Darcy in Hollywood

by Victoria Kincaid

  She handed her phone to Elizabeth, careful not to disturb her fake nails. “Here, take a picture.” She snuggled up next to Darcy, who grudgingly cooperated with his first selfie at the scene of an accident.

  But her sister shook her head. “Lydia, it’s a selfie. Do it yourself.”

  “But I don’t have my stick!” Lydia wailed. “And I’m sure my hair is a mess, and I have coral lipstick on! Coral! Don’t you see what a disaster that is?”

  Lydia grabbed Darcy’s arm, apparently urgently needing to make him understand. “I don’t usually wear coral; it makes my lips go all fishy. But Max, the makeup assistant, wanted to try something…”

  Darcy tuned out her babble. She was just another wannabe movie star with more beauty than talent. Eager to move her along, he plucked the phone from Elizabeth’s grip and handed it to Lydia. “There will be plenty of time for pictures. We’ll be working together.” He gave her the killer smile, the one that always made the women melt. The one he secretly dubbed “set phasers on stun.”

  Lydia was not immune. “Sure. No problem.” Her eyes remained fixed on his face while her voice became high and breathy.

  A knot of gawkers had formed around the Ferrari and its lamppost. Finally noticing, Bennet stared at the accident for a few seconds before turning back to Darcy. “Do you usually park it that way? The studio might not like that.”

  “That’s not my customary method. It was an accident.”

  Tom turned his gaze back to the car as if it were a strange piece of modern artwork that he was trying to understand.

  “I thought your license was suspended,” Lydia said.

  Darcy winced. He hated how everyone with an internet connection knew the intimate details of his life. “It was restored. Just today.”

  Lydia clapped her hands together. “Yay for you! Congratulations! I bet you’re so happy.” Darcy flicked his skeptical gaze toward the trashed car, but Lydia didn’t notice.

  As Tom stared at the car, Darcy braced himself for overdue paternal anger. It was terrifying to think what would have happened if Elizabeth had been between the Ferrari and the lamppost.

  But the producer instead loomed over his injured daughter. “Did you get in the way of Mr. Darcy’s car? He’s a very busy man, you know.”

  Standing beside her father, Lydia had her hands on her hips. “That wasn’t very considerate, Lizzy.”

  “I wasn’t in his way.” Elizabeth sighed, rubbing her forehead with one hand. “I was on the sidewalk.”

  The producer gesticulated wildly at the wreck. “Don’t you see what happened to the car?”

  Was this the kind of sympathy she could count on from her family? Darcy had been annoyed and shaken up by the accident, but it hadn’t been Elizabeth’s fault.

  “Insurance will cover the car,” Darcy told Tom. “I’m sure it will be as good as new.” Although Raoul might never let me drive it again.

  Tom was still berating his daughter, who was now even paler. “He could have been hurt! Do you know what that would have done to our shooting schedule? You should be more careful about which sidewalks you walk on!”

  “It’s fine, Tom,” Darcy insisted. “I wasn’t hurt. I’m more worried about Elizabeth. She might need a trip to the emergency room.” Darcy supposed he would have to be the voice of reason if nobody else would.

  “That would be a good idea.” Elizabeth’s voice was weaker than it was a few minutes ago.

  Tom stared down at his phone screen. “No, no. Lizzy’s not essential to the movie. We’ll be fine without her.”

  Darcy blew out an irritated breath. “I’m sure that’s true, but she needs immediate medical attention. I would take her to the emergency room—”

  “But you can’t miss the table read,” Tom interrupted. “And I can’t either.”

  Elizabeth turned toward her sister. “Lydia?”

  The blonde gaped. “I can’t take you! I have two lines in the screenplay!”

  Surely the woman who had so forcefully rejected all of Darcy’s excuses would give her sister a piece of her mind, but Elizabeth merely nodded slightly and kneaded her forehead.

  “What about Jane?” she asked her father. Jane Bennet was another of Tom’s daughters. A talented indie-film actress, she had one of the movie’s biggest roles.

  “She’s not here yet. And we’ll need her for the table read too.”

  Elizabeth’s weary nods suggested she was losing feistiness by the minute. Darcy hadn’t known her long but found the trend rather alarming. Did this typically occur with concussions? Why didn’t anyone else notice? “I’m calling for an ambulance.” He pulled out his cell phone.

  Bennet held up his hands. “There’s no need for such a fuss.”

  Darcy called the studio’s main line. “I disagree.” Two years ago, he had played an EMT in a thriller. Research for the role had included ride-alongs on real ambulance calls. The paramedics had stressed the importance of calling an ambulance if there was any doubt about the severity of someone’s injury. Only a professional could know for sure.

  “Worldwide Studios. How can I help you?” a crisp voice on the other end of the line said.

  “Yes, I have a young woman here who hit her head and might have a concussion. I’d like you to send an ambulance.” Some of the bigger studios had their own medical teams and ambulances, but Darcy didn’t know if Worldwide was one of them.

  “Oh my God! Is this William Darcy?” the woman said breathlessly.

  Darcy barely managed not to curse. Why did he have to have such a distinctive voice? Be nice to your fans. Be nice to your fans. “Yes, it is.”

  “I feel lightheaded,” the woman said.

  “Please don’t faint before you send the ambulance.”

  She giggled. “You say the funniest things!”

  “Is an ambulance on its way?”

  “Yes, I dispatched the team closest to your location.”

  “Thank you.” Darcy hung up before she could demand an autograph.

  Chapter Two

  “The ambulance is on its way,” William Darcy said to Elizabeth.

  “Thank you,” she said to his shirt. Over the past ten minutes she had realized that actually gazing upon him caused her IQ to drop by 50 points, so it was better to avoid his face altogether. Incredibly enough, the guy was far more gorgeous in person than on screen. His wavy dark hair was artfully tousled on the top and short on the sides; it made a striking contrast with the sky blue of his eyes—a remarkable color that every camera loved.

  Of course, focusing on his clingy t-shirt only drew her attention to his broad shoulders and perfectly sculpted chest. Those IQ points were probably a dead loss anyway.

  Although she had envisioned someone nerdier when she read the screenplay, Elizabeth had been psyched when her father nabbed William Darcy for the movie’s lead. Having Darcy attached to the project ensured that her father could raise the necessary funding—and he was a terrific actor.

  William Darcy was known for landing the teen or young adult parts in serious dramas: an adaptation of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, a movie about Civil War spies, a courtroom drama about a famous civil rights case.

  Then he had starred in Ramon and Julia, a modern-day adaptation of Romeo and Juliet that had catapulted him from Masterpiece Theatre darling to heartthrob with a poster on every teen girl’s wall. Afterward, he had been offered the lead in every romance, romantic comedy, and superhero film in Hollywood.

  He had turned them all down in favor of a small budget indie film about an adopted teen searching for his biological mother. Squealing teenage fans were disappointed while critics applauded his choice. Since then his career had favored serious and offbeat movies rather than crowd-pleasers, although his heartthrob status never seemed to wane.

  A year ago, he had been signed for the lead in a drama about the French Resistance during World War II, both big budget and high prestige. But after the incident in Palm Springs, the offer had been withdrawn. Two other tenta
tive deals had gone belly up. His blazingly hot career was suddenly lukewarm at best.

  But Darcy’s bad fortune had proved to be good luck for Elizabeth’s father. With limited options, Darcy had agreed to do a little indie film for SAG scale, ensuring that the movie would be made and bringing other high-profile stars aboard.

  Maybe I should have been nicer to him; Dad needs him for the movie. But honestly it’s hard to be gracious when someone nearly hits you with a car. It doesn’t provoke the urge to write a thank you note.

  Elizabeth was so sick of Hollywood guys. Although her father had never been an A-list producer or director, she had met plenty of celebrities over the years. When she was younger, meeting actors whose work she admired had been exciting, particularly those who eschewed big-budget crowd-pleasers in favor of more serious dramatic work. On talk shows, her favorite movie stars would seem so genuine and friendly, but then she’d meet them in person and be…disappointed.

  Every.

  Single.

  Time.

  They were all shallow, entitled assholes. She’d give them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps some of them had been nice people before becoming movie stars, but once they achieved a certain level of fame, all the fawning and attention created a perpetual sense of entitlement, and they evolved into huge jerks.

  She couldn’t wait to get away from Hollywood and the falseness it represented. Thank God this would be the last of her father’s films she ever helped to make; at least it was a project she believed in. But Darcy’s behavior so far had confirmed her impression that he was the typical self-centered Hollywood SOB who always got what he wanted, whether it was women, drugs, booze, or money.

  Still, William Darcy called an ambulance for me. That’s a story I can tell the grandchildren someday.

  “Here.” One of the PAs had lugged a cooler out of the building, and Darcy thrust a cold bottle of water into Elizabeth’s hand. She gratefully unscrewed the cap and drank thirstily.

  “Thanks.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  She peered up at him briefly, but the sun was bright, and squinting made her headache worse. Closing her eyes, she longed for a place to rest her head…and some shade. But she might as well wish for a bed and a massage therapist while she was at it.

  “Do you mind not looming over me like that?” she said irritably. “The sun makes my head hurt even more.” Was that a sign of a concussion? Mentally she reviewed the symptoms: dizziness, loss of consciousness, disorientation… Was light sensitivity on the list? She couldn’t remember, but she was pretty sure loss of memory was.

  “Sorry.” Darcy positioned his body so that he shaded her from the sun. “Is that better?”

  That was actually a lot better, but why was he suddenly being so nice? Maybe he wanted the cast to view him as a genuine, caring person. Of course, he also didn’t want Elizabeth to die; it would create a lot of bad press—something he could ill afford. She couldn’t forget that his nice guy act had nothing to do with her.

  Lydia had wandered away to flirt with a cameraman, so Darcy sat beside Elizabeth on the bench. “I don’t…I hope—” He cleared his throat. “There’s no need to go to the media with this story.”

  Elizabeth’s head was throbbing, and she was tempted to make him sweat it a little, but she didn’t want to create problems for her father. “Of course not.”

  His shoulders sagged in relief. “Do you need anything else?”

  Besides a doctor, aspirin, and a head CT? “No,” she snapped before thinking better of it. “It would be nice not to be surrounded by thirty curious people, though.”

  “Of course.” Darcy shot to his feet. “Everyone, clear out!” he bellowed to the onlookers. “The ambulance will be here any minute. We don’t want you getting in the way.”

  Incredibly, everyone moved with alacrity. Soon they were all gone except Darcy and her father. Wow, I wish people would listen to me that way. Hell, the family dog doesn’t listen to me like that.

  “Thank you,” she said to Darcy. She refused to call him Mr. Darcy to his face, no matter what her father expected. The man was maybe five years older than she was; she refused to address him like a schoolteacher.

  The sounds of a siren, faint at first, grew louder as the ambulance negotiated the turns through the studio’s maze of streets.

  “Surely someone can accompany her to the hospital,” Darcy said to her father. Elizabeth could have told him not to bother. Her family put the “must” in “the show must go on.”

  Tom Bennet shook his head.

  “That’s not right,” Darcy started to object. It was kind of cute how he thought they would care, but she didn’t want him to sprain something trying too hard.

  “I’ll be okay,” Elizabeth cut in. “They can come to the hospital once they’re finished here.” Actually, she’d probably be better off without them. Jane would be helpful, but she couldn’t leave the table read.

  Her father patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “That’s a girl.” He peered at his watch. “We should get a move on. I’m paying for this space by the hour.”

  “But—” Darcy frowned in Elizabeth’s direction.

  “It’s okay,” she said wearily. An ambulance ride was beginning to sound relaxing compared to these negotiations. “Go ahead.”

  Darcy shot a glance at the ambulance, now a block away. “All right.” Her father was already striding toward Building 4, but Darcy hovered awkwardly. Maybe he really is worried about my well-being. “Please don’t say anything about me.” Or maybe not. After those final caring words, Darcy hurried away.

  Elizabeth watched him go, realizing that he had never apologized.

  The minute the ambulance pulled up at the curb, two EMTs jumped out. A short Hispanic woman immediately hooked Elizabeth up to a blood pressure monitor. The other EMT, a tall man with wavy brown hair who could have been a model, gave her a smile straight out of a toothpaste ad. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  As she recounted the incident, not mentioning Darcy’s name, he took her pulse, shined a light into her eyes, and examined the bump on the back of her head.

  “That’s a nasty bump you’ve got back there,” he commented. “I think we’ll need to take you to the hospital for a workup.”

  Elizabeth nodded and then winced at the pain. “I don’t think I lost consciousness and I’m not disoriented, so if it’s a concussion it’s a mild one. But I should probably have a head CT to be sure.”

  He blinked. “Are you a doctor?”

  “No, but I was pre-med in college. I’m applying to med schools now.”

  “Ah.” He grinned at her as he and his partner pulled the gurney out of the back of the ambulance. “I considered med school myself but decided I liked acting more.”

  “Please don’t tell me you only play an EMT on TV,” she teased.

  He laughed with big hearty guffaws. Wow, a real, down-to-earth human being despite his acting ambitions. Well, they didn’t usually turn into Darcy-sized bastards until they made the big time. “I am a real EMT. This is my day job until I get my big break. What better place for an aspiring actor than on a movie studio?” He helped her onto the gurney and strapped her down before offering his hand. “George Wickham, EMT to the stars.”

  She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, George. I’m Elizabeth.”

  George and his partner wheeled her toward the ambulance. “Don’t worry, Elizabeth, we’ll take great care of you.”

  William Darcy had cared more about his Ferrari and his career than Elizabeth—and her own family had cared more about Darcy. It was nice that someone cared about her—even if it was his job.

  The EMTs slid the gurney into the ambulance and locked it into place. George’s partner jumped out and closed the doors; presumably she would drive. After hooking her up to a heart monitor, George strapped himself into an adjacent seat with a clipboard in his lap. “So I’m going to need to fill out a detailed report. What was the name of the person driving that fancy ri
de back there?”

  The ambulance lurched into motion. “I’d rather not say.”

  George frowned.

  “He didn’t actually hit me. I fell down and struck my head. And, um, I’d like to keep his name out of the papers.”

  George tapped his pen against the clipboard. “Was it William Darcy?”

  She gaped at him.

  He gave her a knowing grin. “I knew he was starting to film a new movie at the studio this week. Who else would drive such an ostentatious red Ferrari?”

  Had she already put the film in danger? “Please don’t tell anyone. I don’t care about Darcy, but my dad is producing the movie. They don’t need bad publicity.”

  He made a locking motion at his mouth. “My lips are sealed. This wouldn’t be the first time the studio had a car accident with ‘John Smith’ driving.” Elizabeth exhaled her relief. “But between you and me, Darcy’s a bit of a dick, isn’t he?”

  Finally, someone who understood! “Hell to the yeah! I guess he expected me to fall at his feet, but honestly it’s hard to be starstruck when your body gets a shot of adrenaline that will last until Christmas.”

  George leaned closer. “How did he hit you?”

  Elizabeth started to shake her head before realizing that made it hurt. “He didn’t hit me. He almost hit me. I was on the sidewalk, and his car was heading toward me. When I tried to run away, I fell and hit my head. His car hit the streetlamp instead of me.”

  George chuckled. “The man really is a menace behind the wheel of a car.”

  Elizabeth’s thoughts were more than a little muddled. But it occurred to her that George’s reaction was rather…gleeful.

  “Do you know Darcy?”

  George’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “You could say that. Our families were friendly when I was a kid. We went on vacation together. I played with both Darcy and his sister, although I was closer to his sister’s age.”

  Now Elizabeth’s curiosity was piqued. “But you’re not friends anymore?”