, but all in all keeping a fairly traditional
distance from the actors. It looked wooden and stiff to her; it was clean and tidy but unimaginative.
The second time they?d rolled, she?d tried something radically different, zooming in to focus first
on Thaddeus?s lips and then panning up to examine his eyelashes. She?d used this strategy with
his costar, too, to get a rapid-fire, music video effect that was really impressionistic. It was more
challenging than what you usually saw in a movie, but it was also better. On the third take she?d
gone even further, letting the camera?s gaze linger on the ice dancing in the glass of water on the
table. She thought it was a fitting way to symbolize the characters? complex relationships with
each other. It was some of her best work.
?What the fuck is this asked Ken Mogul calmly.
Vanessa looked at him. She couldn?t quite read the tone of his voice.
?I asked you a question,? Ken repeated, spinning around to face her. ?What the fuck was that,
Vanessa? What the fuck wasthat
?That was my camera work,? Vanessa replied, proudly, but her voice was shaking a bit.
?Are you fucking kidding me Ken Mogul screamed. Nearby crew members backed into the
shadows, and Vanessa could feel all eyes on her.
?Vanessa, what is this experimental bullshit? This is not what I hired you for.?
That wasexactly what he?d hired her for! Those had been hisexact words, as a matter of fact.
Vanessa just stared at him, stunned.
?That?s it. This is the last thing I need. I?ve got an actress who can?t act, I?m chewing on
fucking ballpoint pens because I?m not allowed to smoke on my own fucking set, and now this:
little Miss Indie Film is giving me her bullshit camera work. I don?t need this. You?re fired!? Ken
turned away from Vanessa and settled back into his chair. ?And you,? he added, pointing to a
gofer, ?tell Thad, Serena, and Miranda to stay ready. Thanks to this bullshit, we?re going to have
to reshoot.?
Vanessa opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She was angry, freaking fucking
angry, but more than that, she washurt . Tears welled in her eyes and her throat felt tight like she
had to cough. She couldn?t believe what had happened. They?d only just started filming, and she
was already fired? First Ruby kicked her out, then Dan went and started acting like some sort of
Buddhist asshole, and nowthis ?
?Vanessa, what?s the matter Ken demanded roughly. ?You deaf? I said you?re fired. Get the
hell off my set.?
Vanessa stuffed her equipment into her bag and stormed toward the escalator. The first movie she
made at NYU was going to be about a freak-show movie director who got maimed by a pack of
rabid coyotes. And then got hit by a subway.
See how he likesthat camera work.
reunited . . . and it feels so good
It was eerie, stepping out of the elevator at Barneys and onto the quiet, dark ninth floor. It was
like one of those super-lifelike moments in a really vivid bad dream, when you end up somewhere
familiar, but it?s all horribly wrong. But this was no nightmare: it was the opposite, really?a dream
come true.
Just twenty minutes before, Blair had been innocently taking ?tea? with Bailey Winter and her
mother, but she?d been dispatched to Barneys before she could drain her first martini.
?Fashion doesn?t wait!? Bailey screamed in his girlish tenor. ?Go. Go!?
Guess she got the job.
He wanted Blair to dash to Barneys and consult with theBreakfast at Fred?s on-set costumer, to
get the final measurements for the principal cast. The seamstresses in his atelier needed them in
order to get the costumes for the climactic party scene ready in time. So far this job had all the
makings of a Blair Waldorf fantasy: fashion, glamour, a bit of drama. The only downside was
Jasmine.
Oh, right.Her .
Bailey Winter had mistaken Tyler?s girlfriend for Blair?sfriend and insisted on hiring themboth
to be his eyes and ears on the set. But Blair was not going to let the presence of her young imitator
ruin her victory. In fact, she was going to use it to her advantage. Clearly, she could get Jasmine to
do her bidding.
She started in the taxi, instructing Jasmine on how to behave when they got to the set. ?Let me do
the talking. The talent won?t like it if you pipe in,? Blair directed like an old pro. She?d traded her
easily acquired English accent for Hollywood lingo without missing a beat.
Jasmine followed behind Blair like an adoring puppy, out of the elevator and down the black
marble ninth-floor hallway toward Fred?s. They were marching with such purpose they couldn?t
help but collide with the black-clad, tear-smeared bald figure who appeared out of nowhere,
running at full clip. Vanessa knocked into Blair, who knocked into Jasmine, who was so close on
Blair?s heels she fell to the ground with a little yelp, her BCBG sandals skittering across the
marble floor without her.
?Damn it!? Blair swore before recognizing her old roommate.
?Jesus. Fuck. I?m sorry,? Vanessa managed. Her cheeks, even her scalp, were blotchy and there
were tears dripping off her chin.
?Are you okay? You?re all . . . red,? Blair observed lamely. Vanessa was clearly upset, but Blair
was supposed to be inside measuring Thaddeus Smith?s inseam!
And we all know where the inseam leads....
?I?m okay, I?m okay,? muttered Jasmine as she pulled her-self back up to her feet, even though
no one had been talking to her.
?Jasmine, Vanessa.? Blair introduced the two. Then she wrapped her arms around Vanessa and
air-kissed her on each cheek. ?But really, what?s wrong
Vanessa just sniffled in response. She was so upset she didn?t trust her voice. What was she
supposed to do now? Where was she supposed to go?
?Okay, Jasmine,? Blair barked, relishing her role as boss. ?Stay here and make sure Vanessa?s
okay. I?ve got to get moving. Bailey?s orders!? She squeezed Vanessa?s shoulder in a show of
support and smiled weakly. ?You know I love you!? she cried, then dashed down the hall and
through the swinging doors of Fred?s.
?Excuse me,? Blair said loudly to no one in particular as soon as she stepped inside. ?My name is
Blair Waldorf. I work with Bailey Winter. I need to speak to someone in charge here.?
No one moved, and no one responded. Then Blair felt a tap on her shoulder and heard a familiar
voice.
?I think I can help you,? offered Serena.
?Hey.? Blair turned to see the grinning face of her best friend. Or were they not friends now?
They?d had so many ups and downs it was honestly sometimes hard for Blair to remember if she
liked Serena again or if they weren?t speaking to each other.
?You?re back!? Serena squealed. She grabbed Blair and hugged her tightly.
Looks like friends forever.
?I?m back,? Blair echoed, enviously assessing Serena?s ebony chiffon Bailey Winter dress.
?Tell me everything,? Serena insisted, pulling away from Blair and inspecting her closely. ?Since
when are you working for Bailey Winter? I thought you were in London!?
?I got a job,? Blair explained matter-of-factly. ?It just seemed like the responsible thing to do,
you know. I thought it would be good to have some career experience under my belt.?
?That?s great!? Serena practically screamed.
?I?ve been thinking about a career in fashion,? she added casually. The hundred-odd-person crew
ofBreakfast at Fred?s gaped at her, just waiting for Ken Mogul to verbally chop off her head. Blair
went on in an oblivious loud voice, eating up the attention. ?Everyone has a calling, and I think
fashion is mine.?
?What about London? What about Lord Whatsisname Serena demanded. Were the rumors
about his English fianc?e actually true? She didn?t usually listen to gossip, but there had to be a
reason for Blair to give up a royal romance in London to come home and take a summer job.
?It?s a long story.? Blair sighed dramatically. She was a working woman with a past. Now if
Serena would just loan her that dress . . .
?Tell it to me tonight,? Serena whispered excitedly. ?Ken?s putting me up in my own apartment.
You should totally come over. Shit, screw that?move in with me!?
?Well . . .? Blair hesitated. She?d moved around a lot lately: the Plaza Hotel, Williamsburg, the
Yale Club, London. And wasn?t she supposed to be home, close to her baby sister?
?Did I mention that I?m now living on East Seventy-first Street Serena knew full well that
Blair Waldorf of all people would recognize that address.
Move into the apartment fromBreakfast at Tiffany?s !
?I just need to pack my bags,? Blair responded stoically, as if she could hide the fact that she was
practically peeing in her pants with excitement. ?I?ll be there tonight.?
She threw her arms around Serena in a fit of impetuous enthusiasm. Everything always had a
way of turning out just right, especially when Serena was involved. This time they really would
stay friends forever.
If you can call the next few days forever!
karma chameleon
Dan Humphrey slipped into the disgusting employees-only restroom in a dank corner of the
basement of the Strand clutching a tiny black tote bag emblazoned with the logo of the literary
magazineRed Herring . Double-checking that the door was locked tight, he pulled his threadbare
Bauhaus T-shirt over his head and unbuttoned his fine-wale Levi?s cords, dropping them to the
floor. He paid no attention to the literary graffiti a generation of disaffected Strand employees had
scrawled all over the walls?legend had it that some bitter former clerk had jotted down the actual
New Hampshire home telephone number of the famously reclusive J. D. Salinger. He had only ten
minutes to meet Bree in Union Square and he had to get out of his everyday clothes?which reeked
of smoke?and into something cleaner and more exercise-friendly.
So he wasn?t the most athletic guy in the world. His relationship or connection or whatever with
Bree was based on more than Lycra clothing and naked yoga sessions. Bree had opened Dan?s
eyes, helped him think about the world in a way he never had before. Bending and posing in a hot
room with a sweaty naked guy leaning into him wasn?t Dan?s idea of a romantic evening, but
reading Bree?s favorite books was stimulating and thought-provoking. He?d done so much in his
life already?had a poem published in theNew Yorker , interned atRed Herring , sung his original
songs with the Raves?but it was kind of thrilling to discover something deeper and more
meaningful than fleeting fame.
Finding enlightenment in less than a week?it must be some kind of world record.
He pulled a clean, bright green American Apparel T-shirt over his head, smoothed out his tousled
light brown hair, and laced up his ice-blue New Balances. He popped a piece of icy mint gum into
his mouth and exhaled into the palm of his hand to double-check his breath: not a trace of tobacco.
He wadded up his work clothes and stashed them in his employee locker, then jogged up the stairs
and out of the store, toward nearby Union Square.
Bree was waiting for him near the statue of a placidly smiling Gandhi in the southwest corner of
the bustling park near skanky-but-getting-better Fourteenth Street. ?I like to go there sometimes,?
she?d told him over the phone. ?To read and reflect on Gandhi?s message of peace.?
Don?t we all?
Bree had braided her platinum blond hair and wound it tightly into a bun at the base of her neck.
She was sporting a clean white T-shirt emblazoned with the Adidas logo and iridescent blue
running shorts that were cropped short and showcased her well-muscled, lean, long legs. When
she spied Dan, she stood and waved excitedly.
?Right on time!? When he reached her, she threw her arms around him in a warm
embrace. ?Namaste,? she whispered. ?You smell nice.?
?Thanks,? Dan responded with relief as he inadvertently breathed in the bouquet of Bree?s
organic sage deodorant and the patchouli oil she wore dabbed behind each ear.
?Let?s get warmed up,? Bree ordered. She released Dan from her embrace, turned, and put her
right foot on the bench where she?d just been sitting, then leaned in, shifting all her weight to that
leg.
Dan imitated her, wincing in pain as he tried to awaken the muscles in his legs. This was a lot
more demanding than his usual workout: a walk to the corner for smokes.
?Feels great, huh Bree grinned enthusiastically while she stretched, as though a good stretch
was better than a hot bath.
?Yeah,? Dan wheezed. ?Excellent.?
?I thought we?d start here,? Bree explained, putting her feet back on the ground. She locked her
knees, then reached down, touching the ground with both palms. ?You know, head across
Fourteenth Street to the Hudson and then downtown to Battery Park.?
Dan did some mental math. That was at least two miles, which was two miles farther than he?d
