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clasp　or　the　fy　white　cotton　one　with　the　extrawide　straps？？　

？Just　hand　me　the　black　one；？　Jenny　mumbled；　reaching　behind　her　to　retrieve　the　bra。　She　
unhooked　the　ugly　beige　supersupportive　Bali　bra　she　was　wearing　and　let　it　fall　to　the　floor；　
fumbling　with　the　black　bra　while　trying　to　keep　the　insides　of　her　elbows　pressed　against　her　
ribcage　to　cover　herself。　The　straps　on　the　black　bra　were　shortened　all　the　way；　and　the　clasp　was　
a　strange　gold　metal　contraption　instead　of　the　normal　hook　and　eye。　Jenny　glanced　up　to　find　
Elise　watching　her　in　the　mirror。　The　dressing　room　had　mirrors　on　three　sides；　so　it　wasn？t　like　
Jenny　was　really　achieving　anything　by　turning　her　back。　

？Want　some　help？？　Elise　took　a　step　forward。　

Jenny？s　back　was　rigid。　She　could　pretty　much　forget　about　being　modest。　Elise　was　going　to　see　
her　boobs　no　matter　what。　She　let　her　arms　drop　and　turned　around；　full　frontal。　？Help　me　loosen　
the　straps？？　she　asked；　trying　to　sound　nonchalant。　She　handed　Elise　the　bra；　her　breasts　hanging　
in　front　of　her　like　fully　risen　loaves　of　sourdough　bread。　She　had　to　admit　it　felt　slightly　liberating。　
Slightly　liberating　and　totally　embarrassing。　

Elise　set　to　work　adjusting　the　bra；　not　even　trying　to　hide　the　fact　that　she　was　staring　at　Jenny？s　
boobs　at　the　same　time。　？Wow。　They　reallyare　big；？　she　observed。　？How　can　you　be　so　tiny　and　
have　such　big　bobos？？　

Jenny　put　her　hands　on　her　hips　and　stared　back　at　Elise；　trying　to　e　up　with　a　smart　retort；　
but　instead　she　burst　out　laughing。　？Bobos？？　she　giggled。　

Elise　blushed　and　handed　Jenny　back　the　bra。　？I？ve　always　called　them　that。　Ever　since　I　was　
little。？　

Jenny　slid　the　straps　over　her　arms　and　then　turned　around。　？Can　you　figure　out　the　clasp？？　Elise　


hooked　it　closed　and　Jenny　turned　around　again。　The　bra　had　great　support；　but　her　boobs　were　
pressed　so　close　together；　her　cleavage　was　a　mile　deep。　Elise　was　still　staring。　？Do　you　think　it？s　
too　slutty？？　Jenny　asked。　She　giggled。　？I　mean；　this　kind　of　makes　my　bobos　look　even　bigger。？　

Elise　had　stopped　blinking；　which　was　what　she　always　did　when　she　was　distracted。　？You　know　
when　you　asked　me　what　I　wrote　about　today　in　creative　writing？？　she　asked。　Jenny　nodded　and　
turned　around　so　Elise　could　unhook　the　bra。　？Well；　that？s　what　I　wrote　about。　Your　bobos。？　

Jenny？s　back　went　rigid　again。　If　a　guy　told　you　he？d　written　about　your　breasts；　you　pretty　
much　knew　he　was　either　hitting　on　you　or　he　was　a　pervert。　But　since　Elise　was　a　girl　and　her　
friend；　Jenny　wasn？t　sure　how　to　feel　about　it。　

？I　think　I？m　done；？　she　said　quickly。　She　picked　her　old　bra　up　off　the　floor　and　slipped　it　
on。　？I？m　going　to　buy　the　black　one。？　

They？d　brought　eight　bras　into　the　dressing　room　but　Jenny　had　only　tried　on　one。　？Are　you　sure　
you　don？t　want　to　try　some　of　the　others？？　Elise　asked。　

Jenny　pulled　on　her　T…shirt　and　tucked　her　sweater　under　her　arm。　The　tiny　dressing　room　
suddenly　felt　extremely　claustrophobic。　？Nah；？　she　answered；　yanking　aside　the　black　curtain　and　
stepping　back　into　the　main　room　of　the　lingerie　department；　which　of　course　was　wall…to…wall　
bras。　It　would　be　nice　to　go　someplace　where　breasts　weren？t　the　main　focus　of　everyone？s　
attention。　

　Like　another　planet？　

a　very　different　kind　of　homework　

？So　what　do　you　want　to　film　first？？　Daniel　Humphrey　asked　his　best　friend　and　girlfriend　of　six　
weeks；　Vanessa　Abrams。　Dan　attended　renowned　Upper　West　Side　boys　school　Riverside　Prep；　
while　Vanessa　attended　Constance　Billard；　but　they　had　gotten　permission　to　collaborate　on　a　
special　senior　project　calledMaking　Poetry　。　Vanessa；　a　budding　film　director；　was　going　to　film　
Dan；　a　budding　poet　and　occasional　star　of　Vanessa？s　films；　writing　and　revising　his　poems。　

Not　exactly　box…office…smash　material；　but　Dan　was　so　cute　in　a　scruffy；　rumpled；　
angst…ridden…artist　sort　of　way　that　people　would　probably　want　to　see　it　anyway。　

？Just　sit　down　at　your　desk　and　write　something　in　one　of　those　black　notebooks　like　you　always　
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