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been going on since March。 Let's check it out。〃
He held out his hand； and Vanessa noticed for the first time that he was missing the last joint on
the middle finger of his left hand。
Ew！？！
She tried not to stare and allowed him to pull her to her feet。 If only Dan would e back
onstage long enough to see her leaving with another guy。 But the club was way too crowded for
ex…girlfriend sightings； and besides； Dan was otherwise occupied。
Again the sound of retching came over the speakers； nearly drowning out the music。
A little advice； dude： We all know how attached you are to that mike； but next time you're gonna
hurl； please leave it behind？！
BETTER IN TRANSLATION
Luckily for Dan； Damian and the other members of the band had enough confidence and humor
not to get all uptight about the fact that their new lead singer was puking his guts out a few feet
offstage。 They'd played right through Dan's little episode； subtly cut the sound to his mike； and
then segued into an old Raves song that Dan had never heard before：
'Babycakes； you make my eyes scream
Lick the drips； then toss the e a…waaayee'
No wonder why they were looking for a songwriter。
The crowd went wild； singing the words with more passion than ever。 Dan remained offstage with
his head between his knees； trying to remember how he'd gotten himself into this situation in the
first place。 How on earth had he gone from reclusive high…school poet to the baggy…pants…wearing
front man of a famous band when he so obviously lacked the mettle for it？
Before the gig started； he'd done what Damian had suggested and drank some vodka。 Okay… he'd
drunk close to half the bottle； but instead of relaxing him or giving him the courage to perform； it
had made him feel totally toxic； especially when bined with an entire pack of cigarettes。
Well； duh！
The light was dim backstage； and the wooden floor was sticky with spilt beer and cigarette ash。
Dan gritted his teeth as another wave of nausea gripped him； but he squeezed his eyes shut and
fought it off。 Suddenly someone tapped him on the shoulder。 〃Eet's all right； mon cher。 'Ave a seep
of tonique et voila… you are better； yeah？〃
Dan looked up to find a gorgeous girl in her early twenties standing over him with a little bottle of
Schweppes tonic water and a glass of ice in her hands。 She poured the tonic over the ice and
squatted down beside him。
〃Here。 No lime； yeah？〃
Dan didn't know what to say。 He'd never drunk tonic without vodka； but at this point he'd try
anything。 The girl had long honey…colored hair and was deeply tanned。 She was wearing a tight
white tank top and a swishy green skirt that barely covered the tops of her long； tan thighs。 Her
eyes were olive green and she kind of smelled like pine nuts。 He took the glass and put it to his
lips； taking a tiny tentative sip。 It would be just his luck for the sip to backfire on him； spewing all
over the girl's beautiful hair。 Miraculously； though； it didn't。 He took another sip； and then another；
and with each sip； his head cleared ever so slightly。
〃Zat's enough；〃 the girl told him firmly and took the glass away。 She put it and the empty bottle on
top of an unused amp and turned back to Dan。 〃When zee boyz are fineeshed； they vill make a
party；〃 she continued； her olive green eyes sleepy and confident。 〃And zen we vill talk。〃
Dan nodded obediently； as if she was making plete sense； he was pretty sure the girl was
French； and when she said 〃And zen we vill talk；〃 it almost sounded like she had more than a little
polite chit…chat in mind。 But how could she possibly find him attractive in his current state？
Maybe his performance translated better in another language。
The girl stood in the wings； watching the ban finish up their song。 〃Zey will play two more songs
et puis finis； yeah？〃 she declared。
Dan nodded again。 That sounded about right。 A tattoo encircled the girl's tanned ankle。 At first
glance Dan thought the tattoo was of a snake； then he realized it was a fox curled around her leg
asleep。
Oh； the poems he could write about that fox if only he had a pen； a notebook； and a large container
of extra…strength Advil！
He cleared his cigarette…abused throat。 〃I'm Dan；〃 he croaked； extending his hand but not daring to
stand up。
The girl smiled； a sexy little gap appearing between her front teeth。 Then she walked over； grasped
his clammy hand and bent down to kiss his clammy cheek。 〃I know who you are；〃 she murmured
breathily into his ear。 〃Et je m'appelle Monique。〃
Hmmm； Dan mused drunkenly。 Was there even a word for foxy in French？
YALE LOVES NEW YORK
Stanford Paris III lived in the penthouse at 1000 Park Avenue in Carnegie Hill； one of the oldest
and most elegant doorman buildings on the Upper East Side。 But Mr。 Parris's Chippendale
furniture； medieval tapestries； and eighteenth century British sculpture collection went unnoticed
by most of the guests； including the van der Woodsens。 They were used to such elegance； and it
only made them feel more at home。
〃My grandson wanted me to have the party at the hotel；〃 Stanford Paris II confided to Mr。 van der
Woodsen as he shook his hand。 〃Or at the Yacht Club。〃 He winked at Serena's mother。 〃But I
wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to host so many beautiful women in my own home！〃
Serena's mother smiled her gracious
you…can…say…anything…to…me…you…old…lech…and…I'll…never…lose…my…poise smile； and Serena giggles。
Maybe old Stan Parris wasn't so bad after all。 She shook the ancient New England aristocrat's hand
and then stood on tiptoe and planted a flirtatious kiss on his withered old cheek just to piss her
parents off。
〃I say；〃 Mr。 Paris exclaimed。 〃Yale certainly knows what it's doing！〃
〃Easy； Granddad；〃 warned a tall blond boy with an adorable dimple in his chin and amazing
cheekbones。 〃Remember you have a bad heart；〃 the boy scolded his grandfather。
〃It's not my heart I'm worried about；〃 Mr。 Parris grumbled。 He clasped the boy on the shoulder
with a wrinkled hand。 〃Miss Serena van der Woodsen； this is my grandson Stanford Parris the
Fifth。〃
Like anyone actually cares how many Stanford Parrises there are？
Serena waited for the boy to blush with embarrassment and mutter about how plain old 〃Stan〃
would be just fine； but he didn't。 Obviously he thought his title was the best thing ever。 What did
they call him at school？ she wondered。 Number five？ Stan 5？
〃Here's your name tag； dear。〃 Serena' smother pasted a bumper…sticker…sized white nametag with
'Serena van der Woodsen； Ining Fall' written on it in blue marker over Serena's breast； like
some sort of hideous； adhesive…backed tube top。
Serena pretended not to mind。 〃Thanks； Mom；〃 she said； cupping her hands over her hest to
smooth out the nametag。 Every male in her presence let out a little gasp； all getting excited for
Yale's coed dorms next year。
They were early and the party was thin。 Boys in Hugo Boss suits and ties and girls in long Tocca
skirts and buttoned…up blouse lurked by their parents sides； smiling awkwardly and guzzling
champagne。 The whole scene made Serena feel like she was at her first day of ballroom dancing
back in the fifth grade。
Someone tapped Serena on the shoulder and she turned around。 It was Mrs。 Archibald； Nate's
dramatic； French； slightly crazy mother。 Her dyed amber hair had been blown out into mass of
cascading curls； and her thin lips were painted a fierce fire…engine red。 Around her neck were six
strands of rose…colored pearls； and matching rose…colored pearls punctuated each ear。 Despite her
three…inch Christian Louboutin heels； she was surprisingly tiny； dressed in a sleek； pewter…colored
strapless Oscar de la Renta silk evening gown and carrying a little gold satchel and gold opera
glasses… Obviously just stopping by at the party on her way to the theater。 She kissed Serena
quickly on both cheeks。 〃Have you seen my son？〃 she whispered in Serena's ear； her green eyes
flashing。
Serena shook her head。 〃No。 But Blair's……〃 she stopped short； wondering if Mrs。 Archibald really