THE HOTEL OSGOOD
--
DAN'S FINGERS WERE ITCHING to make contact with skin - her skin, to be specific. The soft, oh-so-touchable, creamy skin of his unnamed angel. She was smirking in her special way and her hair was slowly but surely falling out of that butterfly clip. When he was caught staring, she tucked a sculpted dark curl behind her ear, diamond stud on show, and smiled, teeth hidden behind pursed lips.
It was almost like a scene from an old, black-and-white film. One of the better, lower-budget Bond movies, perhaps? Dan straightened his navy tie with shaking fingers. Breathe deeply. Where was that calm, smooth-talking politician the public assumed Dan to be? The second he stepped through the heavy glass revolving doors, a thick pair of tinted sunglasses adorned Dan's boyishly handsome face. They rivaled Blair's - his mystery woman's - in size. Large, round, and with a subtle gold tint to them, they belonged on an episode of CSI: Miami rather than the bizarre crossover between West Wing and The Office that was Dan's life.
Suddenly propelled to move forward, Dan took strode forward. He tried to imagine he was a character in a novel - like the one he always imagined writing but never got around to doing. He walked up to the long mahogany desk, with several beaming, long-haired females milling about behind, and drummed his long fingers against the hard wood. Seeing his own hands, he became aware of the fact that he should clip his nails soon. It was kind of poetic, really. High School Dan would've dug through his corduroy pockets for a Moleskin notebook, jotting something down about sharp nails bite through her flesh or endlessly long; cannot be -
"Hello, sir. Welcome to The Hotel Osgood." One of the woman he'd seen earlier smiled graciously up at him. She was quite short - shorter than his mystery girl. Currently, the brunette beauty was smiling becomingly and running her fingers up and down his lower back. It was torturous.
"Hi." Almost nervously, Dan leaned forward on the desk. The sleeves of his suit - Armani, hand-picked by his "image consultant" - rode up slightly, exposing pale skin that just screeched for an impromptu trip to Cabo. "Are there any rooms available?"
Immediately, the employee's smile drifted into an apologetic grimace. "I'm sorry, but we're all full at the moment. Would you like to-"
"Excuse me." The Waldorf girl, Audrey's sister, stepped up to bat. Her eyes were aglow with something dangerous, her jaw set in determination. "I'd like to check into the Waldorf personal suite."
Wow. She had her own suite here? He'd been trying to be suave and Bond-sy. The Osgood was well-known in Washington - and not for being a cheap place to stay on the dime.
"I'll need to see some-"
"Photo ID?" Blair grinned. From her over-the-shoulder bag, she casually slid her driver's licence to the woman. Along with a crisply folded fifty. Dan took a moment to learn all he could about this mystery girl. Blair Cornelia Waldorf, was her name. It was a New Yorker's license. Her home address was in the 10021 area code. She was - oh, God. Nineteen years of age. Only nine years younger than him. That wasn't...too bad, was it?
The woman's hooded green eyes lit up. "Welcome to the Osgood, Ms. Waldorf." She paused, looking at Blair like she was the Queen of England. "Enjoy your stay."
"Thanks," she replied politely. Standing on her tip-toes, she whispered something into Dan's ear that made him stand absolutely still: "I'm sure I will."
--
See that photo up there? I'm assuming you know that's my main man D, the only one who can make "off-shore drilling" and "health care" sound downright sexy. But who's that flirtatious brunette? Any scoop, lovely readers? I've never seen a man look so good in custom-tailored Armani, have you? 'Course you haven't. Unless you've seen him blushing bashfully, with a woman on his arm, like I have. They make a gorgeeouuuuss couple. If only said girl's name started with the letter V...
You know you love me.
XOXO,
Gossip Girl.
--
IT SEEMED THAT A LOT OF HANKY-PANKY was going on that day. And not just where Dan and Blair were concerned. When Dan arrived at the small but lavish two-storey he shared with Vanessa, tired from much more than just work, he found himself looking at Vanessa's scantily-clad self sitting on someone's lap.
To be more exact, she was sitting on the lap of the senator of Arizona. He was old. Really, really old.
Vanessa wasn't wearing a pale pink set of lace underwear like his mystery Waldorf had been. Rather, she was in a black ribbed tank top and boyshort-style panties that looked more K-Mart than Stella McCartney. Vanessa's dark curly hair stuck to the back of her neck. Dan only got to see the back-view of her from where he was standing, at the threshold of the house.
"Oh." Vanessa's voice cracked slightly on the word, but she didn't begin to apologize profusely or try to cover her senator "friend," with one of the Home is Where the Heart Is(n't) pillows scattered about the den. "You're home," she intoned flatly. Her long, tanned, and curvy legs extended to their full length and pushed her off the loveseat. She half-heartedly threw a plaid blanket at the Arizonian. He seemed nervous, bashful even.
"That I am..." Dan's voice trailed off. He rubbed the back of his neck. This was an unexpected occurrence. His relationship with Vanessa was strained at best. Prior to his encounter with Blair, he had been nothing but faithful, even in thoughts. He was no idiot. He knew that if his lips had happened to come crashing down on Penelope's when they were speed-walking down some sacred hallway, she wouldn't hesitate to match him in passion and force.
And, yet, he'd silently said no to the pleading, begging, hoping, wishing look in her dark eyes. As for Blair's? He hadn't been able to refuse her quite so easily.
"Well," sighed the senator, raising his greying eyebrows, "this is a less than ideal situation."
"Less than ideal," Dan repeated, his voice a wry deadpan. He really shouldn't be joking like this. What else was there to do, though, really? Scream and call the only girl he'd ever been with - well, yesterday she'd been the only girl - a whore? It seemed hypocritical, judging by the extracurricular activities he'd just engaged in with a sultry brunette.
By now, Vanessa's tanned shoulders have been concealed by an old Columbia sweater of Dan's. It's ill-fitting and even though the fabric is thick, Dan swore he could see her shivering. Her bare feet tapped a rhythm only she understood on the hardwood floor of the house. "Dan," she said, because there was nothing else to say.
He nodded, avoiding eye contact with her because - Lord only knows - a man can lost so very easily in her true-blue eyes. "I think... Ness, we- I..."
She swiped away a dark curl. "I know."
"You do?" Vanessa had always understood him. From preschool to college, words were unnecessary and only used in the presence of others. When they were alone, their eyes and fingers and, yes, occasionally lips did all the talking.
"We're done," she confirmed. "Now get out of this house."
--
"HIYA, BLAIRKINS!" Audrey Waldorf, twenty-three, trilled into her baby sister's voice mail. "I'm at the Yale campus," she said, strolling past a coffee cart. An "Oooh," escaped her mouth when she sighted her numero uno addiction: white chocolate mocha lattes. "Where are you, girlie? I just checked your dorm, it's like empty. In fact, the whole place is pretty much empty... Wait! It's Spring Break, isn't it? Ugh. No fair. You're probably 'chillin' in Cabo' while I'm stuck at the hospital, interning, and planning my wedding ALONE, without the help of my-" Beep.
Audrey pulled her BlackBerry away from her ear, squinting at the screen. Sighing, she turned it off and stuffed it back in her Chanel chain-strap purse. Where oh where can my sis-ter be?