honesty: it’s just another word

Blair’s greasy-haired cabdriver seemed to think she was a tourist who would want to see the sights upon her arrival in the city. He wound his way from the bottom of the island up, pointing out City Hall, the Stock Exchange, the Guggenheim SoHo, and the Gandhi statue in Union Square. Blair’s flight out of St. Andrews had been delayed because of fog, the stewardess refused to serve her vodka, and there was nothing decent to eat for ten inter-minable hours. Now that she was finally on the ground, all she wanted to do was get a hotel room with Nate somewhere, order a huge brunch, and feed each other French toast and mimosas, naked.

“The World Trade Center used to be the tallest, but now it’s the Empire State building again,” the cab driver informed her, shaking his greasy head sadly.

“Would you please just drive the fucking car up Park Ave-nue?” Blair screamed through the plastic barrier between them.

Good thing it was bulletproof.

The only reason Blair knew Nate was in town in the first place was that his housekeeper in Maine had told her so—after Blair had given up on Nate’s cell and started on all his other numbers. And what reason could he have for being there other than to prepare for Blair’s impending arrival? She imagined him shopping for new Frette sheets, stocking the fridge with Ketel One, and ordering a Rolls to pick her up at the airport. She imagined his elated surprise to find her back already, a whole week early! They’d have a picnic in the park and then he’d whisk her home to his town house and make sweet, passionate love to her on his cozy single bed, exclaiming all the while how much he’d missed her all summer and how depressed he’d been without her.

Uh-huh.

Finally, the cab pulled up in front of the Archibalds’ town house on Eighty-second Street and she got out, hauling her Louis Vuitton mini steamer trunk out of the trunk herself and throwing a pile of money at the driver. It was nearly noon on a sunny Saturday, and the rest of the city had been bustling and crowded, but the Upper East Side appeared to be abandoned. Nate’s house was still and quiet. The curtains were drawn on the first two floors. But up on the third floor the curtains were open and the windows were up.

Blair pressed the button on the intercom with her thumb, leaning her whole body into it. “Nate? It’s me!”

Serena’s head was nestled against Nate’s bare chest as she daydreamed about the coming school year. She’d spend every waking and sleeping moment that she wasn’t in school with him. Or she could kidnap him and stash him under her bed for safekeeping. One thing was certain: she never wanted to be away from Nate again.

Nate was still asleep, dreaming of mermaids. He was stranded on a windless sea on his boat, the Charlotte. The glassy water stretched out endlessly before him as he stood on the bow, searching for land. Then a voice began calling his name—“Nate? Nate?”—and bubbles burst on the surface of the water. A long, lithe fish shimmied past, its golden head glimmering in the sunlight. Then a dark head popped up out of the water; it was a girl, a mermaid. “Nate? Nate? Can you hear me, Nate?”

Blair.

Nate sat up abruptly, his whole body covered in nervous sweat.

“Nate? Are you there?” Blair’s voice echoed throughout the house.

Serena was already out of bed, scrambling on the floor for something—anything—to wear. There was her underwear, but fuck, her dress! She tossed Nate’s boxers at him and flew into his mother’s walk-in closet, scanning the hangers for something remotely wearable. Mrs. Archibald dressed for the opera even when there was no opera. Dior chiffon. De la Renta taffeta. Valentino silk charmeuse with a train. Help! Serena pulled a pair of gray satin Armani cigarette pants down off the hanger and stepped into them. Then she pulled on a cream-colored wool Chanel jacket with crystal buttons. She looked kind of cool, but the wool was itchy and hot and never in a million years would she have worn such an outfit on a Saturday afternoon in August.

Yes, but this wasn’t just any Saturday afternoon in August.

She started to make the bed, careful to flush the condom wrappers down the toilet. Nate returned from his room, looking normal in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

“We could just wait for her to leave,” he suggested. His cell phone began to ring. Then the house phone.

“Nate? Wake up, Nate. It’s me.”

“No, let her in,” she told him, tucking her sex-mussed blond hair neatly behind her her ears, as if giving herself the final finishing touch. “I’ll go outside and hide our stuff. Bring her out there after you let her in. Tell her that’s why we couldn’t hear her.”

Serena was sort of missing one very big hole in the story—why the hell she was there in the first place—but neither of them said anything about that.

Nate did as he was told. “Hello?” He spoke cautiously into the intercom.

“Nate? What the fuck, Nate. I’ve been out here for like an hour with my fucking suitcase.”

“Sorry,” Nate mumbled and buzzed her in.

Serena raced downstairs and out into the garden. There were the waterlogged remnants of their clothes, wadded up at the Venus de Milo’s feet where they’d left them. She wrung them out, lifted the cover of the Archibalds’ gas grill, and stuffed the clothes inside. Then she slid her feet into her pink rubber flip-flops, which looked positively bizarre with the rest of her outfit. Her face was slick with sweat and her heart was beating so fast it hurt. Calm down, she told herself. But all at once the source of her distress was right there in the garden with her: Blair, looking very clean and chic in a black linen tunic with cap sleeves, white patent leather lace-up sandals, and her black Audrey Hepburn sunglasses perched on top of her head.

“Hi!” Serena threw herself in Blair’s direction, embracing her with a breathless, clumsy hug. “How was your summer? Did your aunt get married okay and everything?”

“My summer sucked.” Blair extracted herself from the hug with pursed lips. “But it looks like you guys have been having fun.” She picked up an empty beer bottle and put it down again. “Where are you going, anyway?” she asked, eyeing Serena’s outfit curiously.

Serena looked down at her stupid clothes. Her toes were painted all different colors, something she hadn’t even remembered doing. “Shopping.” she blurted out. “At Bloomingdale’s. My feet grew and none of my shoes fit. Erik’s taking me to some play tonight and I need shoes.” She’d only been to Blooming-dale’s once, when she was twelve, but Nate’s house was sort of on the way so it was the only store that made sense. “I just stopped in to say hi,” she added, explaining away her presence at Nate’s house as briefly as possible.

Nate stood a few feet behind Blair with his arms folded across his chest. Serena met his bewildered gaze for a fleeting second and then forced herself to look away.

Blair didn’t seem even remotely suspicious. She lit a cigarette and puffed on it dramatically. “You guys would not believe what a freak show my aunt’s wedding was. I just had to get the fuck out of there. And Scotland is so medieval. The toilet paper was like burlap.” She turned and walked over to Nate. “Our wedding’s not going to be anything like that,” she told him, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. She heaved a huge, exhausted sigh. “My family is so fucked up. I’m just so glad to be home.”

Nate patted her chestnut-colored hair, his face twitching with conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to blurt out that he was in love with Serena, that they were together now, and though he was sorry for hurting Blair’s feelings, she’d just have to deal. But part of him still loved Blair too. He loved how unsuspicious she was right now. How she was so caught up in the drama of her life she didn’t have time to be petty.

Blair lifted her head and kissed him on the lips, a long, inviting, remember me? kiss. And he did remember her. He remembered kissing her for the first time, and he remembered loving her. And he remembered that he couldn’t just break up with her right now because he’d hooked up with her best friend, whom he happened to be in love with too. He clasped her small, confident shoulders and kissed her back, oblivious to the pain he was causing.

Serena tore through her thumbnail with her teeth. She could see now that what she and Nate had done last night was so dangerous and explosive and hurtful it was best to pretend that it hadn’t happened at all. Blair and Nate were still a couple. He wasn’t going to volunteer any information about what had happened last night, and she certainly wasn’t going to say anything. She felt like her chest had been cut open with a dull knife and without any anesthesia, and Blair was ripping her heart out with her bare hands. But what could she do? How could she stand by and watch them kiss and be in love all next year? Last spring had been torture enough.

Blair giggled as she zipped up the fly of Nate’s white J.Crew bermuda shorts, which he’d overlooked in his haste to get dressed. Serena stood watching, gnawing furiously on her thumbnail. She felt like she’d been in a car wreck and was bleeding internally. It wasn’t safe to move. Then it occurred to her that there was something she could do after all: she could go to boarding school. Her dad could get her into Hanover—surely he could. Blair and Nate would never have to see her again, and she’d never have to see them. Everyone would be happy.

Sure they would.

“I’m late,” she told them, turning away. The longer she stayed, the harder it would be to leave.

“Wait!” Blair cried. She broke away from Nate and rushed over to Serena, throwing her arms around her. “Good luck.” She gave her old friend a generous hug. “And have fun.”

Serena wished she had the biggest pair of sunglasses ever made to cover up her face, because she felt like it had split in two. Blair thought she was only wishing her luck finding a pair of shoes and fun seeing a play; she didn’t realize she had just uttered the equivalent of “have a nice life.”

“Thanks,” Serena whispered back, her voice cracking as a tsunami of tears welled up in her huge, navy blue eyes. She blinked them away and then looked up to find Nate staring at her, his golden brown eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She wanted to hug him too, but she was afraid that if she touched him she would lose control. Instead, she swallowed a sob, flashed him her famous you know you love me smile, and lifted a gorgeous, stubbornly independent hand. “Au revoir.”

Adieu.