by Gigi Blume
Now I had an idea why Charlotte clung so tightly to me earlier.
“Mr. Hunsford gets a little ahead of himself sometimes.” Catherine shook her head. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”
“Yes,” I said with a nod. “I mean, yes to your earlier question. This place is ginormous.”
She glanced over me in open assessment, starting from my not so fancy footwear to the top of my hastily coiffed up-do. She shrugged her brows in a she’ll do sort of expression.
“You may sit.” She nodded in the direction of three recently vacant chairs. Colin and Charlotte swiftly took her up on the invitation, which I followed with more trepidation. I felt like I was on an interview for a job I didn’t want.
“I see you’ve brought the heiress.” Her eyes cast briefly onto Charlotte.
Heiress?
Charlotte shot me don’t you dare glance. What exactly was that about?
“Yes,” said Colin. “My girlfriend Charlotte.”
“Thank you for the invitation.” Charlotte offered a genuine smile to the imposing woman, which won her a glance of approval.
Then the woman’s eyes rested on me. “I hear you’re an actress.”
I laughed under my breath and said, “If you can call it that.”
That little quip earned me another sour frown. “Do you dance?” she questioned.
“Does flossing count?”
Her frown became more pronounced. Apparently, they didn’t consider flossing a serious dance move at Rosings.
“I’m more of a singer that moves well,” I amended.
“She's being modest,” said Charlotte. “She’s actually a triple threat.”
I was sure Charlotte was biased when it came to my talent. Plus, she was about as proficient a judge of theatre as I was of impressionism. I knew Monet was good, but I couldn’t tell you why.
Catherine de Bourgh disregarded Charlotte entirely and plowed through my interrogation.
“If you practiced more, you’d improve. My granddaughter Anne was such a frail little thing, but she grew stronger the more she practiced. You’d hardly recognize her if you knew her before she took classes.”
Colin interjected, “Anne is one of the principal dancers in the company. She was Clara in the Nutcracker.”
“You must be so proud,” I said with sincerity.
“I am,” she beamed. “But there’s always room for improvement. That’s why I invite friends of Colin to use my small barre room to practice. If you’d like to take advantage of my offer, I’m sure you won’t be in the way.”
“Um, thank you?”
“I would be able to find your deficiencies right away. There are very few people with my eye for talent. And if I had taken up singing as well as dancing, I would have excelled at it.”
“I only wish I would have started dancing earlier,” I admitted.
“How old are you?”
“Old enough to know what to do with my young face.”
It amused me to find the astonishment on her face at not receiving a direct answer. Also, I loved quoting Gene Kelly movies whenever opportunity arose.
“You are a spunky one, aren't you? Well, you’ll never be a ballerina at your age, but you could pick up a few moves that will help you in the theatre.”
A fourth chair landed in place in our strange little pow wow, and Will plopped down, straddling it, resting his arms on the back.
“What are you doing here?” cried the old woman.
“You invited me.” Will glanced briefly at us, his attention landing on Colin’s pink suit for a few extra seconds.
“Well, I didn’t think you’d show up.” She was a little salty, but something hinted to me that was the nature of their relationship. It certainly didn’t seem to faze him. He just shrugged.
“If you’re looking for Anne,” she said, “you just missed her. You might want to check the VIP room.”
Wasn’t this the VIP room?
Will shifted in his seat like he was trying to get comfortable but couldn’t. “No,” he said. “I’m fine right here.”
A smirk overcame her face, and she flushed a little when she turned to me and said, “These young people are so attached to me.”
Will stole a glance in my direction. Was I judging? Not at all.
“Why don’t you find Anne and ask her to dance?” Catherine was trying to shoo Will away. Probably to drill me with more probing questions. She winked at him. “You don’t want some other man to claim her for a New Year’s kiss.”
Practically engaged to Catherine de Bourgh’s granddaughter. That’s what Jorge told me. I didn’t know the girl, but I already felt sorry for her.
Will remained silent, casting his eyes towards me to gauge my reaction. I was finding the exchange rather amusing and so, I made a joke.
“It’s bad luck if you don’t kiss someone at midnight.” I laughed. “You might remain a frog forever.”
His eyes flickered to mine, alight as blue flames, and the corner of his lips hitched into a crooked grin.
“And what happens to the princess?” he said softly, almost coaxing.
My heart sputtered to a halt, dropping to my navel. There it was, ladies. That devastating smile that earned him millions on the silver screen. I was incredibly annoyed with myself for not having a stronger immunity to his movie star charms. I swallowed unevenly and lifted my chin to regain some semblance of control.
“Her carriage turns into a pumpkin,” I replied, practically croaking the words. “So she bakes a pie.”
His eyes unapologetically dipped to my mouth. “It Only Takes a Taste,” he said, deepening his wicked grin.
A warm flush washed over me. Way to quote a musical theatre song. Bravo. His intense stares and double innuendos made the walls close in. I had to get away from him. And now I had that song from Waitress stuck in my head. Ugh! It was a good song, too.
“Are we talking about pies here?” Charlotte chimed in.
I abruptly stood, causing the chair to scrape on the floor.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
Catherine de Bourgh shot me an expression as if I offended her by leaving. I didn't have to use the restroom, but she didn’t know that.
“Miss Bennet, I’m not done talking to you.”
Not done talking to me? What if I did have to go to the restroom?
I could hear her protests fade as I left the room, following me out the door until they were only echoes into the ether. I felt bad for abandoning Charlotte to the aftermath, but I needed to distance myself from Will. His movie star charm was too much, and the last thing I wanted was to be his fangirl. His eyes, though. They held an underlying magnetism that reached too far inside my core. It made my heart drum so rapidly, it was almost painful.
I decided after all that, a splash of cold water to my face would do me good. The ladies room was bigger than my whole apartment and had a separate sitting area for friends to wait. If there’s any mystery why girls go to the restroom in groups, that sitting area would be the answer. The sofas were so posh, I wouldn’t have been surprised if tea service suddenly appeared, accompanied by a recording of God Save the Queen. I was running my hands over the upholstery when Charlotte found me.
“I’m sorry I embarrassed you in front of your boyfriend’s boss.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said with a soft smile. “You should have seen the look on her face, though. I’m sure nobody has ever walked out on her like that.”
We shared a laugh. I wanted to tell her the reason I bolted out of there wasn’t because of Catherine de Bourgh, but it was suffocating to be in the same room as Will. Everything about him caused a hot lava reaction in my veins. Whenever he was near me, I felt sick to my stomach, and my blood would boil, causing my pulse to race. If he didn’t repel me so much, I’d think I had a crush on the guy. Ridiculous. But I couldn’t tell Charlotte these things because she’d read too much into it. I decided to keep the conversation light.
“Well, when ya gotta go, ya gotta
go.”
She laughed. “She’ll get over it. Colin’s in there doing damage control. Like Men in Black.”
“Or Men in Pink.” I couldn’t resist. Only a guy like Colin could pull off that outfit. It actually suited him well.
“So…” She wound up for the pitch. I could see it coming. She wanted to talk about the elephant in the room. “I was surprised to see Will.”
There it was. I knew she was jonesing to bring it up. I shrugged, trying to pretend it didn’t affect me.
“It’s not a huge stretch,” I said. “Catherine de Bourgh is a shareholder of Will’s production company.” I remembered what Jorge had told me about Will’s connection to Rosings. “And he’s got something going on with the granddaughter. Engaged, I think.”
“Anne?” she snorted. “Not even. I know Anne. There’s no way.”
“Whatever.” I feigned a nonchalant eye roll. What did I care who Will was or wasn’t dating? It was none of my business. Charlotte eyed me speculatively, but thankfully kept her thoughts on the subject to herself. The downside to her silence, however, was the empty space I had to fill with my own thoughts. They were probably more annoying than anything she could have said.
At length, I stood up, once again ready to triumph over my killer heels, and led Charlotte out the door.
“Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure Colin is looking for his heiress girlfriend.” I gave her a conspiring wink.
“Oh, that.” Her face flushed. “Catherine kind of assumed I was an heiress when she found out my father owned a restaurant. I guess she just thought it’s a big conglomerate restaurant chain.”
“And you didn’t bother to correct her,” I nodded.
She grinned. “It’s not like she’ll ever step foot inside Lucas Lodge.”
“That’s what I thought about Darcy.”
We parted with a promise to find each other later. She didn’t want to leave me alone, feeling guilty she had to get back to Colin when she was the reason I came in the first place. I let her know I was fine on my own for a while and that I was hoping to try my chances on the roulette table. I usually played red and black. I didn’t mind risking the fifty-fifty odds. I was exchanging some cash into chips when I ran into Fitz.
“You clean up well.” He cat-whistled with an appreciative once-over. “They should let you out more often.”
“Thanks.” I blushed. “But I have to return the glass slippers by midnight.” My thoughts raced to the earlier Cinderella reference I exchanged with Will. Why did I sabotage my own thoughts like that? I blinked them away.
He grinned with his devastatingly swoony dimples. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I must say, it’s a welcome surprise.”
“Ditto.”
“I’m bored out of my mind.” He scanned the crowd with a disappointed air. “Will keeps taking off, and I don’t know a soul here.”
So they were there together? Great.
“I’m sorry, did you say Will?”
He nodded. “I regret ever agreeing to carpool. I’m not entirely sure which one of us is the designated driver but if I meet Mr. Right, I’m out.”
“Well, I know I’m a poor substitute, but I’ll be your date until you find what you’re looking for.”
“Girl, you’re anything but a poor substitute.” He took my arm in his. “You are absolutely delicious. Let’s go gamble.”
Next to crawling into my pajamas with my subscription to the Broadway Channel, I considered it the next best thing to spend the evening with Fitz. I couldn’t think of a better person to laugh with while watching the modern dance performances on the small stages scattered throughout the property. The costumes were interesting to put it nicely (bubble wrap anyone?), and the choreography was certainly something we’d never seen before. I learned I didn’t know much about the Avant Garde, and I was perfectly fine with that. Give me Fosse any day of the week. Fitz held my hand and pulled me from one thing to another like children in an amusement park. He taught me a few roulette tricks, cleaning out everyone at the table before we were kicked out. We downed a few drinks (hooray for the open bar) and danced like fools. At last, we found an unoccupied room with a ping pong table and challenged each other to a duel, finally giving me a chance for a rematch. But we were both so tipsy, the ball hardly touched the table. The effects of the alcohol also broke down our inhibitions, and I felt emboldened to ask, “Tell me about this Mr. Right you’re waiting for. I could be your wingman.”
He grinned, allowing the thought to burrow deep in his fantasies. Dang, this man was cute. He hit the ping pong ball with his paddle, sending it to bounce off the table.
“My standards are too high,” he said. “I’m convinced he doesn’t exist.”
I retrieved the ball and clobbered it into the net.
“There’s nothing wrong with high standards.”
“What about you?” he asked. “What’s your idea of the perfect guy?”
I broke out into a show tune. “I’ll know when my love comes along.”
He threw down his paddle and ran to the upright piano against the wall (because naturally all the rooms had pianos), gracing the keys with his skilled fingers. “Ah, good ol’ Frank Loesser.” He ran into an ascending arpeggio. “One of my favorites.”
He was an astounding pianist. He was playing the song by heart, most likely in the correct key, probably not missing any notes even in his half-inebriated state.
“You sing Sarah Brown, and I’ll do Sky Masterson’s part,” he said, playing the tonic.
I fudged through the song, making stuff up as I went along. I didn’t care. It was fun. Fitz, on the other hand, was born in the wrong decade. He was so classy, I’m sure he would have given Frank Sinatra a run for his money. And boy, the man could croon.
“You never answered my question. About Mr. Right,” I pressed.
“Did I say Mr. Right?” he said with a grin. “I meant Mr. Right Now.”
I craned my head to take a peek at the party guests through the door. So many men and women dressed to the nines. Beautiful people any day of the week, but tonight, the magic of a new year paired with extremely expensive designer clothes made them look like they stepped out of The Great Gatsby.
“How about that guy?” I said, pointing to a stylish man who favored a red bowtie over the traditional black. He followed my gaze.
“Straight.”
I crinkled my brows. “How can you tell?”
“Honey, you learn to have a sixth sense about these things after too many rejections.”
I frowned. “Oh.”
He tinkled a few notes on the piano, something romantic and lamentful.
“That’s pretty.”
“Thanks. I wrote it.”
He continued to play, the melody taking shape. “It’s a musical I’m working on, but it’s far from finished.”
“You’re writing a musical? That’s amazing! What’s it about?”
“Oh, it’s a love story about a man who searches the world for his destiny. Sounds kind of sappy saying aloud, but—”
“No! It doesn’t sound sappy at all. Imagine the guys that had to pitch South Pacific. A man who falls in love with a woman across a crowded room? Pah-lease.”
He gave me a blank look. Oh.
“You have one of those scenes in your play, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “Too cliché?”
“I’m sure yours is awesome.” I suddenly felt like a jerk.
He continued to play and smiled proudly. “It is, actually.”
Knowing Fitz, I didn’t doubt it.
He sighed, and I could see a shadow come over his expression. Something that ran deep.
“Funny how art imitates life, huh?” I nudged him with my elbow. It was probably a little more accurate than I realized. He stopped noodling his finger over the keys and placed his hands on his lap, turning to face me.
“Have you ever heard the song Somebody by Depeche Mode?” he asked.
“Uh… no.”
&n
bsp; Wasn’t that some emo eighties band?
“It’s all about how he wants somebody to share the rest of his life with, someone to confide his innermost thoughts, that knows him so well—all of his faults—and loves him anyway. Somebody who will even convince him to see things differently, and although they might disagree, they understand each other… because…love!” He gently stroked the ivories. “I want that.”
He looked into my eyes, searching, wondering if he was the only silly romantic in the room. It was a moment. It was heart bleeding share time. Also we were tipsy.
“Aaaaanyway.” He shrugged it off and started playing a ragtime riff. “Who needs that kind of salmagundi?” He smiled, losing himself in the upbeat tempo. “Especially after what Will told me.”
Hold the phone.
“Will? What did Will tell you?”
“Oh, just something about a friend who almost threw his career down the toilet over a girl.”
What the actual Tevye?
It couldn’t be he was talking about Bing? “What…what do you mean? What friend?”
“I don’t know. He’s got lots of friends. Could be anyone.”
I didn’t want to come off as desperate, but I really needed this information. I figured he would be more apt to tell me the details if I didn’t act like some psycho beating answers out of him. Plus we’d had a moment.
“Well,” I said, trying to remain calm, “what exactly did he say?”
He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
I looked into his eyes. Those blue beautiful icicle eyes. “Fitz. Hey. It’s me, here.”
He stopped playing his ragtime tune and twisted his body slightly on the bench to conspire with me. “All he said was that he persuaded his friend to think twice about this woman.” He held up his palms. “I don’t know what was wrong with her. Probably some kind of harpy. But he did say it was a close call and he was glad he could talk some sense into this guy.”
It was Bing. I knew it was Bing. Who else could it be? My blood was beginning to boil again. It was so fierce my eyes started to water. It was really feeling hot in there.
“What gave him the right to interfere like that?” I was on the verge of tears. I had to blink them back because, for some stupid reason, I didn’t want Fitz to see me cry. “I mean, can’t his friend think for himself?”
