The Empty Glass|| GOSSIP GIRL

CHAPTER VI

The elevators doors opened widely as they made a noise so familiar. "Oh what surprise this is, I come home to my son, seeing him with no girls in his bed and quite shockingly, not hammered. Are you on drugs, Charles? This certainly is not you," Bart said as he woke Charles up. "Oh and you know me so well, don't you father?" Only Blair knew the real him. Bart simply never did. It was the image that he kept in his head of his son killing the love of his life that caused Bart to believe the worst in Charles. "Enough. If it wasn't for me raising you as a single father, you could've possibly grew up in a poor household, owned by poor parents. You would never survive," Bart said. "Yes father, you are right. But at least then, the chances of receiving any type of love from my so called 'poor parents', would be higher than ever receiving any form of love from you. Now remind me, what was so important that you had to come home and ruin the two hours I had remaining of sleep?," Charles asked. He barely had any sleep last night. The thought of Blair never left his mind. The things she said, the way her soft pink lips touched his cheeks, he knew she felt it too. "Nathaniel, Serena, and Blair will be picking you up for the fittings. Get ready," Bart spoke. "Wait, Blair will be there?," Charles asked. "Why wouldn't she be? Why? Did something go on between you guys?," Bart asked. "No, father. I must get ready. Thank you for letting me know," Charles said as Bart gave him a nod. 

Charles was nervous. Are sparks even real? Surely they're just something made up in the movies. Kind of like wizards and vampires. It was 10:00 am and Charles was ready. Most guys take a good ten to fifteen minutes to get ready but not our Charles. It took him a good hour to look elegant enough to exit the hotel. In the Bass family mind, it was set that you either leave the hotel with class, or you stay in your room. After all, it's not like they were hoodlums, so why dress like one? If you've got the money, flaunt it honey.

"What has gotten into you?," Bart asked Charles curiously due to the fact that he had been humming God knows what songs by God knows which artists all morning. "Nothing, father. I am excited for the ball tonight." Oh, the annual Cintonni ball. How could I forget? Only the most elegant annual event that has ever been placed in New York City. "Great. I expect no disappointment from you tonight, Charles. Dress your best, and act your best. You must know how important this ball is. Tonight could be the night you decide to fix your reputation," Bart said. You may be confused.. Let me explain. The annual Cintonni Ball is for ones with great money in New York, along with their teenage children. Although it happens yearly, it is a chance for the most powerful families of the Upper East Side persuade the rest of New York that their children, will only be as powerful as them. To prove that they raised their children well based on the act of class their children reach for one single night, and the designer dresses and suits that they have been picked to wear. In shorter words, a formal ball filled with the Upper East Side's fakest and yet greatest actors. After all, for that night, not only do their children have to play the perfect role, but as do they. They were the ones who raised them. Well, maybe not all of them.  "Yes, father," Charles said knowing very well that it was either Bart's way, or the highway. Good boy, Charles. Very good.

"Mr. Bass, the limousine has arrived," Andrew Grovlin, one of The Palace's security guards said. "Very well. Thank you, Andrew." Charles was always good with manners. You couldn't possibly expect to be born and raised on the Upper East Side and grow up without manners, did you? As kids, Serena, Nathaniel, Blair, and Charles, would be sat down every Sunday afternoon for the weekly breakfast hosted by Lily Van Der Woodsen, Serena's mother. It was a social event to help spread out the names of their four families. But of course, before the clock would hit noon, they would gather around for their weekly "Lessons for the Royals." No, this was not a show. Their parents would gather around with them and teach them the proper way to chew, hold your fork, sip your cup, which hand should be used with the spoon, etc. This was their way of proving to themselves they were good parents. For thirty minutes, out of the one hundred and sixty-eight hours there was in the week, they spent teaching their kids the rules of class. While most kids get story time and play dates among their best friends, they got lessons for the Royalty. Rather interesting, right?