Fitzwilliam Darcy, Rock Star

by Heather Lynn Rigaud

  But it was Darcy who totally changed the song. After three days of doing little more than observing, he came in on that Tuesday with a guitar solo that blew them all away.

  Charles was grinning like a maniac as Darcy’s electric guitar became another voice, singing a duet with Jane’s. “I knew it!” he proclaimed to the group. Richard also grinned, glad Darcy was finally participating.

  Shock would be the best way to describe LBS’s reaction. “Guitar virtuoso” was a title that had been dropped around Darcy so many times it had become meaningless with repetition. Nevertheless, when faced with this demonstration of his talent, they were forced to acknowledge his legitimate skill.

  Jane was delighted, eager to share her song with him and the excitement of creating something new. She threw herself into the song with even greater enthusiasm. Charlotte was pleased as well. Suddenly the song had become something exciting and completely different. It was no longer a product of LBS’s with some backup help from Slurry; it was now a true collaboration.

  Elizabeth was the only one not enraptured. She certainly couldn’t deny Darcy’s musicianship or that his addition had dramatically improved the song. But she was angered by where it left her. True, she had a very clear acoustic guitar line, and her vocal harmonies with Jane were crucial, but it infuriated her that Darcy had to step forward and grab the spotlight. It was so typical of what she knew of him. He couldn’t be a part of the ensemble; he had to be the star.

  She felt pushed aside by him, and it hurt her more than she could admit or understand that he wasn’t willing to play with her. It was only in being denied what she wanted that she really understood what it was. She wished they could have played together: a real duet, between the two of them. But instead she was stuck playing backup while he played the star.

  ***

  Charlotte took a deep breath and forced her feet to move. It was the last day of tour before the break and the last hour of free time before they faced the meet-and-greet and then performed.

  She found him and was grateful he was alone. He was hanging out by the bathrooms, smoking. “You’re not supposed to do that inside, you know,” she said lightly.

  Richard looked at his cigarette and shrugged. “It’s too hot to smoke outside.”

  Charlotte lifted half of her mouth in a smile. “Good point. Do you mind?” she asked, pulling out her own pack.

  Richard shook his head and made room for her. While it was a casual action he had done a hundred times, it was touched with melancholy. Even this straightforward act of sharing a cigarette break with Charlotte had become so dear to him he almost couldn’t stand it. He stared at her as she lit her cigarette, her head turned down slightly, and he tried to understand it. When had her face become the most beautiful he had ever known? When had her voice, her eyes, her smile become a part of him? He struggled to maintain his calm, wanting to both run away and to throw himself at her.

  “How are you doing?” he asked with forced casualness.

  Charlotte smiled, a vain attempt to pretend. “Okay. You know.”

  Richard nodded. He knew.

  “What are you going to do during the break?” she asked, playing the game with him.

  “Oh, I’ve got my cousin’s graduation on Sunday, then I’m probably just going to hang out at home.”

  “In the city?”

  “No, my family has a summer place in Massachusetts.”

  Charlotte nodded. He was so easygoing with her; it was easy for her to forget how wealthy he was.

  “What about you?”

  “Oh, pretty much the same. Alex has some record signings for us, and the VMAs of course, but otherwise I’m just going to crash at home.” She took another drag and looked straight ahead. “You know, Massachusetts isn’t that far from me. Maybe we could get together during the break.”

  Richard grimaced. He hated this. He hated the way she was desperately throwing herself at him, he hated the way he wanted her so badly, he hated this stupid charade they were playing, trying to pretend this wasn’t killing them inside. “No, Charlotte,” he said angrily.

  She looked at him then, and nothing could mask the hurt in her eyes.

  “Don’t you get it, Char? I’m no good for you! What do I have to do? I’ve tried over and over again to make you see. I’ve given you every excuse. Just walk away from me!”

  “No,” she said softly. “I can’t.”

  Richard closed his eyes and drew a long breath. “Do you realize what you are doing? You can’t turn away from something that’s harming you. Do you know what that is Char? It’s addiction.”

  “Really?” she said, pulling the last bit of her dignity together. “I thought it was compassion.”

  Richard flinched. When he spoke again his voice was softer, pleading. “Please, Charlotte, don’t do this. Don’t hurt yourself anymore. Turn away from me.”

  Her eyes were large and pouring into his. “Don’t you think I’ve tried?”

  Richard looked down and licked his bottom lip nervously. In a voice that was little more than a whisper, he asked, “Do you love me, Char?”

  “Yes,” she whispered back, not needing to think about it. “I wish I didn’t, I know it’s all wrong, but I do.”

  With great sadness, he took her into his arms and kissed the top of her head tenderly. “I’m sorry, Char. I’m so sorry.”

  Charlotte screwed up her eyes, forcing her tears back. She didn’t need to ask what he meant. She had never had to. They had always understood each other. He didn’t love her; he couldn’t. She had to give him up. She embraced the bitter knowledge that of all the women in North America, she was the only one being denied what would mean the most to her, him. That pain helped her pull away. “Have a good break, Richard,” she said as calmly as she could.

  “You too, Char,” he told her, unable to see her face but knowing what it contained. He felt a huge emptiness opening inside of him, which could only be filled in one way. The pain brought him up short, and the lies he told himself could no longer be believed. Turning away from her had been hard, but turning back to her would be even harder. But he had failed at forgetting her, so now he had no choice. If he was going to survive, he would have to change. He couldn’t do it for his own sake, but he would try for hers.

  ***

  They ended the set with “Lost Myself,” the way they always did. The room was alive, the energy of the crowd feeding the energy onstage in a symbolic cycle. Charles’s voice, rough and gritty, had filled the hall, paired flawlessly with Darcy’s guitar.

  From her place offstage, Elizabeth watched alone, feeling once again that gnawing desire that she had come to despise as her own weakness. She hated that she wanted him, she lusted for him, and she burned for his touch. It was wrong. It was wrong in so many ways she couldn’t even count them, but here, alone in the dark, she let her desire run wild. She let her eyes drink in his tall form; she pictured his long arms holding her tightly. She recalled the heady scent of his skin, alive with the fresh sweat of the show. For a moment she would have given anything to feel him on her, pressing her flat and invading her body. But it was impossible. He was the sweetest fruit and completely forbidden to her.

  “Thank you!” Charles’s voice cut off her yearning, and her attention snapped to the here and now. “We’ve got something special for you tonight!”

  Elizabeth moved forward onto the stage with Charlotte and Jane, and the crowd began cheering. “You know how wonderful our opening act is,” Charles paused for more cheering. “Well, we’ve been working together and we have something to share with you.”

  Charlotte walked to her usual space as Richard stood. “This is your chair,” he told her, with an unusual expression of seriousness on his face. Charlotte took her place behind the drum kit.

  Darcy turned to Elizabeth as she plugged in the hookup for her Gibson and set up her microphone. His eyes inquired if she was ready, hers answered that she was.

  Jane walked fearlessly to the mic stand, which Charle
s yielded to her. Then everyone turned to Darcy and Elizabeth. They would be starting together on the same beat. Their eyes locked as Charlotte raised her hand to the cymbal.

  Without an outward sign, they all moved simultaneously and they were off. Jane began singing with a voice full of longing.

  Darcy’s awareness was limited to a tiny area, encompassing only himself, his guitar, and Elizabeth. He didn’t even hear Jane or the others. It was only he and she. He was playing to her. He hoped she could hear it, that every riff was for her, telling her of his feelings. He watched her play, skipping in and out of her rhythms, sometimes moving with her, sometimes dancing around her.

  His eyes were focused on her, and his fingers required no additional guidance. He smiled his private smile for her, knowing this was one place she could not avoid him. It didn’t even matter that she didn’t return it; she understood. He moved with her, circling each other, her Gibson to his PRS, balanced perfectly together.

  When she had to stop before the microphone to sing, he positioned himself beside her, close enough to touch her, as he played along with her voice. This was the time he had been waiting for, the time when she was his alone. There was no escape for either of them, no retreat. He played the oldest song known: a song of prowess, designed to prove himself worthy of her.

  It didn’t matter now that they were parting as soon as the song was over. It was only a temporary separation, but the marking he made on her was permanent. She would be his. He was playing for her, something he had never done for another woman, and he knew the power of his music. Like Orpheus, no one could resist it.

  Playfully he finished the song, his spell complete, his point won. He bowed low to Elizabeth, his eyes never leaving hers, before they addressed the screaming fans. He held out his hand to her, and as he knew she would, she took it. Together they bowed to the audience, who had witnessed his performance.

  They left the stage together and walked to the instrument area. Darcy put away his PRS, not needing to say anything to her, as she stored her Gibson. When she rose, he faced her. He saw the uncertainty in her eyes as he gently touched her cheek. “Good-bye, Elizabeth. Have a good break,” he said, kissing her. Her lips welcomed his of their own volition.

  They kissed for a long moment before he pulled back. The uncertainty was still there. He recognized that she wasn’t even aware of what happened. He smiled kindly to her and walked away to the limo that would take him and Richard to their flight. His pride wished that Elizabeth recognized what had happened, that she had leapt into his arms and asked to come with him, but it didn’t matter. She was his, and she would know it soon enough.

  Chapter 13

  Elizabeth heard the phone ring as she worked at her computer. She checked the time, ten thirty. He was calling early that night. In the past week, Charles consistently called around midnight. Her heart skipped a beat as she wondered if by chance the caller wasn’t Charles, and instead the call was for her? But she could hear Jane’s voice and knew from her tone it was Charles.

  Not that she really expected a call from him. Still, it didn’t mean she didn’t think about it. It was a sweet fantasy she played within her mind. Darcy would call her, his voice rich and soft in her ear, and he would tell her… what? She had trouble there. The fantasy always broke down at the point. Would he tell her he loved her? And that he was on his way to carry her off to his palace? No, he was not Prince Charming, not even in her fantasies. Would he be shy and softly ask how she was? Would he be dirty and involve her in a hot game of phone sex? She tried all of these fantasies, and none of them really fit. The only one that worked, that really made her sweat, was when she imagined she would pick up the phone and his guitar, not his voice, would answer her. Yeah, she liked that. She could see herself grabbing her own Guild and answering him. Telling him, lick by lick, what she wanted and how she wanted it.

  The fantasy continued, their playing becoming more intricate and exciting, until they were playing in unison, their music loud and powerful. Then the music would fade away, and he would be there, holding her, growling her name, as he pushed himself into her yielding body. She would take him then, take him into herself and he would fill her, answering that longing, the emptiness she knew for so long.

  Elizabeth’s eyes refocused on her computer screen. She licked her lips and fanned herself a little, telling herself that her discomfort was from the July weather, not her imaginings. Besides, he wasn’t going to call. She told herself again and again, like a mantra. It was fun to daydream, but she needed to focus on the here and now.

  Yet even as she thought this, she wondered what it would be like to see him again. She had been so angry when that song had started. Angry with him, and if she was being really honest, angry with herself. She was angry because she felt needy and ignored. Then the song started and suddenly she was not being ignored. Elizabeth didn’t need to see his eyes. His music and his mouth were enough. She still trembled slightly at the memory. How had she managed to keep singing? How could she have stopped? Darcy played to her like no one had ever done before. It was as if he directed all the power of his playing at her. The song was just a framework for his message, which was solely her own.

  What did he say to her? He wanted her. It was so pure and clear a message that it was almost overwhelming. She cried sometimes at the intense memory of his song. Yet she had never felt that it was too much when they had been together. Together, she could answer him, play with him, and stand with him. Only when she was alone did she feel weak.

  She couldn’t even take shelter in the denial that served her throughout the tour. Everything seemed so clear there on the stage. She didn’t understand what happened afterward. The way he kissed her and walked away, as if he played passionate serenades to women every night.

  It was his arrogance, she reasoned. He could just walk away because he had made his point. And he had, hadn’t he? Here she was, dreaming about him. Wanting him like any panting fangirl. She hated to admit it, but she’d go to him in a minute if he called and told her “meet me in half an hour.” She hated that he was right and that he knew it.

  She remembered George’s warning: “Once he finds something he wants, he gets it.” She hated that Darcy messed with her head throughout their acquaintance. If only she didn’t know the truth about him. If only she didn’t know he could be so cruel. She longed to give herself to him, to trust in him, to let him take her, in every way.

  She knew from the way he played, and the way he kissed, it would be explosive. Even now, as she muddled over it all, her nipples were hard. And it was so long since she had gotten laid! She wanted to just push aside all her frustrations and drive to Darcy’s house and submit to him.

  It was a good plan, except for two things: One, she didn’t know where he lived, or even where he was; and two, it wasn’t a joke. He had all kinds of power over her, and she didn’t like that one bit.

  If he reached out to her, called her, or even emailed her, just to talk to her and let her know he was similarly affected by what happened, she could happily surrender to him, even knowing what George told her. But she knew from his arrogance this was not to be. He might want her, but he didn’t love her. And she had no desire to be his plaything.

  ***

  Jane answered the phone on the first ring. “Hello?” she said hopefully.

  “Hey, beautiful,” replied Charles. His California accent had grown stronger over the week.

  “Hi.” He could hear her smiling. “How are you doing?”

  “Good. It’s been nice being home, but it will be better to get back to New York.”

  “I know one person who will be happy to see you back.”

  “Tell me about your day, Jane.”

  “It was good. We had our record signing at Tower.”

  “Did you have a good turnout?”

  “Yeah, we did! I think it was our best ever!”

  Charles relaxed as he listened to her voice and walked along the beach. As Jane told him about meeting
her fans, he could easily picture her face, and the pain he felt at missing her was briefly dulled.

  He knew the pain was a message, his heart’s way of telling him what he needed to do.

  “Is that the ocean I hear?” Jane asked.

  “It is,” he smiled back to her. “I wanted to be alone when I called, so I walked to the shore.”

  “Oh,” Jane said. “Is your house close to the water?”

  “Yes, I have a house near Muir Beach.”

  “Where is that?” Jane asked, clearly delighted.

  “It’s near Sausalito. It’s a nice little town. It’s remote, but I love it here.”

  “It sounds nice,” she said guardedly.

  Charles made up his mind. Enough was enough. He was tired of this, of them pussyfooting around each other. He was going to tell her the truth when he got back to her and hope that she would accept it. “Jane,” his voice reflected his determination. “I need to talk with you.”

  “Of course,” Jane said. “Is something wrong?”

  “I have to tell you something, Jane, in person. Not over the phone.”

  “Is it bad?” she whispered.

  “Yes, it’s bad,” he said sadly.

  “Charles, whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  “Jane, I will tell you, just not now. Not on the phone.”

  “So, you are coming back tomorrow?” she said bravely.

  “Yeah, we’re flying out of here around eight in the morning, we’ll be getting into JFK at four thirty.”

  “Do you want me to meet you at the airport?” she offered.

  “Oh, don’t bother,” he said tiredly. “We’re going to have the limo take us right to the apartment.”

  “I could meet you there.”

  Charles sighed. He had been avoiding this. “You can’t. I’ll have to get cleaned up, and then we’re expected at a De Bourgh party.”