by Ari Rhoge
Darcy was crouched low, skimming titles with his cell phone cradled against one shoulder. “I found a fourth edition. They don't have a sixth edition,” he said, sighing. “Georgie, if you just shipped through Amazon a week ago, we would not be having this problem. Why is everything last-minute with you? No. No, I'm not lecturing you.” Darcy passed a hand over his eyes, and got to his feet. “I know, I know, I know. … I know. I'll let you know. Love you, too. Bye.”
He wedged a history textbook on the French Revolution back into place, and decided he should get going. Maybe he should stop by the café for two shots of espresso, judging by the paperwork and briefs he had to sort through tonight. For a moment, Will wondered if there was any chance this night would be different. Maybe he wouldn't fall under his sheets at two-thirty in the morning, past the hours of acceptable late-night TV. Maybe he could down three Red Bulls and finish working by 11 o'clock.
Darcy zipped his coat, and put his beanie on, which caused tufts of hair to hang in his eyes. “——Time for a haircut,” he muttered. And then he fished his keys from his pocket, and walked across the store to get to the café.
He didn't get very far — and it was all Elizabeth Bennet's fault.
Will didn't think it was her at first. He just saw some girl in a gray peacoat, talking with one of the Borders salesmen by the fiction section. But then she laughed, and he did a double take.
Elizabeth Bennet had chosen tonight, after months of conspicuous absence, to look prettier than usual.
Or maybe it was just the lighting.
Or maybe he just hadn't seen her in a while.
Or maybe she really did just have big, bright and beautiful green eyes. And the way her hair fell across her forehead was nice, too. Then she tucked a strand over one ear, and Darcy decided that he was an idiot, but for conflicting reasons — was he an idiot because he had failed to realize that Elizabeth Bennet was attractive even in jeans, with her hair let down, all riotous and curly? Or was he an idiot because he found Elizabeth Bennet pretty to begin with when he had distinctly decided that she was nothing special?
He only knew that he was an idiot who had to go before she saw him. Right, then, I'll just slip by over here—
Elizabeth's eyes suddenly locked on him from across the aisle, and she opened her mouth, surprised.
Fuck. Well done.
“Will?”
“… Hey.”
It happened at a very inconvenient time for Lizzy, too. Because Greg was actually pretty awesome and sweet, as far as third-party bystanders went. He had advised her to apologize to Charlotte but also to explain what caused the outburst. “It also helps to make a list. You laugh, but it's the best way to gather your thoughts.” Greg paused. “Then again, you are taking friendship advice from a stranger — so proceed with caution.”
Lizzy smiled. “Why, are you a terrible friend?”
“I couldn't say,” Greg said, laughing.
She was just about to respond when she spotted Darcy. Will Darcy, whom she hadn't seen in months. She must have spent several seconds staring in confusion over Greg's shoulder, because it prompted him to turn around and see who she was looking at.
Lizzy was not prepared for the change in both men.
Greg looked incredibly uncomfortable. Darcy looked livid.
Nobody said anything for at least half a minute, until Lizzy said an awkward “how are you?” to Will.
“Fine.”
“Good to see you again,” said Greg, unsmiling. Lizzy glanced up at him in surprise.
Darcy's jaw clenched. He met Lizzy's eye — and for some strange inconceivable moment she got the feeling that she had done something very wrong that she didn't quite understand. She started to blush. And he turned away without a word, then walked off.
It wasn't until he was gone that Greg turned to her with an incredulous look. “Lizzy, we have a mutual acquaintance.”
“But we just met! I don't even know your favorite color. —— Or your last name.”
“Wickham. Green.”
“I've never had a crayon color called Wickham.”
Greg smirked, and shook his head. “Thanks for keeping me company on my shift. Do you think… can I have your number? Maybe for coffee or something?”
“No!” Lizzy laughed, gesturing wildly to the empty space around her. “No, not until you tell me how you know that very serious gentleman we just stared at.”
“Oh, him. Childhood acquaintances,” Wickham said, dismissively.
Lizzy crossed her arms, skeptical. “So, what — did you pee on his Lego or something?”
“What?” Greg looked up, laughing. “No. Why?”
“It would explain the giant fuck you tattooed across his forehead.”
“I thought he was always like that.”
Lizzy paused. “Oh. Yeah. Probably.” She watched Greg shelve journals for a minute, before punching him weakly on the shoulder. “Tell me more about how you know him. What's going on there?”
“Curious one, aren't you?” Greg raised an eyebrow, and smirked. “Get coffee with me and I'll tell you. Sunday morning?”
“You're bribing me. Why does everybody bribe me?” Lizzy shook her head. Greg gave a theatrical shrug, and grinned.
Lizzy decided that he was a little too cute and a little too sweet to reject. For an objective stranger, he had given her solid advice for dealing with Charlotte. But Lizzy was also very curious.
“Fine. But just in that café over there. In this bookstore.”
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
They shook on it.
8
—
Grapevine
Elizabeth and Charlotte barely spoke a word that evening. It was expected, even anticipated — because this was the typical pattern of their arguments. Lizzy was stubborn by nature — and Charlotte avoided confrontation, barricading herself inside her room. By morning, nothing had been resolved, and Lizzy left the apartment with a nagging, uncomfortable sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Greg was at the café, and his presence was comforting. Elizabeth had half-expected him not to show up, considering he didn't work on Fridays. But he had ordered her a latte in advance, and sat there, slouched in his seat, his brow creased as he intently read The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Lizzy smiled, and wondered if he liked it. It was one of her favorites.
“Hey!” He beamed at her, after she sat down. “The girl in the red cap.”
“Lizzy, for short,” she said, laughing, and wrapping her gloved hands around one of the cups. “Is this mine?”
“Sure is.”
“Thanks.” Elizabeth took a sip. She sat back, and stared at the drink pensively. “Okay, did I tell you that I drink chai-tea lattes? Or are you just the Overpriced Beverage Whisperer, or something?”
Greg glanced at her thoughtfully for a moment, then shook his head. “See, I just considered being mysterious, but I'm going to go with the safe bet and remind you that you told me yesterday. You also told me to order for you in case you showed up late. And you did.”
“Sorry,” Lizzy said, smiling apologetically. “I thought I'd linger around a little longer to see if I could reconcile with the roommate — but she's kind of boxed herself into her room.”
“What, no white flag yet?” asked Greg.
“Nope, not yet.”
“Sorry.”
Elizabeth shrugged. She smiled, and tapped the cover of his book. “How far are you?”
• • •
After finishing coffee, they walked around town for a bit, window shopping and talking. Greg had recently quit his job in the city, choosing to go back to his roots (“meaning somewhere near Norristown,” he elaborated) and start afresh. He was very easygoing — he played the guitar, was a philosophy major, and had a warm smile that suddenly made life a little less crappy for an hour. Naturally, Lizzy liked him.
13 blocks later, Elizabeth nudged him.
“Yeah?” Greg asked.
“Tell
me how you know Will Darcy.”
He chuckled, and shook his head. “I was hoping you had forgotten about that. I don't want to say anything if you're friends with the guy.”
“I'm not,” said Lizzy, quickly. “My sister is dating his best friend. So, we've bumped elbows a few times — and, trust me, he's no friend of mine.”
Greg nodded. They had stopped outside an ice cream shop — an empty one at that, given the cold weather. He leaned against the glass, and folded his arms across his chest. “Will's not the easiest person to become friends with. He's very serious.”
“That's the most brilliant euphemism for uptight that I ever heard,” muttered Lizzy. George laughed. She smiled, then peered into the shop, her hands cupped over the glass. “Has he always been so… so…”
“Arrogant? Yeah,” Greg said, smirking. “Well, yes and no. We knew each other as kids, and he was mostly just shy when we were little. Really shy.”
Lizzy frowned. She didn't like imagining Will Darcy as a little boy — it made his behavior excusable.
“We went to the same school together, in Connecticut,” Greg explained, his brown eyes fixed on the ground as he stepped on a discarded cigarette butt. “My mom nannied him and his sister, so I usually tagged along. His parents were very good people. We were all friends for a long time. I mean, Georgie was younger, but Will and I went everywhere together. And then he left to go to college.”
“Where did he move to?”
“New York,” Greg said, shrugging. “I went to Drexel, in Philadelphia. We rarely saw each other, so the falling-out was expected. I mean, tons of friends lose touch when they go to college. It's just the natural course of things.”
Not always, Lizzy thought. She decided not to say anything.
“It wasn't until I graduated that I really went back to my roots. Will took an internship in Manhattan after his four years. I moved back to Bridgeport. I became really good friends with his sister, Georgiana, because I was home a lot more than he was. I think that bothered him a lot,” he murmured, rubbing his jaw. “I was there for Georgie when he wasn't. And then their parents got divorced in her senior year of high school — and I was her shoulder to cry on, so to speak.”
“Were you guys—”
“No.” Greg shook his head. “She had a little crush on me, but we were just friends. Also, she was Will's sister — I had to respect that.”
“Yeah,” Lizzy said, nodding in complete understanding.
“The September that Will came back, his father was really sick. He had a heart attack over the summer, when Will was gone. Georgie and I were constantly by his side, and I think it just killed Will that I had been there when he hadn't.”
“He was jealous?” she asked, surprised. “I would have been grateful.”
“I think he was just ashamed. But it wasn't his fault that he was gone when it happened. That was his first internship at a law office.”
“Family is so much more important than that,” Elizabeth muttered.
“I completely agree,” said Greg. He shrugged. “But, whatever. It wasn't my decision to make.”
“So, what happened?”
“Well, his dad passed away in December. It was terrible. It hit Will and Georgie really hard. But it was like… as soon as it happened, they wanted nothing to do with me. Darcy told me not to come to the funeral — out of respect for them, I didn't. Frank was like an uncle to me, but I stayed away — I didn't want any confrontation.”
Lizzy was staring at him with an open mouth. “Oh, wow.”
“Georgie stopped talking to me,” murmured Greg. “That hurt. She became really frigid, and I think it was her brother's influence. I moved on, you know, got my act together. I eventually moved into the city. It was only last year that I contacted Georgie again. I wanted to catch up, and she invited me over. When I was with her, I found out that Frank Darcy had included me in his will. Not for a lot of money, obviously, but enough to get me started if I wanted to pursue music — and I did. Not that it mattered, because Will somehow found a loophole and worked me out of it.”
Elizabeth stood in shock. “But why?”
Greg shrugged, and gave a confused smile, as if he had been struggling with this question for a while, too. “No idea. Some deep-seated jealousy, or something ridiculous like that. Since he came back from that internship, I had the feeling that he resented me for getting so close to his family when he was so distant. It was like a misdirected sense of self-loathing. But it wasn't like I was trying to replace him — I cared about Georgie and Frank.”
“You grew up there.”
“Exactly.”
“Greg, I'm so sorry.” She shook her head in disgust.
“Hey,” he said, shrugging. “Shit happens. I've had to deal with a lot of hotheads in my life. I think Will was among the first. That guy just wants to control everything. —— And if he doesn't approve of someone—” Greg paused, and moved his hand across his throat. “— they're out. He has to have the best of company around him.”
“What a prick!”
“Arrogant is the right word, now that I think of it.”
Lizzy leaned against the glass, staring out past the street. “I hope Charlie's nothing like that, for Jane's sake.”
“Who, Charlie Bingley?”
“You know him?” Elizabeth looked up.
Greg shook his head. “Will told me about him after college, but I never met him. I heard he was really nice.”
“He is really nice,” Lizzy said, sighing. “It makes me wonder how he can be friends with Will Darcy.”
“Well, Darcy's a loyal friend to have,” said Greg. “As long as you're on his good side — which I crossed, apparently.”
“That's such bullshit. You should talk to him about that,” Lizzy said. “Seriously! Charlie's holding a party, to celebrate the opening of his new hotel. You should come. I'll be referee. —— That shit needs to be sorted out.”
Greg laughed. “That's cute, Lizzy. But it's not that simple.”
“You know I'm right. Don't be a chicken. Stand up for what's yours.”
“I'm not a chicken,” said Greg, defensive. “But some ritzy upscale party isn't exactly the best place to confront a guy.”
“It's never stopped me before,” murmured Lizzy.
He laughed. “Well, you're a strange girl.”
“I know.”
“Is this just your backhanded way of asking me to be your date?” asked Greg. They were walking again, and Lizzy had stopped to turn and look at him.
“Are you offering?”
“Well, I'm not saying no,” he replied. Greg was blushing now, and Lizzy found it adorable.
They left at that, but saw each other an additional three times in the next couple of weeks. And during the third time, while watching Blue Valentine in a theatre, Greg told Lizzy that he would love to take her to the Netherfield party.
• • •
Jane and Charlie were so disgustingly adorable that they began to irritate anybody who came within three feet of their compacted little love bubble — only they didn't particularly give a shit about anybody who came within three feet of their fortified sugary happiness.
Especially not Will Darcy, who seemed to always be around, mostly because Charlie often needed a second opinion when conducting business. During the two weeks before February's Netherfield banquet, Jane began to see the necessity of having a best friend like Darcy. Charlie was very relaxed but last-minute, whereas Will was all business. His phone calls were short, and he didn't mince words — and he called managers and caterers who had fucked up to tell them, in no uncertain terms, that they had fucked up.
“Well, that's settled,” Darcy said, sighing, and pocketing his cell phone. It was the week before the party and he and the Golden Couple were in the ballroom at the Netherfield estate, peering over a fold-out table littered with guest lists, catering menus, a pair of reading glasses, three cups of already cooled coffee, and what appeared to be blueprints for the east w
ing of the building. “Oh, I called Brenda — she told me to add the Gregor–Cafferty family to the guest list, which brings us to about 87 people. A small, intimate welcoming bash,” he said, mockingly mimicking Charlie's earlier sentiment.
“So, I may have underestimated the number of our contacts,” Charlie said, shrugging. He looked up a moment later, astonished and mildly disturbed. “You called my mother?”
“She called me first. You weren't picking up your phone.”
Charlie rounded his shoulders. “I'm terrible with returning calls.”
“Yeah, you are,” Jane chimed in, laughing. She was leaning against the opposite wall, cradling a mug of tea. “Last week I thought you were dead. Nobody told me that a client took you to a Phillies game.”
“I'm still sorry about that, Janie.” Charlie spread his arms wide. “C'mere. Bring it on in.”
“Hot tea.” The blond lifted her mug as evidence.
“I don't care.” He pulled her toward him, and she giggled, placing her mug down on the table. They began kissing and nuzzling, and Darcy made a noise a little too polite to be considered dry-gagging — but it wasn't exactly far off. Jane blushed, and pulled away from Charlie. He looked up, in confusion. “What is it?”
She tilted her head subtly in Darcy's direction.
“Oh, but he's always there. That's never stopped us before.”
“Unfortunately,” Darcy mumbled. He had his reading glasses on, and the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. He stopped writing, to glance at Jane. “Nothing personal.”
She shrugged breezily.
“I'm not hugging him enough lately — that's what's wrong,” said Charlie, sitting down in a chair. “I blame you, Jane. When I was single, I showered Will with all this bromantic affection, and the absence of that has just hollowed him out into a metallic, PDA-intolerant robot who subsists off scotch and bad sitcoms.”
“You do not shower me with bromantic affection,” said Darcy, dryly. He paused. “But the scotch and sitcom thing is half right.”
“We should get you a date for the party,” said Jane, smiling widely.
“Yes. You need to find yourself a girl, mate,” Charlie added, in his best Captain Jack Sparrow imitation.
