博炮作文网

第19部分（第3页）

Blair　stomped　into　her　bathroom　and　snatched　her　pink　satin

bathrobe　off　its　hook。　She　put　it　on；　cinching　the　belt　tight。　“Get　the

fuck　out　of　here；　Nate；”　she　said；　angry　tears　sluicing　her　cheeks。　“I

can’t　even　look　at　you。　You’re　pathetic。”

“Blair—”　Nate　pleaded。　For　a　split　second　he　tried　to　think　of

something　charming　to　say。　He　could　usually　think　of　something；

but　nothing　came。

Blair　slammed　the　bathroom　door　shut　in　his　face。

Nate　stood　up　and　pulled　on　his　boxers。　Kitty　Minky　poked　her　head

out　from　under　the　bed　and　stared　at　him　accusingly；　her　golden　cat

eyes　glowing　eerily　in　the　dark。　Nate　grabbed　his　jeans；　shirt；　and

shoes　and　headed　for　the　front　door。　He　could　hardly　wait　for　that

burrito。

The　front　door　closed　with　a　hollow　bang；　but　Blair　remained　locked

in　the　bathroom；　standing　in　front　of　the　mirror　glaring　at　her　tear…

stained　reflection。　The　tube　of　Serena’s　lip　gloss　was　still　lying　on

the　sink　where　she　had　left　it。　Blair　picked　it　up　with　trembling

fingers。　Gash；　it　was　called。　What　an　ugly　name。　Of　course　Serena

could　wear　lip　gloss　with　ugly　names；　and　tights　with　holes　in　them；

and　dirty　old　shoes；　and　never　cut　her　hair；　and　still　get　the　boy。

Blair　grunted　at　the　irony　of　it　all　and　opened　her　bathroom　window；

tossing　the　lip　gloss　out　into　the　night　and　waiting　to　hear　it　land　on

the　pavement　below。　But　she　couldn’t　hear　a　thing。

Her　head　was　too　full　of　the　new　movie　she　was　working　on。　The

movie　in　which　the　fabulous　Serena　van　der　Woodsen　was　run　over

by　a　bus　with　her　stupid　picture　plastered　to　the　side　of　it　and　was

horribly　maimed。　Her　old　friend　Blair　would　take　time　out　from　her

busy　life　with　her　doting　husband；　Nate；　to　feed　Elephant　Girl

Serena　mashed　pears　and　tell　her　all　about　the　parties　she　and　Nate

had　been　to。　Serena　would　grunt　and　fart　in　response；　but

charitable　Blair　wouldn’t　mind。　It　was　the　least　she　could　do。

Everyone　would　call　her　Saint　Blair；　and　she　would　win　awards　for

her　golden　heart。

Just　before　midnight；　the　taxi　pulled　up　at　994　Fifth　Avenue。　Across

the　street；　the　steps　of　the　Metropolitan　Museum　of　Art　were

deserted；　glowing　eerily　white　in　the　light　of　the　streetlamps。

Serena　stepped　out　of　the　cab　and　waved　to　Roland；　the　old　night

doorman；　who　was　dozing　just　inside　the　lobby。　The　door　to　the