Will Not Remember, Cannot Forget

When her cell rings, Georgina grins. She doesn’t even need to remove the cold compress from her eyes to know it is him.

“Hello again Chucky” she purrs in satisfaction as she answers the phone.

“You’re a liar” he says bluntly. His voice is flat, unemotional, detached.

“Yes, yes I am,” she acquiesces. “But the question is was I lying about everything?”

He’s silent on the other end of the line deliberating. She takes advantage of the momentary lull to sit up on the bed, the gel pack falling into her lap. She gingerly touches her face and hopes that enough time has passed for the cooling mask to have worked its magic. Crying for Serena’s benefit had definitely taken its toll, and there is no way she is going to be seen in public with puffy eyes.

“It can’t be true,” Chuck says finally. “You’re too young.” The uncertainty in his voice is evident even though he is attempting to sound confident.

So cute.

“I know you’re a kid, but if a girl has her period, she can get pregnant. That’s kind of the way it works.”

Over the phone, she hears him grind his teeth. She can practically see how his jaw must be tensing. It delights her as she slides off the bed and pads to the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, she smiles in approval. Most of the swelling around her eyes has subsided. Nothing remains that some expertly applied foundation won’t conceal. Excellent. She needs to look stunning tonight.

“I know that,” he sneers at last. “But why should I believe you? If you are pregnant, and that’s a big if, how do I even know it’s mine?”

“You don’t,” she whispers. Then abruptly, she hangs up on him. She imagines the look of astonished fury on his face when he hears the dial tone. Turning to see her profile in the mirror, she smirks when her phone rings sharply once again.

“You bitch!” he yells as she answers.

“Now is that any way to talk to the woman carrying your child?” she laughs. The malice in his voice, that first stab at cruelty is just too adorable.

“You know what I think? This is just another one of your sick demented little games! So guess what? Fuck you! I’m done!”

“Don’t with F with an F-er, Chucky dear,” she threatens icily, all traces of amusement gone. “Try it, and I guarantee that you will become the pariah of the Upper East Side. I’ll be forced to tell everyone what you did.”

“What I did?!?” he snaps in unrestrained rage.

“Yes,” she gloats. “All the sordid details.”

“They’ll never believe you.”

“Pobrecito,” she coos mockingly, “you still don’t get who you are dealing with, do you?” Then, in a faultless imitation of weeping, she continues. “I’ll let everyone know how you got me drunk, took advantage of me. How horrible it was. How I cried, begged for you to stop.” With one last timorous sniffle, she drops the pretense of tears. “Everyone will believe it. Serena’s already proven that.”

“You fucking whore,” he grinds out slowly. His breaths are harsh rasps in the phone.

“Language, Charles,” Georgina tauntingly scolds. “It’s not wise to upset me. It isn’t good for the baby.”

“What do you want from me?” His tone is dark, dangerous, barely controlled.

Wonderful.

With a playful lick of her lips, she announces, “Tonight. Butter.”

“What?” he spits.

She presses her lips together in annoyance. Seriously, she’s tempted to think the boy grew up in Brooklyn rather than the Upper East Side.

“Butter, the restaurant,” she explains condescendingly. “Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.” With an irritated flick of her wrist, she snaps her phone closed before he can respond.

Of course, he calls back almost immediately. She ignores it. He’ll be there. Of that, she is certain. Now she just needs to prepare. Everything must be perfect. She’s spent too much time planning this scheme for it to be foiled now.

Drumming her hands upon her concave stomach, she examines the dresses she’d hung earlier in the bathroom. She fingers the black vintage Chanel fondly. She loves the way it dips low in the back and emphasizes her slender frame. However, it is just not right for this evening. No, the Stella McCartney slip dress is a much better choice. It captures the spirit of adolescence. She knows how demure it makes her appear, how sweet. She can stand it because the short length does showcase her coltish legs nicely. Unfortunately, that’ll be her only concession to sexiness this night. But the color of the dress is perfect, a beautiful pale pink with minute yellow flowers. Knowing Chuck, he’ll most likely wear something pink as well. They’ll match then. They might as well, since the evening is sure to be documented.

Georgina has taken great pains not to be seen for the past month, not to be photographed. Religiously, she’s checked the rumors online and there is no mention of her beyond a few blurbs theorizing on where she’s been. Excellent. Tonight, her debut back into society will not go unnoticed, and there Chuck Bass will be at her side.

Sweeping her locks back from her face, she considers putting her hair up. She frowns and lets the brown tresses fall back around her shoulders. The effect is softer. Definitely down. Combined with the dress, she’ll look exactly like what she is not, a young girl caught in the first rush of love.

Nauseating, but necessary.

Glancing at the time on her phone, she walks back into the bedroom and grabs her purse. There isn’t much time left to get dressed, and she needs a pick me up. Pretending to be a whining invalid all afternoon has left her exhausted. She fishes around in the bottom and then pulls out a tiny plastic bag from its hiding place. Smiling at the baggie of instant energy, she tucks it into her bra in case Serena returns unexpectedly. She isn’t ready to be exposed to this quite yet, and it wouldn’t do for her to catch on early.

Back in the bathroom, with the door securely locked, Georgina shakes a small amount of the white power upon the marble countertop. As she scrapes it into a precise line, she runs over tonight’s agenda in her mind.

Chuck’s age really is the biggest obstacle. She will need to counteract that impediment somehow. Stress his good qualities, emphasize his connections. Make him seem like someone they need to know. That shouldn’t take too much effort, she thinks with a grin. He is the sole heir of Bass Industries, after all.

With practiced ease, she bends over the counter and snorts. Instantly, she feels that rush of adrenaline.

Better than coffee.

Picking up her phone, she dials rapidly, waits impatiently while it rings. She grows edgy until someone finally picks up. She chuckles seductively when she hears a familiar masculine voice.

“Georgina?”

“Hey,” she says in a husky whisper, “what are you doing tonight? There’s someone I want you to meet.”