gossip girl 10 英文-第2部分

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easy；　sunny　life　that　was　right　here；　right　in　front　of　her？　Maybe　all　that　dark　thinking　wasn？t　
helping　anything？　

Vanessa　followed　the　boys　into　the　massive　kitchen；　where　Ms。　Morgan　was　checking　the　notes　
the　maid；　gardener；　and　pool　boy　had　left　behind。　Everything　was　so　。　。　。　taken　care　of。　Vanessa　
could　just　see　the　hot　summer　days　ahead　of　her：　ReadingThe　New　Yorker　poolside；　occasionally　
stopping　to　photograph　its　glistening　surface　in　black　and　white。　She？d　trot　inside　and　fix　herself　a　
smoked　gouda　sandwich　from　the　stocked　kitchen；　then　eat　it　while　wandering　the　perimeter　of　the　
well…manicured　property；　enjoying　the　peace　and　quiet。　

Home；　sweet　home。　

？Mommmmmeeeeee；　we？re　hunnnnggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry；？　Edgar　whined；　snapping　Vanessa　out　
of　her　reverie。　Oh　right；them。　

？Vanessa　will　fix　you　something。？　Ms。　Morgan　smiled　and　patted　his　head；　without　bothering　to　
glance　at　her。　

？Right。　Sure。？　Vanessa　set　down　her　black　army…navy　duffel　bag　on　the　polished　blond…wood　
floor　and　opened　the　heavy　stainless…steel　fridge。　Inside　were　piles　of　fresh　produce；　containers　of　
orzo　salad；　and　curried　salmon　filets　garnished　with　yellow　currants。　Where　were　the　cold　leftover　
chicken　nuggets；　or　at　least　the　PB　and　J？　

Behind　her；　Edgar　and　Nils　began　a　wrestling　match　in　the　middle　of　the　floor。　Vanessa　usually　
let　them　do　this；　hoping　they　would　tire　themselves　out　like　the　puppies　she？d　once　filmed　at　the　
Union　Square　dog　run。　She？d　been　hoping　to　catch　a　dogfight　or　see　one　of　those　rat…eating　hawks　
the　city　had　released　swoop　down　to　pick　up　a　Chihuahua；　but　had　been　forced　to　settle　for　puggle　
playtime　instead。　She　figured　that　eventually　the　boys　would　flop　onto　their　backs　like　the　dogs；　
their　tongues　hanging　out　to　the　side；　panting。　

？Boys！？　Ms。　Morgan　barked；　and　then　smoothed　her　knife…pleated　khakis。　Her　ivory　tank　top　
was　trimmed　with　a　thick　brown　satin　sash。　Looking　at　her　weirdly　taut　face　and　defined　
cheekbones；　it　was　hard　to　tell　if　she　was　thirty…two　or　fifty…five。　？You　can　head　upstairs　to　get　
ready　for　dinner。？　

She　turned　back　to　Vanessa；　the　wooden　heels　of　her　huarache　sandal　wedges　clacking　on　the　
floor。　？Vanessa；　we？ll　be　having　the　salmon　filets；　and　if　you　could　just　throw　together　a　little　
fresh　salad；　maybe　a　dill…yogurt　sauce　for　the　fish？　That　would　be　lovely。？　

Wait。　Throw　together？　What　did　Vanessa　look　like；　the　。　。　。　the　。。。　


Help？Oh。　Right。　Except　she？d　never　cooked　anything　but　boiled　ziti　with　jarred　Ragu　in　her　life。　

？You　got　it；？　Vanessa　told　her　as　she　started　searching　for　dill　in　the　produce　drawer。　Upstairs　she　
could　hear　the　boys　making　explosion　noises　and　then　screaming。　She　turned　around　to　hold　up　a　
pile　of　leafy　herbs？was　this　dill？　cilantro？　crab…fucking…grass？？when　she　was　met　with　a　
frightening　sight。　

Ms。　Morgan？s　pale；　skinny；　dimpled　ass。　Oh。　My。　God。　Vanessa　quickly　swiveled　around　again。　
Even　with　the　refrigerated　air　hitting　her　in　the　face；　she　could　feel　her　cheeks　burning。　Loudly　
clearing　her　throat？had　Ms。　Morgan　just　forgotten　she　was　there　or　what？？she　turned　back；　
holding　the　herbs　directly　in　front　of　her　face。　

She　peeked　out　from　behind　the　greens　only　to　see　her　employer；　arms　akimbo；　standing　in　only　
her　wooden　huarache　sandals；　a　sheer　applered　thong；　and　a　lacy　black　bra。　

？Something　wrong？？　she　asked。　

？Um；　no；　of　course　not。？　Vanessa　began　a　sudden；　uncharacteristic　cuticle　examination。　Her　
hands　sure　were　rough！　But　she　couldn？t　help　sneaking　a　sidelong　glance　as　Ms。　Morgan；　
liberated　woman　of　the　twenty…first　century；　tugged　off　her　bra　and　let　it　fall；　oh…so…casually；　onto　
the　arm　of　a　kitchen　chair。　

Vanessa　willed　herself　to　look　her　boss　in　the　face。　？Um；　could　you　excuse　me　for　a　second？　I？d　
like　to　put　my　things　in　my　room。？　Shehad　to　get　out　of　there。　

？Top　of　the　third　staircase。？　Ms。　Morgan　started　rooting　around　in　her　monogrammed　canvas　
boat　bag；　presumably　for　something　to　wear。　

Let？s　hope　so！　

Vanessa　threw　her　army…navy…store　duffel　over　her　shoulder　and　took　the　wide　wooden　staircase　
two　steps　at　a　time。　She　tried　to　shake　the　image　of　Ms。　Morgan？s　thong　from　her　mind。　Who　even　
wore　thongs；　besides　overeager　thirteen…year…olds　who　liked　them　peeking　out　above　their　low…rise　
jeans？

　Tres　pass？。　

And　whatever　happened　to　boundaries？　It　was　as　if　Vanessa　were　the　family　cat；　not　an　actual　
human　being。　She　needed　to　be　back　in　the　real　world；　among　people　who　respected　her　and　
didn？t　just　act　like　she　was　a　piece　of　furniture。　She？d　been　in　the　picture…perfect　Hamptons　for　no　
more　than　fifteen　minutes；　and　she　was　already　ready　to　leave。　

Arriving　at　the　third　set　of　stairs；　Vanessa　climbed　toward　her　attic　suite。　At　least　she？d　have　


some　privacy　and　maybe　even　a　little　luxury　up　here；　right？　She　reached　the　top　step；　and　glanced　
around；　looking　for　a　door　she　could　shut。　But　no；　the　stairs　went　straight　into　the　attic…room；　
where　the　pitched　ceiling　was　so　low；　she　had　to　duck　to　step　inside。　What。The。　Fuck。　

Taking　heaving；　pseudocalming　breaths；　she　walked　straight　down　the　middle　of　the　hot；　stuffy　
room？the　only　possible　route　she　could　take　without　ducking。　She　dropped　her　bag　on　the　floor　
and　tried　to　push　the　one　small　window　open。　Stuck。　More　than　stuck。Painted　shut。　Shit；　shit；　shit。　

Vanessa　stripped　off　her　suddenly　sweaty　faded　black　T…shirt　and　unzipped　her　duffel。　She　
pushed　aside　her　hair　trimmers　and　the　yellow…and…black　bumble…bee…striped　one…piece　bathing　
suit　that　she？d　swiped　from　Jenny？s　underwear　drawer；　looking　for　her　black　ribbed　cotton　tank　
top。　

？Great；　you　found　it。？　

She　turned　to　see　Ms。　Morgan；　now　thankfully　wearing　a　white　sundress；　standing　at　the　top　of　
the　attic　stairs。　Good；　she　was　dressed。Vanessa；　unfortunately；　was　not。　

This　wasn？t　quite　the　hot　summer　she？d　had　in　mind。　

？　

Air　Mail　…　Par　Avion　…　July　10　

　Hey　Dan！　

How？s　everything　going　in　the　city？　I　loooooove　Prague。　I？ve　been　spending　my　afternoons　at　
little　outdoor　caf？s；　pretending　to　sketch　but　really　checking　out　all　the　European　boys？I　mean　
sights！　（There？s　no　harm　in　looking；　right？）　So　really　the　only　thing　I　miss　is　you　and　Dad。　Please　
write　back。　Don？t　worry；　you　don？t　have　to　send　a　novel；　just　a　few　lines。　Knowing　you；　you？ll　
probably　send　a　haiku。　

　Love　you！　

　Jenny　

reading　is　fundamental　


Taking　the　rickety　Strand　steps　two　at　a　time；　Dan　made　it　from　the　main　floor　to　the　
basement…level　employee　lounge　in　about　thirty　seconds；　by　far　a　personal　best。　He？d　been　pretty　
down　ever　since　last　night；　when　he？d　e　home　from　reading　the　salon　member　e…mails　with　
Greg　to　find　a　yellow　Post…it　note　on　the　refrigerator　addressed　to　both　him　and　Rufus。　It　was　
written　in　Vanessa？s　weirdly　boyish　handwriting：Off　to　the　Hamptons　for　work。　Will　e…mail　with　
details。　Left　half　a　turkey　sandwich　in　fridge。　？V　Dan　had　opened　up　the　fridge　to　find　the　
sandwich　with　another　Post…it　stuck　to　it。　It　said　simply：Eat　me。　He　couldn？t　believe　she　was　
just　。　。　。　gone。　

He？d　thrown　himself　into　work　all　day；　trying　to　keep　his　mind　off　of　her；　which　had　suddenly　
pletely　paid　off　while　he　was　shelving　outdated　biographies。　The　empty　feeling　inside　of　him　
had　instantly　filled　with　excitement。　And　hehad　to　share。　

Dan　shoved　the　door　marked　PRIVATE　open　with　his　shoulder；　crying　out　at　the　top　of　his　
lungs；　？Greg？　You　in　here？？　

Of　course　it　was　totally　unnecessary　to　shout；　since　the　room　was　about　the　size　of　an　elevator。　
Greg　was　inside；　digging　in　his　cruddy　locker。　

？What？s　up？？　Greg　looked　a　little　startled　but　smiled　broadly；　pushing　his　tortoiseshell　frames　
back　up　his　long；　slender　nose。　He　slammed　the　vomit…green　locker　door　shut。　？What？s　going　on？　
I？m　just　knocking　off　for　the　day。？　

？You？re　never　going　to　believe　what　I　found。？　Dan　bran…dished　a　tiny；　tattered　chocolate　brown　
hardback。　？The　second　I　saw　it；　I　grabbed　it　off　the　shelf　and　ran　down　here。？　Technically；　
employees　weren？t　supposed　to　leave　the　floor　when　they　were　on　a　shift？there　wasn？t　even　an　
only…in…an…emergency　clause？but　Dan　had　always　lived　by　the　rule　that　rules　were　made　to　be　
broken。　

？What　is　it？？　Greg　asked　excitedly；　stepping　over　the　low；　wooden　bench　that　was　screwed　to　the　
floor。　

？Ta…da！？　Dan　waved　the　book　in　the　air　above　his　head。　？Just　guess；　first。Take　a　guess；　please。？　

？I　can？t！？　Greg　reached　out　playfully　and　tried　to　grab　the　book　from　him。　

？No　you　don？t。？　Dan　tucked　the　volume　behind　his　back。　

Greg　reached　around　him；　still　trying　for　the　book。　？Let　me　see；　e　on。？　

Dan　brought　the　book　in　front　of　him；　holding　it　faceup　on　his　palms。　？I　hold　in　my　hand　an　
out…of…print　masterpiece　。　。　。　by　one　of　the　most　important　midcentury　American　novelists　。　。　。　
published　by　a　seminal　San　Francisco　publishing　house　。。。in　1952。。。。？　


？Shut。？　Greg　sat　down　on　the　bench；　as　though　he　might　faint。　？Up。？　

？I？m　serious；？　Dan　confirmed。　？The　Poet？s　Wake！By　Sherman　fucking　Anderson　fucking　
Hartman。？　

？That？s；　like；　the　Holy　Grail　or　something；？　Greg　muttered　in　awe。　？Can　I　see　it？？　he　asked；　his　
voice　wavering。　

？Just　be　careful。　Some　of　the　pages　are　pretty　moth…eaten；　which　is　really　tragic；　but　I　guess　we　
can？t　plain；　I　mean；　given　how　hard　it　is　to　find　a　copy　of　this　anywhere。　I？ve　heard　stories　
about　people　unearthing　them　in　old　used　bookshops　in　Midwest　college　towns；　but　right　here　in　
New　York　City？　What　are　the　odds？？　

Greg　placed　his　hands　over　Dan？s；　enveloping　both　Dan？s　fingers　and　the　book　within　his　grasp。

　Hey；　grabby。　

？I？ve　got　a　better　idea　actually；　Dan；？　Greg　whispered　seriously；　knitting　together　his　fine；　blond　
eyebrows。　？Why　don？t　you　read　me　a　passage？？　

Dan　shrugged。　Hedid　have　a　pretty　good　reading　voice。　He　glanced　at　his　watch。　He　was　
supposed　to　be　upstairs；　shelving　books；　but　no　one　ever　came　into　the　employee　lounge？he　could　
afford　to　spend　a　few　minutes。　Besides；　some　things　were　just　more　important　than　work。　

Clearing　his　throat；　Dan　flipped　through　the　book　to　a　random　point　and　then　began　reading：　

？Emily　arrived　some　ti