Would I Lie To You (12 page)

“I’m home,” Vanessa whispered as she quietly shuffled into Dan’s sprawling Upper West Side apartment. She care-fully deposited her backpack on an armchair laden with winter coats even though it was July. It was only eight o’clock in the morning and it didn’t seem fair to wake the whole household just to announce her definitely untriumphant return. How many times would she slink back here? It was basically the only place she had in the world to call home, and already she’d had to retreat there a distressing number of times in the past few weeks: first, after being unceremoniously evicted from the Williamsburg apartment, then after being fired from her first real job working on Breakfast at Fred’s, and now after narrowly escaping a stint as a careless nanny and then vapid muse to the maniacally enthusiastic Bailey Winter.

Some summer!

“Who’s there?”

Slightly startled to hear Dan’s voice—at least it sounded like Dan—so early in the morning, Vanessa squinted into the still-dark hallway. “Dan? It’s me.Vanessa.”

“Vanessa,” Dan muttered sadly. He was paler than usual, and his cheeks had a dusting of irregular stubble over them, like he’d started to shave and then changed his mind. Eggplant-colored circles ringed his eyes, and he was clutching an unlit cigarette in his hand as if he’d forgotten to light it and then forgotten it was there.

Wow—someone really isn’t a morning person.

“Dan? You look like—” She paused, taking in the oily sheen of his unwashed, matted hair. She was suddenly over-whelmed with the feeling of wanting to draw him a bath and make him some oatmeal. She vaulted forward, sweeping him up in her arms. He smelled like musty cigarettes and armpit, but for some reason Vanessa still found it comforting. But just as she leaned in a little closer, smelling his spottily shaven neck, he stepped out of her embrace. “Are you okay?” she demanded, concerned.

“I don’t know.” Dan stuck the unlit cigarette into the corner of his mouth and patted his pockets miserably. “I can’t find my lighter.” He sounded almost on the verge of tears.

“Your lighter?” It didn’t sound like that was his only problem. Poor Dan, sometimes he took imitating Keats a little too much to heart.

“It doesn’t matter.” Dan removed the cigarette from his mouth and tucked it behind his ear, where a mass of his slick, dirty hair kept it in place. “I’m going to make some coffee.You want some?”

Really, all she wanted to do was collapse into bed, possibly with Dan, but he was acting entirely bizarre. Plus he smelled weird.

“Coffee sounds good.” Vanessa placed her arm gently around Dan’s shoulders, as though he was a delicate waif in need of comforting. She led him down the brown-rice-colored hallway toward the kitchen. “Maybe I’ll make it, and you can just sit and tell me why you’re such a mess.”

Dan shuffled down the hallway after her but hadn’t even made it to the kitchen before the words exploded out of him. “I let this dude I met at the Strand kiss me.We started a salon together. I’m gay. My dad said he did some gay stuff when he was hanging out with poets back in the day, but me—I’m really gay.”

Vanessa brushed past him and into the kitchen. She unscrewed the lid on the commercial-size jar of Folgers crystals on the counter. Dan sat down at the worn Formica table and sank his head in his hands.

“What do you mean you ‘started a salon’?” she demanded, totally ignoring the gay part of the equation. “You’re Mr. Never Get a Real Haircut.What do you know about salons?”

Dan had to smile. “No, a literary salon. A salon,” he repeated with the correct intonation. He stopped smiling. God, he sounded gay. “There were lots of pretty girls at our first meeting, and they were kissing each other too.” He frowned, totally confused. “But I kissed Greg.”

Vanessa microwaved a pitcher of water and poured it out into two mismatched mugs, stirring in spoonfuls of instant coffee. She took a sip and made a face. Christ, Folgers fucking tasted like dog piss after all the amazing coffee she’d been drinking in the Hamptons.

“So let me get this straight.” She took another sip of the acrid coffee and looked across the room, past the mountain of unwashed dishes and the bowl of decomposing bananas to the rickety stool where Dan was perched miserably. “No pun intended.”

“Ha,” Dan said joylessly.

“So . . . you’re gay. You. Dan Humphrey. Gay. Not gay happy-gay. Gay-gay. Gay, I-like-to-kiss-boys gay.”Vanessa raised her dark eyebrows doubtfully.

“I wouldn’t exactly say I like to kiss boys.” Dan frowned. “But I did.”

Jesus. She’d only been gone three days and Dan had already met someone else. Girl, boy, monkey. It just seemed kind of fast. “Well, I ate a salad once. Doesn’t mean I’m a vegetarian.”

“It’s not that simple. I got a postcard from Jenny that said my mom said I used to wear dresses when I was a kid.” Dan ran his fingers through his hair, inadvertently destroying the cigarette he’d tucked behind his ear only a few minutes before. “Shit.”

“It kind of is simple, Dan. Look, you’re either gay or you’re not. Or . . .” Vanessa paused, considering this third option. “You’re bi. Maybe that’s what it is.You’re just . . . exploring. Discovering yourself.”

“Do you think so?” Dan’s face brightened momentarily. “I mean, Greg’s nice. We like the same things. But last night, when he was here, it totally freaked me out. And I didn’t kiss him again. I just couldn’t.”

Part of Vanessa still wanted to be annoyed Dan had been kissing someone else while she had been, ew, considering Chuck Bass as a substitute for Dan, but she couldn’t help but be moved by his pathetic state of total confusion. The little furrow in his brow looked like it had been there for days, and the defeated slope of his shoulders made her want to carry him to his room and tuck him in like a baby. And then do it with him.

But she brushed that thought aside for a moment. Dan was gay, or maybe bi. But he’d also been a lot of other things at different times: a toast-of-the-town literary sensation, a one-night-only rock god, a rebellious senior graduation speaker, a fitness freak. Now he was gay. It couldn’t possibly last longer than any of his other phases, and when he got tired of being gay or he realized that being gay would mean actually kissing guys and not girls—her in particular—well, she’d be in the bedroom right next door.

“Look, Dan.” Vanessa poured the rest of her bitter coffee into the crowded sink and left her mug on the countertop. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being gay, is there?”

“Of course not! Thomas Mann was gay. And he won the Nobel Prize.”

“Right.” Vanessa grinned, pleased to hear Dan sounding a little more like himself. So predictable, so easily influenced. Let him get this gay stuff out of his system; she could wait. “So ...I’d love to meet this Greg guy.”

“Yeah?” Dan responded skeptically. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Vanessa squeezed his shoulder. Now that Dan was gay, she could do things like sit on his lap, right? She decided to try it. “Really,” she added, perching on Dan’s bony knee. Dan slipped his arms around her waist and buried his nose between her shoulder blades.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice muffled. “You’re my hero.”

Hey, maybe he really is gay.

TO: Song of Myself

FROM: Greg P.

Re: Song of Myself’s Next Meeting!

Dear Friends,

I hope you enjoyed getting together as much as I did. I’m happy to report that our first get-together has already resulted in some burgeoning romances—a happy consequence of bringing together so many like-minded creative individuals. I hope we can continue to inspire and excite one another at all our meetings!

For our next get-together, please bring along your favorite work of Shakespeare and we’ll take turns reading aloud. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine!

Yours in love and iambic pentameter,

Greg

“Pull over!”

“What?” The one disadvantage of his dad’s convertible was that it made having a conversation while driving almost impossible. Nate turned to see Blair frantically pointing at a sign announcing one of those cheesy scenic overlooks where a couple of minivans were already parked along the shoulder.

Bo-ring.

“You want me to stop?” Nate had already slowed and was pulling over. He knew better than to argue with Blair.

“It’ll be funny.” Blair dug into her hastily packed Coach straw carryall and unearthed a digital camera. “I swiped it from Serena’s house. I hope she’s not too pissed.”

Nate frowned at the mention of Serena’s name. He was still feeling a little guilty about sneaking out of Serena’s place without saying goodbye—and on her birthday. Blair had persuaded him that Serena wouldn’t have wanted a morning wake-up call, birthday or no birthday, and chances were she hadn’t gone to bed alone anyway. And it was her house, so it wasn’t like they’d just ditched her in the middle of nowhere.

Whatever you need to tell yourself.

Before Nate had even turned off the car, Blair had already slipped out of her seat and skipped toward the low stone wall that separated the parking area from the dramatic drop-off into a deep, tree-lined valley below. She was wearing the tiniest white shorts he had ever seen, and they made her legs look ridiculously touchable. She hopped up onto the wall and pouted her lips.

“Take a picture!”

Grinning and horny all over again, Nate fumbled with his seat belt and burst out of the car, willing himself not to run over to the stone wall and stick his hands down her tiny shorts. He took the camera from Blair’s outstretched hand instead. “Say cheese.”

Blair stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes.

“Gorgeous.” Nate laughed at tan, happy, beautiful Blair on the little LCD screen.

Blair patted the wall next to her. “Take one of both of us together.”

Nate clambered up on the wall and held the camera out in front of them. Blair pressed her smooth cheek against his. The smell of her made him feel lightheaded, and he put his free hand out to steady himself.

Careful there, slugger.

“I want our whole summer to be just like this.” Blair slipped her arm through his and sighed. “The two of us, alone on the open sea. No people, no worries. It’ll be perfect.” Just like in the movie set on constant replay in her mind.

Nate nodded. “I can’t wait to get out on the water.” The mental image of Blair in her bikini, lolling about on the deck of the Charlotte, swept over him. It was happening at last. The real summer he was meant to have was beginning— and everything was falling into place. Driving northeast in that the serene summer afternoon toward the ocean, toward freedom, with Blair right next to him . . . Nate could feel the weight of all his past mistakes lift off of his shoulders. He had never swiped from his coach’s stash of Viagra; he had never had his diploma withheld; he had never hooked up with Tawny; he had never rubbed ointment on Babs’s tattoo. He had just spent the night with Blair, and he was about to spend the rest of the summer with her and maybe the rest of his life. All was as it should be with the universe.

“Okay. Time to drive.” It was almost like Blair was reading his mind. She hopped down from the wall, grabbing the camera from Nate’s hand to scrutinize the pictures he’d just taken.

“I just gotta make a pit stop.” He nodded in the direction of the concrete bungalow that housed the roadside restrooms.

“Be quick about it.” Blair kissed his cheek before skipping back to the passenger seat.

Inside the chemical-smelling bathroom, Nate focused on what would happen a couple of hours from that moment, when they at last reached their destination. He closed his eyes, picturing Blair skipping ahead of him, up the gangplank and onto the yacht, shedding those tiny white shorts as she went.

As he washed his hands, Nate felt the familiar throb of his phone vibrating in the pocket of his cargo shorts. It was probably Blair, telling him to hurry up. He smiled. Some things never changed—like Blair’s impatience. He dialed his voicemail, hoping to listen to the sexy message Blair had left him as he dried his hands. The phone was perched precariously between his ear and his shoulder and he almost dropped it into the sink when instead of hearing Blair’s sly, giggly voice, he heard the angry grumble of Coach Michael’s.

“Archibald, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re pulling, but you better be on your deathbed right now. Thought my wife would cover for you? Forget it, kid. She said you were smoking pot in my fucking attic. Under my goddamn roof.You think I was bluffing, Archibald? I’m calling your dad the second I get off the phone. It’s over, kid. You’re never going to see that diploma. Yale? It’s never going to happen. Big mistake, kid, fucking with me. Big-time mistake. And I’m not through with you yet.”

Nate finished drying his hands on his shorts, then grabbed the phone, stabbing at the button that would erase that message forever. He stuffed it back in his pocket and studied his face in the cracked rest-stop mirror. He had to get the fuck out of there.

Spoken like a man on the run.

“Hey. It’s Blair. I just wanted to call and say, you know, happy birthday. Sorry we took off. I’ll call you later and tell you everything.”

Snapping her telephone shut and tossing it into her bag, Blair leaned back into the warm leather embrace of her bucket seat and tapped her foot impatiently. What the fuck was taking so long? The sooner they got back on the road, the sooner they would be at the Charlotte, and the sooner she would be stretched out on the wide wooden deck sunning herself in only her undies, drinking spiked lemonade and feeding Nate slivers of raw bluepoint oysters with her fingers.That’s how she planned to spend every minute of the rest of the summer.

Not a bad plan!

She swiveled the rearview mirror to examine her face: her eyes looked bright and clear, her skin sun-kissed and flawless, her hair flecked with gold. She grinned at herself. All the stresses of the summer just melted away: she’d never gone to London with Lord Marcus; she’d never played second fiddle to Serena on her movie debut; she’d never seen Nate holding hands with some tacky Long Island townie. Everything was just as it should be: her and Nate, in love, forever.

Blair fiddled idly with the stereo, but Nate had the car keys in his pocket, so it wouldn’t play. Impatiently, she turned the knob on the glove box. It dropped open to reveal a crisp white envelope with a name scrawled across it in a familiar hand.

Nate.

“What’s this?” Blair said aloud. She picked up the envelope. Why the fuck was Serena leaving an envelope for Nate? Glancing in the direction of the bathroom to confirm that Nate was still inside, she slid her fingernail under the envelope’s flap. She unfolded the paper and started to read Serena’s manic scribble:

Nate: I just turned eighteen a couple of hours ago.When the clock struck, I looked around the room and I couldn’t find you. I know you were with Blair, and if you’re really happy, then I’m happy for you. Because how can you not want someone you love to be happy? But that’s the thing, Nate. . . . I think I love you. I know that sounds crazy, and there were so many other times I should have told you, but it didn’t hit me until last night or tonight or whatever, and if I didn’t tell you now, when would I have? It’s just—it’s always been you. Did you ever wonder why I came back last fall? Last night, when—

Blair stopped reading midsentence, flipping impatiently through the packet, three pages of heavy writing paper completely covered with Serena’s too-big looping script. Her heart pounded in her chest. There was no question what to do next. She looked left and right just to confirm that she was indeed alone, then slipped out of the car and walked back to the scenic overlook.

Carefully, she tore the first page of the letter in half, then tore that half into quarters, and kept shredding it until all that remained was a handful of confetti, which she cupped in her palm. The warm breeze lifted the scraps of paper out of her hand and sent them showering onto the valley below. She did the same with the two other pages and the envelope as well, tearing them into tiny bits so that Serena’s handwriting was just a jumble of meaningless shapes that the wind lifted and sent drifting into the valley below.

Blair returned to the car and reached into her bag to retrieve her cell phone. She studied the phone momentarily. Should she call Serena? Tell her that she knew all about the letter, that she knew how her supposedly best fucking friend actually felt about her boyfriend? Or should she just play innocent, ignore that two-faced bitch and focus on the perfect summer that stretched out before her? She suddenly didn’t feel quite so bad about ditching Serena on her birth-day.

No kidding.

“Ready to go?” Nate slid into the driver’s seat, a boyish grin stretching across his perfect face.

“Ready.” Blair pulled on her seat belt.

Buckle up—you’re in for a wild ride!