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