Handmaiden 3 chokes out, "There's like this bubble of perfection around him that we can't penetrate!" But somebody's going to. "Otherwise, tomorrow night I'm taking one of your escorts." Jenny leads her girls into the dancehall, and the tables immediately turn, because those girls know everybody, grew up with them all, and she knows nobody. GG compares this city-wide event to a meeting of the Five Families (to go with an ongoing parallel in this Jenny story with Michael Corleone which I am not competent to handle), and Jenny's suddenly painfully aware that being Queen of Constance means comparatively little. She nervously watches the other Queens consider her, and nervously realizes she's going to have to keep fighting. It's a dance that never ends.
Blair comes bursting into the Empire suite where Chuck's reading the Observer on the couch, super happy: She wants to take in the Kandinsky exhibit and have dinner at EAT. Chuck reminds her that Nate is moving in today (Moving in? To the Empire, right? His Columbia dorm mention last week could go either way) and the two of them will be celebrating with another Lost Weekend. Blair gives token protest, but he assures her that he doesn't actually want to spend his weekend "watching women with tramp stamps work out their daddy issues"; that it's all for Nate. So I guess he'll be watching Nate watch women with tramp stamps work out their daddy issues. Much more fulfilling.
"Anyway," Chuck exposits that she's a Cotillion mentor, and Blair says she's opting out because Serena might be there, and he rolls his eyes and nods when she says she's conflicted: "It does kill me to imagine those poor girls stumbling along without my guidance..." He tells her to get back with Serena already, pointing out that she loves Cotillion, Serena, and doing Cotillion with Serena as well as things with Serena generally, and finally she admits there's a Debs & Mentors dinner tonight at the van der Woodsens' (I love that we're calling it that), and that S will probably flake anyway.
"...Or she'll be waiting for you, apology in hand," Chuck says, and slowly draws her in: "A debutante ball without Blair Waldorf is like a Tour de France without Lance Armstrong!" She calls him out on comparing her to "that man-whore," but I don't know. I imagine Blair Waldorf could give someone cancer if she thought about it hard enough. She agrees that "the charitable thing" would be to give S the "opportunity to beg for forgiveness," and sweetly reminds him, "Don't get too lost, Bass." I love Amanda Lasher!