Only in Your Dreams (Gossip Girl #9)(58)
b) Hold me close. Please, just hold me close.
c) I’ve always found that gay guys make the best dancers!
4) Some leggy starlet type trips and spills her fruity cocktail allover your new taupe suede Sigerson Morrison ballet flats. Yourresponse: a) Nothing—you just hurl your drink in her face.b) My shoes! My pride and joy! My raison d’être!c) Screw it. I’ll dance barefoot!
Done yet? Don’t cheat. Okay, the answer to each one is C. Like you didn’t know that. See you tonight!
You know you love me.
gossip girl
Gossip Girl 09 - Only in Your Dreams
d’s got a golden ticket
Dan had seen Bree in several variations of exercise gear and, of course, completely naked, but he’d never seen her all put together for an evening out. So when he emerged from the 6 train station at Seventy-seventh Street he was taken aback to find her waiting for him, a vision in a simple white silk camisole, with her blond hair—which he’d never seen down— cascading over her sun-kissed shoulders. Her long, below-the-knee embroidered turquoise skirt looked like something she’d unearthed at a flea market in Turkey.
Dan was wearing the closest thing he had to a party outfit: a sharp charcoal gray slim-cut Agnès B. suit, a gift from his former agent, back when he’d been poised to be the literary world’s next big thing.
Not a fickle almost-college-dropout who cheats on his live-in girlfriend.
“Hey beautiful,” he called boldly, springing off the last step and onto the sidewalk. Taking the steps was easier since he’d started his exercise regimen.
“Thanks.” Bree kissed his cheek. “Feeling centered? You look good. I hope I’m not underdressed.”
“No, you’re just right. Should we go?”
They strolled down Lexington amid clouds of bus exhaust. The early evening light shimmered on the windows of Starbucks.
“So.” Bree wrapped her arms around herself as she walked. “I’m still not sure I understand why you were invited to this party.”
“I’m not sure,” Dan admitted. “I know Serena from way back.... Or maybe Vanessa put me on the list? Who cares? Party’s a party, right?”They turned onto Seventy-first Street.
“That’s true.” Bree nodded stiffly. She looked a little nervous and uptight for someone who was usually so Zen. “Speaking of Vanessa . . .”
“Right.” Dan dug instinctively into his pockets for his Camels.
Too bad he forgot his wheatgrass-and-ginseng cigarettes.
Bree sighed. “I think maybe you need to think this through. Meditate. Breathe deeply. Center yourself. Eventually you’ll find clarity. I can’t tell you what to do, you know. It’s your life. But I’d like to see you find some answers. That’s all we want in life, after all, isn’t it?”
“Sure, right,” Dan mumbled, looking both ways before they crossed Third Avenue. Maybe a taxi would just plow him down and he wouldn’t have to have this conversation.
“I don’t know.” Bree sighed, absentmindedly braiding her hair over one shoulder. “I’m going to Santa Cruz at the end of the summer anyway. I have no claim on you. But we’ve had a great time, haven’t we?”
“Sure. It’s been amazing.” He paused. “Do you hear that?”
A dull roar broke the evening’s quiet: the sound of honking horns and idling cars mixed with the occasional scream and the relentless clicks of a thousand cameras.
“Is that the party?” Bree remarked. “It’s so . . . noisy.”
Did she expect the party of the month to be a quiet affair?
“Come on,” Dan urged, grabbing her hand, thrilled he had an excuse to cut the conversation short. He was not in the mood to discuss the state of his relationship with Vanessa. And the truth was, he had no answers. “I don’t want to be late.”
Holly Golightly’s quiet street was quiet no more. There were barricades and bouncers stationed at both ends of the block, and an honest-to-God red carpet right down the middle of the street and up to the town house. On Second Avenue, the line of limos was two blocks long, and on the corner was a roped off area heaving with reporters and photographers.
At the door of the town house, Dan surrendered his invite to the massive goateed bouncer, who nodded gruffly and stamped their hands much more forcefully than was neces-sary.
“Want something to drink?” Dan asked Bree as they strolled past a long table set with elegant champagne flutes.
“I’m not sure I should be drinking tonight,” Bree replied in such a stern tone that Dan couldn’t help but think she was implying that he shouldn’t drink either.
Well, isn’t she the life of the party?
Dan grabbed two glasses—if she wasn’t going to drink, then he could drink for two—and downed one immediately. Burping quietly, he dropped the empty glass on the table and wound his way through the thick crowd, one hand clutching Bree’s, the other his chilled champagne. They pushed through the crowd and stepped into the foyer. Bree bounded through the foyer and up the stairs ahead of him. Maybe she was getting into the idea of this party?
“This is great exercise,” she observed.
“Yeah, great,” Dan agreed, panting along behind her.
As they climbed higher, the din of squealing girls and thumping bass grew louder. The crumbly walls of the town house were surprisingly solid, but even they couldn’t contain the racket. When they reached the fourth-floor landing, they ran into the overspill from the apartment above: leering at them from the next floor, the final landing, was the disturbingly groomed Chuck Bass, pet snow monkey perched on his shoulder wearing a pink tutu and brandishing a glistening silver magic wand.