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Jenny might have been inclined to see fashion as glamorous, but that was long ago. She was currently running on four hours of sleep in the last 50, her hair was oh so fashionably tied in a ponytail, and she was wearing a hoodie that she had borrowed from the last Columbia University J-School student/Felicity-wannabe/"activist" she had had the misfortune of dating. (But not the misfortune of sleeping with, that had been far from a mistake.) But in the resulting accusations of bourgeois taste and being part of the "patriarchal fashion-industrial complex", Jenny figured she was owed the hoodie. Johnny had approved of the break-up, he'd made Wicked Witch of the West jokes for weeks after the ex had packed up her laptop, her self-actualization center and stomped out the door.
She was sewing Imogen into the dress she would be wearing for the show's final exit when she hear a voice behind her. This wasn't Jenny's first show and she had, thank the fashion gods, gotten used to the cacophony that was Lincoln Center during New York Fashion Week. It wasn't until she felt a tap on her shoulder that she turned her head to see who was behind her-or at least what the person behind her was wearing: Michael Kors flats, Chloe blouse, Chanel skirt-definitely Upper East Side Princess. Her few dealings with clients made her thankful that she only had to deal with homesick Russian 15 year olds. Another tap on her shoulder and she turned around and looked straight up into the face of Blair Waldorf.
"There seems to be a problem with my seating. And Andrea is nowhere to be found. But, let me assure you, I do not sit in the second row."
Jenny would have politely directed anyone else to PR, seeing as she has both a job and a pretty hard deadline, but she snagged the first headset wearing PR clone she can find.
"Could you see that Miss Waldorf is seated in the front row? Call Andrea or Evelyn to confirm, but seat Miss Waldorf first, please."
Turning to Blair, Jenny continued, "It was nice to see you, Blair." She was absolutely not hurt that Blair hadn't recognized her as anything more than the help, a convenient body to do her bidding.
Jenny sighed and turned back to Imogen. Johnny, who was at the table hand beading, waggled his eyebrows at Jenny. Jenny was not going to let herself get so drunk tonight that she told Johnny the tale of her high school crush, no matter what story Johnny offered in exchange.
*
Jenny was sitting in Bottega's workroom, drinking espresso and watching Elena walk in a fourth outfit. When Meier nodded his approval at this outfit, one assistant printed out a digital Polaroid and another added Elena to the show's run list. Jenny & Elena were finally free to leave. They were dashing out the door for another fitting, when Elena literally ran into someone coming in the door. Elena's look book clunked to the floor and she turned a very deep shade of red.
"Sorry. Sorry. Very Sorry," Elena said, followed by a string of Russian that Jenny didn't even try to follow.
"It's okay. No worries," Blair Waldorf replied, and how many times was Jenny going to run into Blair?
"Jenny," Blair extended her hand and Jenny, mindful of her manners, took it.
"Thank you," Jenny said. "I don't remember you being particular sweet to teenage girls. So thanks, from me & Elena."
Blair waved her hand in the air, the universal UES sign of dismissal. "Times change. Speaking of times, I still owe you for backstage at Doo.Ri. Let me take you out to dinner to say thank you? How does tonight work?"
"Oh, I...I can't, Elena has a fitting. Another time?"
"Tomorrow then. Tell me where you live and my driver will pick you up at 9."
The next day was a light one for Elena, meaning that she was up at 5 am and they were finished by 7:30. By 7:45, Jenny had three different outfits spread out on the bed. She finally settled on the vintage YSL suit that made her feel tall, curvy and beautiful. It was her favorite date outfit, no matter how many times her roommate reminded her that wearing a suit on a date made her a walking lesbian cliche. Wait, did she just refer to dinner with Blair as a date?
"Dinner. Dinner," Jenny muttered to herself. "Just dinner. Not a date."
She wore the YSL anyway.
*
"I have a few select clients that I help prepare for events. Mother and Daddy never did give up on the importance of a work ethic, no matter how often I pointed out how bourgeois the whole thing is. I guess it couldn't help but sink in. I attend some shows, visit a few workrooms. All very low key." Blair explained over antipasti and wine so good Jenny would have been wiling to bathe in it.
"What about you?" Blair asked. "Right now I can only assume you've started seducing 15 year old models-which may be an unofficial fashion tradition but doesn't seem like a suitable activity for the idealistic Jennifer Humphrey that my mother still occasionally raves about."
Jenny made a sour face that she had learned to make only after several hours of mirror practice at the age of 15. She still referred to it as her "Blair face", but only to herself. The one time she had said it out loud, Dan had pounced like a big brother smelling weakness. "She's been our fit model for a couple of seasons. She's a nice kid and you know with that guy at Elite..." Jenny left the rest unsaid.
"Anyway, her parents couldn't come but didn't trust the agency to chaperone. So the label and the agency cut a deal and here I am."
"So still saving the world, or naive Russian teenagers at least." Blair arched her brow and leaned across the table, causing her printed Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress to gape. "I admire that. This business makes so many people so cynical."
Jenny may not have been the hippest lesbian in Manhattan but she was pretty sure that Blair was flirting with her. She brushed the toe of her pump against Blair's ankle, resulting in another arched brow. Yup, definitely flirting. Jenny was too old to freak out about her high school crush flirting with her. Totally too old. Before she had time to excuse herself to the ladies' and not freak out, her blackberry chimed. Jenny fished it out of her bag.
"Teenager emergency," Jenny said once she had checked her messages. "Can we do this again soon?"
"Are you at Missoni tomorrow? How about lunch at the place around the corner?"
That lunch proved to be just as fun as dinner had been. Jenny didn't have any privacy, sharing a room with two teenagers and she wasn't really allowed (or willing) to leave Elena alone. Mostly there was a lot of handholding, intense flirting and no kissing, Blair having declared public kissing "declasse". Jenny would have been less frustrated and more charmed if she wasn't looking at 10 days in Paris without any private Blair time.
The next to last day in Milan was hectic. Jenny left Elena backstage at Prada, in Pat & Guido's more than capable hands and went to have an early dinner with Blair. It was only 5 o'clock in Milan and they were the only people in the restaurant. Holding hands under the table, they ate gazpacho and talked about nothing much.
"I was thinking," Jenny said. "Do you want to have dinner when we get back to New York? Paris is going to be such a drag and I wasn't sure if you would want to..."
"I already had Doroda make reservations for the weekend after we arrive back. But there is something else I wanted to bring up."
Blair pulled a key out of her 2.55 purse and Jenny's stomach felt like it had when her Dad had told her that she was going to Constance Billard. Nervous and stunned. Jenny just sat there, not sure what her next move was going to be.
"We keep a suite at L'hotel Caron de Beaumarchais. Room for all three of us and my own personal driver so you wouldn't have to act as Elena's shadow. We could explore the city together."
Jenny felt a whoosh inside her head, like time was finally going in the right direction again. She had thought-but that as silly, obviously. It had only been a week.
"I don't know," Jenny said, "Ivanka offered me a the Ritz."
"The Ritz? Who the hell goes to the Ritz besides socialites with an overdeveloped sheep instinct. I swear, the last time I went there, the service was like McDonald's. What would even possess you to stay there, I just don't-"
"Blair," Jenny interrupted. Blair had a certain appeal when in rant mode but Jenny didn't feel like winding her up. "We'd love to stay with you."
*
Two days later, Paris was in full swing. Elena had three shows back to back, followed by an evening of fittings but with Amal driving, Jenny was free until that evening. Jenny hadn't seen Blair since that morning, Blair had actual work to do. Jenny, in contrast, had spent the day at the food markets: bread and cheese and wine on the table, a fruit salad chilling in the frig. She was so worried that she couldn't meet Blair's culinary expectations that she had almost called room service but she wanted to cook for Blair. Okay, so fruit salad wasn't exactly cooking but simple was a valid cooking choice. It was the thought that counted, her dad had always told her. Jenny heard the door open and hurried into the living room, grabbing Blair's hand and dragging her into the kitchen.
"We are going to have a nice dinner," Jenny said. "We are going to eat at the table like adults and enjoy our next five teenager-free hours. It will be very civilized. No one will be texting. We will not hear any tales of models late to shows or the barista who Elena makes googly eyes at every time we go for coffee. Adult time."
Jenny pulled a chair out for Blair and, hand on the small of Blair's back, led her to the table.
"You know," Jenny said, as she poured wine. "That skirt almost looks like Lacroix."
"It should look like Lacroix," Blair said. "Because it is."
"Lacroix? How long have you had it? It's gorgeous."
"Since fall. Christian and Mother are old friends. She worked for him before she opened her own label."
"New Lacroix?" Jenny walked to Blair's side of the table and pulled her up.
"I'm not sure you know," Blair grumbled, "but I could send you to social Siberia for this. I could make it so the only fashion industry job you ever get is in Provo, Utah."
Jenny laughed. "Take off your shoes and the jacket, so I can get a better sense of the skirt."
"You know that I am, in fact, not a mannequin? I'm a Waldorf. We do not model."
Jenny knelt down to take off Blair's shoes while Blair removed her jacket and folded it on the back of the chair. Kneeling by Blair, Jenny ran her hands over the skirt, checking the cut and the seams. She pulled Blair's blouse out of the skirt and ran her hands over the waistband, trailing her hand down Blair's bottom.
"I don't think I am getting the right sense of the skirt yet," Jenny said and moved her hand slowly up Blair's stomach, unbuttoning the buttons on Blair's blouse as her hand passed them. Blair's breath hitched when Jenny's hand skimmed over her breast. Pulling the shirt off, Jenny took a step back to take it all in.
"Much better. I can see it so much more clearly now," Jenny ran her hands over the skirt, sliding her hands from the sides of the skirt to the front and then up the back. Sitting down on Blair's vacated chair, she looked up. "I think I need to look at the skirt a little closer, what do you think?"
Blair bit her lip and nodded.
"Hmm," Jenny said. "I think I'll start with the seams. They tell so much." She slid off the chair onto the floor for a better angle. The dress didn't have any side seams, so she slid her hands up the inside of Blair's thighs, until she reached the waist seam inside the skirt. Placing her left hand underneath Blair's belly button, her left thumb rubbing up and down bunching the silk of Blair's underwear, while she ran her right hand between Blair's stomach and the skirt, feeling the stitches with the pad of her fingers.
"Okay," Blair said, trapping Jenny's hands and pushing the left one lower, "study time is over."