Only in Your Dreams (Gossip Girl #9)(52)

Miss Sleeps-in-a-new-bed-every-week? Don’t count on it, sister.

“Hold the phone, dude!” Rufus exclaimed with one of his classic nonsensical outbursts. “Last I checked, this was my apartment, not Dan’s. Jenny’s in Europe, and then she’s off to that schmancy boarding school. Dan’s going to Evergreen, of all places, and I’m gonna be stuck talking to myself and cooking for one. I don’t think so, dude.”

Vanessa had never been called “dude” before, at least not by someone’s dad. She kind of liked it.

“I don’t know,” she protested. Finally, someone was being nice to her, and she had no idea how to handle it. “I’m not sure I’d feel right taking advantage of your hospitality like that.”

“If that’s really how you feel.” Rufus replaced the lid on the cast-iron pot with a bang. “We can work something out. You’re going to be at NYU in the fall, right? Not much income there, and you’ll be studying too hard to work. Maybe you can rent Jenny’s room for a small fee. As long as you promise to let me cook for you.”

Vanessa rubbed her stubbly head and blinked up at wild-haired Rufus.

“Ah! Chili powder!” he yelled, before dumping in several tablespoons.

Sure, he was a little weird, but he was really nice and she was sure the rent would be more than reasonable. She could make herself scarce until Dan left for Evergreen. And maybe it would actually be fun rooming with Rufus. He’d be the wacky dad she’d never had. Actually, she did have one, but it couldn’t hurt to have two.

“Thank you, Mr. Humphrey.” Vanessa wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I’d love to.”

“Great. Now grab some bowls and a couple of wineglasses. Supper’s on.”

Better grab the Pepto while you’re at it.





Gossip Girl 09 - Only in Your Dreams

a star is born—take two

Serena cowered inside her trailer for as long as possible, studying her script for the millionth time, trying to soothe her horrible Monday morning jitters. She sipped her second latte of the morning and thought back to her weekend rehearsals with Blair.

“Close your eyes,” ordered Kristina, her thin-as-a-wisp German makeup artist. Kristina wore insanely heavy black eyeliner and Serena was slightly terrified of her.

She felt the soft caress of a brush across her closed eyes.

“Okay, open,” Kristina said. “All done.”

Serena opened her eyes and sighed. At least she didn’t have any lines in this big scene, just lyrics: that morning they were shooting a direct reference to the scene in the original film when Audrey Hepburn sings “Moon River” on the fire escape. Ken Mogul had decided to recreate the scene in its entirety, so Serena’s trailer was stationed outside of the dilapidated East Village tenement that was her character’s home in the movie. Serena downed the last drop of her Starbucks latte and thought about what Blair had told her the day before. She could almost hear Blair’s voice inside her head.

Now there’s a scary thought.

“You don’t have to act. You’re already her. That dress is your dress. That voice is your voice. Own it.”

“I think they’re waiting for you,” Kristina reminded her.

Glancing at herself one last time in the bulb-lined vanity, Serena swallowed. She was as ready as she was going to get, but it was going to take a miracle to pull this off.

A miracle named Blair Waldorf.

She stepped out of her gleaming chrome Airstream trailer and onto the sidewalk. St. Marks Place felt even more claus-trophobic than usual: it was crowded with an army of crew members and a forest of incredibly hot lights. Ken Mogul was slumped in his usual canvas director’s chair, smoking a cigarette, since they were shooting in the open air and not the pristine environs of Barneys, and fiddling with his new BlackBerry.

Blair waited between the two trailers with her loyal shadow/assistant Jasmine. The younger girl had a long Kelly green garment bag stamped with the ornate logo of the designer Bailey Winter tossed over her shoulder, ready to protect Serena’s gown from the elements when the scene was over.

It must be nice to have a sherpa.

“Serena on set!” called the second assistant director, and Ken’s army of crew began to dash around like ants.

As soon as he noticed his leading lady, Ken Mogul leapt out of his seat, almost colliding with a four-eyed intern. Behind the director, Serena could see the chiseled profile of Thaddeus Smith, leaning against his own trailer—a vintage Airstream identical to hers, only painted baby blue—chattering into a tiny black cell phone.

“Holly, love,” cooed Ken, tucking his BlackBerry into the back pocket of his weirdly inappropriate tuxedo pants. “You look ravishing. The costume is absolutely flawless.”

Serena was wearing Bailey Winter’s night-blue velvet smock dress and the prettiest silver bow-tie flats. Of course her legs were long and perfect, not that she ever exercised.

Exercise? How gauche.

“Thanks,” Serena replied shakily. She couldn’t wait get this over with.

“Good,” Ken barked. “Let’s get some light in here! This is the real thing, people!”

Serena strolled over to her mark on the set, just as she’d practiced walking yesterday.

“Let’s get light,” called the assistant director.