Only in Your Dreams (Gossip Girl #9)(21)

“Oooh!” she gasped.

There it was: the future. Blair had never seen a more perfect dress in her life. It was so amazing, its beauty rubbed off on her. She wasn’t even wearing proper makeup, but her face had never looked more flawless. She was wearing the wrong bra but her breasts had never looked so full. She felt like she’d stepped off the cover of Town & Country’s summer wedding issue. That old theory—that you just know, somehow, when you’ve found the right wedding dress—seemed to be true.

They’d be married in St. Patrick’s on Fifth Avenue and they’d rent all the rooms in the St. Clair for the guests to stay in and for the reception. Her father would give her away with tears in his blue eyes, whispering, “I love you, Bear,” as he handed her off to Marcus. Marcus would hold her hand throughout the ceremony in that intimate way of his, reminding her that they weren’t just passionately in love, they were best friends.

“It’s really quite something, isn’t it?” Lyla crossed her arms in front of her. She was standing behind Blair, smiling approvingly. Blair met her gaze in the mirror.

“It’s just perfect,” she breathed, her eyes transfixed on the endless train of pure white silk.

“Have you set a date?”

Um, how about a proposal first? And what about, you know, college?

“I’ll take it,” Blair declared.

“Of course,” Lyla agreed. “You won’t be sorry. He’s going to love it.”

Blair nodded back hypnotically, still staring at her own reflection.

“And what about the necklace?” Lyla queried.

Why not? Blair thought.

Oh, yes, why not?





Gossip Girl 09 - Only in Your Dreams

there’s something about danny

The single complaint Dan had about his job at the Strand was that the bookstore lacked one essential, modern amenity: air-conditioning. This morning he was stationed in the completely airless basement, manning the information desk and keeping an eye on special orders, like the request for a skin diseases photo calendar. After a couple of torturous hours, he was definitely ready for some fresh air.

If that’s what you call a smoke.

As soon as his replacement—a scowling, silent guy named Brent who’d worked at the store for about twenty years— arrived to take his place, Dan jogged up the narrow staircase and outside. A concrete ledge ran alongside the square beige building and he perched on it, enjoying the shade as he lit up.

The sidewalk was crowded with passersby browsing the Strand’s large outdoor carts, which were full of super-discounted books no one wanted, like Collectible Coins from Contemporary Canada and Tiger:The True Story of the Dog Who Loved a Cat. Dan closed his eyes and tuned out the chatter of the bargain hunters. He took a deep drag on his cigarette and thought about Herman Hesse’s Siddhartha. “Love stirred in the hearts of the young daughters of the Brahmins when Siddhartha passed through the city streets, with his radiant brow, with his impe-rial glance, with his slender hips.” Dan couldn’t help wanting to be Siddhartha, or at least be more like him.

He wished he had someone he could discuss it with, especially since his attempt to chat about it with Vanessa had ended so badly.

A tap on his shoulder interrupted his reverie. He opened his eyes.

“Dan?” Bree stood before him like a fit, blond daughter of a Brahmin, admiring him in all his Siddharthaness.

Who says wishes don’t come true?

“Hi.” He stood quickly. Bree was wearing a form-fitting green tank top and white spandex shorts. Her blond hair was in two tidy pigtails and her skin had a bold, healthy glow.

“Are you smoking?” she demanded, aghast.

“Uh, no.” Dan dropped the lit cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out quickly. “I was holding it for this guy Steve. He had to run back inside.”

Nice play, Shakespeare.

“Whew,” she exhaled, fanning the air with her hands. “Smoking is just terrible for you.”

“Oh, I know,” Dan agreed earnestly, wiping his hands on his faded green cords. “It’s really bad.”

“I’m so glad I ran into you!” Bree hopped up onto the ledge and started swinging her legs like a kid who has to pee but doesn’t want to get off the swing. “I wanted to tell you how much I liked Siddhartha.”

“Yeah? That’s great. I was actually just rereading it myself.”

“Really? What a funny coincidence!”

Right. Coincidence.

“So you thought the book was interesting?” Dan asked, crossing his legs in a way he hoped looked quasi-intellectual and quasi-athletic. “What are you thinking of reading next?”

“Well, I’m going to read a book my yogi has been working on. It’s about improving the way the brain communicates with the other organs in the body by meditating and doing yoga and chanting. There are, like, fifty chapters and most of them are a hundred pages long. He’s been writing it for, like, eleven years, and he’s going to try and have it published this year and he asked me to look at it for him. Me! Imagine! It’s such an honor.”

An honor? Sounds more like a pain in her well-yogacized ass.

“Anyway, I have to confess,” she went on, looking Dan right in the eye. “I didn’t just come by to talk books.”