grabbed one of the twins’ tiny bicycles from the hook from which it was suspended and pedaled toward civilization, figuring that it would only be a matter of time before she came across someone who could direct her to where Blair and Serena might be. Luckily, she’d bumped into Siobhan after about one block.
“Do you know where they went?” Vanessa turned to see Chuck Bass disappearing into the crowd, his hand raised high above his head to avoid spilling his drink.
Great. No Blair, no Serena, and now, no Chuck. Vanessa had a vision of herself alone, shivering on the beach, trying to avoid the perverts and murderous models.
Just another night in East Hampton.
Well, there’s only one cure for a lonely night, Vanessa reasoned as she dove into the crowd, slipping through a trio of shirtless musclemen, making a beeline for—where else?— the bar.
“Vodka martini.” She smiled at the bartender, giving him her best yes-I’m-on-the-guest-list look. She almost never drank, but holding a martini might give her a new outlook on life.
The bartender went right to work and smoothly handed over a glass. Clutching the stem, Vanessa turned back into the crowd, unsure who to talk to. There was Chuck, laughing as he made small talk with a very tall man, and there were the two impostors from the beach, frowning and pathetically dabbing at their stained outfits with damp napkins.
Tough choice.
Vanessa wove through a thicket of linen-pants-clad types, heading toward the edge of the pool. “We meet again,” she offered by way of introduction. “I’m Vanessa.”
The blond girl stared at her dumbly through her tear-blurred slightly crossed eyes.
“You again.” The faux Blair glared at her. “We must go change.” The girl grabbed her friend’s hand and started walking away from Vanessa. “Maybe you should also change.”
Vanessa resisted the urge to pitch her drink at the girl’s bucktoothed face.
Sliding off her flip-flops, she took a seat and dangled her feet into the aqua-colored water. She sipped her martini nervously, trying to drink her way through that horrible I’m-at-a-party-and-no-one-is-talking-to-me shame. Then she glanced at her watch, fiddled with her outfit, and stared at the placid surface of the swimming pool, pretending to be engrossed in each task.
“Yooo-hooo. Excuse me, dear.”
Had someone called security?
Vanessa turned oh-so-casually to come face-to-face with Bailey Winter himself, the gaytastic designer she’d crossed paths with on the set of Breakfast at Fred’s the day before she was excommunicated, and the host of the party she just happened to be crashing.
“Hi!” She smiled enthusiastically, hoping to make him forget he hadn’t invited her to his soirée.
“Oh dear.” The designer produced a floral-printed silk hankie from the breast pocket of his navy blue linen blazer and dabbed at his red eyes with the tip of it. “I’m all at sixes and sevens. My cushions, you see—they’re ruined.”
Vanessa frowned at the booze-stained ivory cushions perched at the edge of the pool. “That’s too bad.”
“Oh, every cloud has a silver lining, honey,” he announced dramatically, his tears spontaneously drying up. “And dare I say, I think you are positively sterling! Who are you and where did you come from? You’re just the most delicious little thing.” Still clutching his handkerchief, Bailey Winter reached up and caressed Vanessa’s cheek.
Silk and snot. How lovely.
“I’m, um, looking for some friends of mine. Blair and Serena?”
“Yes, those two vixens, well, who knows where they’ve gone off to—and who cares!” He gripped her upper arm tightly with his small hand. “You’re what I’ve been looking for.You’re the new new new look. At last!”
“Excuse me?” Vanessa wanted to back away, but if she did, she’d fall into the pool.
“You must stay with me this summer,” he continued, enraptured. “Your energy, your profile, your . . . baldness.
“Do you know where they went?” Vanessa turned to see Chuck Bass disappearing into the crowd, his hand raised high above his head to avoid spilling his drink.
Great. No Blair, no Serena, and now, no Chuck. Vanessa had a vision of herself alone, shivering on the beach, trying to avoid the perverts and murderous models.
Just another night in East Hampton.
Well, there’s only one cure for a lonely night, Vanessa reasoned as she dove into the crowd, slipping through a trio of shirtless musclemen, making a beeline for—where else?— the bar.
“Vodka martini.” She smiled at the bartender, giving him her best yes-I’m-on-the-guest-list look. She almost never drank, but holding a martini might give her a new outlook on life.
The bartender went right to work and smoothly handed over a glass. Clutching the stem, Vanessa turned back into the crowd, unsure who to talk to. There was Chuck, laughing as he made small talk with a very tall man, and there were the two impostors from the beach, frowning and pathetically dabbing at their stained outfits with damp napkins.
Tough choice.
Vanessa wove through a thicket of linen-pants-clad types, heading toward the edge of the pool. “We meet again,” she offered by way of introduction. “I’m Vanessa.”
The blond girl stared at her dumbly through her tear-blurred slightly crossed eyes.
“You again.” The faux Blair glared at her. “We must go change.” The girl grabbed her friend’s hand and started walking away from Vanessa. “Maybe you should also change.”
Vanessa resisted the urge to pitch her drink at the girl’s bucktoothed face.
Sliding off her flip-flops, she took a seat and dangled her feet into the aqua-colored water. She sipped her martini nervously, trying to drink her way through that horrible I’m-at-a-party-and-no-one-is-talking-to-me shame. Then she glanced at her watch, fiddled with her outfit, and stared at the placid surface of the swimming pool, pretending to be engrossed in each task.
“Yooo-hooo. Excuse me, dear.”
Had someone called security?
Vanessa turned oh-so-casually to come face-to-face with Bailey Winter himself, the gaytastic designer she’d crossed paths with on the set of Breakfast at Fred’s the day before she was excommunicated, and the host of the party she just happened to be crashing.
“Hi!” She smiled enthusiastically, hoping to make him forget he hadn’t invited her to his soirée.
“Oh dear.” The designer produced a floral-printed silk hankie from the breast pocket of his navy blue linen blazer and dabbed at his red eyes with the tip of it. “I’m all at sixes and sevens. My cushions, you see—they’re ruined.”
Vanessa frowned at the booze-stained ivory cushions perched at the edge of the pool. “That’s too bad.”
“Oh, every cloud has a silver lining, honey,” he announced dramatically, his tears spontaneously drying up. “And dare I say, I think you are positively sterling! Who are you and where did you come from? You’re just the most delicious little thing.” Still clutching his handkerchief, Bailey Winter reached up and caressed Vanessa’s cheek.
Silk and snot. How lovely.
“I’m, um, looking for some friends of mine. Blair and Serena?”
“Yes, those two vixens, well, who knows where they’ve gone off to—and who cares!” He gripped her upper arm tightly with his small hand. “You’re what I’ve been looking for.You’re the new new new look. At last!”
“Excuse me?” Vanessa wanted to back away, but if she did, she’d fall into the pool.
“You must stay with me this summer,” he continued, enraptured. “Your energy, your profile, your . . . baldness.
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