I Will Always Love You Page 11

  It was already after eleven, and the suite was filled with guys in khakis and wrinkled button-downs and girls in tight dresses or bikinis. Everyone looked like they were trying to look fifteen years old.

  You never can go back.

  “How are you?” Serena exclaimed eagerly as she plopped on the couch next to Isabel. “How’s Casey?” she asked, remembering the name of Isabel’s lesbian lover from last year.

  “Oh.” Isabel turned bright red. “I have no idea. I’m actually dating this guy named Chad,” she announced as she pretended not to stare jealously at Serena’s legs. Serena was wearing a denim miniskirt she’d fashioned out of a pair of ancient Sevens and an extra-large Marc by Marc Jacobs sweater. On anyone else, the outfit would have looked sloppy. On Serena, it looked stunning.

  Of course.

  “How are you?” Laura cooed, as if she hadn’t been gossiping about her just moments before. She grabbed Serena’s long blond hair and combed her manicured fingernails through it enviously. “Are these extensions?”

  “No. Love your hair though. It’s such a pretty shade of red,” Serena lied. Laura’s normally brown hair had been dyed an unnatural Hawaiian Punch color. “I haven’t been to a salon in forever.”

  “Are you working on a movie?” Rain asked, wrinkling her ski-jump nose, which now had a small scar from where her nose piercing had been.

  “No. I’m not sure I really want to do movies anymore.” Serena shrugged. She hadn’t acted since Coffee at the Palace, and had decided to take a break for the foreseeable future. The only problem was, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do now. Part of her was thinking about going back to school—she had only deferred from Yale and could still go if she wanted to—but the idea of sitting in a classroom seemed so confining. She’d taken a couple of acting classes at a downtown studio that Thad had raved about, but they’d mostly consisted of pantomiming dreams from the night before. No, thank you.

  Especially not when most of her dreams involve a certain someone.

  “Is it because of the reviews?” Laura took a swig of her cranberry vodka.

  Serena stiffened and suddenly wished she’d made herself a drink before she sat down with her old friends. The reviews for Coffee at the Palace had been less than stellar, though the New York Times had called Serena a breath of fresh air. But it was conversations like this that made Serena hate acting. She loved being in front of the camera, but she hated all the drama that went on when the cameras weren’t rolling. She never set foot in anywhere trendy, because she hated getting followed by paparazzi and having her picture taken with camera phones. It was so silly to get that kind of attention when she wasn’t doing anything.

  “I’ve been reading a lot of Thomas Mann lately,” Serena said, changing the subject. “I just finished The Magic Mountain. With everyone else in school, I don’t want to fall behind,” she added. She was greeted by silence.

  “Well, what classes do you guys take?” Serena prodded. It had never been hard for her to make conversation, but now, among the girls she’d known since kindergarten, she had no idea what to say. She awkwardly crossed one leg over the other.

  “I don’t even know,” Isabel giggled. “I spend all my time with my boyfriend. I do his Influential Movies of the ’80s homework sometimes. His football schedule is really demanding,” she explained, brushing her long dark hair off her shoulder self-importantly.

  “Oh.” Serena didn’t know what else to say. Since when did Isabel do someone else’s homework? Serena used to always beg to borrow Isabel’s calc problem sets.

  “I take golf,” Rain yelled over the awful Madonna/Britney remix that boomed through the room, courtesy of the giggling L’École sophomores huddled around the Bose sound dock near the bar. “I’m pretty good.”

  Serena nodded. Were they serious? Was that what college was about? At Constance, they’d all taken Latin and physics and AP French. Sure, they’d complained about it, but deep down, they all knew it was important to do well in high school so they’d get into a good college and succeed in life. But the classes they were taking now sounded like a joke.

  “Okay,” Serena trailed off uncertainly. She was used to being the life of the party, but now she felt like that awkward guest who people only talked to out of a sense of obligation. “Does anyone else need a drink?” she asked, not bothering to wait for an answer.

  Serena hugged her arms against her chest as she walked over to the bar. Didn’t they say that people grew apart after high school? Maybe it was natural to not have anything in common once you no longer shared terrible teachers and lunchtime gossip. She’d fallen out of touch with her actress friends—Alysia was engaged to some B-list actor, Alison was pregnant, and Amanda was in rehab. Besides, she kind of hated going to Hollywood parties. The people there only cared about themselves and their careers. Right now, she’d give anything just to talk to someone who actually knew her. But the only people who did were her brother Erik, Blair, and Nate. Erik was spending the holidays in Australia with his girlfriend; Blair hated her; and who even knew if she’d ever see Nate again? The last she’d heard, Nate was at that same crazy farm school as Chuck. She’d tried to write him e-mails, but always deleted them before she hit send. She wanted to tell him she understood why he freaked out last year, but could never find the words. She wanted to let him know that she was sorry, that she never meant to hurt him, and that it was fine if he never wanted to be together. But she needed to be friends with him—somehow. She couldn’t imagine her life without Nate in it.

  “Serena!” Kati Farkas cried from the other end of the bar. “Did you break up with Breckin O’Dell?”

  Serena tried to smile. It was going to be a long evening.

  The best ones always are.

  Serena took the bottle of Ketel on the bar counter, splashed it liberally in a Riedel glass, then topped it with a thin layer of cranberry juice. Maybe a drink would help her feel better. She took an unhappy sip and scanned the room.

  Which was when she saw him—all five feet, ten inches of tall, honey gold hair, glittering green-eyed goodness. He wore a dark blue overcoat and looked out of place in the overheated suite.

  Serena held on to the granite bar for support. Around her L’École girls were passing around a joint and laughing. She felt like she was going to faint. She had to talk to him, but what if he didn’t want to talk to her? Or worse, what if he was just polite? What if he talked to her like she’d been his high school lab partner?

  She drained the rest of her drink and spontaneously threw her arms around his back. “Happy New Year, Natie!” she yelled into his shoulder blades as if it were the old days, and she’d just seen him a couple hours ago, rather than a whole year. His body felt stronger than she’d remembered, and she could feel his taut muscles through his shirt.

  “Serena,” Nate said dumbly, turning so his face was inches from hers. He could smell her familiar patchouli-infused essential oil scent, and at first he wondered if this was some very weird reaction to the pot he’d smoked earlier. Somebody at the party had had a bag of incredible Thai stick and had generously shared it with him.

  “How are you?” he finally asked. It was a dumb and obvious question and not at all what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, that he still loved her, that Chips had died and he was high and didn’t even know what to do about it. He wanted to hold her and never let go.

  Serena shrugged and smiled. Her navy blue eyes looked far away. “I’m okay. How are you?”

  “I’m… okay,” he said, shifting from one Stan Smith sneaker to the other. Talk about the understatement of the year. He wasn’t, not at all. He was a fucking mess. But right now, with Serena near him, he felt better than he had in a long time.

  “Nathaniel fucking Archibald!”

  Nate whirled around. Towering above him was a guy with a familiar shock of reddish-blond hair. It was Jeremy Scott Tompkinson, one of his old St. Jude’s classmates. Jeremy had always been excessively skinny and only about five
foot two, but he’d obviously had a late-adolescent growth spurt in college. He was huge, massive! Jeremy was trailed by Charlie Dern and Anthony Avuldsen, who were wearing matching Hamilton College visors perched on the sides of their heads to complement their matching beer guts.

  Nate held out a hand and Jeremy, Charlie, and Anthony all slapped it in turn, their customary salute. Charlie’s eyes bugged beneath his floppy bangs as he took in his old friend. “I thought you were in, like, the army.”

  Close enough.

  “Nah, I was in school,” Nate said. While he was excited to see his old St. Jude’s buddies, he didn’t really feel like playing catch-up. How could he explain about sailing the world, about Chips, about what he was up to now? They probably had no clue what Deep Springs was or what it was really about. But he knew Serena would get it. He suddenly wanted to be with Serena, alone.

  “Where have you guys been? Beer Pong State?” Serena easily teased the guys.

  Nate cracked a grin, glad that Serena was acting so chill. She hadn’t grabbed his wrist, dragged him to a corner, and yelled at him for being an asshole. That was nice.

  Nate realized that everyone was looking at him curiously and snapped out of his reverie. “I know how to milk a cow,” he said randomly.

  Congratulations.

  “Man, really?” Jeremy asked, his eyes wide. “So, like, you just squeeze?”

  “Well, sort of.” Nate thought back to Juliet, his favorite cow in the barn. He’d sometimes find himself whispering to her, telling her stories about the day or asking her questions. He’d always feel reassured when she’d moo back, as if she understood what he meant. In a way, it was the same way he felt when he was with Serena. Not like Serena reminded him of a cow, but he didn’t feel nervous or scared or judged when he was with her. It was nice.

  “Really?” Serena asked, grinning as if it was the most amusing thing she’d heard all day. Nate felt a surge of pride to realize he could still make her smile. Did that mean she forgave him?

  Maybe he should ask his cow what she thinks.

  “Yeah. Her name’s Juliet,” Nate said. He didn’t really want to talk about cows anymore, but if he wasn’t talking about that, he didn’t know what he’d start babbling about. Cows seemed like a pretty safe choice. “She has really long eyelashes and likes to be touched behind the ears.”

  Don’t we all?

  “Should I be worried?” Serena giggled. She couldn’t believe she’d been so nervous about talking to Nate.

  “Dude, you either got really fucking weird or you have some fucking amazing weed I need to sample immediately.” Anthony wiggled his eyebrows crazily.

  “Nah,” Nate replied simply.

  “I’m getting some brews.” Anthony turned on his heel, trailed by Charlie and Jeremy.

  Nate shook his head dreamily, as if he hadn’t noticed they’d already left. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said to Serena. A stray eyelash sat on her cheekbone. He gently brushed it away with his index finger before he realized he should have saved it. When they were little, Serena had taught him to make a wish on an eyelash and then blow it away.

  “Did you steal my wish?” Serena asked, tilting her face up toward him.

  “I hope not,” Nate whispered huskily as he leaned down to kiss her.

  Wish granted.

  for auld lang syne

  “Are you ready?” Blair fidgeted with the clasp on her Prada clutch while Pete sipped his cappuccino. It was already eleven o’clock. They were at Da Silvano on West Fourth for a romantic New Year’s dinner before they headed to the party in the Bass suite. She couldn’t wait to show off Pete to all her bitchy former Constance classmates—including Serena. Blair figured she’d be there and planned to act cordial. After all, it must be hard to be a boyfriendless, confused, washed-up ex–movie star at the tender age of nineteen.

  How generous of her.

  Blair wore a tight black and silver DVF dress, and Pete’s blond hair flopped adorably into his blue eyes. In his bright blue Thomas Pink button-down, he made the perfect accessory.

  She smiled in satisfaction, trying to stifle a yawn. She didn’t want to be tired, but it had been a long day. They’d spent Christmas in LA with her family, and had just gotten to the city this afternoon. Pete had always wanted to celebrate New Year’s in New York, and Blair was excited to show him where she grew up, especially after spending a week in her family’s tacky Pacific Palisades McMansion. She couldn’t wait to reexperience all the cheesy romantic things New York had to offer with her boyfriend. She wanted to go skating at Wollman Rink, take a horse-drawn carriage ride through Central Park while sipping mulled wine out of a thermos, and have drinks at Top of the Rock. Even though Blair hated cheesiness, she didn’t mind it when she was with Pete.

  Aw.

  “Ready.” Pete put down his cup and signaled to the waiter for the check. “So, remind me who I’m going to meet tonight?” He took his AmEx from his worn leather wallet and slipped it in the folder.

  “Well, Chuck is hosting the party. He’s… complicated,” Blair began. Complicated was an understatement. Senior year, Chuck had practically molested every member of the Constance Billard student body, then had become what could only be described as gay, wearing socks with monkey appliqués on them. Now he went to Deep Springs, some queer-sounding all-guys college in California. Deep Springs was a working farm where students cultivated alfalfa and read Proust. Which was all random, but sort of fit Chuck’s try-anything-once personality. The most bizarre thing was that Nate was apparently there as well. When he’d run out on her and Serena last winter, Blair had half expected him to come to Yale anyway. But when the first week of classes came and went without him, and when she called his cell and found it was disconnected, she’d known he was gone for good. Which was probably for the best.

  A few weeks after the start of the semester, on a snowy Wednesday, she’d spotted Pete walking into the student center. She’d spontaneously gone to the coffee bar, bought a medium coffee, skim milk, no sugar, walked up to the table where he was reading The Love Poems of Pablo Neruda, and offered it to him. It was a gesture that surprised him—almost as much as she surprised herself. They’d ended up cutting their afternoon classes, cuddling underneath his duvet, and ordering a greasy pizza from Yorkside. And ever since then, it had been her and Pete. They’d lived in New Haven together over the summer—Blair had worked on the campaign for a Connecticut senator while Pete did research for his history professor. At night, they’d wear as little clothing as possible to keep cool in the un-air-conditioned house. She’d make brunch every weekend and they’d spend Sundays in bed reading the Times. Being with Pete made her feel like a grown-up. Pete was a real man, and Nate was just a sad little adolescent who had no idea what he wanted.

  Is that so?

  “Well, it’s Chuck’s party, and then there’ll probably be Kati Farkas and Isabel Coates and Laura Salmon. Just these girls from school,” Blair said hurriedly, trying to get the conversation back on track.

  “What about Serena?” Pete cocked his head expectantly. Blair shrugged. Normally, she loved how Pete remembered every little thing she’d told him—like how the only Audrey Hepburn movie she didn’t like was Wait Until Dark and how she’d accidentally kissed her first Yale interviewer. But he didn’t know how complicated her best friendship with Serena was, and Blair wanted to keep it that way.

  Wonder why?

  “I don’t know.” Blair shrugged and scraped her chair away from the table. They’d barely spoken at all since last winter. Serena had sent her tickets to the premiere of Coffee at the Palace, but of course Blair hadn’t gone.

  She hovered over Pete as he signed his messy boy signature on the check. Briefly, she wondered if Nate could possibly be at the party, then shook off the idea. Once, in high school, when she and Serena were smoking Merits on the steps of the Met, they came up with the theory that you had an almost psychic connection to anyone you’d ever kissed. If you really concentrated, you could
almost sense where they were in geographic relation to you. And right now, Nate felt very far away.

  Time to rethink that hypothesis.

  Besides, why did it matter? She was happy. Sure, she didn’t go out all night and dance until dawn, but there was something to be said for the simple life: arguing with Pete about what movies to put on their Netflix queue or whether to order Chinese or sushi on a Friday night. It all seemed so… normal.

  If you’re into that sort of thing.

  They exited the restaurant and walked out to the curb. Pete tentatively held up his hand to hail a cab.

  “Not like that, like this!” Blair stepped forcefully out onto the street and threw her hand in the air. “You have to be aggressive. Rule number one of living in New York!” Blair smiled happily. She looked uptown and saw the Empire State Building, still decorated in red, green, and white lights for Christmas. Around them, pedestrians were traveling in merry packs, wearing Happy New Year headbands and blowing those totally annoying noisemakers, even though there was still an hour to go until the ball dropped. “Happy New Year!” She squeezed Pete impulsively as a taxi roared to the curb.

  The cab easily navigated the short distance from the tangled streets of the West Village to the wide streets of Tribeca and dropped them off in front of the purple awning of the Tribeca Star hotel, where they had checked in earlier in the day.

  Blair confidently led Pete to the elevator bank, where two girls were also waiting, looking miserable and cold in matching backless dresses and five-inch heels. Blair smiled benevolently at the younger girls, feeling infinitely superior and happy that she was so beyond the stage of dressing for shock value at parties. It had never been her thing—Serena had always been the one to goad her into dressing scandalously, like the time they showed up at a Valentine’s party without underwear.

  That’s one tradition not worth revisiting.