Blair's back in her yellow ruffles, walking Serena in the park. Serena has not heard of Le Table Élitaire. Blair is helpful: "The Elite Table!" Thanks, B. "How have you not heard of them?" S points out that if she'd heard of the secret society it wouldn't be a secret, and B expounds: "They're modeled after the grandes ecoles in France. Secret salons for the elite of academic institutions. Finally, something exclusive to strive for, something worthy of all my pent-up energy and attention!" This last word so emphatic that S laughs. "So I take it you and Chuck still haven't..." No. And this way they can both "focus" on something.
Blair explains further that the whole thing is actually Serena's fault: "He told me about how you killed his speakeasy plan last week, and hanging out with Carter Baizen?" She takes Serena's hand and guides her gently to a bench, making her giggle. "Listen to me, S. Listen very carefully. You're not going to Brown, you're scared to tell your mom, you're in free fall: Enter Carter Baizen." Which of course is exactly how she ended up circling the Carter basin, drinking Dom and acting like Dangerous Liaisons, if you'll kindly recall: "I get it. Believe me. But you need to pull this chute, before: Splat!"
Serena smiles, hiding her own concerns, and points out that whether or not he's a bastard, the important and still-true thing is that he knows her. The thing she wants more than anything, that she can't ever quite find the words to explain. B asks who she's trying to convince, and thus calls Serena's bluff. Wearing a huge godawful ring, she dials him and invites him to Sotheby's tonight. B assures her that guys like Carter don't change, which is ironic considering they've always equated him with Chuck, and then gets her first set of instructions from the secret society, so she jumps up and runs off: "Oh, and you really are making a huge mistake. Bye!" Serena wonders about that, and then you actually see her make herself careless; like, she orders herself not to be bothered. And then she's not.
Chuck arrives at Mr. MacPherson's office, where a mean-looking girl in a dumb dress tells him to GTFO and stop wasting people's time. "I have an MBA from Tuck. I'm not the coat check girl," she explains, baring her teeth at his charm. "Well, then I'm sure you're aware his club on 63rd isn't doing as well as it could. Uptown isn't downtown. I have some ideas he should hear." She assures him this isn't the first or last visit promising same, and then goes, "Piece of advice?" Because that's what you say. "Piece of advice? You really want him to take you seriously? Find a way to show him that you respect his past." She eyebrows at a wall of photos, and the vintage McMullan of Sean at some Studio 54-looking thing, 1) helpfully bookmarked on 2) an open page of the 3) Sotheby's auction catalog for 4) tonight. The girl doesn't look up as Chuck snags it and walks out. Hmm.