went on in an oblivious loud voice； eating up the attention。 ？Everyone has a calling； and I think
fashion is mine。？
？What about London？ What about Lord Whatsisname？？ Serena demanded。 Were the rumors
about his English fianc？e actually true？ She didn？t usually listen to gossip； but there had to be a
reason for Blair to give up a royal romance in London to e home and take a summer job。
？It？s a long story。？ Blair sighed dramatically。 She was a working woman with a past。 Now if
Serena would just loan her that dress 。 。 。
？Tell it to me tonight；？ Serena whispered excitedly。 ？Ken？s putting me up in my own apartment。
You should totally e over。 Shit； screw that？move in with me！？
？Well 。 。 。？ Blair hesitated。 She？d moved around a lot lately： the Plaza Hotel； Williamsburg； the
Yale Club； London。 And wasn？t she supposed to be home； close to her baby sister？
？Did I mention that I？m now living on East Seventy…first Street？？ Serena knew full well that
Blair Waldorf of all people would recognize that address。
Move into the apartment fromBreakfast at Tiffany？s ！
？I just need to pack my bags；？ Blair responded stoically； as if she could hide the fact that she was
practically peeing in her pants with excitement。 ？I？ll be there tonight。？
She threw her arms around Serena in a fit of impetuous enthusiasm。 Everything always had a
way of turning out just right； especially when Serena was involved。 This time they really would
stay friends forever。
If you can call the next few days forever！
karma chameleon
Dan Humphrey slipped into the disgusting employees…only restroom in a dank corner of the
basement of the Strand clutching a tiny black tote bag emblazoned with the logo of the literary
magazineRed Herring 。 Double…checking that the door was locked tight； he pulled his threadbare
Bauhaus T…shirt over his head and unbuttoned his fine…wale Levi？s cords； dropping them to the
floor。 He paid no attention to the literary graffiti a generation of disaffected Strand employees had
scrawled all over the walls？legend had it that some bitter former clerk had jotted down the actual
New Hampshire home telephone number of the famously reclusive J。 D。 Salinger。 He had only ten
minutes to meet Bree in Union Square and he had to get out of his everyday clothes？which reeked
of smoke？and into something cleaner and more exercise…friendly。
So he wasn？t the most athletic guy in the world。 His relationship or connection or whatever with
Bree was based on more than Lycra clothing and naked yoga sessions。 Bree had opened Dan？s
eyes； helped him think about the world in a way he never had before。 Bending and posing in a hot
room with a sweaty naked guy leaning into him wasn？t Dan？s idea of a romantic evening； but
reading Bree？s favorite books was stimulating and thought…provoking。 He？d done so much in his
life already？had a poem published in theNew Yorker ； interned atRed Herring ； sung his original
songs with the Raves？but it was kind of thrilling to discover something deeper and more
meaningful than fleeting fame。
Finding enlightenment in less than a week？it must be some kind of world record。
He pulled a clean； bright green American Apparel T…shirt over his head； smoothed out his tousled
light brown hair； and laced up his ice…blue New Balances。 He popped a piece of icy mint gum into
his mouth and exhaled into the palm of his hand to double…check his breath： not a trace of tobacco。
He wadded up his work clothes and stashed them in his employee locker； then jogged up the stairs
and out of the store； toward nearby Union Square。
Bree was waiting for him near the statue of a placidly smiling Gandhi in the southwest corner of
the bustling park near skanky…but…getting…better Fourteenth Street。 ？I like to go there sometimes；？
she？d told him over the phone。 ？To read and reflect on Gandhi？s message of peace。？
Don？t we all？
Bree had braided her platinum blond hair and wound it tightly into a bun at the base of her neck。
She was sporting a clean white T…shirt emblazoned with the Adidas logo and iridescent blue
running shorts that were cropped short and showcased her well…muscled； lean； long legs。 When
she spied Dan； she stood and waved excitedly。
？Right on time！？ When he reached her； she threw her arms around him in a warm
embrace。 ？Namaste；？ she whispered。 ？You smell nice。？
？Thanks；？ Dan responded with relief as he inadvertently breathed in the bouquet of Bree？s
organic sage deodorant and the patchouli oil she wore dabbed behind each ear。
？Let？s get warmed up；？ Bree ordered。 She released Dan from her embrace； turned； and put her
right foot on the bench where she？d just been sitting； then leaned in； shifting all her weight to that
leg。
Dan imitated her； wincing in pain as he tried to awaken the muscles in his legs。 This was a lot
more demanding than his usual workout： a walk to the corner for smokes。
？Feels great； huh？？ Bree grinned enthusiastically while she stretched； as though a good stretch
was better than a hot bath。
？Yeah；？ Dan wheezed。 ？Excellent。？
？I thought we？d start here；？ Bree explained； putting her feet back on the ground。 She locked her
knees； then reached down； touching the ground with both palms。 ？You know； head across
Fourteenth Street to the Hudson and then downtown to Battery Park。？
Dan did some mental math。 That was at least two miles； which was two miles farther than he？d
ever jogged in his life。
What had he gotten himself into？
At first it seemed like he was going to be fine： the first block went by without incident。 Dan
followed the sexy wiggle of Bree？s ass as she jogged down the sidewalk； dodging pedestrians and
strollers。
This is fun！he told himself。It feels great。
When they reached the corner of Fifth Avenue； they paused for the light； and Bree turned to
him。 ？Are you okay？？ She furrowed her brow in worry。
Dan？s skin felt prickly。 The sweat poured off of his forehead and down his nose； dripping on the
sidewalk。 The early evening sun was beating down on them。 He was pretty sure he？d be dead by
sundown。
？Sure；？ he responded shakily。 ？I？m fine。？
When they？d been moving； the burn in his legs and the pounding in his chest had been somehow
bearable； but as soon as they？d stopped his knees had felt like they might buckle underneath him。
The light changed and Bree dashed into the street。 ？e on！？ she called over her shoulder
happily。
Dan took a deep breath and stumbled into the street； just missing running over an old lady in a
big straw hat； pulling a shopping trolley。
？Watch it； asshole！？ she shouted。
Ignoring her； Dan kept running； following Bree like a dog at the track chasing that mechanical
rabbit。 His heart pounded in his ears as they jogged down the sidewalk past Sixth； then Seventh；
Eighth； and； finally； Ninth Avenues。 Between Ninth and Greenwich the traffic cleared； so Bree ran
in the street。 Ignoring the hot blasts of exhaust from the oning buses； Dan followed behind；
jogging toward the shimmering Hudson River； just two blocks away。
Hang in there； he told himself。Just make it to the river。 Just keep going 。 He had no idea how
he？d make it all the way down to Battery Park； on the tip of Manhattan； but first things first： he
had to get to the river。 His feet throbbed inside his not…quite…broken…in ice blue New Balance
bought…for…ten…bucks…at…the…Paragon…Sports…sale running shoes。 He？d wiped so much sweat from
his forehead that he was scared that he might be pletely dehydrated。 He was dying for a drink
of water。 He was dying to sit down。
Maybe he was just plaindying ？
They dashed across the West Side Highway and into Hudson River Park； where a wide； paved
jogging/rollerblading/ bike path ran from midtown to Tribeca。 They weren？t the only ones taking
advantage of the clear； sunny day？hundreds of people were running and rollerblading； bicycling；
and strolling hand in hand。 Bree beat him across the street and wove through the crowd until she
reached the chain…link fence that presumably kept people from diving right into the river。 She
kicked her legs up in front of her； jogging in place as she waited for Dan to catch up。 Despite the
heat； she was barely sweating。
Dan hurled himself in Bree？s direction。This is great ； he told himself。 He felt great！ The sun was
bright； the air was fresh； and there was a breeze blowing in off the river。 He grinned wildly。 He
could do this！
Then his legs gave way underneath him and he landed on the rough pavement with a thud as he
crumpled to the ground。
？Dan！？ Bree cried； leaning over him。 ？Are you okay？？
Dan looked up to see her flushed face framed by wispy ringlets of flaxen hair。 His vision started
to cloud。
？Am I dying？？ he asked out loud。 ？Are you an angel？？
？I better administer CPR；？ Bree announced sternly； crouching down and pressing her mouth to
his。
As if that wouldn？t give him an even bigger heart attack。
from the frying pan to the fire
Wobbling uneasily； Vanessa Abrams gripped the wrought…iron railing and steadied herself on the
low marble steps leading up to the ivy…covered mansion on Eighty…seventh Street。 She burped
noisily and jabbed at the illuminated doorbell four or five times before she finally managed to ring
it。 Maybe consoling herself with an ice…cold bottle of pinot grigio hadn？t been the wisest decision
she？d ever made； especially since she was minutes away from a job interview。
After being unceremoniously thrown off the set ofBreakfast at Fred？s ； Vanessa had ridden the
elevator with the possibly humanoid Blair…Waldorf…in…training Jasmine； who had informed
Vanessa that it just so happened that her mother was looking for a highly qualified； energetic； and
enthusiastic person for a very important job。 Vanessa had been too upset to get the exact details；
but Jasmine tore a page from her Louis Vuitton agenda and scribbled an address； urging Vanessa
to follow up on it immediately。
After a few glasses of wine pilfered from Rufus Humphrey？s personal stash； Vanessa had started
to see things more clearly。
Ken Mogul is a soulless sellout。 He was making a run…of…the…mill Hollywood teen soap while she
was an experimental auteur！ She had no business wasting her time and her talent on that crap。 She
was bound for NYU； the best film program in the country。 She？d have access to the finest
professors； world…class equipment； and an entire acting program full of the most talented student
actors around。 Why should she be wasting her time as a hack； working on a project she didn？t
believe in when she could be working her ass off and saving up the cold hard cash to produce her
own film in the fall。 She already had an idea for a feature； about a conflicted young artist forced to
choose between following her muse or staying in a rapidly decaying relationship with her insane
incense…and…herbal…tea…addicted writer boyfriend。
Sounds like a case of art imitating life。
A sour…faced maid in an honest…to…God black skirt with white apron and little white lace doily on
her head opened the heavy glass door。 ？Can I help you？？ she demanded suspiciously。
？I？m here