"Fuck."
Blair Waldorf glanced at the Cartier watch hanging off of her tiny wrist. 10:45. She was officially already half an hour late to Sunday brunch with Serena and... oh God, just saying the name pained her... Dan Humphrey. She flipped open the cell phone that lay on the nightstand next to her. 4 NEW TXT MSGS FROM: S.
B – At home on a Sat. night? Eleanor claims u r, to my mom at least. Whatever r u doing? – S
B – Fine, don't tell me. But u must spill tmrw... – S
B – Don't forget. 10:15. A Van der Woodsen get-2gether for my 2 fav. ppl. – S
B – Where r u? – S
"FUCK."
Being as quiet as she could, she slid off the bed, threw on her black silk Oscar de la Renta dressing gown, and began to frantically search through her vast closet for something appropriate to wear. Something that said, "Hello, I'm late to this little gathering because I got caught up in the utterly fascinating world of my AP US History textbook" and not "Sorry, I just woke up because I'm super exhausted from my night of sluttery!" She stood in front of the racks and racks of clothes, completely oblivious to the mound of clutter she was creating as she threw the rejected outfits onto the floor. A hot pink Diane von Furstenberg skirt that her mother told her was "cute in theory, but so unflattering on the body" with the tone in her voice clearly indicating that "the body" really meant "Blair's body", a turquoise C & C California tank top that Blair could only describe as "too Laguna Beach", an overly sexy red Herve Leger dress... the last option seemed especially hilarious, especially considering the dress had always been Blair's go-to whenever she wanted to "dress to kill." Who would she be trying to impress if she wore it to her brunch? Dan Humphrey? A boy who seemed to take great pride in being awkward, neurotic, and so blessed in schoolbook intellectualism that God seemed to have forgotten to give him the all-important knowledge of how to speak to a girl ? Please. Dan needed to be working to impress her at this meeting – in the wise words of the Spice Girls, "if you wannabe my lover, you gotta get with my friends." Ew. Had Blair really just thought about Spice Girls lyrics? Snapping out of this momentary space-out, Blair cast more and more items to the floor, her patience waning and her ferocity increasing by the second. Finally, she came upon exactly what she was looking for.
Her "nothing-to-wear" day staple: a simple black James Perse sheath dress. So chic. So classic. So very Audrey. It was perfect. Exactly what she wanted.
Because Audrey never had meaningless sex. Audrey never lost her virginity in the back of a limousine to her ex-boyfriend's best friend. And even if she had, she never, ever, ever would have let it happen again. And again... and again. Audrey was graceful and poised and classy and just... flawless. She never had to deal with the stupid problems Blair did, because her life was faultless. And however petty and stupid it was, when Blair wore her sleek little black dress, she felt like that kind of life was within reach for her. It was just the boost she needed to get her feeling like she was ready to go to this meal with Serena and her boy-toy. After removing her dressing gown, she grinned down at the dress in her hands and slipped it over her head. She next turned her attention toward the multitude of shoes meticulously organized into rows on the floor. The selection process for her footwear was considerably briefer than the search for clothing had been, as she immediately slid her Chanel Vamp-painted toes into a pair of gorgeous embellished Valentino flats. With her outfit on and ready, she approached the mirror in front of her bed and began the precise application of her makeup. First a coat of deep black mascara, then a bit of concealer to cover the effects of last night, a swipe of deep red lipstick...
"Well, well, well. Looks like I've finally found someone who takes just as long to get ready as I do."
Startled, Blair's eyes moved from her own image in the mirror to the reflection of the boy sitting up in her bed.
"Ugh. Be more obsessed with yourself?"
"Impossible... You don't need all that make-up, you know. You're stunning without it, actually."
She could feel a smile starting to wash over her lips, but she killed it before it ever got a chance to show itself. She simply cleared her throat awkwardly.
"So, you've just been watching me get dressed? Huh... I'm impressed. Your creepiness has truly exceeded my expectations."
"Thank you. And feel free to thank me..."
"For what?"
"Oh, I don't know. The birthday necklace..."
"Mom would have bought it for me anyway."
"The company..."
"Please. Serena would have been here in a second if I wanted company."
"The mind-blowing sex..."
"Don't flatter yourself."
Blair took one last look in the mirror before placing a pair of large, dark sunglasses on her face. Never before had she so passionately hoped that they really did, as some say, cover a multitude of sins. God knows she needed it.
"I didn't. You did. Or was that another voice I heard moaning for God, over and over, all night?"
Suddenly extremely thankful that her oversized eyewear concealed the shock that she knew was making her eyes widen and turning her cheeks a bright red, Blair reminded herself to play it cool. Without turning to face him, she sauntered out of the room and waved her arm over her head nonchalantly.
"You're disgusting, Bass."
"You enjoy it, Waldorf."
