Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set

by Gigi Blume

  “If you think for one second that nice words would make me forget what you’ve done, you not only don’t have a soul, you don’t have a brain. From the very first moment you walked into the theatre, your surly attitude, your arrogance, your…”

  She waved her hand in a circle in front of me.

  “…the way you walk.”

  The way I walk? She nodded, like she was answering a question I didn’t ask aloud.

  “You are a misanthrope, Mr. Darcy.”

  She said my name like it was a dirty word.

  I winced. “A misanthrope?”

  “Yes.” She smiled menacingly. “Look it up.”

  “I know what a misanthrope is.”

  “Good,” she exclaimed. “Because if you searched misanthrope on the internet, your photo would be on the Wikipedia page.”

  Her features were a glow of red-hot fury, but then something changed in her eyes. It was a mixture of regret and extreme disappointment. When she spoke again, it was hardly audible.

  “And to think…” Her fingers touched her lips, tracing the delicate skin where I branded her with my kiss. I instinctively took a step towards her.

  “To think what?”

  She shot her gaze into me and whatever tenderness had come over her, it was gone.

  “Nothing.” Her tone was clipped, laced with poison. It was freaking hot.

  “You like me,” I said, inching closer. Her eyes grew wide.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Oh yes, you do.”

  I wrapped my fingers over the tiny wrist of her left hand to draw her into a kiss. She gasped, and her small form easily gave in to my gentle coaxing. I could feel her warm breath through the thin fabric of my shirt.

  “Admit it, Elizabeth. You want me to kiss you again.”

  In my peripheral vision, I noticed her right palm swinging towards my face. It happened in slow motion, like I had Jedi reflexes, and I caught her other wrist before she could slap me.

  “Admit it.”

  She opened her mouth to refute my words, but as her beautiful lips moved to form her reply, I claimed them, finding myself unable to resist their allure a moment longer. Her breath hitched, and her eyes fluttered shut. I wasn’t asking permission anymore. I was the Pirate King, virile and magnificent. She melted into me like a marshmallow over the fire, and all I wanted to do was wrap her into my arms forever. I loosened the hold on her wrists and trailed my fingertips delicately up the length of her arms. But it wasn’t enough. My thirst for her was insatiable, and I couldn’t get close enough. Drawing her flush against me, I deepened the kiss. Desperate for more. I demanded more.

  Big mistake.

  Because she bit me. A cold wetness throbbed from my lower lip, and the metallic taste of blood reached my tongue. Mood ruined.

  “Would it kill you to act like a gentleman?” she cried.

  “Gentleman?” I huffed, dabbing the blood on my lips. “Honey, this is real life, not Downton Abbey. If you want a book boyfriend, go look somewhere else.”

  “I don’t want any boyfriend at all, you egomaniac,” she screamed. “Even if you were the last man on earth and the existence of the human race was hinged upon my liking you, our poor species would fade quite spectacularly into extinction.”

  She was breathing heavily, and I feared if I didn’t leave her alone and soon, I’d be strapped to a guillotine.

  “Okay,” I said in a defeated whisper. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”

  In a matter of minutes, I managed to make a complete fool of myself. I felt so ashamed of my feelings, handing them to her so she could chop them to bits. I wanted to sink into the ground. But I straightened, regarded her with a nod and bade, “I hope you have a wonderful new year. Please drive home safely.”

  And then I left her, knowing it would be extremely awkward when we returned to the theatre. I had to console myself with the idea that things might boil over by then. Perhaps it would all be forgotten—at least mended. So I went home determined to set the record straight with the girl who rejected me.

  21

  Will with A Quill

  Beth

  That was bananas. One minute, I was planning Will’s demise, the next, his lips were on mine. Will Darcy was the type of guy to get what he wanted. All the time. I just didn’t realize he wanted me. But he couldn’t want me. Could he? That kiss. The way his lips encompassed my mouth, the way his breath mingled with mine, the way he held me, making me lose all thought. It seemed sincere. For that moment it didn’t matter.

  But what was I doing? Kissing him back as though I wanted to. As though everything he’d done wasn’t an abomination to me. I supposed I wasn’t any different than those idiotic female leads who can’t seem to stay away from the villain in the play. Mina came to mind. She had the funky vampire hots for Dracula even though he was like a thousand years old and ate babies. She couldn’t help herself. I think the sexy Transylvanian accent had something to do with it. Maybe if I’d sung Please Don’t Make Me Love You, Will would have stabbed himself with a stake. A girl can wish.

  I went home immediately, without a word to Charlotte. Without a word to Fitz. Text messages lit up my phone so much, it was like a nightclub in my purse. So I shut it off. I had to process what happened with Will. I still hadn’t fully comprehended all the things Fitz said before I was assaulted by those confusing feelings when Will kissed me. I was playing with fire with that one. Still, that pit of despair in my stomach entertained the butterflies with a nightcap. No, no, no, no! The butterflies didn’t get to stay. The butterflies weren’t welcome.

  The house was (thankfully) quiet when I arrived. The last thing I wanted to do was answer questions about how my evening went. Also, my head felt like a lowrider’s subwoofer. The pounding was relentless. And lucky me. I had the morning shift at the lodge.

  When sleep finally came to me, I dreamt of Paris. Will was there dressed in his Pirate King costume, but he was just out of reach. And he was wet. Completely wet from head to toe. He was drowning. But right before I could help him (I didn’t have a plan for that but just roll with it because it was a dream) Caroline threw herself all over him. And I felt jealous. Needless to say, I awoke furious with myself.

  I frowned at my coffee maker. Nothing that could possibly have come out of that ten-dollar Walmart appliance was strong enough for my needs. I stopped for a triple americano at the drive-thru Coffee Bean, and I hoped for an easy day at work. Charlotte had the day off. I didn’t even realize my phone was still shut off until she called the restaurant after the breakfast crowd dispersed. I made up some lame excuse for leaving the party, imputing my swift departure to a headache—which was partially true. The headache’s name was Will.

  She was on her way to Disneyland with Colin when she called but said she would have no fun at all if she didn’t check on me. I could just picture Charlotte worrying herself sick while she watched the Holiday Parade. Not even the tin soldiers and ice skating Minnie Mouse would cheer her up. Poor Charlotte.

  I wished I could go to Disneyland. Only a couple more hours until my shift was over. I’d have to content myself with watching videos when I got home. That would do for a mediocre substitute.

  I was deciding upon a comforting stack of carbolicious pancakes to soothe my woes when the air around me was suddenly disturbed by the arrival of Will Darcy. He looked horrible. Like he hadn’t slept. In fact, I don’t think he had slept. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair looked like small birds could make it their home. I gave him kudos for changing out of his tux at least. He didn’t go to his usual table. Instead, he made a straight line in my direction and stopped an arm’s length from where I stood. He looked at me with his sad eyes and unshaven face like a deflated balloon. It was depressing.

  I didn’t say anything to him. What do you say to a guy who, less than twenty-four hours ago, kissed you like you’ve never been kissed before but there was that little caveat of swearing to hate him forever? Yeah. There were no words.

/>   He held out an envelope, handing it to me without an explanation.

  “Will you please read this?”

  That’s all he said. Nothing more. Then he walked out the door, leaving me astonished and bristled. He was such a drama llama, making an exit like that. Clearly, he watched too many black and white movies. That thought upset me because I loved black and white movies, too. Ugh!

  The envelope burned at my curiosity for the next few hours until my shift ended. I was acutely aware of its presence in my apron pocket as I set about my chores. Filling the salt shakers, wiping down the menus, doing fifty roll-ups. All those menial tasks gave me ample time to contemplate what might be in that envelope. It was kind of thick. If it was a letter, it was a long one. Who wrote letters in the twenty-first century? I pictured Will at an old writing desk with a quill and ink. It was the best I could do to lighten my mood until I could have some privacy to read whatever it was he couldn’t put in an email. Maybe he knew I’d delete it without opening it.

  Once I left the lodge for the day, I decided to pull into a Home Depot parking lot to open the letter in my car. If it exploded in my face, I’d be able to use their fire hydrant. I gingerly opened the seal and retrieved four sheets of stationary filled with scribblings front and back. A word here and there was crossed out, and since there were no lines, the sentences curved down in a slant and weren’t uniform in size.

  The letterhead was personalized, like he actually wrote letters on a regular basis. Maybe he did use a quill. Will with a quill. The words he used, careful in execution and somewhat formal were as follows:

  From the desk of William Martin Darcy

  Bahh what a dork.

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet,

  Please don’t think this letter is a repeat of my advances. I suppose by writing you, it would seem that I’m not giving up the hopes and wishes I expressed to you last night. Believe me, I’d rather not drag this out longer than is comfortable for either one of us, but as a matter of principle, I felt I needed to clear the air of a few misunderstandings. I can almost see you roll your eyes as I write this, but please bear with me.

  Rolling my eyes! I was SO rolling my eyes. Curse him for knowing that. Grrr.

  Last night, you made two incriminating accusations against me. One, I convinced Bing to detach himself from Jane—to put it in your words—played with their emotions and made them miserable. The other grievance you expressed concerned Jorge Wickham. According to your accounts, I stripped him of his dignity and ruined his life, casting him out into the world to live out his days in poverty and obscurity. You make me out as a tyrant.

  Well, if the shoe fits…

  To cast out a childhood friend who was practically family, someone my father loved like a son, who lived with us as a brother would be a pretty crappy thing to do, but it’s not even in the same ballpark as keeping two people apart who hardly know each other. By the way you rained down your fury last night, one would think I was some kind of mustache-twirling super villain with a secret vendetta on all that’s good. I hope after you read this, you’ll understand the truth enough to put this behind us. I’m sorry if what I have to say offends you, but I have to get this off my chest. As far as I’m concerned, it’s pointless to apologize.

  You would think that, you arrogant Caiaphas.

  As you’re probably aware, Bing and I came to the Gardiner straight from a national tour. What you don’t know, however, is that I was responsible for introducing him to Stella, which got him the lead role in Pirates. I promised I would guide him in his career—to steer him in the right direction so he could enjoy some success. I did this selflessly, taking a job in a venue far below my skill level all as a favor to him. (I won’t get into the particulars of my arrangement with Stella that came with the deal.)

  Because I felt so protective of Bing’s success, I grew increasingly concerned with the amount of time he was spending with Jane versus his craft. He’s a talented actor, but he has a lot to learn, and in this business, it takes tireless dedication and hard work. Having a girlfriend is just a distraction. Even so, if I thought there was any true affection, I wouldn’t have said anything. But I watched them. I took advantage of every opportunity I had to observe the way they acted in private—away from the theatre. Bing was like a docile puppy dog; he’d follow her around anywhere. But I didn’t sense she felt the same for him. She was aloof—she almost seemed bored around him. That’s when I knew it wasn’t worth it.

  If I didn’t intervene, he would have lived the rest of his life with regret. I’ve seen too much pain because of unequal relationships. I don’t think I did anything wrong in pointing out to him the consequences of making a big mistake like that. If Jane’s feelings were hurt in the process, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for anyone to get hurt. I’m sure you’ll probably disagree with me about everything. But that’s how I saw the situation, and I stand by my decision to protect my friend.

  At this point, I didn’t want to read any further. I was tempted to rip that letter to shreds. I wanted to douse it in gasoline and set it on fire. I wanted to attach it to a rocket and send it into space. But then I felt sorry for the extraterrestrials and thought better of it. Just the fact that he touched the paper grated on my nerves. Typical Hollywood actor, so wrapped up in his own ego, he couldn’t see how much two people loved each other. Unbelievable. Jane wasn’t the type to act like an imbecile when she liked a guy. That was Lydia’s department. What did he expect? A soliloquy? And how dare he? How dare he make assumptions based on a few fleeting observations? Ugh! I could have punched somebody. I exerted my anger by laying my fist down hard on the horn. A guy getting out of his Ford truck whipped his head around, looking for the culprit. He was out for blood over such an offense.

  I decided to head home, lest I do something rendering me a public nuisance. All throughout the drive, my thoughts simmered on the haughty words in that letter. Dating Jane wasn’t worth it? He would have lived the rest of his life with regret? Who gave Will the authority to interpret those signals for Bing? What was even in it for him? One would imagine, by the tone of his words and the half-baked excuses he made, his reputation was hinged on Bing’s life choices. News flash: Will didn’t have much of a reputation to uphold. He took his shirt off and ran from explosions to make box office millions. Who cared about his little escapade at a venue below his skill level. What a Judas. I’m sure none of his fans had even heard of Gilbert and Sullivan, much less Pirates of Penzance.

  By the time I arrived at the apartment, my knuckles were white. I didn’t even realize how tight I gripped the steering wheel. It was rather painful to pry them loose. I had my sights set on a B.L.T. and the whole bag of kettle chips I stole from my parents’ house. Then I would lock myself in my room and decide if I wanted to give Will’s letter any more of my time, or if I wanted to flush it down the toilet. After some thought, I decided the letter didn’t deserve the honor of clogging up my plumbing, so it sat in my purse, taunting me as I made my sandwich.

  Jane and Lydia were still in their pajamas and messy buns. I envied them. Why was I the only one with a crappy job? An Equity paycheck was good enough for them. It should have been more than adequate for me too. I truly considered the advice Fitz gave me. There are no guarantees. Take a chance. Put yourself out there. I made a mental note to call him later to apologize. There were no messages from him on my phone. Maybe he saw me talking to Will. Ugh! Will. My eyes drifted to my purse—like if I stared at it hard enough, my x-ray vision might kick in.

  To add to the noise level in my little apartment, Holly was visiting. She and Lydia were making plans that sounded rather ominous.

  “Don’t take any expensive jewelry—and if you want fireworks, Cole knows a guy.” Holly perused internet articles on her phone, exchanging advice with Lydia. “We’ll be on the boat most of the time, but if we go anywhere, stash a roll of toilet paper in your purse. I guess they don’t provide toilet paper in public restrooms.”

  “B.Y.O.T.P.,” Lydia quipped
.

  “Oh!” Holly frowned at her phone. “This article doesn’t recommend carrying a purse at all.”

  “How about a beach bag?” Lydia suggested.

  Holly shook her head solemnly. “Nope. A friend of mine had her beach bag stolen when she was distracted by a good-looking guy who pointed out a mustard stain on her shoulder. Apparently, it’s a big scam. One guy squirts condiments on your back and steals anything you set on the floor while the other guy distracts you with his bedroom, Latin-lover eyes.”

  Lydia laughed. “The only thing they’ll steal from me is a roll of toilet paper and some sunscreen. I plan on putting my pesos in my bathing suit.”

  She grabbed her boobs and wiggled them, shaking her butt for extra flavor.

  “What are you two talking about?” I asked with a trace of annoyance in my tone.

  Lydia spread her palms, pumping her party-girl arms over her head.

  “We’re going to Mex-i-co!”

  Then she hooted like she was already at some Tijuana nightclub doing shots. She hadn’t even left the living room and already she was acting like a dingbat.

  “We’re going on Cole’s boat,” Holly explained. “Definitely Ensenada, but maybe we’ll make it as far as Cabo.”

  Lydia rocked her head in agreement. “Papas and Beer!”

  “And fishing,” Holly added. “Cole loves to fish.”

  Lydia winced, offended by the imaginary fish smell.

  “Are you sure you should be going to Mexico?” I asked Lydia. “You got Montezuma’s Revenge when you went to lunch in Chula Vista. Besides, I don’t think Mexico’s quite ready for you.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Holly said. “We’ll eat on the boat and won’t drink the water.”

  “Don’t drink the water, señorrrrita,” Lydia said, rolling her Rs. “Only tequila.”