Pride, Prejudice, and Push-Up Bras

by Mary Strand

  “Hi, Liz.” She started scanning the stuff from my cart, her head down, as if she were intent on the barcodes.

  She didn’t say anything else, I didn’t say anything, and the only sound was the bip-bip-bip of the scanner. When she rang up the total, I pulled out the bills that Mom had stuffed into my jacket pocket.

  Part of me wondered if things were so bad for the Langdons that I should hand Mrs. Langdon a twenty.

  I stared at one, frowning.

  “It’s thirty dollars, dear, not twenty. Actually, thirty-one dollars and fifty-seven cents.”

  Startled, I glanced up into Mrs. Langdon’s face, seeing the same kind eyes I’d known since third grade, the same woman who’d been so sweet to me all those times I’d escaped the madhouse I lived in for the relative sanity of Rachel’s house. Well, if you could ignore her dad’s inventions.

  I handed her two twenties and stuffed the other bills back in my pocket. While Mrs. Langdon made change, I glanced behind me. No one else was in line.

  I opened my mouth to ask why she was working at Kowalski’s, but nothing came out. I bit my lip, realizing I couldn’t ask. But I could ask about Rachel, couldn’t I?

  Haltingly, at least. “I, uh, can’t seem to catch Rachel lately. Is she okay?”

  Mrs. Langdon stared at me, her eyes blinking rapidly, as if she was desperately trying to come up with a major fib. I sucked in a breath. Rachel wasn’t speaking to me and her mom was in on it? Seriously?

  I shrugged. “Well, tell her I said hi.”

  I forgot to bundle up when I went outside, but I barely noticed the cold—twenty below plus wind chill—and drove home in a daze. When I reached my house, I dumped the groceries in the kitchen and the extra cash in Mom’s hands, then headed upstairs to my room. Mom and her gossip network would want to know all about Doreen Langdon and her new job, but I didn’t feel like telling her.

  I didn’t feel like much of anything. At all.

  The rest of January and the first half of February passed in a blur of snow, cold, and constant nothingness.

  Good preparation, I figured, for Valentine’s Day.

  Jane hadn’t heard anything from Charlie, but she acted so indifferent that I didn’t do anything to fix the status quo. Meanwhile, Justin continued to hang with Tiffany Hale of the big money and big boobs. I didn’t have Tiffany’s dough or boobs, but I’d started hanging out at Victoria’s Secret. Just looking in the windows. It probably meant something, but I wasn’t in the mood to ponder.

  Why I decided to visit Victoria’s Secret on Valentine’s Day, though, was beyond me. No one was panting to see whatever scandalous lacy nothing I might buy, even if I could come up with the money or guts to spring for it. I would’ve said the same for Jane, too, if I hadn’t run into her. In the dressing rooms. In a bustier and jeans. Sobbing.

  “Jane?” I whipped a scorching red push-up bra behind my back. “What are you doing here?”

  Mascara smeared her cheeks as she stood in front of a mirror and tried to stop wailing, ending on a hiccup. “I’m not here, Liz. You never saw me here.”

  I shrugged. “Fine. You definitely never saw me here. But what are you doing? Other than trying not to drip mascara on that, uh, thing.”

  “It’s called a bustier.”

  Even in front of Jane, I felt my face flaming. “I know. I just...never knew how to pronounce it.”

  So much for never lying to Jane.

  Her eyebrows rose. “You’re the toughest girl I know, but you freak at lingerie? Lingerie other than sports bras, I mean. It’s not a big deal.”

  Even though her own cheeks turned pink.

  A knot also formed in the center of her forehead. “Come to think of it, why are you here? You hate stuff like this.”

  “I never said that. I—” Too many women were hovering nearby, and my face probably matched the color of the bra stuffed behind my back. Besides, Jane was still crying. I waved my free hand in the air. “Never mind.” Everyone needed an Achilles heel, right? “But what’s wrong?”

  Jane took a deep breath, slowly releasing it, and wiped a hand across her cheeks. “It’s just hard. I—I miss Charlie. It’s Valentine’s Day, and I wanted to cheer myself up, so I popped in here on the spur of the moment, and I hate it. Charlie left, and I’m supposed to pretend it’s fine.”

  As she practically spat those last words, not sounding at all like Jane, I blinked. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You told me you were done with him. You didn’t want me to call him. I would’ve done anything to help.”

  Jane shook her head. “I still don’t want you to call him. I want Charlie to call me.”

  “It doesn’t always work that way.” Especially if a guy like Charlie has a sister like Stephanie. Was she keeping him from Jane? But why?

  Jane sniffed. “I want what I want.”

  Bottom line, she wanted Charlie. Would she really mind if I helped things along? Not if I didn’t tell her.

  “Don’t worry. I still think we can fix this.” I patted her arm, awkwardly, trying not to stare at Jane in her bustier. I mean, we share a bedroom and I’ve seen her a million times in her undies, but this just didn’t look like Jane. It looked more like Stephanie.

  Jane erupted in a fresh set of tears. “I-I don’t think we can. Um, fix this.” As her shoulders convulsed, she stared at the floor. “I-I missed my period.”

  I shrugged. “So? I mean, it happens.” More often to a jock like me, I guess, but still. “It’s not a big deal if you’re not having sex.”

  And God knew Jane wasn’t. She’d have to leave the house. She’d also have to start liking someone other than Charlie. As in, someone she actually saw.

  Jane’s gaze flickered quickly on my face before swooping back to the floor. “Um, that’s the thing. I might’ve seen Charlie in New York. Once.”

  And told me she hadn’t. Her lie stung a moment before the huge issue hit me. Jane actually had sex with Charlie? And now she might be pregnant? Holy crap!

  The next morning, I was still shaking from Jane’s news. I couldn’t believe she’d done it with Charlie, not to mention that she might be pregnant. Pregnant!

  I really couldn’t believe that Charlie—the choir boy, the springer spaniel—had done it with Jane and then not even called. Okay, I could believe the “doing it” part. I mean, he’s a guy, and she must’ve been willing, and, well, opportunity knocked. What guy wouldn’t?

  Had Charlie and Jane been doing it all along? Like, at his condo here in Woodbury? I couldn’t believe it. Of course, I couldn’t believe much of anything Jane said right now. Which was probably why she left for school before me today. She didn’t want questions.

  And, boy, did I have some.

  As I munched my Lucky Charms at a kitchen table free of sisters or parents, I glanced at my watch. Enough time—barely—to do something for Jane before class. Even if she didn’t appreciate it.

  Five minutes later, I repeated my long-ago Google search and quickly nabbed Charlie’s work phone number and email. Jane probably still had the info on that slip of paper I’d given her—knowing her, sprayed with perfume and tucked under her pillow—but I was on a stealth mission.

  I grabbed my cell phone and punched in Charlie’s digits before I could talk myself out of it. Jane told me not to call him. She’d even mentioned something about dismemberment. But this was Jane, who’d spent way too long moaning about Charlie without doing anything to get him back.

  She’d thank me for this. Some day. Possibly after she killed me.

  On the third ring, a familiar voice answered. “Charlie Bingham’s office.”

  “Could I speak to Charlie?”

  “Who’s calling, please?”

  “Liz Bennet. A friend of Charlie’s from Minnesota.”

  The voice dropped in temperature. “Liz. How are you? It’s been so long.”

  A chill ran down my spine. “Stephanie?”

  She tittered, totally fake. “Didn’t you know I’m Charlie’s executive as
sistant? What did you think I was doing in Minnesota all that time?”

  Sponging off Charlie? “No idea, Stephanie. But could I talk to Charlie?”

  “Oh, so sorry. Charlie is, er, out of town—out of the country, in fact—for the next couple of weeks. Working on labor contracts. Very complex, and I’m really not at liberty to discuss it. You understand. So he’ll be gone for, well, like I said, a couple of weeks. Possibly three. But I’ll make sure he calls you when he gets back.”

  My jaw dropped. She would? “Really?”

  “Of course. Hope your family is doing well. And Jane—I miss her so much. Well, have to dash. Bye!”

  The phone clicked in my ear. Stephanie’s phone manners were right up there with her in-person manners—nonexistent—but at least I had an explanation for why Charlie hadn’t called Jane. Okay, it wasn’t much, but it gave me a spark of hope I hadn’t had a minute ago. In any case, I’d soon hear from Charlie, and, with any luck, Jane would hear from Charlie. I rubbed my hands together. A good deed done. Or almost done.

  Chapter 12

  “Upon my word,” said her ladyship, “you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person.”

  — Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume II, Chapter Six

  March arrived, but Jane’s period still hadn’t. Yikes! The news, reported in a tense whisper by Jane, also reminded me that Charlie had never returned my call. Sure, I had a million and one doubts about Stephanie, but even if she didn’t like me, she liked Jane. So I couldn’t pin Charlie’s rudeness on Stephanie. But maybe it ran in the family?

  Bottom line, no matter what happened now—and the options weren’t good—Charlie was definitely a jerk. And not worth calling again. Ever.

  March also meant spring break. I didn’t have the cash to go anywhere warm—or anywhere at all—and figured I’d just hang out at the house and worry about Jane. A week before spring break, though, Rachel called.

  “Liz?” Her voice squeaked, maybe from lack of use. “How are you doing?”

  That’s it? After all this time? No explanations, let alone huge apologies?

  “Fine.” I didn’t ask how she was doing, or how her parents were doing, or why her mom was working at Kowalski’s. I figured I’d let her fix things. It was her turn.

  “I was, uh, wondering what you were doing for spring break. If you could maybe visit me in Fargo.”

  I’d rather have my toenails yanked out one by one. But I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Fargo? Wild Bill?

  “Liz? You’re still there, right?”

  I blinked, wishing I were anywhere else. “Mostly.”

  “I really need to see you. I need to talk.”

  “And your iPhone doesn’t work?” I hated the sarcasm in my voice, but I hadn’t heard from Rachel in two months and hadn’t understood her in at least four. “Sorry, but I don’t get it. I keep calling and emailing and texting you, and you don’t give a rat’s ass, and suddenly you want me to drive all the way to Fargo so we can talk?”

  “I, uh, don’t have the iPhone anymore.”

  “Whatever.” Knowing Rachel, she’d spaced out and left it in the college library, and someone swiped it. “You know what I mean. You have a phone. I mean, we’re talking right now.”

  “I’m using someone else’s phone.”

  I rolled my eyes. Leave it to Rachel to talk technicalities when I was talking about being dissed.

  “Liz, please. Come to Fargo. I’ll explain everything when you get here. I swear.”

  Groaning, I hung up after making no promises. But Jane didn’t want to talk about her situation, and I had to admit that Rachel sounded desperate. I spent a couple of hours thinking about her mom working at Kowalski’s, and all the other questions I had, and finally I asked Mom and Dad if I could take the Jeep for a week. To go to Fargo. Yuck.

  Even Jane thought it was a good idea. But by the time I agreed to go to Fargo, Jane “suddenly” scraped together the cash to fly to New York. To visit Uncle Ed and Aunt Molly. Ha. Was she going after Charlie? Was she a complete idiot?

  On the third Saturday in March, as Jane winged her way to LaGuardia, I drove up the windswept Highway 94 toward Fargo, shivering from the lousy heater in the Jeep. I also quickly discovered that Lydia had swiped my CDs from the Jeep.

  Life sucked.

  Nothing but static came out of the radio as the miles passed, a blur of nothingness out the window. Flat plains and not so much as a bump you could call a hill. As I reminded myself that this was only a week out of my life, I finally rolled into Fargo, got off the Interstate, and made a few wrong turns before finding Rachel’s place.

  Except...this couldn’t be Rachel’s place.

  Rachel stood at the front door of the biggest mansion I’d ever seen up close, looking like she’d been standing there for hours, slowly freezing to death. Spring had started to whisper its arrival in Woodbury, but winter still held a firm grip on Fargo. Snow and ice and barren trees in every direction. I shivered, wondering how Rachel could stand it.

  I trundled my way up the freshly-shoveled front walk and hugged Rachel, who quickly shoved me inside. I swiveled my head, taking in the marble floor and crystal chandelier and the huge cobweb in the far corner of the hall ceiling. Before I could say anything, Rachel hurried me up the sweeping, curving, grand staircase—just like one of those staircases in the old Hollywood movies, you know?—and into a back hallway, and then up another staircase. But this second staircase was narrow, dark, and led to a low-ceilinged attic area with two musty bedrooms and a tiny bathroom, barely big enough to breathe in.

  I glanced around the first bedroom. Small but cute, and the knickknacks and photos scattered around reminded me of Rachel. It also held a twin bed.

  “Rachel? What are we doing here? I thought you were living with Wild Bill—I mean, Bill.”

  Had she actually come to her senses? If so, why hadn’t she told me? Because I’d say I told her so?

  Hmmm. Possibly.

  Rachel shrugged. “I am living with Bill. Kinda.”

  “How do you ‘kinda’ live with a guy?” I frowned. Leave it to Rachel to shack up with a guy but in separate bedrooms.

  “He lives...in the basement.”

  I blinked.

  “That’s, uh, part of why I haven’t called or written. It’s a little difficult to explain.”

  I sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the space next to me. “I have all week. But I hope you’re going to start explaining today, not the day I leave.”

  Rachel glanced at the bed, gnawed on her lip, then sat cross-legged on the floor.

  “I had to get a job.”

  I squinted at her. “To afford NDSU? Isn’t it cheaper than the U of M?”

  Rachel shook her head. “Just listen, okay?”

  I made a sign of zipping my lips, even though I had a million questions and the whole job thing made no sense. Then I remembered Mrs. Langdon’s new job, and a lightbulb clicked on, and I waited for Rachel to continue.

  She twisted her hands in her lap. “I had to move out of my parents’ condo. Dad’s stupid inventions were bad enough, but then he started spending the royalties he expected on an invention that, it turned out, couldn’t get a patent.”

  I frowned. Mr. Langdon was eccentric, but I’d never thought he was an idiot. Didn’t you always have to wait until the patent came through?

  Rachel shrugged, as if she knew what I was thinking. “He’d already sold our house and spent a mint on that condo, and then he couldn’t afford the mortgage payments, so Mom and Dad started selling things on eBay. Jewelry, furniture, you name it. Even my new iPhone, which Dad got me for Christmas because he felt so bad about everything. I couldn’t let you inside our condo, since you would’ve figured it out.”

  “Was that what was going on when we took all that stuff to Goodwill?” I remembered thinking that Mrs. Langdon had just bought that gorgeous coat. Apparently, she had. And then had to sell it. “Or not to Goodwill?”

  Nodding, Rach
el looked around her tiny bedroom. “All I had left after they sold everything is in this room. Even so, the bank foreclosed, and Mom and Dad filed for bankruptcy. I’d left by then, so they moved into a one-bedroom apartment, and Mom got a job at Kowalski’s.” She shook her head. “Dad is working the night shift at a parking garage, but during the day he’s still tinkering with his inventions. He thinks he’ll hit it rich again, and everything will go back to the way it was.”

  “But...why Fargo? Why did you leave Woodbury?”

  “I couldn’t stand the thought of staying there and having everyone I knew see what had happened.”

  “But these things do happen.” Like, to my dad, thanks to a scam artist. We hadn’t lost our house, but it put a damper on a few of our dreams. Like Jane’s dream of graduating from Carleton. Like, at the moment, mine of getting my own place. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Still. I wanted to get away.”

  “With Bill?”

  She gave me a sheepish smile. “He told me he realized that yoga wasn’t for him. Mrs. Parks invited him back, and she happened to mention that she needed a nanny. She hired me and said I could live here, but only if Bill and I live three floors apart. Me in the attic, Bill in the basement.”

  “Lucky you.” I grinned even as I wondered if Wild Bill spent all his time in the basement.

  We talked a bit more. Then Rachel showed me the room I’d be staying in, next to her, a carbon copy of hers except for the knickknacks. After I tossed my duffle bag in the corner of the room, we headed downstairs.

  We took a tour of the house, which seemed to be empty except for us. Rachel explained that Mrs. Parks was in Chicago until tomorrow, shopping with Veronica. My good luck held until we ran into Bill in the kitchen. After giving me an awkward hug, he found some leftover roast beef and Jell-O in the fridge and asked us to join him for dinner.