by Ari Rhoge
“You're joking.”
“I'm not,” Charlie said, smiling. “She's a very clever sort of girl.”
“Don't be ridiculous,” Will snorted. “She's bearable, at best.”
My jaw dropped.
Kerplunk.
He continued on, drawling. “I think I'd more readily shackle myself to your older sister, Charlie — and you know how much Carolyn freaks me out.”
“There you are,” Georgy suddenly called out, from behind me, and I spun around. “Were you waiting for us?”
“Of course.” I smiled at Georgy and my sister, trying to get my bearings. There was a stillness in the room before us. We entered the kitchen, and I was bemused to find Charlie and Will standing, both looking a bit shocked, 95% sure that their conversation had been overheard. Will Darcy rubbed his mouth and glanced down —— Charlie busied himself handing out paper plates.
I had half a mind to leave. But I saw crystal clear opportunity to make Will Darcy feel uncomfortable as hell, and I seized it like a person possessed. I even sat next to him when dinner arrived, not even bothering to look his way.
To my annoyance, he actually made the oh-so-difficult grand gesture of attempting small-talk. He was probably trying to convince himself that he wasn't an asshole for insulting me and my sister. Pleasant conversation fixes everything, right?
Yeah, no.
“So, you and your sister have lived in Philadelphia all your lives?” Will asked, quietly, frowning — he looked like the action of speaking to somebody was physically burning his anguished soul.
“Yes,” I answered, taking a bite from my slice.
“You didn't find it necessary to try to study abroad or in a father location?” he prompted.
“No.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because.”
Charlie snorted.
Darcy cleared his throat and settled into silence, taking a prolonged sip from his glass. From across the table, Georgy lifted both brows but decided not to say anything — though she and Jane looked uncommonly confused.
Thankfully, we left soon after dinner, as it was already growing dark. Georgiana promised she would visit the next day, considering that her brother would be crashing at Charlie's for the next day until he could find a hotel room for the week.
On our way out, Charlie addressed us, leaning against the doorway. “Listen, I'm having a birthday party next Saturday. I wasn't going to, but my sister dragged me into it.” He rolled his eyes good-humoredly. “I'd really love it if you could come.”
He was looking directly at Jane, but after a second or two he made a collective invite. Jane smiled and nodded, scribbling down her number for him — “for invitation purposes, of course” — and he pocketed the strip of paper quickly, grinning.
Georgy smiled. “I'll see you both tomorrow, then.”
“Of course,” Charlie nodded, turning to me. “Lizzy, it was wonderful to meet you.”
“Same, Charlie,” I said, smiling. Will lingered just behind him, so I rose on my tiptoes to see past Charlie's shoulder. “Nice meeting you!”
“You as well,” he said, nodding once, painstakingly.
“Hope you were able to bear the extra company.”
At this, Will Darcy turned a shade paler, and I calmly turned back to the elevator.
5
—
Nougat Centers are Bullshit
“It's ridiculously cold in this house,” Jane grumbled, eyes clenched shut as she waddled into the bedroom. “October hasn't even hit and I'm seriously considering digging out the space heater from the crawl space.”
“Again, I'm all befuddled about your alleged crawl space,” I mumbled, pulling on a thermal, and searching under my pillowcase for plaid pajama pants. “Uncle Benny didn't mention anything about extra room for storage.”
“No, he didn't. I'm just super resourceful,” she said, yawning, fluffing her flowered comforter. Leaning toward her toes, she shook out her pale blonde hair from its clip and rubbed her face wearily. “God, I'm beat.”
“It must be all the swooning this afternoon that got to you.” I made a pained face. “God knows that when I marathon-flirt it's completely and utterly exhausting.”
Jane did the best she could to glare (which is a difficult attempt, because she's probably genetically altered to give hugs and smiles) — and promptly hurled a pillow cushion my way.
“Good arm, Janey.”
“You know, you shouldn't act like you weren't a little attracted yourself. I think somebody was complimenting the Darcy family gene pool for a second there?” Her brow crinkled theatrically. “I think, though — I really can't be sure.”
“Jane.”
“It almost sounded like somebody found another somebody attractive.” Her eyes widened to comic proportions. “Don't quote me on it though — it's all just scraps of conversation.”
I rested my hands on my hips. “Jane, a person can be an asshole and still be good looking. I'm pretty sure that's one of the base laws of Hollywood. It's probably even in their film contracts.”
“All I know is that for a second there you might have had the hots for Will Darcy,” Jane said, smirking with full satisfaction, finger-combing the knots of her hair out. “And please don't bag on Hollywood… it's like you're trying extra hard to be Holden Caulfield.”
“He's my literary boyfriend.”
“He's 17.”
“I love that you find a problem in the age difference before the acute issue of his being fictional.” I chewed on my lip in thought. “It's a pretty sound thought process, Jane.”
“Just admit that you liked Will Darcy,” she said, narrowing her eyes, and crossing her arms over her chest pointedly.
“Maybe for a millisecond,” I mumbled, kicking my jeans off. “Until I figured out that he was socially retarded — and an asshole, to boot. I already told you what he said about me.”
“That was unforgivable — I give you that,” Jane considered, pointing a slipper at me. “But have some faith in people. Look at Georgiana — perfectly sweet, darling girl. With a sibling influence like that, you've got to have some nougat center to you.”
“Will Darcy does not have a nougat center,” I mumbled, slipping my pajama bottoms on. “Just a brittle, cold shell, and a black hole where the heart's supposed to be.”
“Because personal assessments can obviously be made over the course of a couple hours,” stated Jane, dully, settling in under her covers.
“Obviously.”
She rolled her eyes.
After a moment, I settled into my own bed and dimmed the lights, sighing as the covers offered more warmth in the dismally cold house. And after a minute or two, I shifted onto my side. “Okay, Will Darcy has nice eyes — I'll give him that.”
Jane burst into laughter, pressing her hands over her eyes. “Are we seriously talking about this?”
“Then again, I'm biased because I think Georgy's eyes are pretty, and his are virtually the same.” I made a face. “Maybe a little darker — oh, and soulless, but, you know.”
“Way to prove that you're indifferent.”
I grumbled, turning onto my back. “It just bothers me that she's related to such a bastard. At least he lives in North Carolina and not Philadelphia.”
“Yes, but you'll most likely have to deal with him at Charlie's party,” answered Jane, sighing.
I looked back at her. “I thought you said you hadn't decided on going yet.”
“I have,” she answered, quietly, and I noticed a ghost of a shy smile.
“Well, at least you snagged the sweet one,” I grinned. “By the way, no idea how he and Darcy manage to be best friends.”
“It probably helps that they're friends from childhood,” added Jane, conversationally. “At least that's what Georgy told me when we went on our great hunt for menus.”
“That makes sense.”
“Yeah,” Jane said, shrugging, and sighing after a moment or two. “Still, you got to fe
el for the guy.”
“Charlie? Oh, of course… he's befriended one of the most arrogant, narcissistic —”
“I meant Will,” Jane said, laughing, reaching across the nightstand that separated the twin mattresses to increase the flow of light. “I feel sorry for him. He's not where he wants to be in life.”
“Which is a legit excuse to hate everything around you,” I said, rolling my eyes pointedly. “Shit happens, Jane. It's not like he'll be working there forever. You suck it up and do what you have to do.”
“I know that, Lizzy,” Jane responded, patiently, propping herself up on her elbow. “But men are babies. It's a simple and logical fact. They take a while to grow up, even if they already look mature in their suits.”
“Not all men — Dad was never like that. I don't think Charlie is. George isn't.”
“You've got George up on a pedestal, Lizzy,” Jane grinned. “You might be a little biased.”
“Am not,” I muttered, though without much conviction.
Jane sighed, and silence occupied the room for a good 30 seconds.
“I mean, what does Darcy do that is sucking out his soul on a daily basis like that machine in The Princess Bride?”
Jane shifted over in her sheets, squinting at me.
“Editing, apparently.” She yawned, and I felt increasingly guilty for keeping her up. “According to Georgy, anyway. He's up there in his father's publishing business.”
“It's a publishing house?” I murmured, sitting up slightly.
“I guess, yeah,” she answered, sleepily. “Georgy mentioned something about his reading some manuscripts just for the hell of it. Apparently, it's for the lower positions, but she started praising him about being hands-on and involved —”
“Jane, what publishing house?” I asked, quickly, my voice small.
“One with his name in it, I think,” she sighed, reaching for the lamp. “Lizzy, can't we discuss this in the morning?”
“No. Jane, what was the name?” I asked, urgently.
“It was his family name and some other guy's, Lizzy. Does it matter? Darcy and Potts or Wyatt, or something.”
“Watts and Darcy,” I said, quietly, feeling the color drain from my face.
“That's the one.” She yawned again, switching off the lamp. The room went pitch-black, and she nestled under her comforter and covers. All was still and my mind was reeling.
Precisely three minutes later, light bathed the walls again, and Jane's blue eyes were saucer-wide.
“You don't think —?”
“Oh, it's exactly what I think,” I mumbled, feeling sick.
“Will Darcy. William Darcy.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy,” I groaned, leaning over until my head was between my knees. “Oh, I should have killed him. This all makes sense!”
“I'm pretty sure you were tempted to do that before you knew who he was,” Jane replied, quickly, throwing off her covers so she could sit beside me. “Now, breathe.”
“God, I'm such an idiot.” I threaded my fingers through my hair. “Why couldn't I even make the parallels? W&D is in North Carolina, Jane. Georgy is from North Carolina. Hell, Darcy. That name. Coincidences can go only so far.”
“Most people don't go looking for holes like these, Lizzy — they just happen,” Jane assured me. “Maybe it really is just a coincidence.”
“Jane, that's stupid.”
“I know,” she said, wincing. “Look, don't let this bother you. You already hated the man to begin with. What more could it do if he's slipped down the meter a little bit?”
“A little bit? He's off the meter, Jane.”
“Well, screw him. You'll probably never see him again,” she said, helpfully.
“He'll be at that fucking party.”
“You don't have to go,” she said. “You know what? —— I'll stay home with you.”
“Fuck that,” I scoffed. “I won't let anybody prevent me from doing what I want to do — nor you. Especially not some big publishing honcho who looks down his nose at others. In reality and in writing.”
“Still, you've got to appreciate the fact that somebody up so high even took a glimpse at your writing,” Jane shrugged. “Just trying to see the big picture here.”
“Jane, this isn't helping in my fit of seething rage right now,” I pointed out. “I'm not trying to be rational and optimistic — I'm trying to be angry.”
“Duly noted.”
“God, I feel so stupid. I stood there, in Charlie's living room, really trying to see the good in this guy.”
“Lizzy, you never tried to see the good in this guy, other than his being hot,” Jane snorted. I wanted to argue, really, but my sister is my conscience and my logical side — and I can't do anything about it.
“Moot point,” I mumbled, half-heartedly, and Jane gave me a sympathetic smile.
• • •
It was easy to forget about my feelings once the semester started that week. Actually, it was easy to forget about everything except my classes. It all lurched ahead full speed, and didn't show any sign of slowing down. Still, in a perverse way, I was happy to be busy. Lethargy can only get you so far until you get sick of it. I was sick of the house — I embraced the campus and lecture rooms perhaps a little too enthusiastically.
I started only working Sundays, so I saw less and less of the Lucases and George Wickham. Over this, I was slightly bummed, but at least I could be back at Barnes & Noble weekly. Georgy and Jane suffered from packed schedules as well, though Georgy's was more spaced. She would disappear after school most days that first week, to visit her brother.
Or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Speaking in the non-Voldemort sense of the word.
Still, the following Saturday swung by far too quickly, and Jane and I found ourselves at the kitchen table, textbooks sprawled out and uncapped highlighters gradually running out of ink. Georgiana had left in the morning to be with her brother and Charlie. Party plans weren't even on the periphery of our minds until Jane glanced up and checked the clock above the oven.
“When's it start again?” she asked, removing her reading glasses to polish the lens with the hem of her hoodie. “Charlie's party,” she clarified, noticing my confused expression.
“Oh. 7:30 p.m.,” I shrugged, taking a sip from a cooling mug of coffee at my side.
“It's five,” Jane said, wincing, and sitting up. She pressed a sticky note on the page of her Western Heritage textbook, and promptly closed it, shoving it to the side. “I think it's time I stop reading about James II, and find something to wear.”
“No.” I yawned, twisting until my back cracked. “It's time for a cup of tea, a catnap, and a good rental.”
“Lizzy, come on,” Jane said, smiling good-humoredly, yanking me up by the wrist. “If you're that uneager, I'll even do your hair and makeup.”
I folded my arms, and cushioned my head against an open textbook, eyes sliding shut. “I'll take a rain check, 'kay? —— Thanks.”
No such luck.
Of course, my closet was unacceptable — a conglomeration of faded, torn jeans, band T-shirts, and sweats. In the very back was a ladylike suit I had used in a couple of interviews, but Jane was usually my go-to girl.
Hanging upside down on her mattress, I watched as Jane walked on the ceiling and rapidly snatched articles of clothing from hangers to then fling them onto the bed. An off-the-shoulder sweater landed beside me, its sleeve draped across my face. I didn't feel very motivated to brush it off.
“I'm thinking this black shirt with the green cardigan.” Jane cocked her head, half of her body consumed by the closet's innards. “What do you think?” she asked, voice muffled.
“I think I don't care,” I said, yawning against my sleeve, curling up with her pillow. “Mm, your shampoo smells good.”
“Pantene,” she grinned. “Now, get up. I'm shoving you into this.”
“No miniskirts, though,” I quickly cautioned, pointing a finger. “I'm scarred after the Col
lins incident… eighth-grade birthday party.”
“He was a little pervy, wasn't he?” Jane said, laughing. “You decked him, of course.”
“Oh, yeah,” I beamed, remembering the very satisfying crunch of cartilage as a boy with bugging eyes around my height went flying in the opposite direction toward the patio.
Jane raised a brow. “Daydreaming?”
“Only a little.”
• • •
The weather was pretty agreeable for such a shitty evening — a little nippy, but still. At least that's the only thing I could think of as we miserably sat at the apartment complex's stoop, temporarily locked out and barred from existing with the wealthy Bingleys and company.
We couldn't be buzzed up — either a certain host was way too irresponsible with the volume of his stereo to hear the intercom, or remaining guests were simply not welcome. Admittedly, we were late, but even so. You would expect passers-by to be coming in and out of the building anyway — but we spotted nobody.
“We don't even have Georgy's number?” I asked Jane, who was rifling through the address book of her phone with a gloomy expression. At her firm sigh, I asked, “didn't Charlie give you his number?”
“I gave him my number,” she said, sulking, pulling the lapels of her fall jacket closer. She was really far too pretty to be spending the evening outside. As for me — I was strongly regretting going bare-legged in flats, and I hugged my knees to my chest, plucking smidgens of dust from my hem.
“We should just leave,” Jane sighed, twirling a blonde tendril. “This is embarrassing, and I don't want to wait any longer.”
“A few more minutes, okay?” I offered, quietly, hugging her around the shoulders. “We paid cab fare and everything. That's a good amount of 10s I won't get back any time soon.”
A gust warm air suddenly hit our backs, and we whirled around, Jane nearly staggering upward. Standing in the doorway was a tall, extremely lean woman with a long, pointed nose and glossy, auburn hair cut into a severe bob. She squinted as she gave us each a once-over and fished for a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of her peacoat.
“Any particular reason you two are loitering?” she said, sniffing, and I identified a very crisp, slightly nasal English accent. Jane rose to her feet, shivering slightly, and the woman stared down her nose at her.
