?Dude,? Anthony continued, shouting to be heard over the deafening din of the music. ?I hear
Blair?s back in town. What?s the story
Nate frowned, then draped an arm around Tawny, pulling her even closer. ?I don?t know.? He
shrugged.
?I?m Tawny,? the girl said, leaning across Nate?s lap and smiling in Anthony?s direction.
?What?s up Anthony nodded in greeting. ?Anthony.?
?You two know each other from school she wanted to know.
?Yeah,? Anthony responded. ?How do you two know each other
Nate signaled to the waitress. He needed another drink, immediately.
?Nate just fell at my feet one day,? Tawny replied, draining the last of her cocktail. ?I guess I?m
just lucky.?
Anthony studied her, then yelled at Nate, ?You?re the lucky one, bastard.?
The waitress approached, looking exactly like Jessica Simpson playing Daisy inThe Dukes of
Hazzard . ?Another round she asked.
?Please,? Nate told her. If Anthony was going to ask him any more questions, he?d need to get a
stronger buzz on.
?I haven?t seen you around the city,? Anthony continued. ?Where do you go to school
?Oh, I?m not from the city,? Tawny explained. ?I live in Hampton Bays.?
?Cool,? Anthony exclaimed. ?I don?t think I?ve ever met a townie before.?
Nate jabbed Anthony roughly with his elbow.
?What Anthony demanded. ?It?s cool. No offense, man.?
?What asked Tawny, cupping her palm over her ear. ?It?s so loud!?
?Dude,? Anthony continued, oblivious. ?Isabel is having a party tomorrow. I heard Serena?s
going to be there. You seen her lately
The last time Nate had seen Serena, he?d been kissing Jenny at Blair?s graduation party. It was
just a ?for old times? sake? kiss, but he was pretty sure she and Blair had bonded over how mad at
him they were.
What else is new?
Nate shook his head. He felt completely out of touch with all the people he?d grown up with.
?Wait,Serena asked Tawny excitedly, leaning across Nate?s lap. From this vantage he had an
unobstructed view down her blouse to her pierced navel and could seeeverything in between. ?As
in, Serena with the foreign-sounding last name
She leaned further forward, giving Nate another glimpse of the Promised Land.
Is she doing that on purpose?Nate wondered.
Nate glanced at Anthony to make sure he wasn?t sneaking a peek as well, but he?d turned to talk
to some dark-haired beauty Nate vaguely remembered went to Grafton and was a year younger
than them.
?I guess so,? Nate allowed, enjoying Tawny?s surprised expression. Did Serena?s name sound
foreign? He?d never noticed. But forget Serena?Tawny was clearly impressed. He didn?t feel that
way often; girls thought he was cute or cool or popular or whatever, but she was looking at him
with something he?d never really seen in Blair or Serena?s eyes. She looked ...awed .
?We kind of used to see each other,? Nate bragged. That was the truth, but it didn?t quite cover it.
?Nate Archibald!? Tawny cried, leaning across the table once more, pushing her breasts together
invitingly. ?You are such a mystery man.?
?You know Serena, too Anthony leaned back into the conversation, clearly trying to get a
sneak peek down Tawny?s shirt. ?There?s going to be some kind of blowout when that movie
wraps in a couple days. You should totally come!? he yelled over the booming music.
?You meanBreakfast at Fred?s Tawny looked like her eyes were going to pop out of her
head. ?I am, like, Thaddeus Smith?s number one fan.Ever !?
The waitress returned with their drinks and Nate grabbed his greedily.
?I don?t know.? He shook his head. All of a sudden he felt like he was treading water in a really
dark, deep pool. His thinking was a little cloudy from a pre-going-out joint and the three beers, but
even in that state he knew it wasn?t such a great idea to show up at Serena?s wrap party with
Tawny on his arm. Blair would definitely be there, and he didn?t want her to think that he?d
already moved on.
But hadn?t he? And hadn?tshe ?
?Please,? Tawny begged. ?I?ddie to meet Thaddeus Smith.
Die!? ?Dude,? Anthony teased. ?Can?t say no to a pretty girl.? Nate Archibald never could never
say no. Period.
b takes charge
The bang of the slammed door echoed off the walls of the underfurnished apartment. It was hard
to stomp in angrily after climbing all those stairs?and in rubber flip-flops, no less?but Serena did
her best, stomping on the wood floor, dropping her oversize white leather Jil Sander duffel without
a thought for the iPod Nano and glass Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses inside.
?You home, roomie Blair called from inside the apartment?s one bedroom, which they?d
decided to share. They were basically sisters anyway.
They certainly fought like they were.
?Yeah,? Serena called back. She grabbed a Corona from the fridge and perched on the
windowsill overlooking the back of the town house, her feet dangling out of the window over the
fire escape.
?How was work Blair strolled into the kitchen wrapped up in a massive white Frette towel
she?d swiped from her mom?s well-stocked linen closet. She pulled a pack of Merits from
Serena?s abandoned purse and used the gas stove to light one.
?Work was work.? Serena stared glumly down through the slats of the fire escape at the slate
backyard below. She sighed. ?Honestly, Blair, it kind of sucks.?
?What do you mean Blair?s workday had consisted of running fabric samples from the tailor
on Thirty-ninth Street to Bailey Winter?s home, where he was enjoying a ?tea? party and private
fitting with a Saudi princess.
Blair pushed open the window next to Serena?s and leaned outside. She exhaled a plume of
smoke into the wind and glanced over at Serena. The breeze blew her blond hair gently as she
swung her bare feet and frowned.
?I don?t know,? Serena sighed, chugging her beer. It had been one of her worst rehearsal days to
date. She?d overheard some of the crew members calling her Holly Go Slightly, and then Ken had
yelled, ?Fuck, fuck, fuck!? right in the middle of her scene. ?It?s been a long day.?
?Tell me everything,? Blair urged.
Serena hesitated. They?d never really discussed it, but she knew Blair well enough to know that
she wasn?t exactly thrilled that Serena was starring inBreakfast at Fred?s . It was Blair?s lifelong
dream, after all, not Serena?s; how would Blair react to hearing Serena complain about it?
?I?m having some trouble getting this whole acting thing down,? Serena admitted sheepishly.
That?s an understatement.
?I thought I could do it. I mean, I did it before, but that was different, without lots of experts and
people running around on set, watching you, and without that big, huge camera just staring at you
like, like . . . like Darth Vader or something.?
?Tell me more.? Blair leaned out of the window, exhaling smoke into the hot summer night. She
loved helping other people with their problems.
More like she just wanted to hear that other peoplehad problems.
?I can?t do it,? complained Serena. She frowned down at her Marc Jacobs flip-flops. ?It?s just
not connecting.?
?Serena,? Blair murmured dreamily, ?you know what you look like
?Huh Serena looked up. Blair was leaning out the window, still clad only in her towel,
clutching a cigarette but not smoking it, so her ash was almost an inch long. She looked like a
crazed Madison Avenue maven in an alcoholic trance.
?You look exactly,? Blair said, ?I mean,exactly , like Holly Golightly. The fire escape, the wisps
of hair, the light?it?s all perfect. It?s fucking creepy almost.?
?Thanks,? Serena uttered. It was one of the nicest things Blair had said to her in their many years
of friendship.
?I?m serious,? Blair proclaimed. ?I?m an expert. I?m in the business, okay? I know about fashion,
I know about looks, I know about glamour, and you?ve got it. I don?t care what Ken Mogul might
say: youare Holly Golightly,? she continued determinedly, ?if I have anything to do with it.?
?What do you mean Serena demanded.
?Who is the world?s greatest Holly Golightly expert Blair asked.
Serena laughed. ?You are, no question.?
?Well, you?re pretty damn lucky to know me, then, aren?t you Blair remarked. Ifshe couldn?t
be Holly Golightly, well, then she could make Serena into her. That would be satisfaction
enough. ?Come on.? She stubbed out her cigarette and grabbed her friend?s hand. ?We have work
to do.?
Their first stop was obvious: the sidewalk outside of Tiffany.
Blair had thrown on a vaguely Mexican embroidered cami she?d bought the previous summer at
Scoop and a pair of jeans and had insisted that Serena dress down too. When the cab pulled up in
front of the store, Blair practically shoved Serena out into the street.
?Now,? Blair barked. ?Let me see your walk.? Blair stationed herself in front of the store
windows and faced her friend. With the traffic zooming past behind her and the tall buildings
rising into the sky, Serena looked very small, very vulnerable. Very un-Serena. Very, very
un-Holly.
Serena strolled awkwardly toward the store, taking funny little half-steps like a flower girl in a
wedding.
?Stop!? Blair howled. She walked out into the middle of the sidewalk. ?What was that
?What do you mean Serena was barely audible over the roar of traffic and the chatter of all the
shoppers and tourists milling around.
?You?re not trying,? Blair intoned, channeling a tough but lovable coach from some inspirational
sports movie she?d seen on HBO. ?Show me, show me, show me! Iknow you can do a more
convincing walk.?
?I feel so stupid,? Serena admitted. ?Everyone?s looking at me and I feel all weird and
self-conscious.?
Miss Dancing-on-the-banquette-at-Bungalow-8, self-conscious?
?You can?t feel that way,? Blair snapped. ?You?ve got to feel confident. You?ve got to feel cool.
You?ve got to feel like the whole world is at your disposal, like you?re calling the shots, like
you?re in charge.?
And this was calledacting ?
?But I?m just supposed to walk Serena asked. This wasn?t like walking in a fashion
show?which she?d done, of course. ?I feel silly.?
?Pretend it?s graduation again,? Blair suggested, remembering Serena?s irksome, last-minute
dash down the aisle of Brick Church, wearing the exact same Oscar de la Renta suit Blair was
wearing.
?I?ll try,? Serena sighed.
Blair returned to her station in front of Tiffany. She had a lot of work to do, but she had to admit
it was kind of fun bossing Serena around for a change.
All in the name of friendship.
just another manic sunday in the park with v . . . and d
With Nils tugging at her left hand and Edgar pulling on her right?or was it Nils on the right and
Edgar on the left Vanessa Abrams remembered why it was never a good idea to have two boys
vying for one girl?s attention.
Like she hadn?t already learnedthat lesson.
?Come on, come on,? complained one of the boys?who cared which one anymore? Their tiny
hands were sticky, their little-boy voices whiny, and besides that they werestrong . They had grips
of steel, and since they refused to slow down, Vanessa was half walking and half being dragged
along Central Park?s shady asphalt paths. It reminded her of the times she and Aaron had walked
his fawn-and-white purebred boxer, Mookie, together, except the twins were even more eager to
get outside than that dog had been. If they?d had tails, they?d have been wagging them insanely.
?Christ,? muttered Vanessa. ?Slow down, please!?
Eighteen dollars an hour, eighteen dollars an hour.She?d already made thirty-six dollars that day;
not a fortune, but it would go right in the coffers for her next project.
How about her nextapartment ?
Vanessa stumbled a little as the boys stopped short in front of an umbrella-covered cart.
?Can we get ice cream sandwiches
She highly doubted that their mother had ever in her life taken the kids to the park, let alone
bought them ice cream. Vanessa hadn?t even set eyes on her since their bizarre job interview, and
Ms. Morgan didn?t seem like the kind of woman who would tolerate ice cream dripping on her
boucl? Chanel suits. The Abramses had always kept her and Ruby on a strict sugar-free diet when
they were kids, preferring Tofutti and fruit to ice cream and candy, but she didn?t care what these
two ate.
?Sure, ice cream sandwiches, whatever, you got it,? she agreed, wriggling free of the boys? death
grips and pulling a crumpled twenty out of her jeans pocket. ?Three ice cream sandwiches, please,?
she told the vendor, who had a handlebar moustache and was wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt circa
1972.
The boys leapt up and down, grabbing at the ice cream. They tore the wrappers open hungrily,
then raced away into the confines of the playground, screaming and laughing through gooey
mouthfuls of ice cream.
?Wait up!? Vanessa yelled after them halfheartedly. She wasn?t sure she cared if they
disappeared and she lost her job and went to prison. Had it really been only three days since she?d
started work as the principal cinematographer on a major Hollywood production? Or was this
whole thing some kind of horrible nightmare?
She sank onto a bench under a tall, gracious oak and watched the twins scarf down their treats
and toss their wrap-pers onto the ground. Oops. Then they started a dizzying game of tag, racing
under the slide, between the swings, narrowly avoiding collisions with teetering prewalkers and
their menacing minders.
?Stay close!?Vanessa called out weakly. She finished her ice cream and leaned back onto the
surprisingly comfortable wood-and-concrete bench. Cars whizzed by on their way through the
park at Ninety-seventh Street, a nice, sleep-inducing sound. The sun was strong but there was
plenty of shade, and for one brief second she almost didn?t mind that she was there as a nanny, not
just as some other adult enjoying the park on a nice Sunday afternoon. Her eyes closed and she
tuned out for a moment.
Then she heard a familiar high-pitched yelp and her eyes flew open.
Who knew she had a maternal instinct?
There was a commotion not far in the distance, and Vanessa recognized two familiar blond heads.
