"You expect me to believe that after all you've done?" Georgina stares up at her, afraid and sad, knowing she screwed something up, knowing she can't escape it. "Your stupid clothes and your Bible quotes don't fool anyone. You're evil. I know it, you know it. And God knows it too." The way she says it, the energy in the scene, is so vile and electric; it's like attacking Dan's integrity or Lily's parenting, Serena's selfishness or Blair's self-control: the thing they think makes them real. (Consider this: The hint of the century; the slip that brings you to your knees: failed.) Georgina's weeping, disgusted with herself and the situation, desperate for her good works to be noticed, to earn a family, sad and terrified: "But I didn't do anything wrong!" She could be Serena on her hardest day, for a moment. And Blair knows it.
"I will never forgive you for what you've done." She leans meanly over the table: "And neither will Jesus."
Funny line. It means nothing to her, or to us. It means something to Georgina. Or it means nothing to Georgina. It's funny, and it's terrible. You can pin your hopes on anything. The thinner the justification, the more desperate the motivation, the harder we hold onto it. Lose track of that iceberg and the world flips over: you don't mess with people's real shit. And Blair's just doing what she does: striking out at random, because she's just substantively lost the two people she loves in this world.
The most inconsequential things are the most important, especially on this show, but especially for those who have no hope. You know how they always take dogs to old folks' homes, to give them a reason? They stay alive for years -- minds gone, bodies gone, family gone, whether dead or inconvenienced -- just for some stupid smelly old mutt, finally loving them. Finally reminding them they were meant to love, and to be loved. Chuck needs a dog. Georgina had one.
I promise you that if this show runs ten years, Blair Waldorf will never do anything this awful in her life. And it means nothing to her. Or to us.
Rufus is still standing there with the folder in the dining room when Lily approaches, smiling lightly and hoping he's not been waiting too long. He asks about the paperwork and she blows him off, running to the lilies he brought; with hands on hips he doesn't relent. "With bags of money matching each of their investments? What's going on here, Lily?" She explains as little as possible -- everybody gets their money back -- but he asks about the separate arrangements for his forty grand. Lily is wearing the most insane necklace ever worn at this point: Wearing giant wooden balls and silver pinecones. It works. "Rufus, this really isn't a big deal," she says, but he's right: "You were planning on giving me money every month behind my back. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?" God forbid anybody point out to a Humphrey that money isn't the most important thing on earth.
Lily swears she wasn't trying to humiliate him, with this secret fake investment on his behalf, but she's succeeded anyhow; finally she breaks down and levels, tired of the back and forth: "Do you know how hard it is for me to watch you agonize over not being able to send Dan to Yale? When I could very easily help you, if you would just let me." He whines about how great he was doing without her help, and luckily the phone rings: it's the cops, checking in. And at the station, they reach for Serena's wrist; she's relieved until they produce the bracelet: "Theft." And who called in this theft of great-grandmother's diamonds? Lily, of course.
Rufus hands Lily a glass of wine, worried, and asks what's going on, how he can help. She explains Serena's been arrested, but she's not heading down right away, because the punchline is that she called it in. Rufus is grossed out: "This coming from the same woman who wouldn't even let me put Jenny in the back of a squad car?" She tries to explain that it's different, she's not going to let Serena sit behind bars: it was about getting her away from the situation. She'll drop the charges before any kind of official arraignment, and it'll be forgotten. Much better than embarrassing the family: fourth marriage to a new money paranoid, who dies, and then the daughter steals everything. "This was the only way that I could protect her," she says, talking to herself, and he asks her what the eff she needs protecting from. "From creating a scandal? From ruining her future and everything that she's worked for? Embarrassing me?" His skin grows cold: "You just sounded exactly like your mother." She stares at him, because whoa, and begs off dinner. But that's okay, he says: dinner was a big mistake. He leaves, and she sighs, because she knows exactly what it was, and what went wrong.
Chuck comes charging up to the station as Blair and Nate exit; when she tells him they won't let her talk to him, he pulls out his phone: "We'll see about that." Nate throws a weak defense about OMG how dare you call him, and Blair sweetly grits, "Of course I did. He's her brother." Nate grins at her, almost, and she tells him he's got nothing to worry about. Wondering if Chuck actually had the conversation, he gets her to admit they talked it out and he gave up. Like that will stick.
"He gave me my answer. And you deserve yours. I don't think we should move in together." Neither does Nate; she laughs, confused, but he explains that he was acting crazy. "I'm sorry. I was... using the apartment to force our issues, and it's just, it's too big of a step. I'm sorry." She gives in -- how could you not? -- and tells him the "more suitable step" would be to ask her to Prom. They laugh, because neither of them could be less serious about their relationship if they'd never met, and Blair's phone rings, and shit gets awesome.
"Hello, Blair," says Georgina. Not OMGeorgina, not Sherilyn, but the real Georgina Sparks. Blair jerks; there's a dissatisfaction, an anger at the world, that comes through every word and movement. "I feel more like myself than ever," Georgina tells her: she's "Taking care of what you obviously couldn't." Blair shivers, nervous, and timidly suggests that Jesus wouldn't approve of whatever she's planning. Blair's always been afraid of Georgina; it's one of the reasons she played this like she did. "Well, you can tell Jesus that the bitch is back," Georgina says, putting on her giant evil bug glasses as the wonderful Gotye song "Heart's a Mess" starts up. That bassline. "Follow that car," she tells her driver, hanging up on Blair.
"Oh, no!" GG shudders, as Blair stares down at the evil that was just in her phone: "We warned you no good would come from spinning a wicked web..."