This whole conversation takes place while Serena plays on Facebook and refuses to look up at Chuck, which sounds sort of bitchy but actually is the opposite, like, when he says Sis now you can tell he means it and the way she treats him is very comfortable. He asks her to get out that night for a few hours for a "meeting," and without looking up she goes, "Chuck, I don't mind if your dealer comes by." He assures her that "Jesse is in St. Bart's this week," and like, good point. Why are all alleged dealers named Jesse? Perhaps it is their alleged joke on us, the alleged buying public.
So whatever Chuck's got going on, it's legit. She finally looks up, and he bites his lip, and woggles that damn tie around, and finally goes -- literally he says -- "You know the old Art Deco bank on 72nd, between Madison and Park? The one that went under last month?" And she nods. I don't know, I'm not remotely like these people and certainly was not like these people at 18 years of age, but if somebody said that to me I would smack them for what they were implying, which in this case is that you -- Serena van der Woodsen, who can't remember basic shit about her own life, or do simple math -- have this like grasp on the ever-changing real estate market in Manhattan.
Guess she does, or she's just nodding. Either way. "I want to make it into a speakeasy." He shows her artists' renderings, horrible ones, of the deal: In the front, an "elegant restaurant," but down in the vault, "an after-hours locale devoted to indecency, disreputable behavior and all manner of debauchery." Serena gets it, it's like an homage to the previous Great Depression. "Chuck! This is really a great idea! I can't believe Blair hasn't told me about this yet!" He's all proud: It's his secret, he's not telling anybody until it goes through, and in this way he can appease old Bart's Hamletty ghost forever.
Serena looks at the pictures and at him, and they bite their lips at each other adoringly, and she's so proud of him, and it makes him more proud of himself, because that's the magic of Serena. Gosh I hope she doesn't immediately do the other magical thing she does after making you believe in yourself, which is turn your success and your whole life and everything else she touches into total hell.
The awesome and the awful thing about Emma Bovary is the same awful and wonderful thing about Blair Waldorf. Everybody thinks because that book was banned that Emma's problem is hobaggery, but if you actually read it, she's just basically Blair: So in love with romantic images and future delights that she never actually gets around to living her life. She keeps hurling herself into these new experiences and secret lives and trying to make the world as magical as she thinks it is in books, or Audrey Hepburn movies, and she keeps getting majorly burned by the fact that life isn't like that. Actual life is awesome, and she never really figures that out. So it's like continually getting dragged out of heaven, which makes regular life hell.