Only in Your Dreams (Gossip Girl #9)(39)

“What the f*ck is this?” asked Ken Mogul calmly.

Vanessa looked at him. She couldn’t quite read the tone of his voice.

“I asked you a question,” Ken repeated, spinning around to face her. “What the f*ck was that, Vanessa? What the f*ck was that?”

“That was my camera work,” Vanessa replied, proudly, but her voice was shaking a bit.

“Are you f*cking kidding me?” Ken Mogul screamed. Nearby crew members backed into the shadows, and Vanessa could feel all eyes on her.

“Vanessa, what is this experimental bullshit? This is not what I hired you for.”

That was exactly what he’d hired her for! Those had been his exact words, as a matter of fact. Vanessa just stared at him, stunned.

“That’s it. This is the last thing I need. I’ve got an actress who can’t act, I’m chewing on f*cking ballpoint pens because I’m not allowed to smoke on my own f*cking set, and now this: little Miss Indie Film is giving me her bullshit camera work. I don’t need this. You’re fired!” Ken turned away from Vanessa and settled back into his chair. “And you,” he added, pointing to a gofer, “tell Thad, Serena, and Miranda to stay ready. Thanks to this bullshit, we’re going to have to reshoot.”

Vanessa opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She was angry, freaking f*cking angry, but more than that, she was hurt. Tears welled in her eyes and her throat felt tight like she had to cough. She couldn’t believe what had happened. They’d only just started filming, and she was already fired? First Ruby kicked her out, then Dan went and started acting like some sort of Buddhist *, and now this?

“Vanessa, what’s the matter?” Ken demanded roughly. “You deaf? I said you’re fired. Get the hell off my set.”

Vanessa stuffed her equipment into her bag and stormed toward the escalator. The first movie she made at NYU was going to be about a freak-show movie director who got maimed by a pack of rabid coyotes. And then got hit by a subway.

See how he likes that camera work.





Gossip Girl 09 - Only in Your Dreams

reunited . . . and it feels so good

It was eerie, stepping out of the elevator at Barneys and onto the quiet, dark ninth floor. It was like one of those super-lifelike moments in a really vivid bad dream, when you end up somewhere familiar, but it’s all horribly wrong. But this was no nightmare: it was the opposite, really—a dream come true.

Just twenty minutes before, Blair had been innocently taking “tea” with Bailey Winter and her mother, but she’d been dispatched to Barneys before she could drain her first martini.

“Fashion doesn’t wait!” Bailey screamed in his girlish tenor. “Go. Go!”

Guess she got the job.

He wanted Blair to dash to Barneys and consult with the Breakfast at Fred’s on-set costumer, to get the final measurements for the principal cast. The seamstresses in his atelier needed them in order to get the costumes for the climactic party scene ready in time. So far this job had all the makings of a Blair Waldorf fantasy: fashion, glamour, a bit of drama. The only downside was Jasmine.

Oh, right. Her.

Bailey Winter had mistaken Tyler’s girlfriend for Blair’s friend and insisted on hiring them both to be his eyes and ears on the set. But Blair was not going to let the presence of her young imitator ruin her victory. In fact, she was going to use it to her advantage. Clearly, she could get Jasmine to do her bidding.

She started in the taxi, instructing Jasmine on how to behave when they got to the set. “Let me do the talking. The talent won’t like it if you pipe in,” Blair directed like an old pro. She’d traded her easily acquired English accent for Hollywood lingo without missing a beat.

Jasmine followed behind Blair like an adoring puppy, out of the elevator and down the black marble ninth-floor hallway toward Fred’s. They were marching with such purpose they couldn’t help but collide with the black-clad, tear-smeared bald figure who appeared out of nowhere, running at full clip. Vanessa knocked into Blair, who knocked into Jasmine, who was so close on Blair’s heels she fell to the ground with a little yelp, her BCBG sandals skittering across the marble floor without her.

“Damn it!” Blair swore before recognizing her old roommate.

“Jesus. Fuck. I’m sorry,” Vanessa managed. Her cheeks, even her scalp, were blotchy and there were tears dripping off her chin.

“Are you okay? You’re all . . . red,” Blair observed lamely. Vanessa was clearly upset, but Blair was supposed to be inside measuring Thaddeus Smith’s inseam!

And we all know where the inseam leads....

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” muttered Jasmine as she pulled her-self back up to her feet, even though no one had been talking to her.

“Jasmine, Vanessa.” Blair introduced the two. Then she wrapped her arms around Vanessa and air-kissed her on each cheek. “But really, what’s wrong?”

Vanessa just sniffled in response. She was so upset she didn’t trust her voice. What was she supposed to do now? Where was she supposed to go?

“Okay, Jasmine,” Blair barked, relishing her role as boss. “Stay here and make sure Vanessa’s okay. I’ve got to get moving. Bailey’s orders!” She squeezed Vanessa’s shoulder in a show of support and smiled weakly. “You know I love you!” she cried, then dashed down the hall and through the swinging doors of Fred’s.