favorite rooftop suite at the new Boatdeck Hotel on Gansevoort Street 。 。 。 and he wasn？t alone： a
certain brassy blonde whose roots appear to have grown at least half an inch was right by his side。
Remember her？ I knowN does。
It？s going to be a sultry； bustling July； people； but you know I never rest。 You？ll always know
who？s ing； who？s going； who？s crashing the hottest parties on Gin Lane； Further Lane； and all
those tacky Hamptons nightclubs； and who？s sneaking around under the cool cover of night。 After
all； I？m everywhere。 Well； everywhere that？s anywhere； anyway。
You know you love me。
gossip girl
when it es to the hamptons； v？s a total virgin
？Here we are！？ announced Ms。 Morgan as she navigated her cream…colored Mercedes into a
circular pale…pink crushed…seashell driveway。
Finally。 After a grueling four hours stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway； they had
finally arrived at the James…Morgan…Grossmans？ gray…shingled nouveau…Victorian Amagansett
mansion。 Vanessa stepped anxiously out of the car； feeling the foreign crunch of the seashells
under her feet。 The sky overhead was turning a dusky sunset pink； and the air smelled like a far…off
barbecue and freshly mown grass。 She felt a sudden wave of relief？maybe getting out of the city
really was just what she needed。
Ms。 Morgan stepped ahead of her； pushing the heavy antiquered front door open。 The boys
scrambled inside； jostling Vanessa； who was smiling goofily at nothing in particular。 Not that
Vanessa cared about these things； or usually even noticed； but she couldn？t help but gape at； well；
all of it。 The double…height windows framing the front entryway。 The preppy blue…and…white
nautical…striped bins filled with beach supplies just inside the front door。 The massive living room
spilling out in front of her。 The inviting turquoise pool just beyond it。 It was all so unlike her？but
then again； every…thing that was like her had totally sucked lately。 Maybe she should embrace the
easy； sunny life that was right here； right in front of her？ Maybe all that dark thinking wasn？t
helping anything？
Vanessa followed the boys into the massive kitchen； where Ms。 Morgan was checking the notes
the maid； gardener； and pool boy had left behind。 Everything was so 。 。 。 taken care of。 Vanessa
could just see the hot summer days ahead of her： ReadingThe New Yorker poolside； occasionally
stopping to photograph its glistening surface in black and white。 She？d trot inside and fix herself a
smoked gouda sandwich from the stocked kitchen； then eat it while wandering the perimeter of the
well…manicured property； enjoying the peace and quiet。
Home； sweet home。
？Mommmmmeeeeee； we？re hunnnnggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry；？ Edgar whined； snapping Vanessa out
of her reverie。 Oh right；them。
？Vanessa will fix you something。？ Ms。 Morgan smiled and patted his head； without bothering to
glance at her。
？Right。 Sure。？ Vanessa set down her black army…navy duffel bag on the polished blond…wood
floor and opened the heavy stainless…steel fridge。 Inside were piles of fresh produce； containers of
orzo salad； and curried salmon filets garnished with yellow currants。 Where were the cold leftover
chicken nuggets； or at least the PB and J？
Behind her； Edgar and Nils began a wrestling match in the middle of the floor。 Vanessa usually
let them do this； hoping they would tire themselves out like the puppies she？d once filmed at the
Union Square dog run。 She？d been hoping to catch a dogfight or see one of those rat…eating hawks
the city had released swoop down to pick up a Chihuahua； but had been forced to settle for puggle
playtime instead。 She figured that eventually the boys would flop onto their backs like the dogs；
their tongues hanging out to the side； panting。
？Boys！？ Ms。 Morgan barked； and then smoothed her knife…pleated khakis。 Her ivory tank top
was trimmed with a thick brown satin sash。 Looking at her weirdly taut face and defined
cheekbones； it was hard to tell if she was thirty…two or fifty…five。 ？You can head upstairs to get
ready for dinner。？
She turned back to Vanessa； the wooden heels of her huarache sandal wedges clacking on the
floor。 ？Vanessa； we？ll be having the salmon filets； and if you could just throw together a little
fresh salad； maybe a dill…yogurt sauce for the fish？ That would be lovely。？
Wait。 Throw together？ What did Vanessa look like； the 。 。 。 the 。。。
Help？Oh。 Right。 Except she？d never cooked anything but boiled ziti with jarred Ragu in her life。
？You got it；？ Vanessa told her as she started searching for dill in the produce drawer。 Upstairs she
could hear the boys making explosion noises and then screaming。 She turned around to hold up a
pile of leafy herbs？was this dill？ cilantro？ crab…fucking…grass？？when she was met with a
frightening sight。
Ms。 Morgan？s pale； skinny； dimpled ass。 Oh。 My。 God。 Vanessa quickly swiveled around again。
Even with the refrigerated air hitting her in the face； she could feel her cheeks burning。 Loudly
clearing her throat？had Ms。 Morgan just forgotten she was there or what？？she turned back；
holding the herbs directly in front of her face。
She peeked out from behind the greens only to see her employer； arms akimbo； standing in only
her wooden huarache sandals； a sheer applered thong； and a lacy black bra。
？Something wrong？？ she asked。
？Um； no； of course not。？ Vanessa began a sudden； uncharacteristic cuticle examination。 Her
hands sure were rough！ But she couldn？t help sneaking a sidelong glance as Ms。 Morgan；
liberated woman of the twenty…first century； tugged off her bra and let it fall； oh…so…casually； onto
the arm of a kitchen chair。
Vanessa willed herself to look her boss in the face。 ？Um； could you excuse me for a second？ I？d
like to put my things in my room。？ Shehad to get out of there。
？Top of the third staircase。？ Ms。 Morgan started rooting around in her monogrammed canvas
boat bag； presumably for something to wear。
Let？s hope so！
Vanessa threw her army…navy…store duffel over her shoulder and took the wide wooden staircase
two steps at a time。 She tried to shake the image of Ms。 Morgan？s thong from her mind。 Who even
wore thongs； besides overeager thirteen…year…olds who liked them peeking out above their low…rise
jeans？
Tres pass？。
And whatever happened to boundaries？ It was as if Vanessa were the family cat； not an actual
human being。 She needed to be back in the real world； among people who respected her and
didn？t just act like she was a piece of furniture。 She？d been in the picture…perfect Hamptons for no
more than fifteen minutes； and she was already ready to leave。
Arriving at the third set of stairs； Vanessa climbed toward her attic suite。 At least she？d have
some privacy and maybe even a little luxury up here； right？ She reached the top step； and glanced
around； looking for a door she could shut。 But no； the stairs went straight into the attic…room；
where the pitched ceiling was so low； she had to duck to step inside。 What。The。 Fuck。
Taking heaving； pseudocalming breaths； she walked straight down the middle of the hot； stuffy
room？the only possible route she could take without ducking。 She dropped her bag on the floor
and tried to push the one small window open。 Stuck。 More than stuck。Painted shut。 Shit； shit； shit。
Vanessa stripped off her suddenly sweaty faded black T…shirt and unzipped her duffel。 She
pushed aside her hair trimmers and the yellow…and…black bumble…bee…striped one…piece bathing
suit that she？d swiped from Jenny？s underwear drawer； looking for her black ribbed cotton tank
top。
？Great； you found it。？
She turned to see Ms。 Morgan； now thankfully wearing a white sundress； standing at the top of
the attic stairs。 Good； she was dressed。Vanessa； unfortunately； was not。
This wasn？t quite the hot summer she？d had in mind。
？
Air Mail … Par Avion … July 10
Hey Dan！
How？s everything going in the city？ I loooooove Prague。 I？ve been spending my afternoons at
little outdoor caf？s； pretending to sketch but really checking out all the European boys？I mean
sigh