way everyone wore hats and gloves and handbags that matched their shoe.
Stan 5 frowned in confusion, as if he couldn't believe Serena was about to ditch him for his wrinkly old grandfather. She flashed him a gracious smile her mom had flashed his grandfather, and then followed the elder Mr. Parris through the apartment and down a narrow corridor to his library. His right leg seemed to be giving him trouble, causing him to list to the left, and she gripped the elbow of his dapper gray pinstriped blazer for fear he would fall.
The Parris library was decorated in chocolate brown with hints of navy blue and gold fleur-de-lys. Three crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and four chocolate brown leather club chairs stood around an ornately painted antique card table.
“There I am in Hamlet.” Mr. Parris pointed to a large black-and-white photograph hanging over the mantel. Serena expected to see a young Mr. Parris in a full suit of armor, looking fierce and haughty. Instead a beautiful young girl with a long thin face and a distinctive clef in her chin lay with her long-lashed eyes closed and her hands folded across her chest, a chain of daisies entwined in her loose hair.
“That's you?” Serena asked in amazement.
The old man chuckled. “I was a pretty boy back then. They made me play Ophelia.”
Serena starred at the photograph. “You were kind of hot.”
Mr. Parris patted her hand. “I like to think so. And I was so much better at dying than the other fellows.” He went over to the wet bar in the corner, filled two crystal tumblers full of scotch, and set them on the card table. Then he pulled a worn green leather-bound album off the bookshelf. He flipped through the pages of the album and pointed to one of the leather club chairs. “I've got hundreds of photographs,” he warned Serena.
Serena sat down and took a sip of scotch. Then she scooted back in her chair, tucked her feet up underneath her, and reached for the album. She felt cozy and comfortable and genuinely interested in looking at Stanford Parris III's old Yale pictures. And as she slowly turned the pages, examining the wonderful black-and-white images of young Mr. Parris and his handsome Yale acting buddies rehearsing onstage, she realized she hadn't thought about acting at college. She could even imagine playing Ophelia just like Mr. Parris had, fluttering her eyes and folding up like a flower when it was time to die.
“Here I am in 'Kiss Me Kate'.” Mr. Parris pointed to a photograph of the same long-faced beauty glaring at the camera, her dark eyes flashing, her cleft chin raised disdainfully.
“What a witch, that Kate.”
Serena studied the photograph. Mr. Parris as Kate reminded her of someone she knew, but just couldn't place her.
Let's give her a hint. Her first name starts with B.
She continued to flip through the photographs, her mind racing. Yale was the only school that hadn't stalked her with perky e-mails and overzealous fan mail. Even the Whiffenpoofs - Yale's all-male capella singing troupe, whom she'd met last mouth, had the decency not to e-mail her everyday asking her when she was planning to arrive on campus so they could help her with her bags or take her out for coffee or whatever. And the y certainly hadn't asked about Damian from the Raves, whom she'd never even met.
Mr. Parris tapped Serena on the knee. “You have the face of a leading lady,” he added. “Yale knows what they're doing.”
“You think so?” Serena replied enthusiastically. Suddenly, ditching the Yale party to check out the Raves concert seemed totally unnecessary. And out of respect for old Mr. Parris, she almost wished she'd worn the entire gray-and-blue outfit her mom had laid out on her bed. She was going to be Yale
University
's greatest leading lady since Stanford Parris III. New Haven was so close to New York
, she could still model, and with a bit more acting experience under her belt, she might even get a film deal! Blair
Stan 5 frowned in confusion, as if he couldn't believe Serena was about to ditch him for his wrinkly old grandfather. She flashed him a gracious smile her mom had flashed his grandfather, and then followed the elder Mr. Parris through the apartment and down a narrow corridor to his library. His right leg seemed to be giving him trouble, causing him to list to the left, and she gripped the elbow of his dapper gray pinstriped blazer for fear he would fall.
The Parris library was decorated in chocolate brown with hints of navy blue and gold fleur-de-lys. Three crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and four chocolate brown leather club chairs stood around an ornately painted antique card table.
“There I am in Hamlet.” Mr. Parris pointed to a large black-and-white photograph hanging over the mantel. Serena expected to see a young Mr. Parris in a full suit of armor, looking fierce and haughty. Instead a beautiful young girl with a long thin face and a distinctive clef in her chin lay with her long-lashed eyes closed and her hands folded across her chest, a chain of daisies entwined in her loose hair.
“That's you?” Serena asked in amazement.
The old man chuckled. “I was a pretty boy back then. They made me play Ophelia.”
Serena starred at the photograph. “You were kind of hot.”
Mr. Parris patted her hand. “I like to think so. And I was so much better at dying than the other fellows.” He went over to the wet bar in the corner, filled two crystal tumblers full of scotch, and set them on the card table. Then he pulled a worn green leather-bound album off the bookshelf. He flipped through the pages of the album and pointed to one of the leather club chairs. “I've got hundreds of photographs,” he warned Serena.
Serena sat down and took a sip of scotch. Then she scooted back in her chair, tucked her feet up underneath her, and reached for the album. She felt cozy and comfortable and genuinely interested in looking at Stanford Parris III's old Yale pictures. And as she slowly turned the pages, examining the wonderful black-and-white images of young Mr. Parris and his handsome Yale acting buddies rehearsing onstage, she realized she hadn't thought about acting at college. She could even imagine playing Ophelia just like Mr. Parris had, fluttering her eyes and folding up like a flower when it was time to die.
“Here I am in 'Kiss Me Kate'.” Mr. Parris pointed to a photograph of the same long-faced beauty glaring at the camera, her dark eyes flashing, her cleft chin raised disdainfully.
“What a witch, that Kate.”
Serena studied the photograph. Mr. Parris as Kate reminded her of someone she knew, but just couldn't place her.
Let's give her a hint. Her first name starts with B.
She continued to flip through the photographs, her mind racing. Yale was the only school that hadn't stalked her with perky e-mails and overzealous fan mail. Even the Whiffenpoofs - Yale's all-male capella singing troupe, whom she'd met last mouth, had the decency not to e-mail her everyday asking her when she was planning to arrive on campus so they could help her with her bags or take her out for coffee or whatever. And the y certainly hadn't asked about Damian from the Raves, whom she'd never even met.
Mr. Parris tapped Serena on the knee. “You have the face of a leading lady,” he added. “Yale knows what they're doing.”
“You think so?” Serena replied enthusiastically. Suddenly, ditching the Yale party to check out the Raves concert seemed totally unnecessary. And out of respect for old Mr. Parris, she almost wished she'd worn the entire gray-and-blue outfit her mom had laid out on her bed. She was going to be Yale
University
's greatest leading lady since Stanford Parris III. New Haven was so close to New York
, she could still model, and with a bit more acting experience under her belt, she might even get a film deal! Blair
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