do；？ Vanessa instructed； peering through the lens of her digital video camera to see if the light was
okay。 ？Can you clear some of that shit off your desk？？
Dan swept his arm over the desk and sent pens； paper clips； scraps of paper； rubber bands； books；
empty packs of unfiltered Camels； matchbooks； and empty Coke cans crashing to the
brown…carpeted floor。 They were filming in Dan？s room because that was where he usually
worked。 Besides； it was a straight shot through the park from Constance Billard on East
Ninety…third Street between Fifth and Madison to Dan？s apartment building on West Ninety…ninth
Street and West End Avenue。
？And maybe take your shirt off； too；？ Vanessa suggested。Making Poetry was going to be about
the artistic process； illustrating that whatdoesn？t go into the work is just as important as what does。
There would be lots of shots of Dan crumpling up paper and throwing it angrily across the room。
Vanessa wanted to show that writing？or creating anything； for that matter？wasn？t just a mental
exercise： it wasphysical 。 Plus； Dan had these great little muscles in his back that she couldn？t wait
to get on film。
Dan stood up and peeled off his plain black T…shirt； tossing it onto his unmade bed where the
Humphreys？ fat old cat； Marx； lay asleep on his back like a furry beached whale。 Everything
about the apartment Dan shared with his father； Rufus； an editor of lesser…known Beat poets； and
his little sister； Jenny； was unmade； falling apart； or at the very least pletely covered with cat
hair and dust bunnies。 It was a large； bright； high…ceilinged apartment； but it hadn？t been properly
cleaned in twenty years； and the crumbling walls were gasping for a new coat of paint。 Dan and
his father and sister rarely threw anything away； either； so the sagging furniture and scratched
wooden floors were strewn with old newspapers and magazines； out…of…print books； inplete
decks of cards； used batteries； and unsharpened pencils。 It was the kind of place where your coffee
got cat hair in it the minute you poured it； which was a problem Dan dealt with constantly because
he was pletely addicted to caffeine。
？Do you want me to face the camera？？ he asked； sitting down on his worn wooden desk chair
and swiveling it toward Vanessa。 ？I could hold the notebook in my lap and write like this；？ he
demonstrated。
Vanessa knelt down and squinted through the camera lens。 She was wearing her gray pleated
Constance Billard uniform with black tights； and the brown shag carpet felt bristly against her
knees。 ？Yes； that？s nice；？ she murmured。 Oh； just look how pale and smooth Dan？s chest was！ She
could see every rib； and that nice line of tawny peach fuzz that ran up his belly to his navel！ She
inched forward on her knees； trying to get as close as possible without ruining the frame。
Dan bit the end of his pen； smiled to himself； and then wrote；She？s got a shaved head； she wears
black all the time； she needs a new pair of bat boots； and she hates to wear makeup。 But she？s
the kind of girl who believes in you and secretly gets your best poem published in The New
Yorker。 I guess you could say I love her。
It was probably the corniest thing he？d ever written； but it wasn？t like he was going to publish it
in his ？Greatest Works？ or anything。
Vanessa inched forward some more； trying to capture the fervent white of Dan？s knuckles as he
scribbled away。 ？What are you writing？？ She pressed the record…sound button on her camera。
Dan looked up； grinning at her through his messy bangs； his golden brown eyes shining。 ？It？s not
a poem。 It？s just a little story about you。？
Vanessa felt her whole body warm up。 ？Read it out loud。？
Dan scratched his chin self…consciously and then cleared his throat。 ？Okay。 ？She？s got a shaved
head 。 。 。 ；？？ he began； reading what he？d written。
Vanessa blushed as she listened and then dropped the camera on the floor。 She walked on her
knees over to where Dan was sitting； pushed his notebook out of the way； and laid her head in his
lap。
？You know how we？re always talking about having sex but we？ve never done it？？ she whispered；
her lips brushing the rough cloth of his army…green cargo pants。 ？Why don？t we do it right now？？
Beneath her cheek she felt Dan？s thigh muscle tighten。 ？Now？？ He looked down and traced his
finger along the edge of Vanessa？s ear。 She had four piercings in each ear； but none of them had
earrings in them。 He took a deep breath。 He？d been saving sex for a moment when it seemed
poetic andright 。 Maybe that time wasright now ； a spontaneous moment。 It seemed especially apt
and ironic when in exactly an hour he？d be back at Riverside Prep； sitting in last…period AP Latin；
listening to Dr。 Werd read Ovid in his over…the…top Latin…nerd accent。
Introducing double…free…period sex？the latest offering on the spring curriculum。
？Okay；？ Dan agreed。 ？Let？s do it。？
bhas hots for older man
？Would you like another Coke； miss？？ the bow…tied cocktail server asked。
？No； thank you；？ Blair answered； keeping her eyes glued to the door。
All week long her mind had been on one thing only： her interview with Owen Wells。 She had
even done some research on the Internet so she could ask him pointed questions about Wells；
Trachtman； & Rice； the law firm where he was a partner。 Now it was finally Thursday night and
she was sitting alone at the corner table in Leneman？s Bar in the pton Hotel； waiting for him。
The bar was crowded； mostly with middle…aged men in custom…tailored suits； discussing business
deals over bourbon on the rocks； or sitting with bleached…blond women who were very definitely
not their wives。 With its golden walls； crisp white tablecloths； and forties jazz music； the bar had
an air of sexy sophistication。
Blair had spent almost three hours getting ready： one to shower and blow her hair out into a neat；
preppy coif that framed her face in an innocent yet intellectual manner； one to dress in her new
belted Les Best jersey dress； which she had paired with her lucky pair of three…inch Ferragamo
heels； to give her an extra bit of confidence and height； and one to apply natural…looking makeup
for the fresh； healthy glow of someone who always got twelve hours of sleep because she never
went out and never went near a cigarette or a cocktail。
Right。
It was still only a quarter to nine； but if she drank any more Coke； she？d have to pee so badly
she？d never make it through the interview without wetting herself。 What Blair really wanted was a
shot of Stoli； but with her luck Owen Wells would stroll through the door just as she was knocking
back the shot； confirming his worries that she really was just a flaky party girl who only wanted to
go to Yale to get drunk and seduce the captain of the crew team； possibly getting pregnant in the
process and forcing that innocent； previously upstanding Yale male to marry her and work like a
slave for the rest of his life to keep her in the style she was accustomed to。
Just then an extremely well groomed businessman sitting at the bar spun around on his
gold…painted barstool and smiled at her。 He had wavy black hair； bright blue eyes with long curly
lashes； and distinctly arched black eyebrows。 His face and hands were deeply tanned； as if he
played tennis in the sun every day of his life； and he was wearing a gorgeous navy blue wool suit
with a crisp white shirt and simple gold cuff links。 Blair didn？t usually notice older guys； and this
guy was at least thirty…eight； but he was so handsome； it was impossiblenot to notice。
？Are you Blair Waldorf； by any chance？？ he asked in a deep； familiar voice。
Blair nodded tentatively。 ？Yes？？
He slid off his stool and walked over to her table； leaving an empty glass tumbler behind on the
bar。 He held out his right hand。 ？I？m Owen Wells。？
？Hi！？ Blair jumped to her feet and took his hand； feeling pletely confused。 First of all； Owen
Wells was her father？s colleague； so he should have been old； badly dressed； balding； and fat。 Not
that her father was。 Her father worked out with a personal trainer every day； wore designe