Gossip Girl: It Had To Be You

Honesty: it's just another word

Blair's greasy-haired cabdriver seemed to think she was a tourist who would want to see the sights upon her arrival in the city. He wound his way from the bottom of the island up, pointing out City Hall, the Stock Exchange, the Guggenheim SoHo, and the Gandhi statue in Union Square. Blair's flight out of St. Andrews had been delayed because of fog, the stewardess refused to serve her vodka, and there was nothing decent to eat for ten inter-minable hours. Now that she was finally on the ground, all she wanted to do was get a hotel room with Nate somewhere, order a huge brunch, and feed each other French toast and mimosas, naked.

"The World Trade Center used to be the tallest, but now it's the Empire State building again," the cab driver informed her, shaking his greasy head sadly.

"Would you please just drive the fucking car up Park Ave-nue?" Blair screamed through the plastic barrier between them.

Good thing it was bulletproof.

The only reason Blair knew Nate was in town in the first place was that his housekeeper in Maine had told her so—after Blair had given up on Nate's cell and started on all his other numbers. And what reason could he have for being there other than to prepare for Blair's impending arrival? She imagined him shopping for new Frette sheets, stocking the fridge with Ketel One, and ordering a Rolls to pick her up at the airport. She imagined his elated surprise to find her back already, a whole week early! They'd have a picnic in the park and then he'd whisk her home to his town house and make sweet, passionate love to her on his cozy single bed, exclaiming all the while how much he'd missed her all summer and how depressed he'd been without her.

Uh-huh.

Finally, the cab pulled up in front of the Archibalds' town house on Eighty-second Street and she got out, hauling her Louis Vuitton mini steamer trunk out of the trunk herself and throwing a pile of money at the driver. It was nearly noon on a sunny Saturday, and the rest of the city had been bustling and crowded, but the Upper East Side appeared to be abandoned. Nate's house was still and quiet. The curtains were drawn on the first two floors. But up on the third floor the curtains were open and the windows were up.

Blair pressed the button on the intercom with her thumb, leaning her whole body into it. "Nate? It's me!"

Serena's head was nestled against Nate's bare chest as she daydreamed about the coming school year. She'd spend every waking and sleeping moment that she wasn't in school with him. Or she could kidnap him and stash him under her bed for safekeeping. One thing was certain: she never wanted to be away from Nate again.

Nate was still asleep, dreaming of mermaids. He was stranded on a windless sea on his boat, the Charlotte. The glassy water stretched out endlessly before him as he stood on the bow, searching for land. Then a voice began calling his name—"Nate? Nate?"—and bubbles burst on the surface of the water. A long, lithe fish shimmied past, its golden head glimmering in the sunlight. Then a dark head popped up out of the water; it was a girl, a mermaid. "Nate? Nate? Can you hear me, Nate?"

Blair.

Nate sat up abruptly, his whole body covered in nervous sweat.

"Nate? Are you there?" Blair's voice echoed throughout the house.

Serena was already out of bed, scrambling on the floor for something—anything—to wear. There was her underwear, but fuck, her dress! She tossed Nate's boxers at him and flew into his mother's walk-in closet, scanning the hangers for something remotely wearable. Mrs. Archibald dressed for the opera even when there was no opera. Dior chiffon. De la Renta taffeta. Valentino silk charmeuse with a train. Help! Serena pulled a pair of gray satin Armani cigarette pants down off the hanger and stepped into them. Then she pulled on a cream-colored wool Chanel jacket with crystal buttons. She looked kind of cool, but the wool was itchy and hot and never in a million years would she have worn such an outfit on a Saturday afternoon in August.