Only in Your Dreams (Gossip Girl #9)(28)
“Thanks for the ride, man,” Nate muttered distractedly, fumbling with his roach as he climbed out of the car.
“If you want to talk some more, Nate,” Chuck called through the passenger window, “I can come in. We could order sushi.”
Ignoring Chuck’s pathetic, lonely offer, Nate retrieved his bike from the trunk and trudged up the driveway. He needed to clear his head.
He also needs to learn not to believe everything he hears. (Not that we don’t all make that mistake from time to time.)
Gossip Girl 09 - Only in Your Dreams
s follows in audrey’s footsteps. literally.
Serena stepped out of a flaming yellow taxi onto a crowded stretch of Fifth Avenue, wearing a simple black shift and a pair of enormous sunglasses, courtesy of the designer Bailey Winter. She was in costume—even Serena wouldn’t prance around the city in the middle of the day in a cocktail dress— rehearsing the opening scene of the movie. Holly had to peer into the display windows of the famous jewelry store Tiffany and Company while eating breakfast after a long night out, just like Audrey Hepburn did in the original movie.
Gripping a takeout cup of coffee and brown paper bag full of pastries provided by the prop department, Serena strolled primly toward the elegant building, counting the steps to herself, slowly and deliberately. One,two,three,four.
“Watch it,” barked a suited businessman, brushing by her as he snarled into a cell phone.
“Sorry,” Serena mumbled, feeling flustered. She walked back to the curb, turned around, and retraced her steps. She tried to keep her back perfectly straight, the way Ken had instructed her to, but she had to focus on making a direct path to the store, too, which was nearly impossible because there were so many people around. She finally made it, but the windows were completely blocked out by tourists, frantically snapping pictures of the window displays. That was definitely not in the script.
A chubby older woman in a tennis skirt held her camera out to Serena, gesturing that she wanted Serena to take her photograph. Serena shrugged, dropped the paper bag onto the street, and took the camera. She focused and took a picture of the woman, smiling and pointing to the Tiffany logo.
“Thanks! And now may I take a picture of you? You work for the store, right?” Serena was flabbergasted. Of course she must look like some moronic walking window display, hired by Tiffany in hopes that the nod to the old film would sell more jewelry. She kept a smile plastered to her face while the woman snapped away, then picked up her paper bag and walked back to the curb. A bus roared past, sending a blast of hot exhaust up her dress.
Aaah, summer in the city.
Serena looked up at the store, her whole body trembling with frustration. It was nearly a hundred degrees, she was sweating and overdressed, people were staring, and she just wanted to go home—to her parents’ penthouse, not her cat-piss-scented dump—and change into linen boxers, a wifebeater, and some comfy flip-flops, and spend the afternoon drinking Coronas and watching a Laguna Beach marathon. She’d always managed to excel at everything, from school to horseback riding to boys, all without even trying. She’d been sure acting would come as easily to her as everything else she’d tried in her life, but so far Ken Mogul was clearly unhappy with her performance.
She wondered if even Blair Waldorf, the world’s most die-hard Breakfast at Tiffany’s fan, would have been able to put up with Ken Mogul’s maniacal tirades.
She started her approach toward Tiffany’s once more.
“Look, sweetheart,” a stocky, loud-voiced Southern woman cried, pointing out Serena to her balding, paunchy husband, who was sporting a winning ensemble of pleated khaki shorts and a knockoff Lacoste polo, topped off with black socks under his cheap leather mandals.
“Well, now I’ve seen everything,” the man exclaimed.
“It’s just like Breakfast at Tiffany’s, isn’t it?” the woman continued, approaching Serena. “Yoohoo, dear, is this some kind of publicity stunt?”
Serena pretended not to hear. Who knew Manhattan’s sidewalks were so treacherous? She retreated back to the curb and steeled herself, then made the walk again.
Now that’s dedication.
She might have looked like a funny tourist attraction to the people walking by, but inside she was a seething, frustrated actress on the verge of a major temper tantrum. The truth was, Serena didn’t even want to act anymore; she wanted to give up and walk over to Barneys and see if anything new was on the racks. But of course she couldn’t do that: first, because it was closed due to filming, so she was partly responsible for her own worst nightmare, and second, because she had never really failed at anything before and was secretly every bit as competitive as her sometimes best friend, Blair.
“Nice ass, blondie,” called a deep voice from behind her.
Serena turned to see a guy leering at her from the backseat of a passing taxi. Gross. Audrey Hepburn never had to deal with this sort of crap.
No, but then again, Audrey Hepburn’s ass was kind of flat. But at least she could act.
Gossip Girl 09 - Only in Your Dreams
money isn’t funny, honey
Blair couldn’t tell if the pounding was in her head—she’d put away quite a few whiskeys on the plane—or if it was real. She lifted her head: no, it was real, and it was coming from the door to the bedroom where she’d crashed last night, the room formerly occupied by her hippie stepbrother, Aaron Rose.