Nobody Does It Better Page 17

  Jenny screwed the top back on her nail polish and put it back in her purse. She knew her dad wasn't going to like what she had to say, because he secretly adored having a house full of crazy kids to embarrass and infuriate. But the only way she was going to give up her career as a Raves groupie was if she got to go away to school, where the opportunities for adventure were limitless. Hey, he'd said it himself: He wanted her to be happy.

  Across the room Calliope Trask was helping the Giant Tortoises fling buck's dung at the mural, Jackson Pollock-style.

  Jenny looked up at her dear father with hopeful doe-brown eyes, her red mouth forming the shape of a heart as she murmured eight melodic words:

  “Dad, may I please go to boarding school?”

  A Brief Reminder

  Dear Constance Billard Seniors,

  As if you needed reminding, Senior Spa Weekend starts tomorrow! We just wanted to tell you how excited we are! And to ensure that you're dressed appropriately for the boat ride, we've had these fantastic Senior Spa Weekend long-sleeved baby tees made just for you by Three Dots. Now remember, we're the Archibalds' guests. Let's try to behave like ladies. But as soon as we get to the Coateses' estate—anything goes!

  Can't wait—see you tomorrow!!!

  Love,

  Your classmates, Isabel and Kati.

  A Bird's-Eye View

  It was a perfect afternoon for sailing. The sun was hot and the breeze was cool. The sky was deep blue and the water was calm. Small round tables with silk tablecloths in the Charlotte's colors—gold and blue—littered the deck, a heavy marble vase full of floating candles at the center of each one. In the bow of the yacht a man wearing a white tux played the double bass while a fat woman in a red muumuu crooned Nina Simone songs flawlessly. The tenants of all the finest Upper East Side addresses clutched their cocktails and chatted to one another, wearing the latest couture resortwear bought in Cannes and St. Barts. Behind them the skyline grew smaller and smaller as they coursed towards Long Island Sound and Sag Harbor.

  “How is your son?” Misty Bass asked Mrs. Archibald, her razor-thin black eyebrows knitted in concern. A diamond cluster necklace swung heavily on her Cap d'Antibes-tanned neck as the Charlotte bobbed in the waves, white sails billowing. “I hear he's in trouble again. It isn't … drugs, is it?” she ventured, eager for the latest gossip.

  “Nate is fine.” Nate's mother bristled, the corners of her red-painted lips turned defiantly down. “He's home, studying,” she lied, refusing to admit that Nate had been grounded for stealing the family boat. “Is Chuck excited about military college?”

  Misty Bass poured the rest of her bourbon down her throat. Chuck had his own apartment and she'd been traveling a lot lately, so the truth was she hadn't seen him in a while. “Oh, yes,” she replied vaguely. She glanced around for a cocktail server. “I do wish these glasses weren't quite so small.”

  “Oh, Misty!” Eleanor Waldorf cried, throwing her arms around her old friend, “You just have to see the villa in Tuscany I bought for Cyrus. It has a Web site and everything!”

  On the leeward side of the boat, the guests' elder daughters were clustered in tightly packed groups, wearing their long-sleeved pink Senior Spa Weekend T-shirts, hiding from their parents, and pretending their Cokes weren't spiked with rum.

  “I can't believe Nate Archibald didn't even come to his own party,” Isabel Coates complained.

  “That's because we said no boys allowed, stupid,” Kati Farkas replied, thinking that for once she sounded smarter than her best friend.

  “Don't be ridiculous,” Isabel scoffed. “Boys are allowed on the boat, just not to my house for Spa Weekend.”

  Duh.

  “Oh,” Kati responded, like she'd only just gotten it.

  “So vhere iizz hee?”

  The two girls stared at Lexie. She went to L'École, not Constance Billard, which meant she was completely not invited to Senior Spa Weekend. Plus, everyone knew that her mother and Nate's mother had gone to a Catholic boarding school in France together and totally hated each other. So what was Lexie doing aboard the Charlotte wearing the Missoni tunic with the plunging neckline that both of them coveted but could never find, even online, her long black hair in braids like some sort of French hippie Heidi.

  “Nate is grounded,” Blair informed them, even though she hadn't spoken to Nate herself since their encounter at the Plaza. “He's not here.” Mr. Archibald was such a hardass—of course Nate was grounded. She swayed in her three-inch beige Prada boat sandals and sucked the cherry out of her empty Coke glass, feeling extremely proud of herself for not scratching Lexie's eyes out, because the fact was she could talk about Nate without missing him at all.

  Yeah, right.

  Serena handed Blair another spruced-up Coke. “I'm not so sure.” She was of the opinion that Nate would never miss his parents' Hamptons cruise even if he was grounded, and that he was hiding somewhere on the boat.

  “Nate's not that creative,” Blair countered, reading Serena's mind. “If he was here, we'd know.”

  “Nate is purrfect,” Lexie drawled, toking on a joint. None of the adults onboard seemed to notice that she was getting high right on deck, perhaps because she was French and wearing Missoni.

  Blair rolled her eyes and turned her back on the stupid French wretch. He might have been the only boy she would ever love, but anyone who thought Nate Archibald was perfect was a complete idiot. She watched her stepbrother Aaron scurry below deck to fetch Vanessa another rum and Diet Coke, his head newly shaved to match Vanessa's. Aaron barely knew Nate and had very definitely not been invited, but these days wherever Vanessa went, he went. If they both weren't so un-cute, they'd almost have been the cutest couple ever.

  All of a sudden Serena felt someone tugging on the hem of her pink Spa Weekend T-shirt.

  “Hey,” Jenny said, standing on tiptoe to kiss her cheek. Elise was at her side, and they were both wearing pink Senior Spa Weekend T-shirts and matching oversized pink Gucci sunglasses. “You won't tell on us, will you?”

  Serena had to admire Jenny's audacity. She seemed to specialize in being naughty. She put her fingers to her lips. “I won't tell,” she promised, although there were only forty girls in the entire senior class, so it wasn't like no one would notice the two uninvited freshmen.

  Jenny grinned and then dragged Elise belowdecks to score a bottle of champagne and Lord only knows what else. No doubt the two girls were going to get a lot naughtier as the night progressed.

  “Honestly, I've given up,” Dan sighed as he watched his sister and her friend disappear in a flurry of bubblegum pink. He hadn't been invited either but had tagged along with Jenny to make sure she didn't do anything too illegal. He leaned against the railing and lit a Camel, waiting patiently for Vanessa to notice him.

  The familiar smell of Camel smoke wafted past her nostrils and Vanessa spun around to find Dan grinning shyly at her, his scruffy hair and loose, rust-colored corduroys billowing in the breeze. It was so unlikely that either of them would be sailing on a yacht to the Hamptons, or that she'd actually be wearing a pink T-shirt that she burst out laughing.

  “What's so funny?” Dan demanded. Vanessa looked so happy right now it made him a little sad to know that it had nothing to do with him.

  Aaron came back with her drink and a beer for himself. When he saw Dan and Vanessa talking he immediately handed the beer to Dan. “I'll get another one,” he told them accommodatingly.

  Dan couldn't believe it—even their heads matched.

  Vanessa just stood there with a goofy smile on her face, waiting for Aaron to come back. Her happiness was infuriating, even to her. “Sorry,” she apologized to Dan. “I don't know what's the matter with me.”

  Dan took a sip of his beer and pointed at her mouth. “Is that lip gloss?” he demanded with stunned amusement.

  Vanessa giggled. “Nars Sticky Toffee Pudding, to be exact. I borrowed it from Blair.”

  They stared at one another, each waiting for the ot
her to throw out a critical witticism about what a disgusting display of wealth and uselessness the party was. But the truth was they were both there for the same reason. Despite the fact that they had spent years trying to set themselves apart, these people were their peers, and despite all the dissing and dismissing, they actually enjoyed being included in the fun.

  The Sunkist-orange ball that was the sun slid behind a horizontal wisp of cloud. The water was shiny green and flat as glass. Aaron returned with his beer and nonchalantly kissed Vanessa on the cheek. “You look pretty,” he told her quietly.

  Dan wondered if he had ever told Vanessa she looked pretty, but it was a little late for regrets.

  “Nice job getting ditched by the band,” jeered an annoyingly familiar voice. Chuck Bass was listing toward Dan from the bow of the boat, looking drunk and slightly seasick in a weird baby blue linen sailor suit with the cuffs rolled up to the knees, his white monkey clinging to his shoulder, obviously terrified of falling into the water.

  Chuck was so obnoxious there was no point in getting pissed off. Besides, Dan was overjoyed to be a normal kid again instead of a huge rock star. He offered his hand to his monkey-toting classmate and smiled matter-of-factly. “Thanks, man.”

  “The Raves are so over anyway, dude.” Aaron remarked. “I give them one more album and then they're gone.”

  “Right on.” Chuck shook Dan's hand, like they'd been friends forever. “So where are you headed next year anyway, son?”

  Son?

  The Raves were a New York band and Dan had heard that Chuck was going to military school somewhere in northern New Jersey. It would be good to get as far away from both of them as physically possible.

  “Evergreen,” he announced, as if he'd always known it. “It's way out west in Washington State.”

  “Nice.” Chuck yawned, already bored with the conversation. “Has anyone seen Serena? I heard she was dating an eighty-five-year-old Yale trustee. What a whore.”

  Vanessa snorted in disgust and left the boys to their own devices while she went off to find Blair and Serena. She needed a little girl time to go with her pink T-shirt.

  The rest of her classmates were clustered near the bow, half-listening to the music while they clutched the rail and tried to keep from puking into the frothy waves of Long Island Sound. The sun was less intense now and the breeze had picked up. A few girls covered their arms with pashminas or royal-blue-and-gold Charlotte sweatshirts borrowed from the crew, but most of the passengers were too tipsy to feel the chill. Behind them the Manhattan skyline bobbed and shimmered like a miniature silver paradise inside a crystal Tiffany paperweight globe.

  Serena and Blair were huddled together on a blue-and-gold-pinstriped cushion at the base of one of the masts, sharing a bottle of Heineken. “I can't believe we're about to graduate.” Serena sighed and let her head fall on Blair's shoulder.

  “Thank God,” Blair replied unsentimentally. “I just wish I knew where the fuck I was going next year.”

  Serena sat up, wondering if she should take this opportunity to confess to Blair that she'd decided to go to Yale. But seeing as how they were on a boat, she didn't want to get thrown overboard.

  Vanessa came over and lay down with her head in Blair's lap. “Stop talking about people, bitches,” she told them, lazily closing her eyes.

  “You need more lip gloss,” Blair observed. She pulled a Lancôme Juicy Tube from her Earl jeans skirt pocket and carefully painted it all over Vanessa's lips.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Vanessa muttered, keeping her eyes closed.

  Serena laughed and let her head fall back against the mast. Funny how this close to graduation all the jaggedly cut puzzle pieces that never looked like they'd fit suddenly fit together so well. Maybe she and Blair would both wind up going to Yale and rooming with each other. They'd be brides-maids at Vanessa and Aaron's wedding; they'd meet a set of brothers and marry them, live on the same Fifth Avenue block, send their kids to the same school—friends forever.

  But there was someone missing. Someone who'd always been a major piece of the puzzle in his own lovably fucked-up, cheating way.

  “I wish Nate were here,” Serena mused.

  Blair screwed the top back on the lip gloss and began absentmindedly massaging Vanessa's pale forehead. “Sometimes I wonder if we're better off without him,” she confessed. After all, wasn't Nate the cause of almost every fight the two girls had ever had?

  Serena squinted her eyes and scanned the deck once more. She'd looked all over for him.

  But she'd never thought to look up.

  Way, way up, above their heads, at the very top of the mast, Nate crouched in the crow's nest, watching them. It was lonely and a little cold up there, but he'd brought along a six-pack and a few joints for company, and as soon as they docked in Sag Harbor and his parents and their friends had disbanded to their Hamptons manses, he'd climb down like Spider-Man and surprise everyone.

  From up there the girls in pink T-shirts looked almost interchangeable. Even that bald chick might have been hot with a little hair. He lit a fresh joint, suddenly overcome by how much he missed them, because he loved them—he loved them all.

  Girls Go Gaga for Girl-Only Sleepovers

  In warm weather the Hamptons had their own peculiar smell of salt, new leather, sunblock, and money. Huge modern houses hunkered near white sand beaches, flanked by pools and black Mercedes SUVs. Little girls in Petit Bateau bikinis rode their scooters into town for gelato. Sleek show horses cantered elegantly along the roadside behind pristine white post-and-rail fences. Like a giant country club, the Hamptons was the type of place where only those who belong belong.

  But of course all our girls belong.

  “Head count!” Isabel Coates and Kati Farkas barked as the girls in Constance Billard's senior class stepped out of the fleet of silver town cars outside Isabel's parents' Southampton weekend home and filed into the courtyard. The house was an L-shaped one-story modern glass structure designed by Philippe Starck, with a private beach and a helicopter landing pad on the roof. In the crook of the L was a courtyard containing a floodlit pink-tiled swimming pool and a pink stucco pool house. Around the pool stood forty white plastic chaise lounges, a pink Senior Spa Weekend towel draped on the back of each one. Beside the pool, a white tent had been set up, with a buffet table covered in a pink tablecloth, and a full bar with pink Senior Spa Weekend cocktail napkins. It was almost like a wedding, except without the wedding.

  Jenny Humphrey and Elise Wells skirted the line to avoid the head count and dashed across the courtyard and into the pool house.

  “Hey,” Rain Hoffstetter whispered shrilly to Laura Salmon. Rain and Laura were both wearing giant pink Kate Spade sun hats, and the brims of their hats kept banging against each other. “What are they doing here?”

  “Who?” Laura Salmon demanded, squinting from underneath her hat.

  “Help yourselves to cocktails and canapes!” Isabel shouted through a bullhorn, loving every minute of her boss-of-everyone role. Even though it wasn't nearly as good a school as Princeton, Isabel had decided to go to Rollins next year with Kati—much to her parents' chagrin—because Rollins had offered her a position as residence advisor in one of the freshmen women's dorms, and it would be her job to boss everyone around, including Kati, for an entire year.

  “There's a steam room in the pool house. Only six at a time, please,” she continued, her wide mouth pressed against the bullhorn. “There are movies in the screening room, and the pool is heated, so you can swim all night if you want to. Our high-protein, high-energy breakfast is at seven tomorrow morning, and the first Origins facial is at eight, so we'll need our beauty rest. There are queen-sized mattresses set up in every room. Three to a bed, girls—it's gonna be cozy!”

  The air buzzed with the sounds of girls gathering at the bar or drifting into the house to have pillow fights on the silk-sheeted beds or raid the Origins gift bags that weren't supposed to be opened until tomorrow. A few brave girls strip
ped down to their underwear or changed into bathing suits and cannonballed off the diving board and into the pool, while the lazy ones gathered in Mr. Coates's screening room and sprawled on the brown leather wing-backed chairs while the opening credits of The Great Gatsby, starring Robert Redford and Mia Farrow, rolled past on the giant screen.

  Blair, Serena, and Vanessa sat on the edge of the pool with their legs dangling into the water. “This is fun,” Vanessa said in an attempt to be upbeat. She wondered how Serena and Blair kept their legs so tan. Hers were positively corpselike by comparison.

  “Hey you guys!” Jenny cracked open the glass door to the pool house and beckoned to them from inside. She'd stripped down to a towel, and on her head was a white diamond-studded bathing turban, an old Hollywood-style relic Mrs. Coates wore in the pool to keep her hair from getting wet. “You gotta check out the steam room!”

  Blair wasn't exactly fond of the two wannabe-senior freshmen, but she wasn't about to pass up a chance to steam off a few unwanted pounds. “Okay, but I get to wear the turban,” she announced, leading the way into the pool house. She snatched the turban off Jenny's head and put it on. On Jenny it had looked ridiculous, but on Blair it was sort of regal.

  Only true divas can get away with wearing turbans.

  Jenny handed them each a giant white Egyptian cotton towel and the girls stripped down to nothing, all pretending not to ogle Serena's beyond-perfect body, but ogling it anyway. Secretly they each hoped to discover some hidden pocket of cellulite that she'd been hiding under her uniform all these years, but she was as slim-hipped and perfect as they'd feared.

  “Supposedly Mr. Coates is a major pothead,” Serena told them as she pulled off her pink T-shirt, oblivious to their stares. “That's why he only does voice-overs for commercials now instead of movies. He's smoked so much he can't remember his lines.”

  “I know,” Jenny agreed. “Look.” She unscrewed the head off an innocent-looking white marble bust of Apollo and pulled a giant bag of pot from inside it.