Don't You Forget About Me by Cecily von Ziegesar
At least someone was happy to see her.
s and n’s mission impossible
“So, what have you been doing here all by yourself?” Nate asked. He shook the sand-colored hair from his eyes. Across the elegant burgundy-and-ivory living room, Blair was arguing with her mother, as usual.
“Nothing much.” Serena hoped she didn’t look as nervous as she felt. “Nothing” was the truth—she’d spent the past month doing a whole lot of nothing, bumming around on her couch, wandering the streets of New York aimlessly, iced latte in hand, going to movie theaters alone. Just trying to distract herself from the gnawing, anxious feeling inside her. “You know, hanging out—the usual.” She couldn’t tell Nate what she’d been up to—it was too pathetic. She took a deep breath and wiped her sweaty palms on her cutoff skirt. Why was she so nervous? This was Nate, the guy she’d chased around this very living room when she was six because she wanted to wear his new Superman Underoos.
Has anything really changed?
“What about you guys—you’re the ones who went on this big adventure!” Serena looked into Nate’s eyes and edged her fingers closer to his on the settee where they were huddled together. She smiled shyly, her blond hair curling slightly around her temples. She wasn’t trying to flirt, but when it came to Nate, she couldn’t seem to help herself. “Captain Archibald,” she said with a sly smile.
“Don’t ever call me that!” he laughed. “Seriously, though, being out on the water all that time was amazing. Sun every day, and the stars at night—you just can’t imagine how great—” “That’s awesome, Natie.” Serena cut him off distractedly. She turned to stare as Blair got up from her seat and stormed out of the living room, holding her stomach with one hand and wiping her face with the other. Throwing a tantrum five minutes after coming home wasn’t exactly unusual for Blair, but Serena wondered if she should she go and check on her friend. Wait, shouldn’t that be Nate’s job now? she wondered. Wasn’t checking on your girlfriend kind of a boyfriend thing to do? Serena turned to look at him. He was gazing straight at her, completely oblivious to the fact that Blair—the supposed love of his life—had just run of the living room in tears.What the hell did that mean?
Umm . . . maybe that he’s stoned? Again?
“So,” Serena started again, focusing her gaze on the gray Abercrombie T-shirt Nate had had for as long as she could remember—anything to avoid looking up into his glittering green eyes. She shuffled her flip-flops against the floor and steeled herself for the question she knew she had to ask, no matter how much the answer hurt. “Did you find—?” “We found so much cool shit.” He grinned widely. “Little sandbar islands, these caves up in Maine—we even saw fucking puffins!”
Serena looked up into his beach-glass green eyes, her heart thumping crazily in her chest. She kept replaying Blair’s sudden exit over in her mind. What was she so upset about? Had Nate found the letter and said something to her about it? Or what if Blair had found it and told him? Or, worse yet, what if Blair found it and didn’t tell him? What if Nate loved her too and that was why he wasn’t running after Blair? Or what if the letter was still nestled in the glove compartment of Nate’s father’s Aston Martin, unread, all her questions unanswered?
“It was really amazing,” he said, speaking slowly, the way Nate always did when he was happy or relaxed or stoned, which was basically all the time. “I didn’t want to come back.” Just looking at his angelic face, she couldn’t stand not knowing what had happened to her letter—not knowing whether or not he knew. She had to say something.
Serena smiled weakly. “Nate, did you ever find—?” “Just a minute, you two!” Eleanor appeared before them and sat down, wedging her skinny butt between them on the way-too-small-for-three settee. Serena and Nate both inched over—not that they had a choice. It was either move or have Eleanor sit on their laps. She linked one arm through Serena’s and the other through Nate’s, a mischievous look on her face. The overpowering scent of Eleanor’s Chanel No. 5 made Serena feel like she was in a department store.
“I’m so glad to get the two of you alone,” Eleanor whispered conspiratorially, as if they were all planning some kind of top-secret mission. “I’m working on a surprise for Blair for the party. It’s a slide show of Blair’s life—kind of like a-greatest-moments-so-far thing.” She smiled brightly, turning her head back and forth to look at Serena and Nate as she spoke, like she was watching a tennis match. “But the problem is that I don’t really have the time to go through the thousands of snapshots of Blair I’ve amassed over the years—and that’s where you two come in!” She squeezed each of their knees with her hands. “I need you to go through this immense stack of albums and choose some appropriate photographs. But I’m afraid we’re on a bit of a deadline—I need them by next Friday at the latest.” Serena tried to glance at Nate over Eleanor’s head, but when she leaned back on the couch, Eleanor leaned back too, fanning herself with her hand. “But remember—this has to be a top-secret mission, you two, so no telling Blair!” Eleanor’s loud whisper reverberated off the living room’s paneled walls, and she held her finger up to her mouth.
Hush-hush!
Serena tried not to giggle. Eleanor was terrible at keeping secrets—she always managed to tell her children what they were getting for Christmas before she’d even bought their presents. Most likely she’d tell Blair by tomorrow—if Blair hadn’t already heard their entire conversation. Nate just nodded mutely. He never said much in Eleanor’s presence: she was far too overwhelming.
“We’d be happy to do it,” Serena answered for the both of them. “And we promise to keep it a secret from Blair.” Yeah. They’re good at that.
a very short engagement
“I am just too pooped to pop!” Dan’s mom stretched her arms overhead and wiggled her butt back and forth on the lumpy brown leather sofa in the living room, her mouth open in a yawn. It was only eight o’clock, and Rufus was at one of his anarchist poet jamborees in the West Village. She looked around, blinking like a sleepy Siamese cat. Her mousy brown hair was sticking out in every direction, and her watery blue eyes were now red and bloodshot. “Jet lag really gets you at my age. And cocktails on the plane are only a temporary fix!”
She looked at Dan and then turned in the direction of the kitchen doorway, where Vanessa was standing, obviously expecting them to say something. Dan sat stonily in the tattered armchair across from his mom, still not sure what to make of her.
“But you kids really shouldn’t be drinking!” She wagged a finger back and forth, apparently unaware that she was chastising them for something she’d done. “Although if you want to taste some—just a taste—you just let me know, okay? Because that would be fine. So, where am I sleeping?” she added to her rambling.
Dan attempted to exchange a what-the-hell? glance with Vanessa, but she just stood there, lazily licking the remains of the penis cream puff from her fingers. The contrast of her snowy, white skin against her close-cropped dark hair, the curve of her red lips, her slightly mocking brown eyes—she really was beautiful.
“See?” His mother leaned forward and prodded his knee with her turquoise-embellished fingers. “She likes the cream filling.” Dan quickly snapped out of his reverie and stood up. “Um, well, we’re sort of filling up around here. I guess if you want to take my room I could take the couch?” His mother stood up, holding onto her neck with one hand and rubbing furiously. “The couch? Don’t be silly. I mean, now that you’re . . . well, you know—” Jeanette broke off, waving her turquoise-laden hands in the air. “I mean,” she began again, “sharing Vanessa’s room shouldn’t be a problem, right? You girls can pillow talk all night!” “Sure, um—yeah—that’s fine,” Dan stammered, glancing over at Vanessa. She looked a little surprised or horrified—or maybe she was just trying to hold in her laughter after hearing Dan called a girl by his own mother.
Jeanette stood on her tiptoes and kissed Dan on the top of his head, mussing his hair. “Dan, dear, do you mind if I u
Dan’s room, whistling Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” completely off-key.
Sure, she’ll survive. But will Dan?
“Good night, ladies!” they heard her trill as she closed the door to Dan’s room.
Dan swallowed hard, trying to hide his embarrassment. He never would have imagined it possible that four little words—specifically, the ones on his postcard to his sister that read, “Dear Jenny, I’m gay”—could cause so much trouble. He went into the kitchen to find Vanessa, who was now smearing pastry cream on the Formica tabletop, swirling it in intricate designs. If he was really gay, then how come he still thought about running his palms over the prickly hairs of Vanessa’s shaved head, or seeing if the flesh on her stomach was still as soft and warm as bread dough.
“So, roomie. Wanna go to bed?” Vanessa raised one eyebrow mischievously, her lips curved into a smirk. Before Dan could answer, Vanessa stepped away from the countertop and walked into Jenny’s old room, her combat boots slapping against the floor.
Dan could hear the snapping of sheets as Vanessa made the bed—something she rarely did. Making the bed. Did that mean she wanted him to come to bed? But it was barely dark out. Maybe she was just tired of the apartment being such a total mess? Dan’s head hurt. It had been a long, long day. He sighed and walked into the room behind her.
“Hey, roomie,” he parroted back to her, grabbing one corner of the sheet and pulling it tight around the mattress. Vanessa let go of her end of the sheet and threw a pillow at his head. Was she flirting with him? A fine sheen of sweat coated her face, and her cheeks were flushed, giving her a radiant glow. Dan resisted the urge to crawl across the bed and lightly kiss each apple red cheek.
Right. Sharing a room will be just like a girly sleepover. Dan waited to see what Vanessa would do next, but then a shrill buzzing sound came from her pocket, startling them both. He still wasn’t used to Vanessa having a cell phone—she’d gotten one shortly after moving in with the Humphreys so she could pay her own bill. Probably a good thing, since Rufus was not known for his skill at relaying messages. Usually he left sticky notes on the fridge that read, A GUY CALLED, and then the time of the call, to the minute—like that was helpful.
Vanessa dug for her phone, not all that thrilled with the interruption. Flirting with Dan was so fun now that he was supposedly gay. She flipped open her phone. “Hello?” “Lil’ sis!” “Ruby?!” Vanessa hadn’t spoken to her sister since she returned from Prague and kicked her out. Fun times. So why was she calling now?
“What’s up, girl!?” Ruby yelled, sounding uncharacteristically manic. “God, it’s great to hear your voice!” “Um, you too. What’s going on?” Vanessa tried to keep her voice neutral, but she was still mad as hell at her sister and wasn’t about to forgive her without first receiving some serious ass-kissing. She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for Ruby’s apology. Maybe she and Piotr had broken up and she wanted Vanessa to move back to Williamsburg and into her old room. She could almost smell the sweet, burnt scent of the sugar factory directly across the street from their apartment. Soon she’d be having breakfast at Eat and late-night coffee at Diner surrounded by pale, skinny boys with hair that looked like it had been cut with a butter knife, her days of decoding Dan’s flip-flopping sexuality finally over. . . .
“Listen, V, I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch for so long, but I’ve just been really busy. . . .” Vanessa gripped the receiver with one hand and stuffed a pillow back into its case with the other. Right. She’d probably been busy holding Piotr’s brush. Ick. Vanessa shivered at her own perverted thought and threw the pillow onto the almost-made bed. Dan sat on the end of the bed, eavesdropping and examining his fingernails in a typically gay way.
“Piotr’s working on a new series of paintings and he’s been using me as a model—I can’t wait for you to see them.” Scowling at the receiver, Vanessa stomped out of the room. Okay, so Piotr was still in the picture. And presumably he was still using Vanessa’s room as his studio. But maybe Ruby wanted her to move back in anyway: she could get a cot or something. She walked down the long crumbly hallway to the kitchen and began to spoon granules of Folgers into a lumpy yellow ceramic mug Dan’s mom had sent over from Europe ages ago.
“Um, sure, I’ll check the paintings out at some point. . .
.” The last she’d heard about Piotr’s “art,” he’d been doing a series of paintings of “monolithic nudes and their canines.” She pictured a huge canvas of Ruby naked, astride a slobbering German shepherd. Not exactly her idea of “art.” This from the girl who prefers photographs of dead pigeons and spat-out gum?
“Anyway,” Ruby went on, her voice as breathless as if she’d been running the 10K, “That’s not the really big news. Are you sitting down?” “Yeah,” Vanessa lied, distractedly placing her ceramic cup in the microwave and setting the timer.
“We’re getting married!!!!!”
“What!?” Vanessa sank to the floor in front of the microwave, Folgers crystals scattering all over the linoleum they’d just mopped this morning. Married? To Piotr? They’d just met a few months ago! He made paintings of naked women and dogs! And now he was going to be family? There was something seriously wrong with the world.
Just then Dan’s mom glided into the kitchen, wearing a diaphanous, floor-length pink dressing gown embroidered with hundreds of exotic birds. A pasty, fragrant white cream that smelled like pound cake covered every inch of her face. Her fuzzy pink slippers shuffled against the linoleum floor. “Pardon me, I forgot to take my vitamin drink!” Jeanette whispered, opening the refrigerator and pouring a noxious-looking brown liquid into a Scooby-Doo glass. “Vitamins are nature’s gift to us all!” she trilled. Vanessa just shook her head as Jeanette smacked her lips and started to walk back to Dan’s room, drinking the disgusting-looking concoction and humming as she went.
“Vanessa? Can you hear me?” Ruby’s voice broke the silence.
“Um, yeah. Whatever. I mean, congratulations,” Vanessa murmured into the phone. She looked up to see Dan standing in the doorway. He shot her a quizzical look and mouthed, “Are you okay?” Vanessa just nodded and brought the phone closer to her ear. Ruby was still chattering away happily, totally oblivious to her less-than-peppy response.
“. . . maid of honor,” Vanessa heard her sister’s voice say over the low hum of the microwave.
She sat up straighter. “Maid of what?” she asked incredulously. “Who are you? Where’s my sister?” Ruby cackled. “Come on, you know you’re dying to wear a big Laura Ashley dress.” Vanessa got to her feet just as the microwave beeped noisily. No fucking way.
“So, will you do it?” Her sister’s voice rang in her ears. Slowly, she removed the mug from the microwave, handling it carefully so that the water wouldn’t spill over and burn her. Although maybe a third-degree burn would get her out of any wedding-related duties.
Tempting.
Vanessa sighed. She knew she couldn’t say no to her sister, even if Piotr did have horrible teeth and bestiality issues.
“Yeah, fine. Whatever. I’ll do it.” She took a sip of scalding coffee and promptly spat it out all over her cargo pants. “But only if I can wear my own clothes—there’s no way in hell I’m putting on one of those totally gay pastel bridesmaid dresses.” She glanced over at Dan, who had pulled the hot pink silk jumpsuit out of one of his mom’s bags and was holding it in front of his skinny body as if picturing what it would look like on. She mouthed, “Sorry,” smiling weakly. “I mean, so totally lame,” she said into the phone, wiping her thighs with a ratty brown kitchen towel.
Ruby laughed, and Vanessa could hear her mumbling to
Piotr in the background in some insane language she couldn’t understand. Probably Martian.
“Don’t worry about that. The ceremony is a week from Saturday, a pi
And is there a vaccine?
“Thank God.” Vanessa held the coffee up to her lips, letting the steam float over her skin. “You really had me worried there for a second.” “Listen, the bachelorette party is on Thursday. You’re kind of supposed to plan it. I’ve got some ideas though, so don’t worry too much.” Bachelorette party? Plan it? “Yeah,” Vanessa managed to mumble while taking another sip of her coffee, which tasted like ass. “I guess.” Was there some unwritten rule that all coffee in the Humphreys’ apartment had to be terrible?
“Of course you’re going to film the whole wedding, too. And before I forget, listen—can you ask Dan if he’ll write a poem to read at the reception? You know, something about love, that kind of thing. Piotr’s friends are planning some performance art, but we’d like someone to read something and don’t know any other poets. It would mean a lot to us.” Vanessa snorted into the phone. Straight love poems weren’t exactly Dan’s thing.
“Anyway, listen, I have to run—I have a dress fitting at Kleinfeld first thing in the morning and I gotta get some sleep. Oh, and my last gig as a single woman is on Monday at the Galapagos Art Space—if you’re free, come check it out!” There was a click, and then the dial tone began buzzing rudely in Vanessa’s ear. Waking up early for a dress fitting? Ruby really had been abducted by aliens.
“My sister’s getting married,” Vanessa intoned flatly, staring at a postcard of some really old building in Prague that Jenny had sent. The building was so completely covered in pigeon shit it looked like it was made of wax.