Jenny’s hair is still blonde, the blunt edges brushing against the sharp line of her collarbone. Her bangs are gone. Dan tells her he likes it better that way. It’s been five years since New York and Jenny still wears black eyeliner.
Alexander McQueen calls, says, “We have a job opening, and we’d love to interview you.”
The iPhone slips from between her shoulder and ear and crashes to the floor.
“Hello?” she asks, flustered, “are you still there?”
The voice is clear and clipped, the neat edges of her British accent crisp through the speaker.
“We can arrange a flight for Friday,” she says.
Jenny gets drunk on the flight over off vodka tonics and flirts with the businessman next to her. He looks like Nate, or at least how Nate could look in fifteen years. Love Actually plays on the TV nestled on her lap but she barely watches. He slips her a business card but Jenny’s not really interested.
She falls asleep somewhere over the Atlantic, her face pressed to the window.
London is dark and cloudy and Jenny fits in perfectly. She turns the collar of her studded trench coat up and doesn’t wobble in her platforms on the cobblestone.
A beautiful woman with bright red hair pulled high off her head shakes her hand firmly.
“Vivienne,” she says, her lacquered nails tapping against her mahogany desk. Jenny feels her mouth split open into a grin.
“Jennifer,” she says. Vivienne smiles back.
Jennifer leaves with a job, moving bonus, and a new charcoal gray and black skull scarf wrapped around the handle of her purse.
“Let’s meet for drinks to celebrate,” Vivienne tells her. There’s a spread of glossy photos on her desk, marked-up. Jenny catches a dark purple blouse with pleats and adds a higher collar in her mind.
“True Blue at the Berkeley around seven then, Jen.”
Jenny gets to the bar first, her heels dangling from her toes. Her dress is navy, skimming the tops of her thighs but wrapped around her neck demurely.
“Hello, Little J,” someone purrs over her shoulder.
Jenny almost chokes on her martini.
Carter Baizen’s hand drags along her shoulder. Jenny’s mostly proud she doesn’t flinch at all.
“Carter,” she sighs, bored, twirling her half-empty glass back and forth. She looks around for Vivienne but Carter turns her head towards him.
“Aren’t you on the wrong side of the pond?” he asks, sitting down next to her. Jenny eyes his Hugo Boss jacket and allows herself to at least admire the perfect way it settles on his torso. Carter arches an eyebrow at her and Jenny blushes, feels it burn all the way down her spine. She’s wearing lipstick, maroon, and Carter won’t stop staring at her mouth.
Jenny wonders what it would look like against his jaw, the barest shadows of stubble visible through the dim light. She wonders how old he is now. He must be close to 30.
Jenny remembers seeing him at cotillion on Blair Waldorf’s arm, jealous and wanting for reasons she didn’t even know.
“Buy me a drink and maybe I’ll tell you why.”
Carter looks surprised; Jenny does her best not to show how pleased she is with herself.
He says, his mouth turned up in that half-smirk of his, “Looks like someone grew up when I wasn’t looking.”
In the morning she wakes up to Carter’s fingers skipping across her hipbones. The buttons on his dress shirt are tangled in her hair and she can taste the hangover in her mouth.
Carter kisses his way across her body, his hands still roaming, his stubble scratching her skin in a pleasant sort of way. It feels early.
“You know, I could stick around in London for a little,” he murmurs in between her breasts, her fingers carding through his almost too-long hair, “this weather suits me.”
Jenny bites into her bottom lip. Her phone alarm goes off, “Cherry Bomb” blasting loud and rude through the room.
“You’d look good in a raincoat,” she manages, scrambling to turn off the noise. Through the window, Jenny hears the rain. There’s makeup smeared along the pillowcase and Carter is still on her bed, watching her.
Jenny zips up her dress slowly. Carter still watches.
I really didn't think anyone would bite with this pairing, so I literally did a high pitched squee when I saw this.
This is so fantastic and just perfect. Thank you so much! I love how Jenny's attempting to grow up, but falls into similar patterns of destruction and Carter is no help at all, but that is what makes it so interesting.
Alexander McQueen calls.
Jenny’s hair is still blonde, the blunt edges brushing against the sharp line of her collarbone. Her bangs are gone. Dan tells her he likes it better that way. It’s been five years since New York and Jenny still wears black eyeliner.
Alexander McQueen calls, says, “We have a job opening, and we’d love to interview you.”
The iPhone slips from between her shoulder and ear and crashes to the floor.
“Hello?” she asks, flustered, “are you still there?”
The voice is clear and clipped, the neat edges of her British accent crisp through the speaker.
“We can arrange a flight for Friday,” she says.
Jenny gets drunk on the flight over off vodka tonics and flirts with the businessman next to her. He looks like Nate, or at least how Nate could look in fifteen years. Love Actually plays on the TV nestled on her lap but she barely watches. He slips her a business card but Jenny’s not really interested.
She falls asleep somewhere over the Atlantic, her face pressed to the window.
London is dark and cloudy and Jenny fits in perfectly. She turns the collar of her studded trench coat up and doesn’t wobble in her platforms on the cobblestone.
A beautiful woman with bright red hair pulled high off her head shakes her hand firmly.
“Vivienne,” she says, her lacquered nails tapping against her mahogany desk.
Jenny feels her mouth split open into a grin.
“Jennifer,” she says. Vivienne smiles back.
Jennifer leaves with a job, moving bonus, and a new charcoal gray and black skull scarf wrapped around the handle of her purse.
“Let’s meet for drinks to celebrate,” Vivienne tells her. There’s a spread of glossy photos on her desk, marked-up. Jenny catches a dark purple blouse with pleats and adds a higher collar in her mind.
“True Blue at the Berkeley around seven then, Jen.”
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Jenny gets to the bar first, her heels dangling from her toes. Her dress is navy, skimming the tops of her thighs but wrapped around her neck demurely.
“Hello, Little J,” someone purrs over her shoulder.
Jenny almost chokes on her martini.
Carter Baizen’s hand drags along her shoulder. Jenny’s mostly proud she doesn’t flinch at all.
“Carter,” she sighs, bored, twirling her half-empty glass back and forth. She looks around for Vivienne but Carter turns her head towards him.
“Aren’t you on the wrong side of the pond?” he asks, sitting down next to her. Jenny eyes his Hugo Boss jacket and allows herself to at least admire the perfect way it settles on his torso. Carter arches an eyebrow at her and Jenny blushes, feels it burn all the way down her spine. She’s wearing lipstick, maroon, and Carter won’t stop staring at her mouth.
Jenny wonders what it would look like against his jaw, the barest shadows of stubble visible through the dim light. She wonders how old he is now. He must be close to 30.
Jenny remembers seeing him at cotillion on Blair Waldorf’s arm, jealous and wanting for reasons she didn’t even know.
“Buy me a drink and maybe I’ll tell you why.”
Carter looks surprised; Jenny does her best not to show how pleased she is with herself.
He says, his mouth turned up in that half-smirk of his, “Looks like someone grew up when I wasn’t looking.”
In the morning she wakes up to Carter’s fingers skipping across her hipbones. The buttons on his dress shirt are tangled in her hair and she can taste the hangover in her mouth.
Carter kisses his way across her body, his hands still roaming, his stubble scratching her skin in a pleasant sort of way. It feels early.
“You know, I could stick around in London for a little,” he murmurs in between her breasts, her fingers carding through his almost too-long hair, “this weather suits me.”
Jenny bites into her bottom lip. Her phone alarm goes off, “Cherry Bomb” blasting loud and rude through the room.
“You’d look good in a raincoat,” she manages, scrambling to turn off the noise. Through the window, Jenny hears the rain. There’s makeup smeared along the pillowcase and Carter is still on her bed, watching her.
Jenny zips up her dress slowly.
Carter still watches.
She thinks that she’ll like it here.
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This is so fantastic and just perfect. Thank you so much! I love how Jenny's attempting to grow up, but falls into similar patterns of destruction and Carter is no help at all, but that is what makes it so interesting.
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this was a thing that I did not know that I needed until now, but you made it work so fucking well!
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