was time for Marcus to meet her parents? It was only a couple of hours away by the Chunnel, and
it would beso fun to take a romantic train ride with her boyfriend and leave cousin Camilla behind.
As she marched through the lobby, she spied the concierge standing behind her neat little
desk.Perfect, Blair thought. She could haveher make the arrangements! Blair stormed across the
marble tiles to where the woman stood, scribbling notes in some sort of leather-bound ledger.
?I need some assistance,? Blair ordered. ?Tickets to Paris.?
?Madam! Ms. er, Beaton-Rhodes asked the concierge, a short, prim Asian woman sporting
circular John Lennon?type glasses and a nononsense bob.
?It?sMiss Waldorf, actually,? Blair corrected her.
Not Mrs.yet.
?Yes, of course,? the concierge apologized. ?Madam, I?m just confirming your reservation for
another week. Is that accurate
?Sure, sure.? Blair waved her hand. She had business to attend to. ?Like I was saying, I want to
go to Paris. Like, immediately.?
?That?s fine, then. I?ll just need a credit card. For the room charge.?
?Can you just bill Lord Marcus Blair asked, irritated. ?He?s handling the whole thing.?
?I see,? nodded the concierge, making a note in her little leather notebook. ?And will his
Lordship be visiting soon? We?ll need him to sign.?
?I?m not sure,? admitted Blair. She was on her way to set up the perfect romantic
evening?lingerie, champagne, the whole thing?but technically she hadn?t spoken to him all day, so
he didn?t even know that they had a date.
?Well, I?m afraid we?re going to need to schedule a time for his Lordship to drop by and sign the
papers,? the concierge replied firmly.
?Fine,? snapped Blair. ?I?ll figure out a time.?
A group of Italian tourists meandered by, randomly snapping pictures of Blair while she fumed.
?Well, Miss . . .?
?Waldorf,?she repeated.
?Miss Waldorf, we?ll need to have that signature on the bill by tomorrow, or I?m afraid we?re
going to have to release the suite. Wedo have an interested party.?
?Fine,? Blair replied icily. ?I?ll call him right now.? Blair dug out her telephone and selected the
only number in her speed dial. Lord Marcus?s phone rang and, as she could have predicted, there
was no answer. She opted not to leave a message. She?d already left three that day. She didn?t
want him to think she was insane.
Like buying a wedding dress is sane?
?He?s not answering,? Blair informed the concierge. ?He?s very busy at work right now, but I?m
sure I?ll hear from him tonight. I?ll arrange for him to come by and settle the whole matter,
okay
It had only been a few days, but Blair had already lapsed into a Madonna-like English accent,
clipping certain consonants and using phrases like ?the whole matter.?
?That?s fine.? The concierge nodded. ?Just do remember that he?ll have to sign the bill by
tomorrow or we?ll be obliged to release the room. I do hope he?ll find a moment to get away from
his wife and come by.?
?Excuse me Blair demanded.
?I?m sorry the concierge replied snottily.
?What. Did. You. Say Blair could feel the tips of her ears glowing red with fury. For a moment
she forgot about the dress waiting for her upstairs in her luxurious suite. She forgot about the maid,
who would happily mix Blair whatever drink she requested as soon as she walked in. She forgot
about the inroom massage she?d been itching for. She forgot about Paris.
?I believe I said, I hope he?ll find a moment to get away from his life and come by,? the
concierge answered sweetly.
?You did not,? Blair whispered tightly, leaning across the counter, her voice very quiet. ?You
saidwife .?
?I?m sure you misunderstood,? the concierge replied.
?Well, I?m sureyou misunderstood!? Blair shouted. She had never been shy. ?I heard what you
said.?
?Yes, ma?am. Of course. I?ll just need to have his Lordship pop by to sign the papers and the
matter will be settled.?
?He?s not married. She?s hiscousin ,? Blair went on. ?And I?m his girlfriend.? She was
practically shouting. On the other side of the lobby the Italians turned to look.
The concierge blushed deeply. ?If we can just keep our voices down.?
?Fuck that.? Blair had had it with England, with everyone?s polite prattle, with the British
insistence on quiet dignity. Blair wasn?t interested in quiet or in dignity. Fuck this bitch, fuck
Britain, fuck Lord Marcus and fuck his horsey cousin Camilla. She suddenly wanted nothing more
than to be home. ?You know what? I don?t want the room. I want you to call British fucking
Airways and book me a ticket immediately. One way, first class. To New York.? Blair dug into her
bag and found her black American Express card, which she tossed onto the desk angrily.
?One way to New York, first class,? repeated the concierge. ?Virgin has flights at eleven daily.
I?ll see if we can get you a seat.?
Virgin. How appropriate. Not.
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ABC Amber LIT Converter v2.02
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Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to
protect the innocent. Namely, me.
hey people!
I?m sure some of you have seen it, and I bet you couldn?tbelieve it any more than I could. There
I was, happily traipsingdown Madison Avenue, in search of some new washed-cottonbeach
cover-ups when what do I see? The worst sign ever:Closed. Closed? It?s not what you think
though: it seems thatBarneys? creative director and dandy-about-town, GrahamOliver, is besties
with a certain fashion-inept indie auteur andagreed to close up shop for a few days so the cameras
can roll.
I just hope they reopen on schedule: the word is a certain star-let?s debut performance might
need a bit of tweaking. Things areso grim, in fact, they?re shooting every scene she doesn?t
appearin first, in hopes that all her practice finally makes perfect.
Now that Barneys is closed for a while, I?m thinking of leavingtown for good?no more of this
popping back and forth oncharter jets and helicopters. I know I said that things don?t getcooking
in the Hamptons for a while, yet?I usually wait until theFourth of July to hunker down for the
season?but I?ve beengetting reports about some intriguing activity out on the island. Imight have
to check it out myself. It?s so hard to be me: howcan I be in two places?or three or four or five?at
once? Notthat I?ve ever had a problem with it before.
summer survival guide
I?m not going to name names?unusual for me, I know?butthere are plenty of repeat offenders out
there. So as a refresher course, here?s everything you need to know about:
1) Tanning
Obviously, the real thing is best. If Mother Nature isn?t complying, airbrushing is acceptable, but
remember, whether poolside or in that little spray chamber, you must go naked: tan lines are a
turn-off. And remember to wax two days before and exfoliate! Your streaks and splotches aren?t
fooling anyone.
2) Brows
For starters, you know you?re supposed to have two, right? Now put down the tweezers. No,
throw them away. Go see my friend Reese at Bergdorf?s ASAP. And I don?t want to hear any
complaining about how it?s $45 per brow.
3) Waxing
It?s bathing suit season, so landscaping isn?t optional. If you?re going to be wearing that Eres
bikini, we?re all going to get a show. Personally, I endorse the traditional Brazilian (no pain, no
gain). And while I?ve been known to opt for a precious little Swarovski crystal appliqu? tattoo,
there really is no need to gild the lily, is there?
your e-mail
Q:
Dear GG,
I heard there?s a pretty racy film making the rounds on theInternet, and it proves that a certain
someone has been ina movie before. It was shot on location in Central Park,with that stud N. Her
hair looks kind of brown and curly,but it?s got to be S, right?
?Cineaste
A:
Dear Cineaste,
You?re going to have to get your facts straight: there was a movie, from, like, a year ago, and no
one involved in that production has anything to do with what?s filming here right now. That
well-endowed star is off making art?and who knows what else?in Prague. Au revoir!
?GG
Q:
Dear GG,
There?s this really annoying girl in my yoga class?I?m just trying to get in shape and keep busy
while my best friend is at, like, art camp in Prague for the summer?but she?s always going on
about how yoga is a ?way of life.? Anyway, after class the other day she was gushing to the
teacher about some new ?spiritual book lover,? crush and he sounded suspiciously like someone I
know?only not. Like his evil twin. Or his good twin. Anyway, I?m confused. Are there pod people
in town replacing everyone with clones or what?
?Scared
A:
Dear Scared,
This is an intriguing development. I doubt it?s aliens, though?sometimes it?s nice to just enjoy a
little summer fantasy. Haven?t you ever pretended to be someone you weren?t on vacation? Try it
sometime: check into your hotel as the Principessa de Medici or something like that, and don?t be
surprised if management sends up an enormous fruit basket or some Dom Perignon. Stretching the
truth sometimes has its merits.
?GG
sightings
B paying an excess-baggage fee at the Virgin counter at Heathrow. Souvenirs for friends and
loved ones, or was it that oversize wedding dress garment bag? N picking up a few staples, like
Visine and condoms, at White?s Pharmacy in East Hampton. D enjoying a very healthy fourveggie
smoothie at Soho Natural. Maybe he?s shaping up for swimsuit season? S might want to take a
page from his book?after sneaking out of rehearsal early, she headed straight to the Tuleh sample
sale near F.I.T. and then made a not-so-brief pit stop at Cold Stone Creamery. Now, now: looking
like a star is half the work! Not that she ever has to worry.
You know you love me.
gossip girl
a little bird told me. . . .
?Nate Archibald. I can?t believe my eyes.?
?Hey, Chuck,? muttered Nate. On his way home that afternoon, he?d noticed his front tire was a
little low on air, so he?d pulled into the BP station on Springs Road. It had been an incredibly hot
day, the kind of day with no ocean breeze to break up the haze, so Nate?s hours of backbreaking
labor had left him sweaty, sunburned, and exhausted. Judging from the horrified look on Chuck
Bass?s smooth, naturally tanned face, Nate figured he must look pretty terrible.
That?s a first.
?Whathappened to you gasped Chuck. He pulled his vintage Ray-Ban aviators down the length
of his nose and handed the gas station attendant a fifty-dollar bill. ?Keep the change.?
?Nothing happened, man,? Nate responded, annoyed. He removed the hose from his tire and
bounced the bike up and down to check the pressure.
Despite the thick heat, Chuck Bass was wearing madras board shorts and a gray cashmere hoodie.
He looked as perfectly primped as usual, his thick eyebrows arched tidily above his piercing
brown eyes, his aftershave-commercial-handsome square chin shaved smooth. He extended a hand
to help Nate to his feet.
?Given up on cars Chuck asked, nodding at Nate?s bike. ?Don?t tell me you?ve gone green on
us.?
?Yeah.? Nate looked hopefully toward the tastefully gray-shingled BP gas station for someone to
save him from Chuck.
?Let me give you a ride.? Chuck rattled the ice in the plastic cup of chilled mocha latte that he?d
drained. ?It?s a hundred degrees out and you look like you?ve been through hell. I don?t want to
imagine how you?ll look after riding all the way back to Georgica Pond on that bike.?
Nate weighed his options: half an hour sweating versus ten minutes alone with Chuck Bass?
Damned if you do, damned if you don?t.
?Let?s go.? Nate sighed. The thought of Chuck?s air-conditioned dove gray Jag was too hard to
resist.
Chuck unlocked the car?s trunk and Nate stuffed the bike into it?he wasn?t sure it would fit, but
the trunk was surprisingly big and they were able to rig it so only the tip of the tire poked through.
Nate slid onto the white leather seat and slammed the heavy door, fastening his seat belt and
gearing up for the ride.
Chuck turned on the ignition and the car immediately flooded with cold air and blared
Zeppelin?s ?Houses of the Holy.?
?I?ve been lying on the beach in Sag Harbor all day, feeling retro,? Chuck explained, turning the
volume down. ?So . . . let?s catch up.?
?Catch up,? echoed Nate blankly. He could tell from Chuck?s tone of voice that he was going to
launch into a barrage of questions. Talking with Chuck was like having a job interview.
?I assume you heard about Blair.? Chuck fiddled with the air conditioner, even though it was
already freezing. He pulled out onto the road connecting Hampton Bays to East Hampton, which
Nate had practically memorized by now. Wine-grape fields alternated with tasteful Colonial-style,
gray-shingled houses, and occasionally he caught a glimpse of the dark blue ocean behind
someone?s backyard.
?Blair Nate asked as they passed the Oyster Shack on the left. He?d been so preoccupied with
Tawny, even saying Blair?s name aloud felt weird. She was off in England for the summer with
her new British boyfriend as far as he knew. She seemed far away when he thought about her,
even though their paths would soon cross again. She might be madly in love with that new English
dude, but there was no way Blair Waldorf was going to abandon her lifelong dream of going to
Yale in the fall. A September reunion on campus was inevitable.
?She?sba-a-a-a-a-ck .? Chuck drew it out like that creepy little girl in the moviePoltergeist . He
rattled the ice in his cup and slurped up the coffee-flavored water that had gathered at the
bottom. ?Just got off the plane this morning.?
?Oh yeah Nate fiddled with the shoulder strap on his seat belt. Blair was back from London?
Thatwas news.
?Yeah.? Chuck nodded casually, turning the stereo down further. ?I wonder if she and Serena
have kissed and made up.Again . If you know what I mean.?
?Blair and Serena never could stay mad at each other for long,? Nate muttered, drumming his
