What was it with Darcy and former generations of Megan Fox?
He pulled their chairs, made comments about the weather, made them laugh, took their coats and purses (although I suspected they wanted him to take something else entirely different from them…)
The old fellows enjoyed his company as well. At one point of the evening, I passed by one of his tables and heard him talking with some guys in their sixties about Plato. Naturally, it sounded like he’d just discovered Megan Fox’s (the real one) phone number; the men were as excited as teenagers.
All that because of a Roman dude. Or was he Greek? Who cares about Plato-dude, anyhow?
“You’re doing great, dude!” I gave him a pat on the back to show my appreciation. He was doing amazingly well actually, considering the tip the last table had left him. Maybe, he’d share it with me for being a great host.
“Dar-cy.” He pronounced slowly, as if speaking to a five-year-old. He did it sometimes, as if I didn’t remember his name. Believe me, I did; and it was boring… “Mr. Brown, I believe you have some trouble remembering my family name. Therefore, you might…”, he stopped his speech for a heartbeat. What would come next was difficult for him to say, which made me very curious. “You might call me by my first name, Fitzwilliam”, he finished proudly.
Oh, that was so good! That name wasn’t boring at all.
“I love it, dude! Or should I say: Fitz!”
“My name is Fitz–” He began, looking pissed.
“Waiter!” A guy on table four interrupted our bonding session. We were becoming pals!
“Don’t worry, Fitz!”, I reassured him, “I’ve got it right now!” He didn’t seem happy when I left him. Well, he never did, actually.
“Sir!” A man at one of Fitz’s tables called. So they called me waiter and him, Sir. Nice.
Fitz approached the guy, who asked him, “Can I smoke my cigar in here?”
“Of course!” and “Of course not!” were answers given by Fitz and Anna at the same time. You can easily guess who said which.
“This is a non-smoking establishment, sir”, Anna said drily. Oh, she looked so sexy when she was angry. Like a kitten. My kitten. “You can smoke outside, in the garden, although I don’t recommend it.”
“Why ever not?” It was Fitz, not the customer, who asked this. He couldn’t understand Anna’s fervent answer.
“Well”, she told him, “you know as well as this man that smoking can kill you.”
“Nonsense!”, I thought Anna would punch Fitz for the strength of his remark. That would be amusing. Some heads around their table turned in their direction. I wasn’t the only one interested. “My father used to smoke all day long his entire life and he passed away at the age of forty-nine!”
“Oh, poor you!”, Anna put a hand on Fitz shoulder, then turned to the table, “See?!”
At the end, the man didn’t smoke his cigar, no old lady was able to get Fitz’s phone number (since he didn’t have one) and Fitz ended up with more money he knew existed. It was a good night.
It was further improved by Nat’s news as she arrived from her dinner out: we’d be spending that weekend at the Hamptons. I didn’t like the place much, it was like a nest of snakes or something as vicious, with all those rich people gossiping and spending, and showing off how much money they could burn. But Patty’s mansion was like paradise. Besides, what mattered was the company, right?
♥
Texts between Nathalie and Fanny
So, I guess we’ll all be @ Patricia’s this weekend!
You’re coming too, Fanny?
Yep!
I thought you hated Patty…
I do HATE her guts, Nathalie. But I LOVE her house.
You beach!
Are you using your weird cussing when you type too? Weirdo!
Hey, just kiss my ash!
Love you too, babe! ;-) So, is the hottie going?
What hottie?
Right, just pretend you’re clueless. The hottie. You know: Brit, amazing eyes, proportional body parts (or I hope to find out @ the Hamptons!)
Okay, we all know how much you wanna know about his proportionality.
Is he banging anyone?
Wow, sometimes I forget you’re such a lady.
Yeah, we went to the same finishing school.
Hey! Some respect now! I’m a flocking lady!
Whatever. So, what about the hottie? Is he banging anyone?
It’s none of your business.
Right… Maybe you wanna him all for yourself.
No answer?
Seriously, you won’t answer me?
UR in serious trouble, Nat.
♥
Chapter 8
“Oh, no! He’s gonna be sick again, Bobby!”
Admittedly, it was the first time Mr. Darcy rode inside a car (conscious, that was), instead of just watching, mesmerized, as they passed by him on the street. He’d only seen vehicles a couple of times anyway, and near Central Park, since he’d left the Brown’s building only once since he’d arrived in the twenty-first century.
Anna was worried. It was the second time they had to stop the car so Darcy wouldn’t puke all over it. Bobby, on the other hand, couldn’t be more relieved: his girlfriend was the most sympathetic person he’d ever met, so he knew she’d support Fitz.
If Doug or Nat had come in the same car with them, however, the story might have been different: Doug would probably suspect Fitz was on drugs, while Nat would sense something was off.
It was almost a miracle Nathalie had fallen for the actor-from-Broadway story, but Bobby knew his sister well enough to realize she’d only believed their lie because the truth was too… Unbelievable. He wasn’t going to be deluded that she’d wouldn’t find out the truth sooner or later.
And, if she found out… Better yet: when she found out, they’d pay greatly for their lie. Because if there was something Nathalie didn’t bear was a liar.
“I apologize, Miss Anna”, Mr. Darcy said embarrassingly as he returned to the car.
“It’s okay, Fitz”, she assured him, “I’m just worried about you.” She then offered him her water bottle, which he took with a grateful smile.
“Fitz hates the speed, babe”, Bobby had read somewhere that if one wanted to maintain a lie, one must keep it as close to the truth as possible. “He isn’t used to riding in vehicles.”
“Oh, poor thing”, she whispered to him, so the time traveler wouldn’t hear her out, “I can’t even begin to imagine how badly he must feel on an airplane.”
“Airplane?”, Mr. Darcy was immediately alerted by the word.
“Never mind her, Fitz”, he told Darcy, who relaxed in his backseat. Bobby then whispered back to his girlfriend, “You better not mention airplanes, babe.”
The vehicle was silent for less than sixty seconds, when Darcy asked them, for the tenth time in the forty-five minutes since they’d left New York City, “Will we be there soon?”
♥
Bobby
Over two hours on the road without eating was too much for me. I wasn’t hungry anymore; I was starving! Having Fitz stopping to puke all the time didn’t help either. Normally, it took me a little over two hours to get to the Hamptons. We were still about forty-five minutes away, though. That was, if Fitz-dude didn’t feel “indisposed”, as he described it, again.
“I’m starving!”, I proclaimed my desperation.
“So what’s new?”, Anna sarcastically answered. “Can’t you wait until we’re there?”
“I could die of starvation by the time we got there!” That was me: Mr. Drama King. I loved it; everyone else hated it.
As expected, Anna rolled her eyes. “Okay, just take the next turn. There’s a street in Holbrook with some shops, stores and restaurants near the lake.”
I
did as she instructed, but, before reaching the street she was looking for, I saw something that made me stop right away: a sign with a very familiar and yellow “m”, informing me one of my favorite fast-food restaurants was nearby.
“No way, Robert! I’m not eating there!” Anna was already disgusted by my choice of dinner. Luckily, there was a very healthy-and-vegetarian-looking-like diner right on the right side of the greasy place.
“You could get a salad at Green’s”, I pointed at the establishment, and she looked relieved, “Then we can meet outside and eat in the car.”
“With the windows open, because I don’t want to smell like grease”, she ordered.
“Sure, babe”, I turned to Darcy-dude, “Are you coming with me or her, Fitz?”, I knew what his answer would be, being a gentleman and all.
“Miss Anna needs a chaperone, Robert!” It was the first time he called me by my first name, with no Mr. or Brown, which was a major development. Still, no nickname. At least, he now enjoyed me calling him Fitz.
“I need no such a thing”, was my girlfriend also very predictable answer. She left the car and rushed to Green’s, a place that looked disgustingly healthy. People there probably paid loads of money for food that tasted like grass. Ugh.
“Did I offend her in any way, Robert?”, Fitz was worried. The smell of hamburgers and French fries invaded my nostrils as we entered the fast-food restaurant. As we waited in line (which Fitz-dude thought absurd), I explained him a few things about gals in the twenty-first century.
After all, we didn’t know how long he’d stay with us, right?
♥
Mr. Darcy didn’t quite absorb the idea of women strolling around on the street without a chaperone, but, apparently, it was a habit he would need to be accustomed to as long as he were in that strange – yet fascinating – era.
The gentleman couldn’t stop feeling responsible for these ladies. Especially all matters regarding Miss Nathalie Brown. He had established in his own mind it was best for both if they never remained in the same room alone, and he had been fulfilling that promise the whole week.
Still, he felt very protective of her. He hadn’t been at all glad when he was informed she would be riding to the Hamptons with her suitor. Indeed, she had two chaperones with her; her closest friends, Miss Fanny and Miss Patricia. Yet, he was unsettled by a comment Robert had made: how male and female interactions before the wedding had changed in the last centuries.
Considering Robert and Miss Anna, Mr. Darcy was anxious to learn how close Miss Nathalie and her admirer were. Robert constantly touched his beloved, and neither of them used any gloves. He had even seen they touch their lips once!
Darcy himself had already felt the softness of Miss Nathalie’s skin a couple of precious times; just to think of those moments made him blush in vexation. They had been, however, brief touches, and he was certain the lady in question hadn’t been offended by his boldness. Perhaps because she was oblivious to his feelings towards her, some of which he was ignorant of himself.
The smell of grease made him return from his reveries. He found himself in an overcrowded, too bright and too loud space. People were screaming everywhere he turned: mothers begged their children to behave, uniformed servants wearing ridiculous hats yelled at each other orders he couldn’t understand; people squeezed each other for an opening at the counter.
“Forgive me, Robert. Are we dining here?”, Darcy was afraid of the answer.
“Yeah! It’s great, isn’t it?” If that was great, Darcy thought, he was afraid of Miss Patricia’s house at the Hamptons village. Robert had used the exact same adjective to describe it. Now Darcy couldn’t trust what his friend considered to be great. “So, what do you want, Fitz?”
“Nothing”, Mr. Darcy desired to reply, but his lips didn’t pronounce the word. He saw many colorful paintings above the uniformed servants, and Robert had previously explained those were his options. None of them looked like the food he was used to. “Never mind, I’ll order for you, Fitz!” Robert saved him from making a rather rude statement about what he actually wanted.
♥
Nat
“Your earrings are lovely. Where did you get them? Tiffany’s, right?”
“Actually, it was with a street vendor”, Fanny replied, making Patty blush uncontrollably. “It only cost about five dollars. But it was in front of Tiffany’s, so I must admit you’ve got a good eye”, she finished sarcastically.
I knew I shouldn’t be encouraging Fanny, so I pretended to cough to disguise a chuckle. Nobody in the car was fooled, though. Specially Doug, who was biting his lower lip so a laugh wouldn’t escape his throat.
I shouldn’t be shocked that Fanny, regardless of the fact she’d be spending the weekend at Patty’s house, was treating her hostess like trash. Still, I was. I didn’t like ash-kissers neither, but I could’ve forgiven the flatterer if I reckoned their actions to be well intended.
Fanny clearly didn’t agree with me.
I needed to have yet another talk to her about her discourtesy towards Patty, who had been nothing but gentle to the both of us since we all met.
“You know what my mom always says to me, Fanny?” My soon-to-be-former-best-friend knew I was daring her.
“That you should never shave before a first date?” She accepted the dare, and made Doug laugh and Patty confused at the same time.
“What?! Why?” Patty wanted to know. Poor Patty… She kept giving Fanny more ammunition. Not that my best friend needed it.
“So you won’t be tempted to lose your panties on your first date, silly.” Oh, dear. Fanny was so good at being cynical, and terrible at keeping her foggy mouth shut!
I decided to finish that nonsensical conversation once and for all. “Back to my mom’s great advice, which has nothing to do with shaving or first dates.”
“Or panties.” Fanny wanted to get punched or what? I turned my upper body from the front seat, so I could face her, and she could see my killer look. She did. And she got the message. “Sorry,” She whispered back, and I was convinced I wouldn’t be interrupted again.
“Anyway…” I stared back again, only to make sure her lips were unmoving. They were, and I almost laughed as I noticed Fanny was not only dead silent, but also kind of scared. Good. “My mom always says it’s further more troublesome to be nasty than it is to be nice.” And my grandmother always said she preferred telling people to fog off, but that part I left out.
It worked. For the first time ever since we were both nine years old, Fanny’s face got pinkish. And Patty’s eyes were watery with gratefulness. I immediately felt a little better about that weekend, and a smile spread on my face, brightening it up.
That was, until Doug spoke again.
“I love your smile.” There was nothing wrong with that sentence. Nor was there anything wrong with the man saying it. The problem was entirely about me. Because, as Doug spoke, I couldn’t hear his voice. Instead, I heard a thunderous, dark voice with a thick and sexy British accent.
Oh, boy. I was in big trouble.
♥
“The painting is completely different from reality. There is almost no likeness to it”, Darcy remarked as he opened the box that contained the sandwich Bobby had ordered for him.
“It always is, Fitz”, Bobby said as he began devouring his own burger. Anna was eating outside the car, refusing to eat near all that filth, as she had described their food.
“Who is the artist?”, Mr. Darcy’s attempt to delay the inevitable was pathetic, and he knew it. Yet, he needed more courage to proceed. Seeing Robert was confused about his question, he was forced to explain. “The artist of the painting of this… this.” He indicated his food to his new friend.
“Oh, you mean the pictures of the burgers back at the store?” When Darcy nodded, he clarified, “His name is Ronald McDonald.”
Mr. Darcy
nodded again, staring at the colorful box that held a round object on his lap. “I have had the pleasure to see the work of a Mr. Apple. He’s a much more talented artist.”
“Mr. Apple?”, Bobby had no idea what Fitz was talking about; and neither did he care. All that mattered in the world was his burger, his French fries, and his coke. Watching Fitz, he realized the man was avoiding his own burger. “Just try it, Fitz! It tastes great!”
There was that word again: great. Suspecting he would find that food anything but great, Darcy took a small bite. Never had he been so glad to be mistaken. He was delighted. “The meat is so rich; the bread, so soft!”
Bobby gave him a half smile, his mouth full. “I know, my friend. I know.”
They ate in silence for a while, and Anna entered the car as they finished. “I can’t believe you ate that, Fitz. That food is poison. It can kill you.”
Mr. Darcy was petrified, his face turned pale, a shiver raced up his spine. He couldn’t yet comprehend the habit of jokes and exaggerations in that century. He remained quiet for a few instants, then faced Bobby and asked, his face full of concern, “Robert, why would you wish me dead?”
“If he gets sick, you’re the one who’ll babysit him.” Anna warned her boyfriend.
♥
Nat
Patty’s landmark home in East Hampton always took my breath away. I never cared much about luxury, but her 1920’s oceanfront house with brown brick walls, elegant, white railings and glass double doors surprisingly didn’t scream money. It invited you in, to relax in the Jacuzzi, to have a margarita with your feet in the sand, to have some fun with your friends in the game room.
Naturally, there was the luxury as well. Its eight en suite bedrooms, heated pool, countless fireplaces, and gorgeous views of the ocean from wherever in the house you found yourself in almost made me forget I’d spent the last few days waiting tables and working my asset off at the bookstore.
Just what I needed.
“So, couples can stay in the rooms with king-sized beds”, Patty started, “and the rest of us will have to–”
From Pemberley to Manhattan Page 6
