Impressionist　paintings。　？Mom！　Dad？　I？m　going　over　to　Nate？s　house！　Serena　and　I　are　spending

the　night！？

When　there　was　no　reply；　she　clomped　her　way　to　her　parents？　huge　master　suite　in　her　noisy

Kors　wooden…heeled　sheepskin　clogs；　opened　their　bedroom　door；　and　made　a　beeline　for　her

mom？s　dressing　room。　Eleanor　Waldorf　kept　a　tall　stack　of　crisp　emergency　twenties　in　her

lingerie　drawer　for　Blair　and　her　ten…year…old　brother；　Tyler；　to　parse　from？　for　taxis；　cappuccinos；

and；　in　Blair？s　case；　the　occasional　much…needed　pair　of　Manolo　Blahnik　heels。　Twenty；　forty；

sixty；　eighty；　one　hundred。　Twenty；　forty；　sixty；　eighty；　two　hundred。　Blair　counted　out　the　bills；

folding　them　neatly　before　stuffing　them　into　the　back　pocket　of　her　peg…legged　Seven　jeans。

？If　I　were　a　cabernet；？　Blair？s　father？s　dramatically　playful　lawyer？s　voice　echoed　out　of　the

adjoining　dressing　room；　？how　would　you　describe　my　bouquet？？

Excusez…moi？

Blair　clomped　out　of　her　mom？s　dressing　room　and　reached　for　the　chocolate　brown　velvet

curtain　hanging　in　the　doorway　of　her　dad？s。　？If　you　guys　are　in　there　together；　like；　doing　it　while

I？m　home；　then　that？s　really　gross；？　she　declared　flatly。　？Anyway；　I？m　going　over　to　Nate？s；　so？？

Her　father；　Harold　J。　Waldorf；　Esquire；　pulled　aside　the　velvet　curtain；　dressed　in　his　cashmere

tweed　Paul　Smith　bathrobe　and　nothing　else；　his　nicely　tanned；　handsome　face　looking　slightly

flushed。　？Mom？s　out　looking　at　dishes　for　the　Guggenheim　benefit。　I　thought　you　were　out。　Where

are　you　going　exactly？？

Blair　stared　at　him。　He　wasn？t　holding　a　phone；　and　if　her　mom　was　out；　then　who　the　fuck　had

he　just　been　talking　to？　S