Dan fingered the rich material of the jackets and looked at the
labels。 Hugo Boss； Calvin Klein； DKNY； Armani。
He imagined stepping out of a limo wearing his Armani tux with
Serena on his arm。 They’d stroll down the red carpet leading into
the party； music thumping all around them； and people would turn
and say； “Oh；” in hushed voices。 Serena would press her perfect
mouth to Dan’s ear。 “I love you；” she’d whisper。 Then Dan would
stop and kiss her and pick her up and carry her back to the limo。
Screw the party。 They had better things to do。
“Can I help you； sir？” A salesman asked。
Dan turned abruptly。 “No。 I—” He hesitated and looked at his watch。
Jenny was going to take forever upstairs； and why shouldn’t he？ As
long as he was there。 He picked up the Armani tux and held it out to
the sales guy。 “Can I try this one on in my size？” he said。
The cologne must have gone to his head。
Jenny and Maureen had pletely scoured the racks； and Maureen
had filled a dressing room with dozens of possibilities in assorted
sizes。 The problem with Jenny was she was only a size two； but her
chest was a size eight at least。 Maureen thought they’d have to
promise and go for a six； letting it out in the bust and taking it
in everywhere else。
The first few dresses were a disaster。 Jenny nearly busted the zipper
of one trying to unsnag it from her bra。 And the next one didn’t
even make it over her boobs。 The third one was pletely
obscene。 The fourth one fit； sort of； except it was bright orange and
had a ridiculous ruffle running across it； like someone had slashed it
with a knife。 Jenny poked her head out of the curtain to look for
Maureen。 Next door； Serena and her mother were just heading out
of their dressing room to the cashier’s desk。
“Serena！” Jenny called； without thinking twice。 Serena turned
around and Jenny blushed。 She couldn’t believe she was talking to
Serena van der Woodsen while wearing a bright orange dress with a
stupid ruffle on it。
“Hey Jenny；” Serena said； beaming sweetly down at her。 She walked
over and kissed Jenny on both cheeks。 Jenny sucked in her breath
and gripped the curtain to steady herself。 Serena van der Woodsen
had just kissed her。
“Wow； crazy dress；” Serena said。 She leaned in to whisper in Jenny’s
ear。 “You’re lucky you don’t have your mom with you。 I got suckered
into buying the ugliest dress in the store。” Serena held the dress up。
It was long and black and pletely gorgeous。
Jenny didn’t know what to say。 She wished she were the kind of girl
who could plain about shopping with her mother。 She wished
she were the kind of girl who could plain about a beautiful dress
being ugly。 But she wasn’t。
“Is everything all right； dear？” Maureen said； striding over and
handing Jenny a strapless bra contraption to try on with her
dresses。
Jenny took the bra and glanced at Serena； her cheeks burning。 “I’d
better keep trying this stuff on；” she said。 “See you Monday；
Serena。”
She let the curtain fall closed； but Maureen pulled it open a few
inches。 “That looks nice；” she said； nodding approvingly at the
orange dress。 “It suits you。”
Jenny grimaced。 “Does it e in black？” she asked。
“But you’re too young for black；” Maureen said； frowning。
Jenny frowned back and handed the pile of reject dresses to
Maureen； closing the curtain firmly in her face。 “Thanks for your
help；” she called。 She yanked the orange dress over her head and
whipped off her bra； reaching for a black stretch…satin dress she had
picked out herself。 Braless； she pulled the dress on over her head
and felt it ooze all over her。 When she looked up； little Jenny
Humphrey had vanished from the dressing room。 In her place was a
dangerous； slutty sex goddess。
Throw in a pair of kitten heels； a thong； and some Chanel Vamp
lipstick； and she had it going on。 No girl is ever too young to wear
black。
Late Sunday morning the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art
were crawling with people。 Tourists； mostly； and locals who had
e for a brief visit so they could brag about it to their friends and
sound cultured。
Inside； brunch was being served in the Egyptian wing for all the
museum’s board members and their families。 The Egyptian wing
was a superb setting for nighttime parties—glittering gold and
exotic； with the moonlight shining dramatically through its modern
glass walls。 But it was all wrong for brunch。 Smoked salmon and
eggs and mummified Egyptian Pharaohs really don’t mix。 Plus； the
morning sun was shining so brightly through the slanting glass
walls； it made even the slightest hangover feel ten times worse。
Who invented brunch anyway？ The only decent place to be on
Sunday mornings is in bed。
The room was filled with large round tables and freshly…scrubbed
Upper…East…Siders。 Eleanor Waldorf； Cyrus Rose； the van der
Woodsens； the Basses； the Archibalds； and their children were
there； all seated around one table。 Blair was sitting between Cyrus
Rose and her mother； looking grumpy。 Nate had been intermittently
baked； drunk； or passed out since Friday； and looked woozy and
rumpled； as if he’d just woken up。 Serena was wearing some of the
new clothes she’d bought shopping with her mother the day before；
and she had a new haircut； with soft layers framing her face。 She
looked even more beautiful than ever； but nervous and jumpy after
drinking six cups of coffee。 Only Chuck seemed at ease； happily
sipping his Bloody Mary。
Cyrus Rose sliced his salmon…and…leek omelet in half and plunked it
on a pumpernickel bagel。 “I’ve been craving eggs；” he said； biting
into it hungrily。 “You know when your body tells you you need
something？” he said； to no one in particular。 “Mine’s shouting；
‘Eggs； eggs； eggs！’ ”
And mine’s shouting； “Shut the fuck up；” Blair thought。
Blair pushed her plate toward him。 “Here； have mine。 I hate eggs；”
she said。
Cyrus pushed her plate back。 “No； you’re growing。 You need that
more than I do。”
“That’s right； Blair；” her mother agreed。 “Eat your eggs。 They’re
good for you。”
“I hear eggs make your hair shiny；” Misty Bass added。
Blair shook her head。 “I don’t eat chicken abortions；” she said
stubbornly。 “They make me gag。”
Chuck reached across the table。 “I’ll eat them； if you don’t want
them。”
“Oh； now； Chuck；” Mrs。 Bass clucked。 “Don’t be a piggy。”
“She said she didn’t want them；” Chuck said。 “Right； Blair？”
Blair handed her plate over； careful not to look at Serena or Nate；
sitting on either side of Chuck。
Serena was busy cutting her omelet into little squares； like Scrabble
pieces。 She began building tall towers of them。
Out of the corner of his eye； Nate was watching her。 He was also
watching Chuck’s hands。 Each time they slid underneath the
tablecloth and out of view； Nate imagined them all over Serena’s
legs。
“Anyone see the Styles section of the Times today？” Cyrus asked；
looking around the table。
Serena’s head shot up。 Her picture with the Remi brothers。 She’d
forgotten all about it。
She pursed he