Dan was overwhelmed; it was shocking how wrong you could be about someone, someone you thought you knew inside out. Friends since the third grade, he remembered her crazy black curls and enormous, genuine smile, never in several million years would he have thought her capable. The memory of Serena's abrupt turn into evil queen bee after their first break up during senior year was suddenly thrust into his conscious. Were all girls like that, irrationally territorial and crazy jealous? In a way he had expected it of someone like Serena, this was her world, the world she had been socialised into, backstabbing and bitching were second nature to her, he had been touched that she had wanted to be a better person, to rise above all the petty priorities that filled Blair's Palm Pilot. Vanessa did not have an excuse, this world was even more alien to her than it was to Dan, and he had long been integrated into their ways. She had always ridiculed the elitism and affluence of their culture, not to mention the extravagance and portentousness. She didn't think it was necessary to go to school in a limo daily for a distance of two minutes.
Charlie was new to this society too, still learning its nuances; he had no idea why Vanessa would be driven to sabotage her. She was sweet, honestly making an effort, just like Amanda she didn't deserve to be ridiculed. There were no chances left for Vanessa, he could no longer justify her actions, she knew he wanted nothing to do with her at all, so why did she insist on involving herself in his life? Charlie was nothing to do with her. She had been so adorably embarrassed and mortified when she had realised her blunder, Dan hated coq au vin but with her it tasted almost edible.
There had been a point when she had tentatively wiped hollandaise sauce of his chin that he had been certain she was going to kiss him. His previous words had evidently prevented her from doing so, and he could no longer objectively decide whether that was good or bad. She was very trusting, a quality he seemed to have lost long ago. It made him sad to think of how living here would change her as a person, just look at Vanessa. It was unusual how his thoughts had shifted from Blair to Charlie so rapidly, maybe out of sight out of mind is right.
The loft was devoid of people, the smell of posh, pretentious food clung to the dull walls and the elaborate table display was in a state of disarray, since he and Charlie had happily sampled each dish, coating the silver cutlery with a variety of delicacies. He sat on a hard chair, tapping the tines of a fork against a wide, crystal clear goblet, the tinkling sound soothing him. It had been a long time since he had curled up in bed reading, his mind solely focused on the prose printed before him, while now his thoughts were consistently preoccupied with the people in his life. He had not yet spoken to Serena since the revelation of his and Blair's kiss so he was uncertain as to whether they were fine or not. Shockingly, he realised it had been even longer since he had written something, with all the drama unexpectedly taking up his life largely in the form of Blair Waldorf.
He unearthed his laptop from under a sheath of papers on his dusty bookshelf; pouring himself some of the wine leftover he considered his plot. Normally it would be influenced by the goings on in his life, but the happenings there were a little to strange for believable fiction. He wanted to be more adventurous, try something new that he had never attempted to do before. He pondered, studying his keyboard then thought of Madame Bovary written by Gustav Flaubert in the first person. He had been very impressed at how realistically Flaubert had written from a female perspective, maybe he should try it, could help him grow and develop diversity as a writer. Then he thought of writing from Blair's point of view, he chuckled, that was a scary thought. What about Serena?
He opened a Word document, wondering how he should attack such a complex subject because Serena was not an easy girl to understand and he knew her better than most. He had heard briefly of Blair's recent success in capturing her French prince from Eric's worldly mouth and imagined Serena was for once in her life feeling hard done by and most probably a little jealous. Blair might behave like royalty but Serena looked it, effortlessly, with her long fairytale blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Yet Blair was the one with the prince. No, too complicated, truthfully he wasn't brave enough to venture into such foreign territory.
His cell rang. Charlie. "Hey, you," he greeted, immediately regretting it, it sounded way too familiar.
"Hi," he could hear her smiling, "I just wanted to thank you for being so understanding about my gaffe earlier, and I really hope I didn't ruin your father's chances. He's been really nice to me, plus I wanted to say sorry again."
"It's fine, don't worry about it. Ancient history, "he chuckled, endeared by her worry and concern, "So how did your confrontation go with Vanessa? You never did tell me," he asked cautiously.
"Well, predictably she didn't admit it, I feel like such a fool," she bit her lip nervously, really wanting Dan to believe her and not defend Vanessa. Right now she was scrutinising Gossip Girl reading all the intelligence it had on Dan. He had a Cabbage Patch kid called Cedric?
Dan sighed on behalf of his former friend, he was fairly certain she was unable to redeem herself as far as he was concerned, "Don't be too hard on yourself; it seems she's quite the actress."
"Hmmm, you don't say. Still, I managed to have a really good time with you, I'm really glad we are friends, Dan," she awaited his response hopefully, imagining the cute way he wrestled with the slimy fresh fish.
"Yeah, me too and just to ease your concerns you didn't hinder my Dad in any way he got the producing job for Panic, so all is great," he held his finger down on the p button, the blank document irking him.
"Are you kidding? That's fantastic; your Dad must be so pleased. So, err what are you doing right now?" she fiddled with her gold necklace.
"I am actually trying to get my creative juices flowing."
Charlie laughed, "Is that some king of innuendo."
"Oh God, no, I mean, I meant," he stumbled over his words, "I meant that I'm trying to write but it's not really working."
"Oh, I've heard of that, I think it's called writer's block," she teased, "Do you have a specific story in mind, back home I had this terrific English teacher, she was really kind, and she always insisted that we need a plan first otherwise the end result is all disorderly. I think her exact words were: think of the story like a sandwich."
"I could do with a sandwich, I'm actually really hungry, and I'm craving chicken or turkey. Have you ever tried duck?" he questioned, changing the subject.
"No, but I've heard it's succulent," she replied, humouring him, "You know I wrote a poem once," she confided blushing, feeling vaguely like a stalker when a topless image of Dan appeared on screen, she quickly shut the window, cheeks aflame.
"Really? I am intrigued."
"Well, it wasn't very good and the rhymes were quite adventurous, I think if I submitted it, my poem would have been voted the worst love poem ever, it was for my crush and I dropped it on his desk on Valentine's Day, consequently spending the remainder of the years there avoiding him."
"That's sweet," he admitted reluctantly, feeling himself warm to her, "Do you remember it?"
The silence was telling, "Come on!" he prompted.
"Okay, fine, but don't laugh," she warned, "I can only remember the one verse, here goes," she took a deep breath, "I think of you in the morning/ on bright and sunny days/ the sun reminds me of your smile/ I am living in a haze/whenever I see you around/ my spirits always raise."
Dan wheezed, tiny tears of disbelief and hilarity trickling from the corners of his creased, laughing eyes, "That was . . . wow!" he injected copious amounts of encouragement in his comment, keeping in his bubbling laughter.
"I despise you, it's better than having a Cabbage Patch," she retorted defensively.
"Oh my God, if Jenny was here I would kill her myself, how did that one tiny, insignificant detail suddenly wind up defining my life."
"That's the way of the world, my friend," she said softening, "I had a freaky stuffed toy dog called Barry," she offered.
"Well, your poem wasn't that bad, how old were you?"
"About nine" she twisted the gold chain, tangling it around her fingers, "Somehow I think my attempts now wouldn't be much better, I'll leave the writing to you. Aunt Lily wants to watch Ferris Bueller's Day Off so I'll talk to you later?"
"Definitely."
He clicked off, putting the phone on the table and clearing the rows of p's on the otherwise clean document. Charlie, he typed, sandwich. He pondered for a second and then quickly typed everything he knew about her until he was left with over three thousand words. There wasn't a single thing he had discovered that he had disliked about her. . .
Yet.