[4] Clubbing
The offer was sweet, almost, Blair mused, tilting her head and examining the sparkle of her earring in the mirror. Worry contorted Serena’s face into such charming expressions, so self-righteous and knowing. The way she dropped her gaze, then lifted her eyes as she half-pleaded for her best friend to come out to some new club-so perfectly forming the picture of innocence as she invited her to a night of unabashed fun. A ‘girls night out,’ she’d termed it, smiling slightly to indicate the retro/ironic feelings she had about the whole thing.
Blair ripped the bauble from her earlobe, tossing it across her vanity as she slumped forward. She was nobody’s fucking puppet; she held the strings, made everyone dance. Some pathetic, nobody teacher with a lofty mouth and a dirty mind had managed to mar the pages of her glittering résumé. Carter had left without a backward glace-not like he’d meant anything to her either, but apparently she’d filled his quota even as he left her plans hanging.
And now, Serena thought she could solve Blair’s wild-child streak with a night of dancing on tables at some too-loud strobe light dance paradise. Probably while the ex-Page Six poster-child monitored her alcohol intake.
“Retro/ironic, indeed,” Blair murmured, stripping the stockings and garters off before crossing her room to examine her closet. Serena thought Blair was falling apart, unconsciously spinning out of control and taking her future down in pieces with her.
Blair smiled thinly, pulling a pale pink dress down off a hanger and throwing it on the floor. Serena should know by now, she thought, Blair Waldorf does nothing without a strategy and an endgame. Her future? Screw that-she was destroying her past, incinerating that pretty, pretty princess with her Yale acceptance and her high society manners.
She found what she was looking for on a back shelf, tucked behind a stack of hatboxes. Blair hadn’t even needed to do research-she knew what those insipid party girls wore.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
“Jesus, Blair, we aren’t even there yet,” Serena said, looking critically at the half-empty glass in the brunette’s hand.
“It’s a limo, S, it comes with a mini bar for a reason,” Blair noted, rolling her eyes before glancing at the invitation in her lap and restraining the urge to gag. The paper was black with silver lettering (so high school prom), and the club’s name was a single word printed in lowercase, ‘inhibition’ (they knew that’s what you were supposed to lose, right?). And if the invite didn’t scream ‘city kid’ enough, the plus-one was a literal plus-one-the numeral attached to the thick paper via a small chain.
“Their publicist should be fired,” came to her mind, but her mouth said, “Hope the bartender’s good-looking.”
The metallic front, with its minimalist décor and too-large bouncers made her laugh-people were actually lined up to come pay for overpriced drinks here? Serena strode to the door like a professional, barely stopping to confirm that, yes, she was on the list. Blair followed suit, waving the glorified keychain with a sardonic smile.
The music hit her like a tidal wave, today’s hits remixed and remastered to fit a pulsating beat that would never allow you to break rhythm. Serena took her hand, leading her to the VIP section, tugging her through a mass of sweaty bodies and neon-colored drinks.
Weirdly, she wasn’t even disgusted, she was fascinated.
The VIP lounge, as it was, overlooked the dance floor and stage. Various pseudo-celebrities and uber-wealthy Manhattanites sat sprawled out on wide, comfortable couches. Serena dropped her hand, and Blair headed for the bar, leaving the blonde shaking her head by the railing as she pulled out her phone to make a call.
xoxoxoxoxo
An hour and a half later, Blair felt really good about her decision to incinerate her past. Everyone was so nice. Boys kept telling her she was so beautiful, could they not buy her a drink?
“I already know that I’m beautiful,” she informed them, conspiratorially, “but, yes, you may.”
She flopped down next to Serena, leaning over into her friend’s personal space. Crossing her legs, she decided to share her latest series of revelations.
“Getting up on the bar is so exhilarating! Why did I think this was so ridiculously juvenile? I love this drink, it tastes like peaches. Taste it, S. Aren’t you having fun?”
“I’m fine, B, thanks. Maybe you’re fine too, for a little while.”
“Nuh-uh, I have to be good at this, like you used to be. And you wouldn’t have stopped then, would you?” Blair intoned, sing-song. She wasn’t even that drunk; she didn’t know why she was acting this way-it was like the alcohol, the music, the attention, and her newfound nonchalance had made her giddy, almost high.
She stood, spinning around and swaying in time with the pounding of the speakers. A boy, one of the cute ones that she’d let buy her a drink, lead her down the stairs to the dance floor. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her close. She twisted in his arms, running her fingers over his chest, down his back, tracing circles and swirls in the fabric of his shirt. Blair smiled, a genuine grin. This could be habit-forming, she noted, pleased she was actually enjoying being New Blair.
The song ended, and she mock-pouted as she strode back to the bar, stumbling slightly. Her dance partner reached for her, pulling back as another pair of hands caught her, steadying her as a very familiar cologne filled her nose.
“Chuck,” she spat, stepping away from him and sliding her hands into her pockets as she leaned against a barstool. She knew how she looked-untamed, with her long hair tumbling into waves, her skin shiny with sweat, and her cheeks flushed from her dance floor activities. Costume-chain necklaces accessorizing a thin, white tank top-but her black cigarette jeans, those were her ace in the hole. She’d bought them for the Hepburn association, of course, but never found an occasion suitable to wear them. Blair knew that this was how she’d looked at Victrola that night, free and gorgeous. She hadn’t really understood it then, but she did now. She was captivating, sexy-mesmerizing, even.
At the moment, he didn’t look as mesmerized as she wanted him to be.
“Blair, what the Hell are you doing?” he said, sounding annoyed.
“I’m having fun. And I didn’t ask you to come, so don’t yell at me like I dragged you here,” Blair shifted her gaze from his face, looking over his shoulder to find Serena, “I believe you can save that for my bitch of a best friend.”
“I’m sorry, Chuck, I thought I could control this, but I couldn’t,” Serena said, sliding up next to Chuck and turning concerned eyes on Blair.
“Thanks for the heads-up, I’ve got it from here, sis.”
To Blair’s astonishment, Serena nodded and moved to go, tossing her purse over her shoulder.
“You’re just going to leave me here?” Blair yelled after her, “With him?”
Serena turned back, striding back to her and briefly hugging her close. “You’ll be fine, B, and you know it.”
Blair stared after her as she left, reluctantly turning back to Chuck and glaring at him expectantly.
“You know, you look incredibly hot when you’re upset with me.”
“Then I must be about to burn down the building. Why are you here, Bass?”
“To find you, of course. Why are you here?”
He stepped forward when she slid onto a stool, putting his hand on her back as if to keep her from falling. She flinched under his touch, standing abruptly and picking up her own bag. He stepped back, pain and irritation dancing across his features.
“Where are you going, Blair?”
“Out. Home. Away from you,” she stalked through the club, sheer determination keeping her upright as she balanced precariously on her stiletto heels. He followed her, she could feel him behind her as she exited the club and headed down the sidewalk.
“Blair, come on,” Chuck called after her, “Serena took whatever limo you came in, I’m sure.”
“Then I’ll take a cab!” she yelled, not slowing her pace.
She was trembling, half from the cold, half from fury. The alcohol she’d consumed was making her stomach roll and her head hurt-she barely had time to panic when Chuck grabbed her arm, halting her in mid-stride. He shoved her against the club’s brick side wall, imprisoning her in his arms.
“Stop it! Stop it, I hate you!” Blair shoved him, becoming angrier when he didn’t move. Clenching her hands into fists, she beat his chest, “Nothing’s going right, and I don’t want you here!”
She was crying, her palms flattening against him as he leaned into her, kissing her forehead.
“I know, I know,” he whispered, “But I’m here anyway.”
Shrugging off his coat, he wrapped it gently around her shoulders, treating her like something precious. Blair brought a hand to her mouth, biting back a sob.
Chuck sighed, looking down the street for a long moment, then back at her face.
“Let me take you home, Blair, please.”
She nodded wordlessly, not resisting as he took her free hand.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Hmmm...how shall I tease you? Should I tell you that part five might possibly begin where this leaves off? Whoops, did I just do that?
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