well…stocked bar。 And there were so few girls in evidence？a couple stretched out on chaises near
the diving board and a trio of giggling girls attempting some kind of drinking game？that wherever
they congregated； a drooling group of boys was not far off。 Someone had rigged an iPod to the van
der Woodsens？ stereo system； and the insistent thrum of the new Arctic Monkeys album filled the
air。
？This is finally starting to feel like summer vacation。？ Blair slipped her feet out of her white
leather Prada flip…flops and propped them on the edge of the wrought…iron garden table。 She
swirled the ice in her Bloody Mary distractedly。
？Something like that。？ Serena leaned back in the unfortable chair and scanned the crowd that
had gathered； supposedly； for her birthday celebration。 The guys outnumbered the girls by a ratio
of about ten million to one； and though she recognized some of them？Erik？s old tennis teammates；
his roommate at Brown？she didn？t see many familiar faces in the crowd。 She might be the
birthday girl； but she wondered if anyone even knew who she was。
It？s her party and she？ll pout if she wants to。
？Shit。？ Blair tilted her head back and drained her glass。 ？I guess I was thirsty。You want another？？
Serena shook her head； almost spilling her untouched Cosmopolitan。 ？I？m good。？
？I？ll be right back。？
Serena watched from behind her enameled Selima aviators as Blair launched out of her seat and
padded toward the bar。 Erik was presiding over the bottles of booze lined up like toy soldiers on
the elaborate carved mahogany bar。 Nate was lingering on the fringes of the crowd； his hands
shoved deep in the pockets of his tattered khaki shorts。 Serena watched as he pretended not to see
Blair skipping through the crowd toward him。
Interesting。
She？d woken up this morning to the sound of Blair？s giggles； but when she？d asked what was
funny； Blair had sighed and said； ？Just Natie。？Natie？ Then； in the car； she kept glancing back at
them in the rearview mirror； but every time Blair was just staring placidly out the window； and
Nate was resting his eyes。 Nothing amiss。 So why did she feel so 。。。weird？
She raised her glass and swallowed a small sip of the tart cocktail； finally recognizing someone
in the crowd： a broad…chested； curly…brown…haired guy was seated at the edge of the pool； legs
dangling in the water。 His brown eyes had a familiar sparkle as he took in the scene around him；
drumming his long； tapered fingers on the neck of his beer bottle。 The tiniest suggestion of a grin
played on his full lips； and Serena knew that behind those lips were two rows of brilliant white
teeth。 She could picture his smile； she could practically hear the tremulous sound of his voice as
he whispered the words she？d run away from。 That was the last time she？d seen him； exactly one
year ago。
Henry was the bassist in Hanover？s jazz band。 He was tall and cute with dark curls that fell into
his eyes； and a mischievous smile。 Serena？s dorm room had been right under his； and late at night
she？d throw her textbooks at the ceiling； waiting for him to drop something loud and heavy on the
floor in response。 Sometimes？actually； a lot？they？d hang out on the roof and drink whiskey and
smoke cigars。 They？d been good friends； and then the year had ended and they？d wound up in
Ridgefield together？his family lived there year round； and she summered there。 The night before
her seventeenth birthday she and Henry had stayed up late； drinking and talking； and had wound
up on their backs on the tennis court； waiting for shooting stars； and eventually kissing。 Then；
Henry said it： ？I love you。？ Instead of saying it back； Serena fled into the house； booked a plane to
Paris to join her brother； Erik； in his travels； and never spoke to Henry again。 It wasn？t that she
didn？t like him。 Honestly； she did。 But love was unmistakable； and at that time； there was only one
boy she could ever truly love。Then； and maybe now； too 。 。 。
Serena tipped her glass back and gulped its contents； her hands shaking。Leave it to me to have a
nervous breakdown the night before my eighteenth birthday； she thought。
？Hey。 Remember me？？
Henry？s voice gave her a little start。 ？I was wondering when you were going to e over and
say hello。？ She pulled her knees up to her chest and smiled at him。
？I could say the same thing。？ The chair？s legs scraped noisily on the concrete as he pulled it out
and took a seat。 ？You look great。？
？Thank you。？ She smiled shyly； taking a sip of her drink。 She fumbled nervously for her
cigarettes； which were lying on the table near the trunk of the big umbrella。
Henry lit her shaking Gauloise and then helped himself to one from her stash。 Serena exhaled a
long plume of smoke； which danced away in the breeze。
？What happened to you； anyway？？ Henry smiled thought…fully； studying Serena？s face。 ？I
mean 。。。you justleft。 ？
Serena looked away。
？I e…mailed you a few times；？ Henry continued。 ？I never heard back from you。。。。 And when I
tried again； your school account had been closed。？
？I guess I needed to be alone for a little while to sort some things out。 And then I went back to
the city。？ She pulled a strand of hair out from behind her ear and played with it distractedly；
smiling sadly。 ？It？s a long story。？ One even she didn？t understand； and one she？d never told
anyone。 Is that a fact？
Serena stared over Henry？s shoulder at the crowd of revelers： some of them half…naked and
soaking up the sun； others dancing at speeds not altogether appropriate to the music。 And then
there was Blair； sipping yet another Bloody Mary and smiling up shyly at Nate； who gripped a
beer； grinning stupidly。 Serena glanced back at Henry。 It was like a time warp： Blair and Nate
pletely oblivious to her； and Henry staring devotedly at her from the other side of the table
like nothing had changed。
？This is my birthday party； you know；？ she said at last。
？You think I don？t know that？？ Henry reached over and grasped her hand with his slightly
callused musician？s fingers。 ？That？s why I came。 It？s our anniversary。？ Serena swallowed。
Happy birthday！
behind the scenes
？We？re inside the aviary now。？ Vanessa was practically shouting to be heard over the chirps and
cries of the brightly colored birds that were frantically swirling around the glass…enclosed room。
Vanessa held her camera steadily and spun around to get a plete 360…degree look at the
massive； plant…filled room。 Birds of every hue； from egg yolk yellow to Tiffany blue to Bloody
Mary scarlet； fluttered around on clipped wings； drifting from bough to bough in a pathetic
attempt at the flight they？d never again experience。
？I？m told that this is where Bailey Winter does most of his preliminary sketches；？ Vanessa
continued。 ？In fact； those who know his work well may recognize the colors from his most recent
couture collection。？ She trained the camera on a little bird chirping in the branches of a potted
banana plant。
The shot looked so alive？the colorful birds spinning and flitting all around the high…ceilinged
aviary； the sun spilling down in fat beams of light。 The position was flawless； symmetrical but
still dynamic。 She started mentally planning a whole series of documentaries on the creative
processes of different artists。 Maybe she？d do one on Dan and really capture the writer？s life。 And
one on Ken Mogul； to explore what it was like to be a world…famous filmmaker。
And a weirdo。
The glass…topped rattan table was scattered with sheets of scribbled…on paper； pencils； and
half…drained martini glasses。 Vanessa made her way over to the workstation and focused the shot
on some unfinished sketches。
？A few months from now these pencil sketches will have been transformed into chiffon and silk。？
Vanessa was trying her hardest to remember the names of fabrics she？d heard Blair mention
during their short stint as roommates。 ？Just think of it： right now these ideas are merely doodles；
but soon they may be walking down the red carpet at the Oscars。？
Vanessa adjusted the focus to capture the faint line drawings more clearly。
？And so we see now even more clearly how the designer Bailey Winter？s creative process works。
It begins with some…thing as simple as the color of plumage。 After some pencil sketches and a few
martinis 。 。 。？ She trailed off； because really； she had no idea how to describe dresses or fashion or
if chiffon was really the name of a fabric。 Maybe it was a dessert？ ？The only thing I cannot show
you is that which exists only inside the designer？s mind。 That？s the true creative process。？Or the
true drunken process。 She turned the camera on the army of not…quite…empty wineglasses。
？Oh。 My。 God。？
Vanessa whirled around； instinctively hiding the camera behind her back as she did。
Oops。
？Whatare you doing in here？？ Bailey slammed the glass door behind him to keep any of his
precious birds from escaping into the garden。？Vanessa；Vanessa；？he clucked；sounding exactly like
a chicken。 ？The aviary is strictly off…limits。 This is where I e to think and be inspired！ You？l