Chapter 21
“Oh my God, this is super creepy. You both know each other?” Georgiana asked, looking from her brother to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth felt her whole body go up in flames. She wanted so desperately to look away, but she couldn't. William's intense eyes were fixed on her in a look of confusion. Humiliated, Elizabeth figured that he must have been ten times more shocked and horrified than she at having stumbled onto her in such an unexpected way. She already looked a fool in his eyes. This folly probably only compounded the feeling.
William opened his lips to speak, closed them briefly, and then smiled, first in his eyes, then on his lips. “Elizabeth, how are you?”
Elizabeth started. His voice was so unexpectedly soft. Not knowing how to respond, Elizabeth stuttered a trite answer.
“G-good, and you?”
“Good. I'm good.” He nodded, his eyes still on her, but filled with just as much light as surprise.
“Wait, this is too weird,” interrupted Georgiana. “You both know each other?”
“Yes,” answered William.
“Far out!”
“William, mi hijo, you come sit. Pepe will make you a café con leche, and we'll get you something to eat.” Reynalda pushed him towards the table where Elizabeth was standing and then retreated to the counter to help her husband fix William a snack. He now stood a few feet away, as tall and handsome as she remembered. Perhaps, in a casual white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a soft smile on his face, a bit more handsome.
“Uh…how's tour?” he asked.
Elizabeth nodded, reddened, and then looked down at her hands. “Yeah, tour's good. We went to Disney World a couple of days ago.” Wincing inwardly, Elizabeth wondered for the second time that night if it were better to sound like a total bimbo or a total bitch. Disney World? She'd already proved to him that she was as reasonable as a tantrum-throwing three-year-old, and now she seemed out to really drive that point home.
William just smiled. “Did you ride Space Mountain?”
Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows. “No, the line was too long.”
Georgiana stared at the both of them, bug-eyed, still unable to comprehend the twist of fate that had occurred right before her eyes.
“And, uh, how's your sister?” he asked.
Then, Elizabeth relaxed. It was a stupid question. According to Jane, they had seen each other a few days ago. He was obviously just as flustered as she was. “You would know better than I would,” Elizabeth teased, “I heard you all went out with Charles' parents last week.”
“Oh, right. Yes. Well, Jane's doing fine.”
“I'm glad to hear it.” Elizabeth arched an eyebrow and suppressed a smile. Happiness radiated from his eyes, so much so, that Elizabeth felt her chest and neck burn from the intensity of his gaze. She had never seen such an unguarded look on his face before. It made her wonder whether he had gone on anti-depressants.
“Dub, how do you know each other?” William's sister asked.
“Elizabeth dances at BTNY,” William explained, still unable to rip his eyes away from her.
Georgiana's face exploded into a smile. “No freaking way! Elizabeth, you should have totally said something.”
Elizabeth only shrugged and smiled guiltily.
“So are you dancing tomorrow?”
“No, I have the night off.”
“Aw, man, that sucks hardcore. Dub and I…”
“Hey, G, that reminds me,” William interjected, “we should invite Elizabeth to the barbeque we're having tomorrow.” Georgiana stared at him strangely, the smile on her face taking on a tinge of puzzlement. Opening her mouth to reply, she quickly closed it and simply nodded in stupefaction.
William grinned and turned towards Elizabeth. “We're having a barbeque tomorrow. Come. Please. I mean, if you want to.”
Elizabeth's stomach flip-flopped inside of her. For a minute, she stared up at William in incredulity. She didn't understand. She had insulted him in every possible way a woman could insult a man. She had been ignorant and unfair. She had been everything unattractive. And he was William Darcy. He should have been stony and bitter. He should have looked down his nose at her, snorted in self-satisfaction, and walked away haughtily with his – what had Greg called her? – his Louis Vuitton-toting, spoiled brat of a sister. Just then, Elizabeth realized that this bubbly woman in front of her was the same woman about whom she had heard so many lies from Greg, and so many painful confessions from William. Elizabeth started slightly, and stared at Georgiana. Now they wanted to invite her over?
“Charles will be there,” William blurted out.
“Oh…”
“Oh, please, Elizabeth, please come,” begged Georgiana. “It'll be super fun, and we can go in the pool and, oh my God, Dub makes the best steak. You have to come.”
Reddening, Elizabeth smiled in embarrassment. “I, um, don't have a bathing suit.”
“I'll lend you one! I have so many I could open up my own store. You're totally my size. Except your boobs are bigger. But, that's, like, totally okay. You can be sexy.”
Elizabeth felt her face grow hot. Scratching his forehead, William looked down in embarrassment and then back up to Elizabeth. He grinned and just shrugged.
“I…wouldn't want to impose…on your family reunion.”
Georgiana opened her mouth to reply, but William answered first. “No. You wouldn't be imposing. I want…we want you to come.” Georgiana nodded in agreement.
Elizabeth stared from one sibling to the other. Finally, she consented in a voice barely higher than a whisper. “Okay, thanks.”
“Yes!” Georgiana cried. Then, she turned to Reynalda and Pepe and told them, in Spanish, about the barbeque. Reynalda shuffled over to them, a styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand, and a paper plate with a greasy croquette in the other. Frowning, she said that this was the first she'd heard of any barbeque and how was she supposed to cook something with so little preparation? She set both the cup and plate down in front of William.
Then, William replied to her, in perfect Spanish, or what sounded like perfect Spanish since Elizabeth couldn't be sure. Elizabeth stared. She had thought she'd known him. But here was this other side, this gentle, smiling, Spanish-speaking other side. Looking to her, he caught her staring and raised his eyebrow in question.
“I didn't know you spoke Spanish,” she answered.
Reynalda took the liberty of explaining. “I practically raised this boy. He'd better speak some Spanish.”
“There you have it,” said William.
After that, Reynalda began asking William a string of questions – How was New York? How was the weather in New York? Was he eating properly? Was he getting enough sleep? Did he have a girlfriend yet? Elizabeth jerked her eyes down to her lap, when he answered no to that one. She left them there for the remainder of the conversation. Just then, she couldn't look at him. Elizabeth wondered how something like this could have happened. Of the hundreds, possibly thousands of restaurants on Miami Beach, how could they have ended up in the same one? And more importantly, why was he acting this way?
In every possible reunion Elizabeth had conjured up, William had either been glacial, or bitter, or arrogantly indifferent. Once, she'd even imagined him hurt and crying, but weakness didn't fit him well, and she had quickly discarded that option. What Elizabeth had never, not in one, single fantasy, ever expected was such congeniality. Perhaps it was an act for his sister's sake? The more he spoke, the more Elizabeth figured it was exactly that. When they were alone, he would act more like himself.
Finally, during a lull in one of Reynalda's monologues, William spoke.
“So, Elizabeth, what time should we pick you up tomorrow?”
At being spoken to, she blushed and shifted in her seat. “Uh…anytime, I guess.”
“Is twelve okay? Will you be done at the theater?”
“I think so.”
“Twelve it is, then.”
She nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the plastic tabletop.
“Where's the company staying?”
“Um, up the road a bit. At the Lambton Inn.”
“Oh, that's on our way back home. We'll drop you off.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, no. I can walk. It was only a short way away, really. I'll be fine.” She said it with more embarrassment than defiance.
“If it was only a short way away, then it'll be no problem for us to drop you off,” William said, looking to his sister who nodded vigorously.
Elizabeth flashed a self-deprecating half-smile. “I guess you got me there. Thank you.”
Georgiana stood, and kissing Reynalda on the cheek, went outside to find Miguel, their driver. Reynalda offered her cheek to William, who kissed her and wished her goodnight. Elizabeth waved and stepped out of the restaurant silently, with William following behind her. Georgiana was nowhere to be seen. Standing awkwardly, Elizabeth shifted back on her heels and stared at her toes. She felt William's eyes on her, but she said nothing. Hazarding a glance, her heartbeat froze when she caught the look in his eyes – mysterious and searching, but certainly not cold.
“I…,” he began, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I wasn't supposed to say anything about Charles. He wanted to surprise the company tomorrow.”
“Oh, don't worry. I won't say anything,” Elizabeth said, nodding.
“No. I know you won't.” He looked at her with such meaning, and funnily enough, Elizabeth felt that she instantly understood him. They were on the same side, keepers of secrets – Georgiana, Greg, tutus - and performing as if they knew nothing.
“He's bringing his sister.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Oh.”
“She won't do anything. Don't worry about her.” His voice was gently persuasive.
Considering his face for a few seconds, Elizabeth realized that actually she wasn't at all afraid of the diva, as she would have once been. “All right then. I won't.” The lilt in her voice held the same heavy meaning as his had only moments before.
William's heart dropped to his shoes. He glanced at her for a brief moment, letting his eyes re-accustom themselves to the apples of her cheeks, the freckles on her nose, and those eyes, bright and sparkling even in the darkness. Finally, he saw the car pull around the corner with Georgiana in it. It slowed to a stop at the curb and William darted to the door, opening it wide for Elizabeth to enter first. She stared up at him in surprise and then nodded her thanks
“Sorry,” Georgiana said, “we had to drive around. The parking meter ran out and there was a cop totally staring us down.”
William said nothing, simply leaning his elbow on the armrest and smiling out of the window.
“Dub, what time's this party start tomorrow?” Georgiana asked, twisting back in her seat to look at him.
Turning to Elizabeth, William answered, “I'm picking Elizabeth up at twelve. So after that, I suppose.” Again, Georgiana stared oddly at her brother.
“Can I bring anything?” Elizabeth offered.
“No, just yourself.”
Elizabeth laughed nervously. “That's not much of an offering.”
“It's fine. Even if you wanted to bring something, everywhere is closed now and won't open until you're in blocking rehearsal tomorrow.”
“Ah, ever so practical.”
“Yes, that's me.”
Elizabeth chuckled and then looked out of the window as they pulled into the driveway of the hotel. The drive hadn't lasted longer than a minute. “Well, thank you for the ride.”
“No problem. I'll meet you outside of the backstage door tomorrow at twelve,” he said.
“Okay, I'll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Bye, Elizabeth!” Georgiana chirped.
She grinned at Georgiana and waved, as a bellhop opened the passenger door. Elizabeth rose from the seat. Before the door closed, she looked back at William, the grin fading to something more profound, and then reappearing as a soft smile. She thanked him and then the bellhop shut the car door softly.
After Elizabeth disappeared into the hotel and Miguel slowly pulled out of the driveway, Georgiana turned in her seat and frowned at William.
“Am I a total airhead? Did I forget we were having a party?”
“No, you didn't forget anything.”
“Oh, that's what I thought. Our tickets are for tomorrow.”
“We can get tickets for the Sunday mat. Elizabeth's performing.”
Satisfied, Georgiana turned around in the seat and hummed along with the radio. Then, she stopped, her eyes growing wide, and spun back around. Both siblings stared at each other, one with a placid, but satisfied, expression, the other with a look of dawning realization. Georgiana grinned.
“I figured it out,” she sang.
“Did you?” William returned playfully.
“That was so her, wasn't it? The girl you told me about.”
“Yes, that was so her.”
“Oh my God! This is way weird! It's, like, fate. Dub! She didn't hate your guts.”
“Not now, no.”
“She's chill. I like her.”
William just smiled.
“She likes you, too.”
“No.” He shook his head.
“She does! I can so tell. Don't you think she liked him, Miguel?”
“Don't ask me. You know I'm pretty bad with the women,” answered their driver.
“Well, she's into you.”
“G, I think I can safely say that Elizabeth is most definitely not into me.”
“Hello! I'm a girl, and we girls can read other girls. We're like dolphins, you know? We have a sixth sense.”
William laughed and playfully rolled his eyes at his sister. He sat back in the seat, gazing out of the window as hotels and condos slipped by. The night was breezy and heavy with humidity, making the palm fronds dance. They would take the causeway and be at home in ten minutes. The thought made William smile in the darkness. And tomorrow, by some bizarre, but providential stroke of chance, Elizabeth would be there with him. William suddenly grew nervous. He remembered, with stunning clarity, everything spoken between them last and everything spoken between them just now, doubting that he hadn't dreamed the satisfied look of surprise on her face and the shy smile on her lips. Maybe it hadn't been that at all. Maybe she had been embarrassed, wanting to escape, still angry and reticent. The smile slipped from his face. He had imagined so much before, William wondered if he weren't doing it again.
“Don't worry, Dub,” came Georgiana's voice from the silent darkness. “She'll totally love you. She has to.”
“I haven't told you half of the things I said to her.”
“Like what?”
“Ugh, G, I really don't want to repeat them,” William said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just things that…weren't like me. Or at least weren't like the person I want to be.”
Georgiana was silent for a long moment. Turning back around in the passenger's seat, she stared straight ahead of her. William wondered when she would respond and finally, when nearly a minute had passed, gave up hoping for an answer. Just then, she did reply, in a low and solemn voice.
“We all do dumb things, Dub. That's what second chances are for.”
William paused and stared at his sister's profile outlined by the streetlights. She stared straight ahead, not allowing William a full view of her face, but he knew from the melancholy in her voice exactly what she was feeling. Georgiana was thinking of love, or the absence of it.
“Second chances, huh?” William repeated.
Georgiana turned around once more in the passenger seat. Both siblings gazed at each other with looks of fond understanding. Then, Georgiana grinned and William laughed, shaking his head in silence, and turned his face to look at the rush of cars on the other side of the causeway.
**
William arrived at the theater early. He had left the house with Georgiana still lolling in bed, with a warning that Charles and Caroline's flight would arrive in an hour, and they were coming straight to the house. Georgiana had grumbled something incomprehensibly, but William had picked up the words “Caroline” and “mega-bitch.” He left laughing, but found the closer he got to South Beach, the harder it was to keep that smile.
His heart beat slow and uneven in his chest, and he had butterflies. He wasn't sure which made him more uneasy – how Elizabeth would behave with him, or how Caroline would behave with Elizabeth. He suspected that it was more the former than the latter.
Even though he arrived early, he arrived to an empty theater. William stood at the back of the house, staring up to a brightly-lit, but dancer-less stage. He heard voices in the wings and walked down the aisle. Just then, Madeleine Gardiner appeared on stage with a clipboard in hand, talking to a short, balding man whom William recognized as the theater's stage manager. She spotted the unfamiliar figure in the darkness, squinted out into the house, and then smiled broadly.
“Well, well, Mr. Darcy,” she said, “and to what do I owe this pleasure? You've finally started showing up to rehearsals in your old age.”
William chuckled. “It was only one time, Maddy. I had a stomach bug.”
“You had a hangover,” Maddy laughed and walked towards the edge of the orchestra pit.
“And you'll never let me forget it.”
“No. Where would be the fun in that?”
“I was hoping I could still catch a bit of blocking rehearsal.”
“Oh, we ended twenty minutes ago.”
Nodding, William glanced at the floor nervously. “So, how's tour?”
“Good. We've been received well everywhere we've been.”
“And no injuries or other catastrophes?”
“No injuries, but you know there's always some catastrophe or another.”
William nodded and struggled for something else to say. Luckily, Maddy spared him.
“So you're probably here for some other reason than to chit-chat with me.”
“I'm meeting someone,” he replied.
Maddy arched an eyebrow, but simply nodded once. “They should all still be backstage. You're welcome to go search for whomever you're looking for.”
William thanked her and took the stairs on the left side of the stage. He crossed through the lights and into the darkness of the wings, reemerging into the fluorescent daylight of the backstage halls. Trekking down the hall, he nodded politely to a few corps dancers who passed him. They returned the salutation with confused looks. His stomach lurched. If he were going to find Elizabeth, he would have to ask one of them. William wondered if all of the corps de ballet thought he was a supreme asshole, in the same way Elizabeth did. The thought made him reluctant to ask.
Suddenly, a door down the hall opened and Anne Boroughs emerged into the hall. She jerked to a halt upon seeing William and stared.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you, too,” he said, rolling his eyes.
Anne blinked in response.
“I came down to see Georgiana. We're coming to the Sunday matinee.”
Nodding, Anne replied, “Oh.”
They stared at each other for a few more seconds.
“I need you to do me a favor,” William said.
“Okay.”
“I need you to find Elizabeth and tell her I'm here.”
Anne raised her eyebrows. “Why?”
Clearing his throat, William looked away in discomfiture. “She's, uh, coming over.”
“To your house?”
“Yes.”
Anne looked at him strangely. “Why?”
“We're having a barbeque.”
Anne's face twisted in disbelief. “You?”
“Yes,” William replied, “Would you like to come?”
It was Anne's turn to blush and stammer. “Uh, well. I…I can't. Sorry.”
“Plans?”
Anne reddened. “Mariah came down before we head out of the country.”
“Oh, well bring her, too. Charles and Caroline will be there. So will G.”
Anne made a face. “Caroline?”
“Just come,” William ordered. “And tell Elizabeth I'm here.”
“You tell her. She's probably in the rehearsal studio.” Anne pointed down the hall.
William nodded perfunctorily. “Come over when you're ready. Bring Mariah.”
Anne just shrugged and disappeared into her dressing room. Turning, William approached the rehearsal studio at the far end of the long hallway, slowing as he neared the door. His heart did a funny plunge into his stomach. As Anne said, Elizabeth was there. She was lying on a mat, legs up in the air, in what William recognized as a Pilates position. He watched for a long while as she slowly moved her body, regulating her breaths in time to a series of smooth leg movements. She had nice form. William allowed himself time to smooth out the uneven roll of his heartbeat.
Elizabeth stood, kicked the mat aside, and stared at her body for a long time in the mirror. Turning sideways, she gazed at her profile, running her hands over her stomach and ribcage and taking a series of deep breaths. Watching her breathe, he relaxed, leaning his forehead against the door, and drinking in the languid movements of her body. She would be furious if she caught him, but he couldn't help it. He had missed her too much.
With her body still in profile, Elizabeth posed in fifth position. She adjusted her legs so that her knees were aligned over her toes. They were not as turned out, but William watched in approval as she kept them there, sacrificing unnatural beauty for correct posture. She unfurled her leg and did a piqué into an arabesque. Her leg, while low, was properly aligned. Elizabeth tried to balance but wobbled. Trying again, she stayed up for even less time.
William saw her sigh in frustration and try a third time. By now, an urge gnawed at him. She had the alignment, but didn't know what to do with it. Elizabeth was trying to adjust to a different style of holding her body, and it was throwing off her balance. He watched her do it wrong, two impulses pawing at him. He wanted to show her the right way, and he wanted to spare himself the sting of her cold eyes. In the end, though, William Darcy was a choreographer, and he could not stand idly by while a dancer did something wrong. He rapped softly on the door and then opened it.
Elizabeth's head snapped to the noise, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Hi,” William said. His voice echoed through the massive rehearsal room.
“Hi,” replied Elizabeth.
“I was spying on you. I hope you don';t mind.”
She reddened and looked away. Suddenly, William regretted coming in. He had not thought this through. With no plan of escape, he had no choice but to run full on into the harsh chill of her disapproval.
“Your alignment looks good,” he began nervously. “You've been doing Pilates.”
“Yeah, a little. Anne's helping me.”
“Anne? Boroughs?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Yes, Anne Boroughs.” Her eyes settled on him. They shone. “We're roommates.”
“Oh, I didn't realize.”
Shrugging, Elizabeth made no other reply besides a mysterious half-smile.
“I was watching your arabesque.”
Elizabeth sighed and threw her hands up in frustration. “I can't stay up. I don't know what I'm doing wrong.”
“Can I offer you a suggestion?”
Elizabeth stared up to him for a few moments, a wondrous look on her face, before nodding.
“Piqué arabesque,” he said, holding a hand out to her.
Elizabeth used every fiber of control in her body not to jerk her hand away from his as they touched. The feel of him after so long overpowered her, sending tingles through her limbs. Slowly, she dared to raise her eyes to his, but found they were not focused on her face, but rather her hips.
“Now, I'm going to pull on your arm. Pull away from me with your leg. Feel like you're being stretched on a rack in both directions.”
Trying to concentrate on balancing, Elizabeth found the task difficult when he lowered his voice to a sultry murmur. William moved his fingers to let go of her hand. When he did, she teetered backwards from all of the force in her extended leg.
William frowned. “Don't pull away that much.”
They tried again, with similar results. Sighing, William looked off to the side for a more appropriate explanation. Elizabeth felt her face grow warm, embarrassed that, as a professional ballerina, she couldn't stay up on her toes in the simplest of steps.
“Alright, let me explain it this way,” began William again. “When you piqué, you were thinking ‘forward.' That's wrong. Then, I told you to pull back, and you were only thinking ‘forward' and ‘back.' That's half-wrong. You need to be thinking ‘up' and ‘out.'”
“Up and out?”
“Up onto the tip of your pointe shoe, and reaching out in every direction.” William demonstrated, still wearing his street shoes. “Like you're stepping onto the head of a pin. Then, your head reaches up, your arms forward, your leg back, and your supporting leg down into the floor like the roots of a tree. Your center holds it all together. That's why it's so crucial to have strong abs.”
Elizabeth stared at him with a sensation close to awe. He spoke to her while in a perfect balance, his head turned back, as if it were the most natural position in the world. He made it look effortless. Coming off the ball of his foot, he faced her again and held out his hand.
“Try again,” his voice was commanding. Two months ago, Elizabeth would have bristled at that tone. Now, she realized it was an expression of his intensity, and she felt her pulse stall and then throb.
She stepped into him, grasping his hand, feelings its solidness underneath her fingers. Little by little, she felt the pressure under her fingertips wane.
“That's good,” he intoned. “I'm going to let you go.”
Concentrating fiercely on his chin, Elizabeth nodded slightly. His hand slipped away from her. And she stayed. Her entire body balanced on an area the size of a tablespoon. Yet, she felt like she could stay there forever. Seconds passed, Elizabeth stretched further into her arabesque, and, as it dawned on her that she'd finally gotten it, she raised her eyes to William's face and caught him in a satisfied, bright smile. Only then, she lost her balance, but recovered in a graceful chasé. Lowering her arms, she posed pertly, raised her eyebrow, and returned William's smile.
“Not bad,” he said, nodding in approval.
“I think I finally get it.”
“I hope you do.”
William still smiled, his gaze pulling at Elizabeth, and she had to look away.
“Oh, I'm…I'm sorry. We've left Georgiana waiting, haven't we?” she said.
“It's alright. She's at home, entertaining Charles and Caroline. Hopefully,” he replied.
“Oh, okay. I'm going to grab my things downstairs.” Elizabeth gestured to the door.
Nodding, William told her that he would meet her outside of the backstage entrance. Elizabeth rushed passed him, her cheeks on fire, and her heart thundering in her chest. In the basement of the theater, she passed a mirror and caught a glimpse of her reflection. She was beaming. Suppressing the stupid grin, she hurriedly gathered her things and changed from her leotard and tights into street clothes. The entire time she thought of William. She had only been able to think of William since he and his sister had dropped her off at the hotel yesterday. She had lain awake, reviewing his every word and look, wondering at the change in him. He had smiled, not patronizingly, but a smile that reached his teeth and eyes. He had been warm and interested in her, not bitter or reticent. He had been the man Georgiana and Reynalda had raved over. Elizabeth could hardly believe it was the same William Darcy who she knew from New York City.
Now, he had come to pick her up himself. They had a driver, yet William had come. Strange flutterings whispered that maybe it was for her, maybe he still cared. But rationality stepped in with a loud and heavy thud, trampling any notion that could have suggested that. Elizabeth had been cruel and stupid. Not attractive characteristics in anyone, and more than enough to squash any special feelings William may have held towards her in the past.
Yet, if that were so, why was her stomach twisting so nervously? Why was her pulse racing? Why did she undo her bun and apply a coat of pink lip-gloss before she left the dressing room? Fortunately, Elizabeth reached the backstage door before she had time to contemplate the answers.
Once outside in a blinding Miami afternoon, she glanced right and left for any sign of him. She heard a car horn and looked straight ahead at the only car in the vicinity. The passenger window lowered and William waved to her.
“Holy crap,” she whispered through a smile and strode towards a black BMW glinting in the sun. By the time she reached the car, William had gotten out and was holding the passenger door open for her. Elizabeth entered the car and, in the ten seconds that she was alone in the BMW, commanded the blush to fade from her cheeks. When William slid in beside her, however, she knew it was a lost cause, and covered by pretending to search for something in her bag.
“Do you have everything?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, pulling out her sunglasses in a moment of improvisational brilliance.
The drive down South Beach provided them with the opportunity to discuss the weather, the buildings, and the people. While not verbose, William carried on his share of the conversation with interest. Elizabeth cringed at the obvious nervousness in her voice. As they slipped onto the causeway, the conversation trickled into silence. Elizabeth smoothed the legs of her jeans, and looked out of the window at the turquoise ocean.
“I can understand why your sister would want to go to college here,” Elizabeth said in an attempt to re-ignite their small talk.
“Why is that?”
“It's beautiful! I'd go to the beach everyday if I lived here.”
William smiled. “Once you've lived here long enough, it just becomes your average semi-tropical sauna. Not much to do except the beach. And the clubs. But I've outgrown that.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “Does your sister go?”
“She used to. I think she was on a first name basis with all of the bouncers on the Beach. She doesn't go clubbing so much anymore.”
“Has she outgrown them, too?”
“No,” William said, his voice stiffening, “she stopped after she got married.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth slumped in the black leather, feeling unbearably foolish. Glancing out of the corner of her eye at William, she saw his hard and unsmiling profile boring intently at the highway ahead. Elizabeth let out a soft sigh and closed her eyes momentarily. Knowing their talent for always saying the wrong thing to each other, she realized what an awful idea this had been, coming to this barbeque.
They drove the rest of the way in silence. Elizabeth soon forgot her embarrassment as they crossed over a bridge and through a guard gate. William smiled and waved at the guard, who returned the greeting with equal cheer. The island was a haven of palm tree-lined driveways, wrought-iron gates, and sprawling mansions beyond. Elizabeth's jaw nearly hit her chest.
“Madonna used to live there,” William said as they zipped by an enormous mansion.
Elizabeth craned her head backwards to catch a glimpse of yet another gate fading in the distance.
“And here we are,” William said, slowing the BMW and making a right turn into a tree-covered, gateless entryway.
Chapter 22
Elizabeth sucked in a long breath, as she stepped out of the car. Eyes round and wondrous, she gazed at the grove of palm, cypress, and tamarind trees surrounding them, a silly smile melting across her mouth. In front of her stood William Darcy's house, vine-covered and encased in tropical foliage, birds-of-paradise, hibiscus, and bougainvillea blooming throughout. The house itself stood amidst the greenery like an old, Spanish monastery. The roof was covered in terracotta tiles. Limestone columns and arches fell back into a courtyard that was the front door.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, “it's…just amazing.”
Closing the door of the car, William beamed, but said nothing. He gestured for her to follow, which Elizabeth did, wordlessly and bug-eyed.
The interior of the house was everything Elizabeth expected. Understated and classic just like William's Manhattan apartment, the furnishings were neutrally colored – beige sofas, dark woods, and white walls. But, something about this home jumped out at Elizabeth more than the New York City penthouse. Splashes of color popped through in every room like a cheery hello – a large, red lacquer bowl on the coffee table, a modern painting in yellows and oranges on the wall, white, turquoise, and navy pillows on the sofa in the living room.
“Don't tell me this house has also been in Architectural Digest,” she said, as William led her through the terracotta-tiled kitchen.
“May, 1996,” he answered.
Elizabeth shook her head and caught her first glimpse of the backyard through the large window in the kitchen.
“Holy crap! Ocean view! You're on the freaking ocean!”
“It's a bay, really.”
Still shaking her head, Elizabeth grinned. “Can we go in?”
“Sure, if you want. The pool's a lot nicer, though.”
Just then, a blonde in a tiny, white bikini strutted into view. Both William and Elizabeth's face fell into scowls.
“Oh, Caroline and Charles are here,” Elizabeth commented, with plastic chipperness.
“Joy.”
“Well, I'm glad to see Charles, at least.”
“Elizabeth!” Georgiana bounded into the kitchen and threw her arms around her new friend. “Thank God you're here!” She cast her brother a knowing look.
“Have you had fun entertaining our guests?” William asked saccharinely.
Georgiana rolled her eyes. “Um, hells no. But now Elizabeth's here, and I can escape. Come on, let's get you a bathing suit.”
Georgiana pulled at Elizabeth's hand and they were out of the kitchen, across the sprawling house, and into Georgiana's bedroom in several seconds.
“I hope I didn't offend you,” Georgiana said once they were in private, “but, I'm so not a fan of Caroline.”
“No, I'm not either.”
“Ooh, good. So now we can spend the whole time laughing at her behind her back and being really bitchy.” Georgiana turned from her and opened a drawer in her dresser, revealing rows of bundled-up bathing suits. “I've already picked out a few that would make you look super hot.”
William's sister held up several bikinis, really just glorified strips of cloth and strings. Elizabeth balked.
“I can't wear those!”
“Sure you can! We're totally the same size. Your boobs are a bit bigger than mine, but that's a good thing.”
“No, Georgiana, I can't wear those. Don't you have a one-piece or something?”
“A one-piece?” Georgiana frowned, squinched her face, and concentrated hard. “I don't really own any one-pieces. There's, like, one from ages ago.” She pulled out a baby-pink bathing suit from the inner confines of the drawer.
“Perfect,” Elizabeth smiled.
“You can change in there.” Georgiana pointed to a connecting bathroom.
As Elizabeth slipped out of her clothes, she asked, “I have a question, and let me know if it's too personal.”
“Sure.”
“Why do you call your brother ‘Dub?'”
Georgiana giggled. “It's kind of an inside joke. Because my name's so freaking long, he always used to call me ‘G,' which was okay when I was nine, but then when I entered junior high school I was on this ‘Georgiana' kick. I wanted to be called ‘Georgiana.' But, Dub refused. He said it'd take him all day. But, I totally hated ‘G,' so for revenge, I started calling him ‘W.' But try saying ‘W.'”
“W.”
“It takes forever right? What's the point of a nickname if it takes a million years to say? So, I shortened it to ‘Dub.'”
Elizabeth laughed. “Ah, I see. But by that logic, didn't it make sense for him to call you 'G?'”
Georgiana considered the remark. “Oh. I'd never thought of that. Duh.”
Meanwhile, Elizabeth had slipped into the bathing suit and frowned at herself in the mirror. While it wasn't a skimpy bikini, it certainly could not be defined as modest. The bathing suit was cut extremely high in the legs, and plunged low in the back. Still, it left most of her body covered. Shrugging, Elizabeth stepped from the bathroom and struck a pose.
“Well?”
“Ooh, nice! I should give you that. I never wear it and it looks way better on you than me.”
“Do you have a sarong or something?”
“Yeah. Ooh! And it totally matches that color.”
Complete with her floral sarong and matching bathing suit, Elizabeth was led by Georgiana back through the terra-cottaed halls of the Darcy's home. They stepped onto a porch and Elizabeth exhaled in delight.
“Wow.”
To all sides of her, sprawled a tropical garden very much like the one in the front driveway. Immediately in front of her was a pool lined with limestone, and in the far distance stretched the turquoise waters of the bay. In between the pool and the bay lounged Caroline Bingley on a deck chair, tanning. Her eyes were closed and covered by large, Chanel sunglasses.
“Liz!” she heard from behind her. Turning around, she saw Charles walking towards her, a broad grin on his face.
“Hey!” Elizabeth replied. The sight of him made her face break out in a similar smile. They hugged and made small talk about the weather, Miami, tour, and Jane. But William was at the brink of her thoughts. He was nowhere to be seen, and his absence furthered Elizabeth's apprehension. More than wanting to see him, she wanted him to see her, and to look at her in that way of his. This time, she wouldn't misunderstand what it meant.
In the middle of Elizabeth's chat with Charles, Georgiana had also disappeared, leaving Elizabeth alone with the Bingley siblings. By this time, Caroline was aware of her presence. She sat up in her chair, glaring at Elizabeth. The conversation with Charles died, and Elizabeth was forced to turn around.
“Hey, Caroline,” she said icily.
“Hello, Elizabeth. How are you?” Caroline returned with frigid politeness.
“Fine. You?”
“Good.”
“How did the world premier go?” Elizabeth asked in her most saccharinely diabolical voice.
Caroline's expression soured, but before she replied, the sound of a male voice cut her off. William appeared, now in swimming trunks and a white polo shirt, with a bag of charcoal in his hands. Georgiana trailed behind him holding a heaping platter of steaks, salmon, and vegetable skewers. The Darcys weren't hamburgers and hotdog kind of people, Elizabeth supposed.
His eyes caught Elizabeth's, as he stepped onto the porch, and his lips curved up in an acknowledging smile. They stayed on her as long as possible, before the look could be considered ogling. Georgiana said something to him – Elizabeth was too far away to hear what – and he nodded, glancing back at Elizabeth briefly. She stared, entranced, not caring if Caroline was scowling at her. A satisfied heat warmed her face; she had gotten her look.
With just the five of them, the barbeque began as an awkward affair. William spent most of the time at the grill, getting the charcoals started. Georgiana ran back and forth from the patio to the kitchen in her attempt to be a good assistant. Caroline lay mutely on the chaise lounge, focusing on her tan and ignoring Elizabeth. That left Charles. Elizabeth and he had never been great friends; he was her sister's boyfriend, that was all. Dipping her feet in the water, Elizabeth sat on the edge of the pool chit-chatting with him about Jane – one of the only things they shared in common – but she found her concentration was far from her sister.
In fact, it was in a nearer place. Across the patio, where William Darcy stood peering into the grill, with a pair or tongs in his hand. She was staring blatantly, that she knew, but it was hopeless not to. Elizabeth had to figure him out. It was impossible to believe she was with the same person from two months ago. His demeanor was gentle and generous. He was happy to see her, had invited her to him home. There had been the trip-up in the car, but he seemed to have forgotten that. She wasn't sure what it all meant. She wasn't sure if it were an act for his sister's benefit. She wasn't sure why she desperately didn't want it to be an act, and why she was conscious of her every move, just in case his eyes fell on her again.
“I have no clue why he's doing this,” Charles said suddenly.
Nabbed staring, Elizabeth snapped her gaze away from William to an uninteresting part of the garden. “What's that?”
“This. This barbeque. He hates social functions. Both going to them and throwing them. We'd barely gotten in the front door before he told us to get changed and get in the pool.”
Elizabeth smiled slyly. “You didn't know about this?”
“No,” Charles snorted, “William doesn't throw parties. I'm shocked that he'd bother with a welcome party for Caroline and me. There's never been so much ceremony for the other times we've come to visit.”
“Hm.” Elizabeth bit her lip, trying not to grin. Apparently, Georgiana hadn't been the only one taken off guard. She wondered if the spontaneous and supposedly uncharacteristic barbeque had anything to do with her, and glowed in contentment at the thought. As if sensing her thoughts, William slowly turned his head and stared queerly back at the two people sitting at the edge of the pool, gazing at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing,” joked Charles, “just revealing all of your dirty secrets to Liz.”
A slow smile diffused over William's face. “Secrets? I don't have any dirty secrets. You know how I detest deception.”
Charles turned to Elizabeth. “William is a man of principles.”
“A man of principles,” she repeated, her eyes locking with his. “There's nothing wrong with that.”
He wasn't sure what that flash in her eyes meant. William didn't know if she were teasing him, chastising him, or issuing him a silent white flag. There was light and heaviness in her eyes. William cracked a neutral smile and then turned back to the coals.
A few minutes later, Reynalda and Pepe showed up, bearing a huge aluminum tray of rice and beans and just as large a platter of pastries. Pepe joined William at the grill, and as they chatted in Spanish, William felt her eyes on him, watching him. He was trying with every gesture and look to show her the side of him he hadn't been assed to show her before. William was nervous, but he fought it. Whenever he caught Caroline gazing at him like he were that evening's meal, he resisted the urge to retreat. He smiled. He played the charming host, asking everyone if they needed drink refills. But always, William knew for whom he performed. The warm timbre of Elizabeth's voice trickled to his ears, and made his arms tingle. Having her here was so succulently real, William felt he would become whatever man she wanted him to be, if it meant that hearing her laugh would be an everyday occurrence and not just some fluke of chance.
“Why don't you let me take over here?” offered Pepe in Spanish.
William looked to the older man, who had just glanced to the woman in the pink bathing suit, at the other end of the patio. Smiling in appreciation, William handed over the barbeque tongs and patted Pepe on the shoulder.
“Thanks,” William said. He strolled to where Elizabeth stood at the edge of the deck admiring a bird-of-paradise flower.
“You have a breathtaking home,” Elizabeth commented when he approached her side, “Your backyard makes me feel like I'm lost on some gorgeous, tropical island.”
“Would you like a tour of the gardens?” offered William.
“They're that big that I would need a tour?”
“Well, no, not really. But they're much more interesting that way.”
Elizabeth raised her palms in a gesture for William to lead the way. As they walked through the grass, William began by pointing out the various flora, but he sensed Elizabeth didn't want a lecture on botany. He decided to lead her in silence, sneaking glances at the calm expression on her face as her eyes skimmed over the garden.
Was she really here? He could scarcely fathom it. William gazed at her appreciatively, warmed by the warmth on her face. For a fleeting moment, he didn't care that she hated him, he felt so full with her presence. He wanted to sit her down and tell her everything about him, show her through all of the closets and drawers of his home, and just be with her, just listen to her voice, and discover all of her hidden intricacies. William looked away. He had to. The sun, the heat, the lapping of the ocean, Reynalda's faint laughter, and Elizabeth standing there had become too much for him.
“Do you come down here often?” Elizabeth asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
“No, not as often as I'd like. Especially not in the past few years.”
“Oh, that's a shame. I wouldn't be able to stay away.” Elizabeth grinned and gazed around the garden. In the several months that he had loved her, William had sometimes pictured her here, the only woman whom he had ever dared imagine in his house. As the grass crunched quietly under their feet, William recalled all of the happy memories of summers spent here with his parents. Splashing in the pool, taking boat rides in the bay, playing hide-and-go-seek with Georgiana in the garden. William had never imagined himself married, with children, living that life. But, now, with Elizabeth next to him, he sampled a taste of the contentment that life might bring. It was the first time he felt that way, and it shocked him, but not unpleasantly.
“Well, I'm afraid that's all,” William said.
“Thanks for the tour.”
Both made their way back to the deck in silence. They were greeted with an arch look from Caroline, but nothing more.
When Elizabeth saw the addition to their party, she laughed in surprise.
“Anne, what are you doing here?” she asked. Anne smiled silently, but her “friend” Mariah burst forth with a happy greeting for the “chick she'd heard so much about.”
Suddenly, with Elizabeth, Mariah, and Georgiana in the same five-yard range of each other, the patio burst into a cacophony of laughter and voices. Caroline lazed on the chaise lounge, fiercely ignoring the antics at the other side of the porch, Reynalda was busy in the kitchen, Pepe busy at the grill, which left Charles, William, and Anne watching three very young, excited women make their introductions. The party had begun.
Realizing there was no music, Georgiana dragged Elizabeth and Mariah off to help her pick out a CD to play. Charles wandered over to the grill and stood by Pepe. Each were unable to speak the other's language, but somehow they communicated through the universal male language of grilling meat. Reynalda zipped in and out of the kitchen, each time with a new dish in her hands, moaning and muttering to herself in Spanish. William stood with Anne, in silence. He shrugged, she mirrored the gesture, and then walked off to get a Coke.
William looked around himself, and smiled. This situation felt so foreign to him. He felt so foreign to him. But except for Caroline, the people who meant the most to him were all here, and he was happy.
Spying Anne sitting alone on a patio chair, William walked over to her. “How's tour been?”
Anne sipped her Coke from the can. “Fine.”
William hoped for an elaboration, but she offered none. “So…everything's been going well?”
“Yes, fine.”
“So…no one's gotten injured or anything? Everyone's all right?”
“Elizabeth is all right, if that's what you mean,” Anne said dryly before taking another sip.
Caribbean jazz began playing from speakers at the corners of the patio. The French doors opened and the trio of girls slipped outside, giggling and chatting away as if they had all been best friends for years. Mariah had her arm slipped around Elizabeth's neck, grinning as Elizabeth talked about the nearly losing her lunch on Splash Mountain. Both Anne and William had their eyes riveted on the two women.
“Hey, nobody's gotten in the pool yet!” cried Georgiana in mock-indignation.
Suddenly, from the middle of their conversation, Mariah smiled wickedly and gave William's younger sister a swift push. Georgiana lost her balance and with a thunderous screech and splash, became the first in their party to test out the waters. Everyone around the poolside burst into laughter, except for Caroline who scowled at getting wet. Georgiana reemerged sputtering and laughing as well.
“I was totally asking for that, wasn't I?”
“Yes, you totally were,” Mariah answered, “and now Elizabeth and I are going to join you.”
“Gah!” Elizabeth cried, as Mariah flung both of them into the water.
The splash they created sent Caroline bolting up in the deck chair. When all three women emerged from the water, screeching with laughter and surprise, Caroline glared at them with a look of death, which then melted like plastic into a wide, stiff smile. William's eyes were on her, cold and disapproving. She certainly wanted to make a good impression, but she was trying to tan.
William watched his sister, and let out a sigh of relief. It was the Georgiana he remembered before Greg Wickham had slithered back into their lives. The silly, blithe girl who smiled. He had seen too many glimpses of himself in her over the past year, too many moments of dark introspection, of shyness, of melancholy.
“...and Jane comes running back, bawling because she swallowed about a gallon of seawater!” Elizabeth exclaimed, finishing the story she had just told. Georgiana and Mariah cracked up, and William smiled, too, although he had heard nothing of the tale.
“I'd love to meet your sister! What's she like?” Georgiana asked.
“I can probably only tell you the bad stuff, like how she borrows my clothes and returns them with ketchup stains. If you want a better of opinion of her, you should ask Charles. He's her biggest fan.”
Georgiana beamed and looked across the patio at a blissfully clueless Charles, flipping over salmon steaks. Turning back, they resumed their happy chatter.
“Georgiana and Elizabeth have really hit it off,” observed Anne.
William only nodded.
“You must be happy,” Anne continued.
William turned to her, his eyes full of contentment. “I am.”
Anne made no immediate reply. The two merely stared at the group of girls in the pool, now playing a game of Marco Polo.
“There's one thing I've discovered,” Anne suddenly said.
“What's that?”
“Everything in your life that you thought was important - money, status, your pride. You realize how easily you can throw them away, when you have the right person to convince you.”
William chuckled. “You've become one of the great philosophers of our time.”
“Well, better than you, at least.”
“That's a given.”
Soon afterwards, the meat finished cooking, and all gathered around the table at the patio to heap food on their plates. William saw it as his golden chance to once again speak to Elizabeth alone. Unfortunately, his sister also saw it as her golden chance, as well. Grabbing Elizabeth's elbow, Georgiana led her off to a secluded section of the patio where they seemed engrossed in conversation. Resigned, William asked Reynalda about her grandson, and listened bemusedly as she declared with certainty that he was the cutest baby ever born.
Several minutes later, an excited cry came from the other side of the patio. “You're kidding!”
Everyone looked to where Georgiana and Elizabeth sat. “Hey Dub, guess what?”
William smiled and shrugged. “I give up,” he answered from across the poolside.
“No, come on, guess.”
“Okay, you've decided to give up shopping and move to Tibet.”
Georgiana giggled. “Oh, get real.”
He glanced at Elizabeth, looking down at her lap in resigned embarrassment.
“Okay, I'll tell you,” Georgiana continued, with playfulness in her eyes. “Elizabeth and I are the same age.”
“I knew that, G.”
“Oh. Okay, but did you know that Sunday's her birthday?”
William met Elizabeth's eyes. “No. I didn't know that.”
“Oh my God, are you going to be alone on your birthday?” asked Georgiana.
“I guess not,” Elizabeth answered. “I'll be with friends in the company, I suppose.”
“Oh. Are you going out?”
Elizabeth shrugged, her eyes darting from one Darcy sibling to the other. “I…I don't know. Nothing's been decided yet.”
“Elizabeth, it's your birthday?” Anne piped in suddenly.
She shrugged in a noncommittal answer.
“Oh my God, we have to do something!” exclaimed Georgiana.
“Well, we have a performance on Sunday and leave for Mexico on Monday morning, so I thought I'd just lay low.”
“But you're going to be twenty-four!”
Laughing, Elizabeth replied, “There's not that much of a difference between twenty-three and twenty-four.”
Georgiana looked shocked. She turned to her brother. “Dub! We totally can't let Elizabeth spend her birthday alone. Can't we take her out?”
William felt his face grow warm. “We could. If she wants, that is. And has no other plans.”
Pushing back a strand of wet hair, she stared up at him with a look of hesitance and surprise.
“You shouldn't spend your birthday alone,” he added.
Elizabeth still looked hesitant, but answered finally, “Really? Is that okay?”
“Whoo hoo!” cheered Georgiana. “Dub, we should totally take her to Estrella. I love that place!”
“She hasn't even said ‘yes' yet, G.”
“Is it really okay?” Elizabeth asked Georgiana this time.
“Hell-o! Yes! We can pick you up after we watch Sunday's performance.”
Elizabeth's eyes widened. “You're coming?”
“Duh, that's why Dub came down. To take me.” Georgiana grinned triumphantly.
Elizabeth turned to William. “God, I'm sorry to be intruding like this. You really don't have…”
“Elizabeth,” he interrupted, “we'll meet you outside after the show.”
She nodded mutely and then offered her thanks.
The rest of the afternoon floated by lazily. Between entertaining Charles, Georgiana, and Reynalda, William barely had time to talk to Elizabeth. She seemed fine on her own, chatting with Anne and Mariah. But, every so often, he caught her eyes fixed on him. Once or twice, she even smiled. Elizabeth had plenty of conversation partners, and she seemed delighted when Reynalda swept her up and began teaching her the intricacies of salsa and merengue dancing. When William was pulled in to partner her, she didn't seem to mind, instead focusing intently on her footwork with a large grin across her face.
William knew it probably wasn't because of him, but seeing Elizabeth happy made him happy. He felt euphoric.
After the sun had set, Elizabeth approached him shyly. “William, I want to thank you…for today. I, um, think I'd better go. We have another early start tomorrow.”
“Yeah, sure. Let me get my keys.” He didn't want her to go, but he nearly ran to his car. It would be the first moment of privacy that they had together since their tour of the gardens. He wanted to gage Elizabeth's reaction. She was silent as they walked out of the house together, and timid until he turned out onto the main road. Finally, she spoke, thanking him again for inviting her.
“That's okay,” he answered, “I'm glad you came.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I feel like maybe Georgiana roped you into taking me out on Sunday. It's completely fine if you don't want to, though. I don't expect you to at all. You should spend time with your sister.”
“Georgiana didn't rope me into anything,” he replied. The issue still hung heavily in the space between them. He glimpsed over to her and smiled. “If you'd like to go, we'd like to take you.”
Elizabeth's face relaxed. She gazed out to the mansions rushing by, and then answered. “In that case, thank you.”
William felt his heart stir in hope.
“Your sister's funny. I like her a lot,” commented Elizabeth.
Laughing, William's focus remained on the road. “She is funny, and I'm glad you like her. She liked you, too. I haven't seen her that animated in a long time. I owe you my gratitude for that.”
“Gratitude? I didn't do anything.” She smiled.
“Maybe it didn't seem that way, but G was happy. She's a great girl, but she doesn't have many friends.”
“Somehow, I can't believe that,” Elizabeth said. “She could make friends with a rock.”
“Well, it's complicated.” He paused to look over his shoulder and change into the other lane. “She has a brilliant mind. She's the kind of person who can hear a song once, and play the whole thing on the piano. And she's great with numbers, but it's always given her problems. She doesn't fit in with the math geniuses, and she doesn't belong with the club-hopping socialites either. I've always joked that she's a strange concoction of Albert Einstein and Donatella Versace.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Can she really do that? Play a song on the piano that she's only heard once?”
“She can. She doesn't play any more, though. She outgrew that phase. Now, she just makes mixed CDs and sends them to me all the time.”
“Mixed CDs?”
William reached over Elizabeth and opened up the glove box. Removing a leather CD holder, he placed it on her lap. “Have a look.”
Elizabeth giggled as she went through his collection. “Female Singers Born in 1972…Choruses Without the Word I or The…Rockers with Two First Names...The Condiment Colletion. What does this mean?”
“Um, let me try to remember what's on that one. The Spice Girls, Salt n' Pepa, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Simon and Garfunkel.”
“Simon and Garfunkel?”
“Parsely, sage, rosemary, and thyme.”
Elizabeth laughed. “That's hysterical! I think making CDs like this takes more talent than playing the piano.”
“G's something of a music snob.”
“Ooh, here's a great and relatively normal one. The Eagles Greatest Hits.”
“She gave me that for Christmas a few years ago. Do you listen to The Eagles?” William asked incredulously.
“No, my dad does.”
“Thanks.” William clutched his heart in mock-pain.
“Oh, will you shut up! That's not what I meant.”
“I know when I've been called old.”
“You're not old,” Elizabeth countered with a smile, “just...finely aged.”
“Is that what they're calling it these days?”
“Yes, it's no longer PC to call people over thirty ‘old farts.'”
“Ah. I must have missed that one. I'm probably going senile.”
“Probably.” Then, Elizabeth laughed, throaty and warm. She glanced over to William with a molten smile. For a second, he took his eyes off of the road and returned the look. In that moment, something in the air between them retreated like a clearing fog. They talked about music for the remainder of the ride to Elizabeth's hotel, in the most animated and amiable conversation they had ever shared.
They arrived at the Lambton Inn. Before getting out of the car, Elizabeth turned and smiled silently at him. Something flickered in her eyes, which made William's stomach clench.
“Well, thank you,” she said finally.
William simply nodded. “We'll see you after Sunday's performance.”
“Okay.” Elizabeth slipped from the confines of the BMW, closed the door gently, and skipped up the driveway. William watched her retreating figure with a mixture of satisfaction and loneliness. After pushing open the front door, however, Elizabeth craned her neck around, paused, and then lifted her hand in a small wave. Only when she disappeared into the hotel, did William sigh gently and head for home.
**
William heard Caroline's high-pitched laughter all the way from the foyer when he stepped through the door. He rolled his eyes reflexively and sighed, donning the mental armor he would need to deal with a night of Caroline Bingley. As he neared the living room, her voice grew clearer.
"And really, that bathing suit! Blech. It was so five years ago!" Then, she laughed again, making William wince.
He stepped into the room to find his sister sitting on the couch, arms folded defensively across her chest, glaring up at Caroline, and Charles suspiciously burying his nose in an old copy of National Geographic.
"That was my bathing suit, Caroline. From five years ago," Georgiana responded frigidly.
Caroline flinched, but then recovered with a laugh. "Oh, of course it was, darling. It was a beautiful suit and would look great on you. But, I think she needs a bit of a diet before she can pull that one off."
Georgiana flashed William a look that told everything. His face went dark as he stood in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, in a stance mirroring his sister's. Noticing William, Caroling turned around and flashed a malicious smile.
"What do you think, William? Being on the road hasn't done good things for poor Elizabeth, has it?"
William glared at her. "I didn't notice any remarkable difference."
"Well, you'll be the only choreographer who'll cast her. She'll bust out of her tutu if she gets any wider!" Caroline screeched with laughter. No one joined her. William saw Charles hide his nose further into the pages of the magazine.
"Fortunately, you're not the one doing any casting," William retorted. The ice in his voice was unmistakable. Caroline smirked at him, and raised an eyebrow in defiance.
"Hm, it didn't seem like that before," she hissed.
William's nostrils flared and the retort was on his tongue. But, before it could pass from his lips, he glanced over at Charles, whose face was so red that he looked sunburned. Sighing in frustration, William swallowed down his bile, and gave her a black look as he stalked past her and disappeared down a hallway. Georgiana leaped from the sofa and followed on his heels.
After the Darcy siblings had departed, only the Bingleys remained. Charles closed the National Geographic and glared at Caroline.
"What?" she asked defensively.
"That's enough." Charles' voice quivered with anger.
Caroline started. She hadn't heard that tone in Charles' voice since they had fought as teenagers. He roughly tossed the magazine down next to him and stared at her with such fury, that she was left speechless.
"That was the epitome of rudeness, Caroline! Will invites us here, and you...you go and act like...that! I'm not dealing with that kind of behavior anymore!"
"Oh, please, Charles. Don't talk to me as if I were a child."
"You are a child!" Charles stood abruptly from the sofa. He paced for several seconds, his face twisted in turmoil, and then stopped. Unable to face his sister, he said in a small voice, "I know what you were doing to Elizabeth."
"What are you on? I was just tanning."
"No, not today. Before. Before she went on tour." Charles turned to face his sister, whose face was contorted in a look of repressed shock.
“What?”
“I knew something was going on. I just didn't know what. It didn't take long for some 'friends' of yours to confess once they'd been asked.” Charles' voice took on a hint of bitterness, a tone his sister had never heard.
“What?” Caroline whispered.
“The next time it happens, you're fired. And you're not dancing in the fall season.”
“What!?”
“And Lucas agrees.”
"What! Lucas knows?" Caroline asked, her voice cracking.
"I told him."
"Charles!" Caroline's eyes bugged out in fear.
"And you can go back to New York tomorrow."
"Charles!" she whined, stamping her foot.
Charles merely raised his hands for her to stop. He gave her a last look, mixed with anger, sadness, and betrayal. Caroline's chin trembled. But, Charles only turned away and strode down the same hall where William and Georgiana had disappeared. Caroline stamped her foot again and whined a string of curses, but there was no one left to witness her histrionics.
The next day dawned sunny and warm, a perfect day for a flight back to New York.
Chapter 23
Elizabeth frowned at her reflection. There wasn't much she could do to herself when she still had eyelash glue stuck to her eyelids and hairspray flakes dusted about in her hairline.
“Can you see the eyelash glue?” she asked Elina, a corps member she had become close with on tour.
“Yeah, but don't worry. It only looks like eye crud.”
“Oh, wonderful.” Elizabeth rubbed at the corner of her eye.
“What's up with you?”
"I'm going out for a night on the town."
"Ooh."
"It's my birthday."
"What! Lizzy, why didn't you say anything?"
"It's not in my gentle and demure nature to brag about those kinds of things."
"Gentle and demure, my ass! Who are you going with, and why wasn't I invited?"
"Just some friends and because you smell."
Elina stuck her tongue out.
"Hey, wanna give me a birthday present?" asked Elizabeth, as she applied the final dab of lip gloss to her lips.
“Gentle and demure people don't ask for birthday presents," teased Elina.
"Take my stuff back to the hotel?" Elizabeth gestured to her heavy dance bag.
"Fine, but only because it's your birthday."
"Thanks, Lina."
"'Welcome, Lizzy."
"Well," Elizabeth said, whirling around for her friend, "what do you think?"
Elina whistled. "Nice. He's going to love it."
Arching an eyebrow, Elizabeth replied, "Who said anything about a 'he?'"
"Girls don't dress up like that for other girls."
Shrugging, Elizabeth grabbed her purse. "Wish me luck."
"Girls also don't need luck when they're just going out for a casual birthday dinner."
Winking, she bid everyone good-bye and skipped out of the dressing room. As Elizabeth passed a mirror backstage, she stopped and smiled, checking that she didn't have lipstick on her teeth. Then she rolled her eyes at herself and laughed down a burst of butterflies.
That performance had been a nerve-wracking one. Elizabeth knew the steps perfectly, her costume fit like a glove, and her ankle felt good, but she knew that somewhere beyond the lights sat William and Georgiana, and that thought had her hands clammy and her stomach in knots for the entire day. Elizabeth was honest with herself; she wasn't nervous about seeing Georgiana again. It was her brother that caused the flutterings. Elizabeth wasn't sure what they meant, but decided that any normal woman would be edgy if she were going out to dinner with William Darcy. At least Georgiana would be there. She could carry most of the conversation when things got awkward.
Elizabeth took the last flight of stairs slowly, breathed deeply twice, and then pushed open the backstage door. Several fans lingered about with programs and pens in their hands, waiting for their favorite dancers to appear and offer them an autograph. The fans paid Elizabeth no mind.
She didn't see him at first. It had rained that afternoon, and the light drizzle meant that when she finally did spy him, he was behind a huge golf umbrella. He was alone.
"Hi," she said, approaching him tentatively.
William turned, his face lighting up in a broad smile. "Hey. Great performance." In his hands rested a bunch of white lilies, which he handed over without ceremony. "From Georgiana and me."
Elizabeth inhaled their scent. "Thank you. You really didn't have to."
He smiled. She caught William's eyes scan the length of her body, and her face went hot. "Is Georgiana waiting in the car?"
William shook his head. "She's had a terrible migraine for the entire day. She left during intermission. She said to tell you - I hope I get this right - 'I'm totally sorry for being the biggest jerk in the world, and happy, happy, happy birthday.'"
Elizabeth laughed. "You can tell her I forgive her."
Realizing his lack of manners, William thrust the umbrella over Elizabeth's head.
“Oh, thanks,” she said, looking up. Then, to cover for the obvious embarrassment passing across her face, she joked, “Not that it matters much. My hair's looked like a big frizz-ball ever since we got here. The humidity.”
William studied her head. “It looks the same to me.”
“Oh, well…&;#8221;
Elizabeth looked everywhere but his face. She couldn't. Georgiana wouldn't be there! She had never hated someone for being ill more than she did now. As they walked in silence to the parking lot, Elizabeth had flashbacks of their rendezvous at the Italian restaurant and winced. They reached the black BMW again, and when Elizabeth was alone inside, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and prepared herself for an encore of the awkward and horrible evening. Happy birthday indeed!
When the driver-side door opened, Elizabeth snapped her eyes open and smiled saccharinely. William smiled back, but only momentarily, before slipping the keys in the ignition and turning on the engine.
Once they had cleared the parking lot, William spoke. “My sister made reservations for us at a restaurant called Estrella. It's not far. About a ten-minute drive.”
“All right. What kind of food?”
“They call it ‘Caribbean fusion.' It's a terrific restaurant,” William said. Then, he added, “I hope that's okay.”
“Yes. Yes, that's fine.”
For the remainder of the car ride, they chatted about the humidity in Miami, the unseasonably cool weather in New York, the dryness in Texas, and finally when it seemed like the topic of weather had run dry, William turned into a small alley and turned off the engine.
“Well, this is it.”
Estrella was a tiny restaurant, snuggled in between an office complex and a parking garage. Its only sign was a stylized star by the door. They entered and William was greeted by name by a tall, beautiful hostess. He smiled and asked the hostess, Josefina, how she had been lately. They chit-chatted as she showed William and Elizabeth to their table in a corner that looked out onto the bay. Glancing around the restaurant, Elizabeth admired the combination of navy interior, dim lighting, dark furniture, and a single yellow orchid on each tabletop. The restaurant was completely full, but intimate enough not to be noisy.
The hostess set menus in their hands. Remembering their last dinner together, Elizabeth braced herself before opening the leather cover. In William Darcy-style, the food was expensive.
“Georgiana wants to treat you to dinner,” William said, glancing up from the drink menu.
“Oh, no, I couldn't let her…”
“It's your birthday. Nobody pays for their own birthday dinner.”
Elizabeth smiled in resignation. “In that case, tell her thank you.”
Scanning the menu, Elizabeth began to salivate at all of the choices listed before her. The menu was extensive, and everything looked good. Looking up, she asked, “So what's good here? Recommend something.”
William raised his eyes, and Elizabeth had a difficult time keeping her gaze. She realized it was the first time that evening that she had looked directly into his eyes, as dangerous as the sun. Still in a dress shirt and tie, sitting across from her in a dark restaurant and wearing a look of intensity that Elizabeth knew all too intimately, William held a power over her similar to magnets and paperclips. Heart thudding, she averted her gaze back to the menu.
“It all looks so good,” she added weakly.
“I like the salmon,” offered William. “The lamb is good, too, though.”
“Maybe lamb, then.”
Closing her menu, Elizabeth looked out of the window to the dark ocean. She felt his eyes on her and grew warm. Thankfully, a waitress came to take their drink orders.
“Chardonnay,” Elizabeth said, needing the dose of alcohol to calm her nerves.
“And for you, Mr. Darcy?”
“Just iced tea, thanks.”
Once the waitress left, Elizabeth sighed. “I'm sorry.”
“For?”
“Well, you're been designated tonight's driver on my account.”
William smiled softly and leaned back in his chair. “That's all right. I never drink.”
“You don't drink?” What New Yorker didn't drink?
He shook his head. “I haven't for a couple of years.”
“Oh. Why?” She regretted the question the moment it slipped out. Talking about another person's preference for alcohol was never a comfortable subject; it either led to religious doctrine or tales of AA.
“Well,” William said, fortunately, with the smile still on his face, “I don't know, really. I used to. Quite a bit at the bars and clubs. But when my father died several years back, I decided to put those years behind me. I haven't drunk alcohol since.”
“I…see,” said Elizabeth, frowning in confusion. “You just lost the taste for it, or…?”
Sighing, William glanced out to the night. Elizabeth saw him gathering his words and wanted to kick herself for prying into the man's personal life. Asking about his drinking habits, digging up old memories of his father…could she say anything more inappropriate?
“No, I didn't like myself when I drank. I did stupid things. I felt foolish and unhappy. I don't think I was addicted, but I was close to it. At the time, I just felt like I had nothing under control. I was thirty years old, already retired, and my father had just passed away...After that, I decided to get myself back under control. It just didn't feel right anymore, being Mr. Manhattan Party Boy. It felt like a pathetic attempt to regain my youth.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips, but it was not enough to shield the laughter from her eyes. “You were thirty. You were still young. You are still young.”
William stared at Elizabeth with a half-smile, but his eyes weren't convinced.
“Hey, that's the whole point of being drunk. You do stupid things!” Elizabeth said, trying to lighten the mood, “You know, throwing up on your friend's computer, running around in twenty-degree weather in your underwear, sleeping with someone who makes your stomach churn.”
Finally, the laughter melted into William's eyes. “And you've done them all, I assume.”
Only then did Elizabeth realize her folly. “Oh, no. I didn't mean…what I meant was…” She stared down to her lap, unable to finish the sentence, thinking of the thousand ways she hated herself.
At that moment, the waitress re-appeared with Elizabeth's wine and William's tea. He ordered the salmon, and she the lamb, but she never lifted her eyes from the menu. Just as the waitress finished scratching their order into a pad, William spoke.
“Actually, can you cancel the iced tea?”
“No problem, Mr. Darcy. Is something the matter with it?”
“Nothing, no. I've just changed my mind. I'd like a glass of what she's having,” William said, nodding to Elizabeth. She stared up at him with wide eyes.
“Very good. I'll get that right for you.”
The waitress disappeared.
“Is that okay?” William asked. “One glass shouldn't do much to my driving.”
“Sure,” Elizabeth blurted, “Are you okay? I don't want to force you into anything.”
William intertwined his fingers and rested his chin on top of them. He said nothing, but simply stared at her with a look Elizabeth recalled from their last date. The wine came soon after. Raising the stem between his fingers, William said, “A toast.”
Elizabeth fumbled for her glass and raised it as well, smiling embarrassedly. She locked eyes with William, whose expression morphed to one Elizabeth didn't quite understand.
“To stupidity.”
Elizabeth snorted, her mouth bursting into a grin. “Here, here.”
They clinked glasses, and brought the rims to their lips at the same time. It was difficult to say who looked away first, but when they did, it was not in awkwardness.
“Can I ask you another personal question?” Elizabeth asked, leaning forward in her chair.
“Go ahead.”
“All right. When did your father pass away?”
“Four years ago, this November.”
“It must have been difficult to lose your father so young.”
“Well, he was seventy-eight. He lived a long life.”
“Seventy-eight? Wow.”
“There were fifteen years between my mother and him,” William explained. “I was born when he was in his forties.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Were the two of you close? I'm sorry. I hope this isn't getting too personal.”
“Ask, and I'll tell,” William replied, taking another sip of wine. “God, this is good. What have I been doing these past few years?”
Laughing, Elizabeth simply shrugged.
“Yes, we were close. We had a great relationship. He was the best of men.”
“Really?” Elizabeth asked, smiling.
“He would have to be. What father in his right mind would let his only son forsake the family business to prance around all day in tights?”
“So, he didn't disapprove, then?”
“Not at all. I'm sure he would have rather I went to business school and learned about mutual funds and IRAs. He did want me to run his company eventually, but once I had made the decision to dance, he supported me one-hundred percent. He and my mother bought box seat tickets to every BTNY performance for all of the years I danced.”
“What kind of business was it?”
“Pemberley Securities,” William said, flashing a sly smile. Elizabeth's face dropped in surprise.
“You're kidding. That's your ‘family business?'”
“Sure. It's going to Georgiana once she gets a few more years of experience.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Only a person like you would refer to Pemberley Securities as a ‘family business.' That's like calling GM a ‘little, old workshop.'”
William chuckled. “A person like me, huh? And just what kind of person is a person like me?”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes in response, but said nothing. She was enjoying this - this smart, edgy flirting, the back-and-forth rhythm of it like tennis. Once the food came, William turned the questioning back on Elizabeth.
“And so what about you? Are you close with your parents?”
“With my dad, yes.” Elizabeth popped a piece of French bread into her mouth. “I guess you could say I'm ‘Daddy's little girl.'”
“And so let me guess. You have a terrible relationship with your mother.”
“Hey, you've met her. You've seen what she can be like firsthand.”
“No comment.”
“How diplomatic of you.”
William took a silent sip of wine then replaced his glass with a smile. “Your parents are divorced?”
“You're very insightful this evening.”
“Well, I remember your mother mentioned her ‘ex-husband.'”
“Yes,” Elizabeth nodded, “thankfully, they're divorced.”
William titled his head. “Thankfully?”
Sighing, Elizabeth looked down at the tablecloth and then back up at William. “Do you really want to hear my tale of woe?”
“You listened to mine.”
William watched as she gazed out to the bay. She pushed her hair back behind her ears and propped her chin up in one hand. He wondered at how easily conversation flowed now, when before, things had been so icy between them.
“Well, I guess it's a pretty typical story. My parents fought all of the time. And then when I went to college, they got a divorce. I just wish they had done it sooner. It would have made Jane and my life much easier.”
“Living with two fighting parents must have been rough.”
“Yes, it was. It kind of turns you off of the whole marriage thing. But, Jane and I had each other. We only had each other.”
“Which would explain why you're so close.”
“Yeah,” Elizabeth smiled, “Jane is great. If your sister is a cross between Einstein and Donatella Versace, then mine is a cross between Shirley Temple and Buddha.”
“That's unexpected.” William chuckled.
“But it's true. She's the only person I know who can pull off innocent and sage at the same time. I always joke that she's the only normal one in the family. Everyday I look at myself in the mirror and wish I could be more like her.”
William frowned. “Why?”
“You're a guy. Have you seen Jane? She's beautiful!” joked Elizabeth. William smiled and shrugged noncommittally. “But – God, this is so corny - she's beautiful on the inside, too. I wish I could be as positive as she is. And as nice. I'm also a little jealous of her dancing, but don't tell her that. Jane doesn't understand the meaning of jealousy.”
Although Elizabeth attempted to make a joke of the comment, William could not smile. He stared at her with his forehead creased, wondering how Elizabeth could think as she did. The longer he stared at her, the fainter her smile grew.
“I've always found that comparing myself to others has been an exercise in futility. I've learned to stop doing it.”
The smile on Elizabeth's face faded completely, and a part of her expression went cold. “I suppose that's easy when you're William Darcy.” The bitterness in her voice William recognized all too well.
His face grew intense. “How do you think I became William Darcy?”
She returned the look, just as serious and rigid. It was the sudden change in her eyes that gave William pause. No, he didn't want to go back down that path. He cleared his throat, breathed, and began again.
“I was lucky. I entered BTNY during the worst period in the company's history. Lucas had just come from the UK to be the artistic director. The company's finances were shit. It had no creative direction. They were desperate. Would you like to know why I was hired immediately as a principal dancer? Frankly speaking, I was great PR. Young, rich, handsome, right family – yes, it sounds arrogant, but that's what they needed. There were better dancers. I shouldn't have been a principal. My first year, everyone hated me and I had few friends, except for Charles.”
Elizabeth shook her head, her expression softening once again. “That sounds awful.”
“Well, it only lasted a year.”
“How did you turn things around?”
William folded his arms over his chest. “I became the best.”
Elizabeth laughed at what she thought was a joke. But, William's face did not change. He stared at her until understanding dawned in her eyes.
“You make it sound so simple,” she said.
“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice droll, “it is simple. You have the raw talent. That's more than most can say.”
She took several more bites of her food in silence. William watched her. He could almost see her brain turning over his words, like a child studying a discovered seashell. They ate quietly for several more minutes. Every so often, William raised his eyes to Elizabeth to gage her reaction. Was she angry? No, she didn't seem that way. She was still thinking, so he let her be. When he looked up at her again, he caught Elizabeth studying him, her eyes darting across his face. William did not look away, and neither did Elizabeth. They sat staring at each other for a long moment – a comfortable stare, one without reproach or desire – a look that simply was.
This time, William looked away first. There was something about staring straight at Elizabeth's face – the purposeful set of her lips, the shine of her eyes - that did things to him. Simply talking to her, even without the promise of love or sex, made William content. The small feeling of hope building in him since Thursday had strengthened. In the silence, William allowed himself the indulgence of imagining he and Elizabeth sitting like this in a New York café, discussing whatever topic appeared on the front page of that day's paper. Why had he ever had reservations about her? Too young? He talked to her more easily than most women his age. In the corps? He didn't see how that mattered anymore, and she wouldn't be there forever. And the biggest obstacle, her being in his piece, William had inadvertently solved by sending her on tour.
Then, reality kicked him swiftly in the shins. The biggest obstacle was none of those things. Rather, it was the fact that she didn't share his feelings. William wondered if she still loathed him, desperately hoped she didn't, and took a long sip of wine to send down the rising lump in his throat.
“I forgot to ask. How's next season's program shaping up?” Elizabeth suddenly asked.
“Good, it seems,” William answered with forced cheeriness. “You know they've decided to restage Serenade. Charles is really excited about it.”
“Yeah, I heard. I can imagine he's psyched. He's the Balanchine boy, after all.”
They talked of dance thereafter. William revealed the dirty secrets of BTNY's most famous and infamous dancers, and Elizabeth listened raptly. She told him about the ballets she and Jane used to put on as children, the most popular one being the Paula Abdul Revue. As the night wore on, patrons around them came and left. Elizabeth ordered another glass of wine. William declined the refill so he would be clear-headed for the drive home. They ordered coffee and sorbet. Only when Elizabeth stifled a small yawn did William check his watch.
“It's almost eleven. You probably want to get back.”
“Oh, yeah. We have to be at the airport tomorrow at nine. Yuck.”
William smiled. “I remember those days. Hated them at the time, but if I could just go on one more tour…”
Elizabeth smiled back. “I'll pick you up a sombrero.”
“Just what I've always wanted.”
After dinner had been paid for and they had returned to William's car, Elizabeth turned to him and grinned. “Is it okay if we listen to one of Georgiana's CDs?”
“Sure. You know where they are.”
Without further instruction, Elizabeth pulled open the glove box and flipped through the leather CD case. Her train of thought snagged on a strange notion – how normal this felt. Months ago, she detested William Darcy and everything he stood for. Now, she was in his car, thumbing through his CD collection. Elizabeth had met his sister, been inside of his house. They had shared a pleasant meal together. He had not been patronizing or haughty. She had inadvertently insulted him several times, and he merely brushed it off with a smile. And he was letting her touch his radio, something which the ex-boyfriend she had dated for a year in college had never done. No, it had been more than a pleasant evening. It had almost been perfect.
“Found one yet?” William asked, when her search had grown longer than a minute.
“Oh,” Elizabeth stammered, looking down at the CD that was open, “this one.”
It was Georgiana's “rockers with two first names” compilation. She slipped it in the CD player and let the music fill the car, as she sat in meditation. Next to her sat a William Darcy altogether altered from the one she had known three months ago. Elizabeth figured there could only be three reasons to explain the difference: One, it was a ruse to keep up appearances with his sister, which would not explain this evening when Georgiana hadn't been there. Two, something about New York City turned William into the beast he had been. Or three, he had actually changed.
Had he changed? And, why? Elizabeth shook her head at the first answer that popped into her mind. No, it was not for her. Then…because of her? No, it was foolish to think that, too. Nevertheless, the farfetched notion made her oddly happy. It was unthinkable, but, Elizabeth rationalized, not impossible. After all, David had brought down Goliath. So perhaps it was likely that Elizabeth Bennet had, with a well-aimed cast of the stone, knocked William Darcy back down to the land of mortals.
“I love this song,” he said unexpectedly. The song had changed from a cheery George Michael pop tune, to a mellow riff of piano.
“Billy Joel.”
“This song always makes me realize how much I love New York City.”
The comment knocked one more possibility off of Elizabeth's list.
“Yeah, this is a great song.”
“To me, this song is everything right about New York. Georgiana prefers Miami, but I find the city more appealing. It's more textured, more interesting. It can be anything you want it to be.”
Elizabeth smiled at this other, more verbose side to William. “I feel the same way.”
“Do you? Do you have a 'New York State of Mind,' then?” William laughed at himself, but waited for Elizabeth's response.
Elizabeth considered the question. “That feeling, when you're about to cross the street and there are a dozen people standing on your side, and a dozen on the other. That moment, when you meet in the middle of the pavement. That energy. That's New York to me.”
Staring straight ahead, William only smiled and nodded.
“What about you? Do you have a 'New York State of Mind?'”
“Hmm. I don't know.”
“Oh, come on! I told you mine,” laughed Elizabeth.
William remained silent for a few moments. Looking at his face, Elizabeth could have sworn she saw an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.
“I don't know. New York is home. Sometimes I hate it. Sometimes I love it. It depends on the day. On my mood.”
“So, then I'm assuming you hate it more than not.”
“I'm going to ignore that comment.”
Laughing, Elizabeth sat back in the soft leather. She let Billy Joel get through the chorus before she replied. “You should choreograph something to this.”
William made a face. “Ah, I don't know.”
“Oh, I forgot,” Elizabeth teased, arching an eyebrow. “The great William Darcy doesn't do pop music.”
“Not really, no.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “You know, Tchaikovsky used to be en vogue. He was like the Billy Joel of the 19th century.”
“I've never heard him described like that.”
“He was a pretty successful composer, something of a superstar. All of the stuff that we think of as true art now...at one point or another, it was just pop culture. Pop music is relevant, you know. Just like classical music was back then.”
William said nothing. He stared straight ahead at the highway, with an unmoving, unreadable look on his face. Elizabeth stared for a few moments longer, to see if she could understand that expression. She couldn't. Turning her face away, Elizabeth shut her eyes and inwardly chastised herself. She had done it again. Why did she always say the wrong thing? Why, after all she had suffered through, had she still not learned how to think before she spoke? Afraid to say anything more, she spent the rest of the car ride in silence. William seemed to want it that way, as well, since he made no effort to speak, either.
When they finally did pull into the driveway of the hotel, William opened his door and stepped out of the car. Wanting to escape and feeling that she didn't deserve his chivalry, Elizabeth also opened the door and stepped out into the rain before he could reach her side. But, William already had his umbrella open over her head.
“Thanks,” Elizabeth whispered, unable to make eye contact. She made one more desperate effort to lighten the atmosphere between them. “Not that it will really help save my hair from the frizzies. But thanks anyway.”
Thankfully, William smiled. He stared at her for a small moment, his expression gentle and unexpectedly yielding.
“Happy birthday.”
Elizabeth shrugged away her awkwardness. “Thanks. Tell Georgiana thank you.”
He kept staring at her, and Elizabeth expected him to speak, but words never came. Rather, William reached his out his free hand and slowly, hesitantly raked his fingers through her hair. Elizabeth sucked in her breath slowly, gazing up at him. She said nothing as he fingered the ends of her hair, merely feeling the pulse of her heartbeat in her throat.
“Actually, it's only a little frizzy. But it looks fine.” His voice, low and sensual, made Elizabeth's stomach flip. She was paralyzed by him again, just as she had been at the Netherfield Gala. He was gorgeous, able to freeze and melt her insides at the same time with a mere look. Elizabeth shivered at the way William looked at her, the focus in his eyes, as if she were the only thing he saw. Then, he retracted his hand.
“Well,” he said, “uh…good luck in South America.”
His voice stung harder than any slap. Elizabeth's insides recoiled.
“I'll see you back in New York,” he added, slipping his hand in his pocket.
Elizabeth could only nod in response.
“Goodbye, Elizabeth.”
“G-goodbye.”
He began walking around his car. She craned her neck to look at him, and waved half-heartedly.
After William had driven off, Elizabeth followed his taillights until they disappeared around the corner. She sauntered back into the hotel, knowing she would get little sleep that night for her journey to Mexico in the morning.
**
William slipped in through the garage door, hung his keys up, and then went looking for Georgiana. He heard the faint strains of Miles Davis coming from the den and figured he would find her there.
She was reclined on the couch, flipping through Vogue, and drinking from a plastic bottle of Diet Coke.
“Knock, knock,” he said.
Georgiana looked up and grinned. “Hey, I didn't hear you.”
Eyeing her posture, he raised a suspicious eyebrow. “How's the headache?”
“Oh, much, much better. I think I just needed some time to chill out. It's been a busy few days. How was your date with Elizabeth?”
Striding slowly towards the couch, William folded his arms over his chest. “Yes, see, that's the problem. It wasn't supposed to be a date.”
Georgiana widened her eyes innocently. “Huh?”
“Don't try that trick with me. It won't work.”
“Aw, come on, Dub. You know you didn't want me there anyway.”
“Well, no.”
Georgiana tsked. “Oh, thanks!”
William sat down on the section of sofa not occupied by his sister's legs.
“Well, how was it?” asked Georgiana. “Was she into the restaurant?”
“I don't know. I didn't ask.”
“Duh! You don't have to ask. You should be able to tell.”
“From what I could tell, I think she liked it.”
“Ooh, good! And, so, how was it? What did you guys talk about? What did she wear? Did she like the flowers?”
“Too many questions,” laughed William, holding his hands up for Georgiana to stop.
She frowned at her brother's reticence and stared at him with a pout for a long minute. “You're not going to give me anything?”
“No. I'll tell you that we had a nice time. We talked about, well, a lot. I can't really remember everything now. She wore a skirt. She liked the flowers. She says thank you.”
Georgiana sat back, contented. She smiled. “I really like her, Dub.”
“Good. So do I.”
“So…are you going to ask her out when you get back to New York?”
William sighed. “G, I've told you, the whole thing is complicated.”
Georgiana looked down to hide her disappointment.
“What?” asked William.
“No, nothing.”
“G.”
“It's just that…you seem…really unhappy up there. And...I feel like it's my fault somehow.”
“How are my moods your fault?”
“I-I know you wouldn't be like this is it weren't for me being the dumbest girl on the face of the planet,” Georgiana said, picking at her socks. “I'm afraid that my mistake has made you, I don't know, jaded.”
“I was jaded before the marriage, G.”
She looked up at him with an expression crossed between anger and sadness. “But I don't want you to be like that! And you weren't like that when Elizabeth was here. It was like the old you.”
“Hmm, that wasn't the old me.”
“Okay, fine. Then a new you. Whatever. She's cool, Dub. And you seemed really happy with each other, and…”
“No,” William interrupted, “I think that was only one-sided.”
“What do you mean? She was into you. She couldn't take her eyes off of you for, like, the entire party.”
William shook his head, but felt his heart trip at his sister's observation. “You're imagining things.” But, he recalled the way she had smiled at him that night across the table, her eyes luminescent, and felt that maybe there was a sliver of a possibility that Georgiana could be right. William, however, refused to entertain foolery anymore and quickly dismissed the thought.
Georgiana huffed. “I will bet you…,” she picked up her magazine and thrust it in his face, “this Prada shoulder bag that if you asked her out again, she would accept.”
“Don't you have enough Prada all ready?”
“Dub! A girl can never have too much Prada!”
Laughing, William stood and ruffled his sister's hair. “Goodnight, Georgiana Inez.”
“Goodnight, William Fitzpatrick.”
He walked from the den and into the master bedroom. After he crawled into bed, William looked to the empty space at his left and, for the first time in weeks, allowed himself the luxury of imagining it occupied by a twenty-three, no, twenty-four-year-old corps girl who was absolutely perfect.
Chapter 24
Mexico, Ecuador, Argentina, and Chile were surprisingly bland. At least, that was the impression Elizabeth had as she sat in the Burger King at Miami International, one flight away from being back in New York City, back with Jane, and back in the same area code as William Darcy.
“Delta Flight 39 for New York LaGuardia will be boarding in ten minutes,” a bored stewardess announced over the PA.
Elizabeth smiled, felt the butterflies flutter once again, and sucked the last of her Diet Pepsi from the straw, before making her way to the gate. Who would have thought an airport could have made her so happy?
She had spent three weeks thinking only of Miami. Of guava pastries and of Reynalda Cafetería. Of a palatial home, oval pool, and a turquoise bay. Of a dark, candlelit restaurant, of white wine, of lamb in a tangy mango sauce. Of a BMW and Billy Joel. And of the person who brought them altogether for her—William.
It was odd. She had hated him so vehemently, and now, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how many insults she remembered, cold looks, arrogant lifts of an eyebrow, even in spite of what he had done to Jane and herself, Elizabeth simply could not summon up the same feelings about the man that she once could upon the mere mention of his name. Even odder, on several occasions, Elizabeth found herself smiling unconsciously as she remembered their conversations in Miami. She took a lazy pleasure in knowing that she had spent her twenty-fourth birthday sitting across a candlelit table from William Darcy.
Throughout Mexico City and Quito, she had rewound through every moment and had come to the hesitant conclusion that, despite her immaturity, her thoughtless abuse of him, and her narrow-mindedness, there was still a shard of a chance that William may have still liked her. In Buenos Aires, she began wondering what she would do about it. By Sao Paolo, Elizabeth thought it might not be such a bad idea to go out on a few dates. It was as Charlotte said; two people could date without being in love first. In Santiago, Elizabeth realized she wasn't being totally honest with herself; if she and William did end up going on a date, Elizabeth certainly would not be going into it indifferently.
She began imagining where they would go. Nighttime cruises on the Staten Island Ferry, intimate sushi bars (she assumed William went to places like that), dance performances, Central Park. During long waits in between shows, Elizabeth let her imagination wander back to New York City, where William was always with her. It was not love, she figured, but rather curiosity. If William was not the man she had initially imagined him to be, then what kind of man was he?
He had told her he loved her. He had written that she had been his inspiration. It was unbelievable, but perhaps Elizabeth had been more to him than just great sex. In Miami, William had been different - careful, considerate, gentlemanly. Elizabeth desperately wanted to believe that it was because of her. Despite his arrogant veneer, William was a man of solid principles, loyalty, and honesty - everything that Elizabeth respected. In her ignorance she had told him otherwise, but she was honored that a man like that would fall in love with her. She hoped that she was a person still worthy of such esteem, but feared that perhaps in the same way that she had become enlightened, William may have also experienced a similar, but opposite, change of heart.
The plane touched down at LaGuardia smoothly, and Elizabeth experienced a moment of jubilant terror. Only a weekend separated their reunion at work, but first Elizabeth had to meet her sister.
**
“Jane!” screamed Elizabeth, as she spied her sister across a crowded airport terminal.
“Lizzy!” Jane waved her arms frantically and pushed around a set of lost-looking tourists, before she made contact with Elizabeth with a huge bear hug.
Amidst a wave of tears, giggles, and screeches, both Bennet sisters became reacquainted after a three-month absence.
“Oh my gosh, I've missed you so much! Guess what? I painted the living room walls!”
“No way!”
“Yeah, Charles helped me. They're blue!”
“Is that my shirt?”
“Yeah, I borrowed it. I've had two wardrobes for the past three months. It's been great!”
Elizabeth laughed. After she picked up her luggage, she waved goodbye to the remaining corps members and told them she would see them on Monday. Everyone else seemed to be in the same state of elation – just happy to be home. With a rolling suitcase in one hand each, Jane and Elizabeth made their way to the taxi stand and finally got into a yellow cab. Breathing in deeply, Elizabeth sighed back into the pleather seat.
“God, I missed this place!”
“You have to tell me all about tour,” Jane encouraged her.
“Oh, forget tour for a bit. I just want to savor New York. Tell me what's been going on the past three months.”
Jane's eyes glittered. “Well, not much. The spring season went okay. Did you see the reviews for Mr. Darcy's piece?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth rolled her eyes, “I did.”
Jane nodded. “We were all shocked. Caroline didn't come to the studio after that for a week.”
Snorting, Elizabeth shook her head. “I wouldn't have expected any less.”
“And…what else? Giselle reviews were good. Everything else was good.” Jane finished speaking, but her eyes betrayed that she had more to say.
“And?”
Jane beamed. “Well, I wanted to wait to tell you this. You just got off the plane and all…”
“Charles asked you to marry him!”
Jane laughed. “No, it's not that good.”
“Oh. Then tell me! I'm going to explode if you don't tell me!”
“Are you sure? Don't you want to tell me about tour first?”
“Jane! Tell me!”
“Okay,” Jane giggled, “you're not going to believe who William Darcy's chosen to dance the lead in his next piece.”
Elizabeth's heart tripped and a warm smile melted over the features of her face. She had visions of herself tangled up in William's arms, stealing kisses in Studio B, receiving thunderous applause from the audience in Lincoln Center.
“Who?” Elizabeth asked breathlessly, her smile broadening.
Jane bit her bottom lip. “Me!” She raised her eyebrows and waited for her sister's reaction. Elizabeth's smile wavered and she scanned Jane's face for any sign of an uncharacteristically well-aimed practical joke. As Elizabeth expected, there was none.
“You?”
“I know, can you believe it? But, it's true. I just found out this week!”
“B-but, you're in the corps!” Elizabeth stammered. Jane was too swept up in the excitement to notice that her sister's disbelief was not out of empathy.
Jane giggled. “They're promoting me.”
“To principal!?”
“No, not yet. Just soloist. But still…a soloist performing the leading role in William Darcy's piece! Unbelievable, isn't it?”
Elizabeth shook her head and stared at her lap, trying to reign in the shock she felt. “And…Sir William Lucas? He's okay with this?”
“I guess he'd have to be. It was announced on the boards and all.”
Forcing a smile, Elizabeth replied weakly, “That's really great, Jane. I'm…that's great.”
She turned her face away to look at the first of Manhattan's skyscrapers coming into view, and to hide her disappointment and envy from Jane. Jane dancing the lead in William's next piece? It wasn't right. She didn't have the passion in her dancing necessary for his choreography. She was too languid and calm. She didn't have the fire in her movements that William needed. Elizabeth instantly pictured Jane with her arms entwined around William's neck, and felt sick.
“Lizzy? Earth to Lizzy.”
“What?”
Jane laughed. “You must be seriously jet-lagged. You haven't heard a thing I've said, have you?”
“No, sorry.”
“It's okay. We'll talk after you've showered and rested. We'll be home in five minutes.”
Nodding, Elizabeth immediately looked back out of the window, feeling the embers of jealousy being fanned inside of her. Hadn't William said that she had inspired him? That he couldn't choreograph without thinking of her? That's what he'd said that day they fought in Studio B, in his letter. And what about Miami? What had that been? He had invited her to his house, taken her out for her birthday, ran his fingers through her hair, nearly kissed her! And despite it all, he cast Jane in his piece. Jane, and not her!
At long last, Elizabeth was able to resurrect the anger she had once felt for William. When she alighted from the taxi, she slammed the door as hard as she could, slapped the money into the driver's hands, and walked ahead of Jane, insisting she would be fine dragging her thirty-pound suitcase up three flights of stairs. Elizabeth didn't want her sister's help. She didn't want to speak to her sister. She was livid.
To celebrate Elizabeth's return, Jane had bought a bouquet of roses and a nice bottle of Merlot to go with the lasagna she'd prepared. They ate in the living room, now painted a cheery cornflower. Jane did most of the talking, and Elizabeth replied in grunts and weak smiles. After she cleaned her plate, Elizabeth apologized, but she had a headache and only wanted to shower and sleep. Jane nodded and smiled, telling her sister she would clean the dishes. Elizabeth was about to disappear in her room, when Jane called her name.
“Lizzy, I'm glad you're home. I really missed you.”
Elizabeth heard her sister's voice quiver. “Yeah, Jane. I'm glad to be home, too. I missed you, too.”
In her room, Elizabeth sighed and collapsed onto the bed, hating herself for lying to Jane, feeling guilty for envying Jane, but nevertheless, being unable to control the bile that had been in her mouth since her sister's ecstatic announcement.
**
Judging from the laughter and screeching coming from Studio A, one would have never guessed it was a Monday morning at Ballet Theater of New York. It was a morning of reunions – friends and colleagues brought back together after a three-month hiatus. Finally, the company was whole again.
Stepping into the studio, Elizabeth was pounced on by Lydia and nearly strangled by Charlotte. She laughed, returning their hugs and smiles, answering their questions about tour, and asking ones of her own. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth noticed Caroline Bingley breeze by. The prima did not stop to acknowledge her. Nevertheless, Elizabeth felt a chill run through her, remembering the last time she was in a studio with Caroline.
Throughout class, Elizabeth watched the diva out of the corner of her eye, searching for signs of malice in Caroline's expression. Caroline's eyes were often on her, but to her surprise, when Elizabeth stared for longer than a moment, it was the principal dancer who turned her gaze away first. Elizabeth still detected a pinch of venom in her expression, but otherwise she appeared very much like a satiated tiger – still dangerous, but bored. Elizabeth wondered if this change had anything to do with William.
The sudden thought of him sent Elizabeth's heart skipping and then falling flat on its face. She was back to square one – unable to hate him. Elizabeth might see him today, the first time in a professional setting after everything that had transpired since the Netherfield Gala, since Miami. She knew she shouldn't expect a tender reunion, but she still hoped for one anyway. Elizabeth balked at her feebleness.
Class ended promptly at 11:30. A line of sweaty dancers filed out of the studio, Elizabeth sandwiched in between Jane and Lydia. As they regrouped to walk downstairs for lunch, Elizabeth's heart leapt to her throat when she saw William coming towards them, a CD and notebook in one hand, a pen in the other. He smiled and nodded politely at a group of corps dancers passing him, which Elizabeth noted with no little surprise and confusion. Since when did William acknowledge corps girls? Then, Elizabeth saw recognition seep into his eyes as he caught her gaze. Her face warmed.
William smiled, not broadly, but wider than he had at the last group. “Ladies,” he said, nodding as they approached, keeping his gaze particularly on Elizabeth.
Lydia was too stunned to reply, Elizabeth, too shy, and thus, Jane was left to respond with a bright, “Hi, Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth immediately regretted her cowardice, and lowered her eyes to the tips of her pointe shoes.
He paused, longer than what would be considered normal for mere pleasantries, and Elizabeth wagered a glance. Just as she looked up, she saw his eyes dart from her.
“Well, I'll see you in rehearsal today, Ms. Bennet,” he said, nodding perfunctorily before walking past the trio.
Elizabeth only then realized that her heart was pumping crazily. Without saying a word, she went downstairs, ate her cheese sandwich and yogurt listlessly, and analyzed every intonation in William's voice. Her mood darkened. Jane would soon go to his rehearsal, and Elizabeth would go to her own. She had not been cast in his piece this time. Few had; it was a cast of only ten.
Elizabeth felt a chill run through her. She felt as if she were missing out on something. She felt rejected, plain, unneeded. Looking back on those rehearsals before, Elizabeth wondered why she had ever hated them. Jane wasn't trembling in fear now that she was being singled out by the most promising ballet choreographer in the American dance world. She remembered what he had told her at Estrella when she had asked, “How did you turn things around?”
“I became the best.”
At the time, she had thought the answer typical of him – arrogant in its simplicity and assumption, but, really, it made perfect sense. Become the best. A dancer didn't become the best by slinking off into corners, resenting corrections, running from opportunity. Jane knew that instinctively. Why didn't Elizabeth?
She cursed herself as she trudged to rehearsal. Stupid, stupid modesty. Elizabeth barely learned the choreography that day. She inputted the dance into her body's short-term memory, quickly forgetting it once she rested at the sides. All she could think was, where would William's hands be now? Would he have that same, drilling look in his eyes when he choreographed with Jane? By the end of rehearsal, Elizabeth had bitten off the nails on her right hand and had begun to work on the left. She dreaded the locker room chatter, the breathless play-by-play that Jane would surely tell her in the subway on the way home.
Finally after rehearsal ended, Elizabeth raced out of the studio with her eyes turned away from the slit of window on the door of Studio B where William Darcy's rehearsal was still taking place.
**
Two weeks after Elizabeth had been back in New York City, she could not say she was much happier than when she hadn't been there. With each subsequent rehearsal, Jane's infectious excitement grew more nauseating. Elizabeth found it impossible to listen to tales of Mr. Darcy's rehearsal without rolling her eyes or snapping sarcastically at her sister. In her goodness, Jane bore it remarkably well, attributing Elizabeth's attitude to the stress of being plunged back into the frenetic pace of the city. She did, however, note that Elizabeth and she spoke less, went out after work less, and spent less time together, watching TV and doing the other sisterly things they used to enjoy doing.
In the rare moments that Elizabeth saw William in the halls, he acted friendly towards her, but revealed nothing of the gentleness that they had shared in Miami. More disconcerting, he now behaved pleasantly with everyone. William would never be Charles. He would never grin and joke and call dancers by their nicknames. But, he now at least acknowledged their presence in the hallways, and even laughed in rehearsals, according to Jane. If he were nice with only Elizabeth, she could have hope. Now that he was pleasant with everyone, she had none.
She had royally fucked up. One night, when Jane was once again out with Charles, Elizabeth lay alone and dejected on her bed, sideways, staring down into Perfection by Hermes. She should have at least given him a chance to tell his side that day in the studio. If only she had listened to him rationally. If only she had said something like, “Yes, Mr. Darcy, I am upset, but I simply need time to process the facts before I jump to any conclusions. Why don't we discuss this tomorrow over drinks? Let's say eight o'clock?”
She rarely spoke to him anymore. William didn't come to the studio before noon, and Elizabeth, not wanting to catch a glimpse of his rehearsals with Jane, bolted after she finished her own. Elizabeth didn't know if she was in love with him, but she missed his company. Even in their most vitriolic moments, she and William had shared a repartee that had somehow been fun. She liked his sense of humor, dry and understated. He was only out to impress those clever enough to be impressed. He was unapologetically himself – honest and self-assured, but they were traits that, Elizabeth had discovered, were more rare than diamonds.
William had changed. She sensed that. He had changed his behavior, maybe even his personality – that part of a person's character set in stone. Of course, then, he could change his feelings. He must have realized what a fool he was, to fall in love with such a fickle, silly girl. Such despicable irony, to realize all of this now when, if Elizabeth had been a bit smarter, she would have thought it all through sooner, before she had chased him away.
Now, William didn't even want her in his piece. Elizabeth struggled, but in vain. Try as she might, the only person she could hate was herself.
**
“Oh, no she didn't! Girl, where have you been!” cried a fellow dancer, Latisha, when Elizabeth walked in the door of New York Rhythm for a long overdue Saturday Afro-Caribbean class.
Elizabeth squeezed her friends in a warm hug and then explained that she had been on tour for the past three months. She then settled in for the usual gossip-while-stretching session, that morning's version concerning the sexual orientation of one of the drummers, who Latisha had heard from a friend of a friend, hung out on Christopher Street far too often for a straight man. When the prior tap class finished, the doors opened and the dancers crowding the lobby filed into the studio. Elizabeth took her place, somewhere in the middle of the room, still chatting with Latisha, when her eyes were sucked over to the door and who had just walked through it.
Greg's eyes zeroed in on her immediately. He paused, and then grinned, giving Elizabeth a mischievous wink. She snapped her head away, a surge of hatred ripping through her.
“Liz, you okay?” asked Latisha.
“Yeah. Yup. Fine.”
But, she wasn't fine. Greg was weaving his way over stretching dancers, making for an empty part of floor space right next to her. Elizabeth's heart pounded. Finally, he reached her, kneeling down.
“Hey, gorgeous. Long time, no see.”
She smiled bitterly. “Hi.”
“How have you been?”
“Fine. On tour.”
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” boomed a large, round man at the front, “let's begin.”
Once class started, Elizabeth's rage only grew. He was hot as hell, to be sure, in his sweat-covered Abercrombie T-shirt. The dance did nothing to help, either. There was something in the rhythm of it, the wild pelvic movements, fluttering arms, and rolls of the shoulders that murmured hot, wet sex. She saw Greg's eyes on her in the mirror as she rotated and gyrated her hips to the frenzied drums. And, yet, she felt nothing except for the drumbeats like a signal of war. Remembering Georgiana, Elizabeth let anger fuel her movements. And for the first time in nearly a month, her ankle responded, stuttering painfully through every step. Suddenly, it hurt to bend her knees. In between sets, she stretched her calves out on the side, which did little to help.
Class ended. As Elizabeth toweled her face off, limping through the line to exit the studio, Greg sidled up to her and whispered in her ear.
“Let's catch up. How about coffee?”
His tone made her bristle, and she glared up to him angrily. Christ, he was hot when he smiled like that, and yet it went no further than that thought. He was hot, but he was a cretin. Elizabeth nearly pushed him out of her way.
“I can't. I'm meeting someone for lunch.”
“No prob, Liz. It's still early. You can be anywhere in the city in ten minutes. Come on, let's catch up,” he insisted, taking her arm and weaving it through his. Elizabeth flinched. She certainly didn't want to go for coffee with him, but she had already made her excuses, which he had ignored.
She replied weakly, “Fine.”
They walked out of the studio together. Knowing their inclination for fortuitous meetings, Elizabeth prayed to whatever higher being was listening that she wouldn't run in to William.
“So, tell me about tour,” Greg asked, as they strode up the block.
“It was good.” Elizabeth kept her voice cool.
“Just good?”
“Tiring.”
“Where was your favorite place?”
“I liked San Francisco a lot.”
“San Francisco's great. Great city.” He said nothing in particular to offend, but his voice dripped with fakeness. Elizabeth glowered, thinking of his foil, William, who, no matter how harsh the opinion, always expressed his honest viewpoint. How had she ever been mistaken about the two men's true characters? Listening to Greg now, her past naivete glared through.
“Where else did you all go?
Suddenly, a diabolical urge struck her. “We went to Miami.”
Greg grinned. “Ah, now that's what I'm talking about. Miami's the greatest city on the planet. Hot clubs, great beach, beautiful women. Second only to New York, of course.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth met his slimy kiss-up attempt with sarcasm. “You lived in Miami, didn't you?”
“I did. Wish I'd never left.”
They had reached the same Starbucks where they had gone on their first date. Greg held the door open for Elizabeth, and she stepped through. Both ordered their coffees, then sat at a table by the window.
“So,” Elizabeth said, stirring her drink, “why did you leave?”
“Leave?”
“Miami.”
“Oh, I was offered a prime job in L.A. Couldn't turn it down.”
“Must have been hard leaving behind all of your family and friends.”
Something in Elizabeth's tone, the hint of harshness perhaps, gave Greg pause. “Yes,” he replied slowly, “I left people behind. But that's life.”
Elizabeth suddenly felt like throwing her coffee all over his face. She hated herself for coming with him and entertaining his grand notions of himself for this long. She felt like she owed the Darcys better than this.
“Oh! I forgot to mention who I met in Miami.”
Greg raised his eyebrows. “Will Smith?”
“No, Will Darcy. And his sister.”
Elizabeth knew she hadn't inflicted a revenge equivalent to everything Greg had done to William. But, she thought smugly, William would be satisfied to know that she had played a small part in exacting vengeance on the slimeball. Greg's eyes widened, but then he caught himself, stabilizing the palpable shock on his face to a staid, forced kind of indifference. Elizabeth nearly laughed.
Greg choked out a snort. “That's too bad. At least you had the chance to see what a horrible bitch his sister is.”
“Georgiana was lovely. We really hit it off.”
“Oh? Perhaps she's changed in the few years since I've seen her.” Greg said nothing for a long moment. He sipped from his paper cup of coffee, his eyes darting over to the street. “Perhaps being away from the influence of her control-freak brother has done things to improve her attitude.”
“Hm,” said Elizabeth, “I didn't get that impression. In fact, I think some people could benefit from a tad of William Darcy's influence.”
Chuckling lightly, Greg replied, “Has Darcy had a change of heart? That soul of stone has finally cracked?”
“No, not a change of heart. He's the same man he's always been, but he improves, once you get to know him.”
“I knew him my whole life, and he was always a dickhead.”
“Of course he was,” Elizabeth retorted dryly. Greg wore a cross smile on his face, a look of someone desperately trying to conceal their irritation. Elizabeth didn't even bother to hide hers. They sat in silence for several long minutes, until finally Elizabeth tipped her cup up and took the last sip of her drink.
“Well,” she said, setting the cup down on the table, “it was great catching up with you.”
“Yeah, you too,” Greg replied, the false cheeriness back in his voice.
Elizabeth stood. “I gotta go.”
“Pretty early lunch, no?”
She considered lying her way out of an awkward situation, but stopped herself. Looking straight down into Greg's face, Elizabeth shook her head. “I'm not going to lunch.”
“Then why the rush?”
Elizabeth licked her lips and then smiled. “I've wasted enough time here all ready.”
She dumped her cup in the garbage can before pushing open the café door and striding out onto the sidewalk. Letting the humid summer breeze hit her face, Elizabeth glanced around at all of the people rushing by her and smiled. She didn't know why. Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline that came from shutting down a creep like Greg. Perhaps it was the long-missing sense of having control over her actions. Elizabeth couldn't pinpoint the reason, but somehow, she simply felt like stretching her arms up and hissing a triumphant “Yes!”
A small resolution took shape in Elizabeth's head as she limped down the steps of the subway. This would not do. This clicking, this pain. On the subway, she sat, rolling her ankle, trying to ease the knot that would not undo itself. A dancer didn't become the best by lying to herself. Elizabeth didn't need Afro-Caribbean. She liked it. She didn't like meeting Greg there. She didn't like the way her ankle always felt on Sunday mornings after a particularly rigorous class. By the time Elizabeth reached her apartment, a resolution had hardened through her like plaster-of-Paris.
She rummaged through a messy stack of papers and fliers on her dresser. Towards the bottom, stained with a blotch of coffee, was a business card. Elizabeth stared at it, feeling a dose of nostalgia and regret course through her. She paused a moment, asking herself whether she could really afford to do this. Starbucks, Chinese take-out, and splurges in East Village vintage stores would be history. Hopefully, it would be worth it.
Elizabeth picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello?” came the voice from the other line.
“Hello, is this Marge Phillips?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“Oh, um. Hello. I'm Elizabeth Bennet. I dance with Ballet Theater of New York. I called you a long time ago, about Pilates lessons.”
“I see.”
“And I'd like to schedule an appointment with you, if that's possible.”
“Sure thing. When are you free, Elizabeth?”
“Um…anytime really. Saturdays are good.”
“Fine. Can you come today?”
Elizabeth swallowed. Payday was next week, and her reserve was running low. “Today?”
“Yes. I have an opening at 3:30.”
“3:30? That sounds…fine.”
“Do you know how to get here?”
“I have your address.”
“Great, so I'll see you then. It's seventy-five dollars for professional dancers.”
Nodding, Elizabeth replied, “I know. I…I'm having ankle problems. I'll pay whatever I can to make them better.”
“Well, that's a good attitude, Elizabeth. I look forward to working with you.”
“Thanks. So…I'll see you soon.”
“Yes. Goodbye.”
Chapter 25
Elizabeth stepped into the studio and suppressed a hefty yawn. She had arrived earlier that Monday morning with a purpose. Even ten minutes made a difference; the studio was almost empty, with only three other early birds stretching in scattered locations by the barre. Swallowing, Elizabeth walked to the side of the room, hiked one of the heavy metal barres up in her hands and dragged it to the center of the room. She placed it down and then sunk to the floor to begin stretching.
As the time neared nine, dancers began trickling in to the studio. Voices and the sound of ballet slippers on the wood floor filled the room. A principal dancer came to stand behind Elizabeth, offering the corps girl a simple nod and smile before beginning her own warm-up.
Elizabeth saw Charlotte and Lydia walk in. They paused when they saw Elizabeth at her front and center space, and cast her a puzzled look. Shrugging, she simply waved and went back to the Pilates exercises she had learned that weekend.
Class began as it always did on Monday mornings, but Elizabeth felt how different the experience was from one of the best locations in the room. The ballet mistress eyed her for the entire first exercise. By the end of barre, Elizabeth had received three personal corrections. She dragged the barre away once exercises were over, her leotard drenched in sweat, half-congratulating herself, half kicking herself for choosing that spot. She still had center exercises and a full day of rehearsals ahead of her, after all.
But after class ended, she felt limber and awake, ready to charge into Sleeping Beauty rehearsals that afternoon. Elizabeth wondered what had taken her so long to realize that being front and center wasn't really so bad.
**
Sir William glanced to the back of the room curiously, wondering at the corps girl, Elizabeth Bennet. For the past several rehearsals, she had stood in the back as he worked with the soloists, mimicking the steps they danced, watching, absorbing, as if she had deemed herself understudy for each role. Unusual behavior, indeed. Most dancers relished the opportunity to sit on the sides, giving their aching toes a break or having a brief chat with their friends.
Elizabeth was having trouble with a particular turn in the variation, a complicated pirouette followed by a whirlwind series of chaînés. The problem lay in her supporting leg; her balance was off. Pausing in the middle of his observation of the soloist in the center, Sir William watched her and then called out.
“No, honey. You supporting leg comes in, you don't go to your supporting leg.”
Elizabeth looked up to him with wide eyes, then nodded and tried the turn again. This time, it came out better.
“Yes, that's right,” he said, smiling.
Elizabeth thanked him with a nod and smile. Strange behavior indeed for a corps girl, but then again, she knew the part and danced it well. It was that logic which influenced Sir William Lucas to cast Elizabeth Bennet, in his mind at least, as understudy for nearly all of the soloist roles in The Sleeping Beauty.
**
William and Charles took the stairs, discussing the logistics of ordering refurbished Snowflake tutus for that year's Nutcracker, as opposed to new ones. It was Tuesday night, the night they usually grabbed dinner together after work.
“Okay, but it's an investment. New tutus would cost about a thousand each, but they would last twenty years,” said Charles.
“Can the company finance the thirty grand?”
“At the moment, not really.”
“Refurbished, Charles.”
Charles sighed in the way he did when he knew William had won. Giving a resigned shrug, William looked to his friend before pushing open the door to the building.
“Well, where to this week?”
“Thai?”
William shook his head. “Not in the mood for something spicy.”
“Okay, what about that Mexican place a few blocks away?”
“Charles, nothing spicy.”
“Oh, right.” As Charles contemplated their restaurant options, the door swung open behind them. Both men looked up to see two sisters, one with a radiant grin on her face, the other in a strangled look of surprise.
“Hey, Bennets,” greeted Charles with a warm smile, mostly for his girlfriend.
“Hey, you,” Jane answered with a peck on the lips.
Elizabeth descended the steps in silence, looking at her sneakers the entire time. William's eyes were riveted on her, his hope sinking with each second that she refused to meet his gaze.
“Are you two off to dinner?” Jane asked.
“Yes, if we can only figure out where,” answered Charles.
“Oh, we know a good place, right, Lizzy? Remember? That little Indian place up the street.”
Elizabeth smiled and nodded weakly in response. Her eyes, for a brief moment, darted to William.
“Oh, I love Indian,” Charles asserted. “Why don't you girls come along? You wouldn't mind, Will, would you?”
If William didn't look enthusiastic, it was because Charles had once again forgotten his request for non-spicy food. But, he reasoned, he could endure anything if it meant a chance to finally talk to Elizabeth outside of the confines of the dance studio. One glance at her, however, revealed she was not as excited.
Jane and Charles naturally paired off and cooed to each other as they walked up the block. Several paces behind them, William and Elizabeth strolled side-by-side, saying nothing to each other.
“So,” William began, in the hopes of livening up Elizabeth, “how are rehearsals coming?”
“Good. Everything's fine.” Still, she chose the sidewalk as her focal point.
“Oh, that's good to hear.”
Elizabeth raised the corners of her lips in an obligatory smile. William repressed a frustrated sigh. He could withstand her mockery and insolence, but this stiff silence was unbearable. Growing despondent, William feared everything they had shared in Miami had been a figment of his imagination, or a fabulous act on her part. He made a last, desperate effort to get her to speak.
“It seems you've become a seasoned New Yorker,” he said.
Finally, she looked up to him curiously. He noticed a hint of suspicion in her expression and, to his delight, a pinch of wonder mixed in with it. William pointed down.
“The sidewalk.”
“Yes. It is.” She eyed him as if he had gone mad.
William chuckled. “Don't you remember?”
“Remember what?”
“The longer you've lived in the city, the lower your gaze when you walk around.”
Any laughter on Elizabeth's face was suddenly extinguished. “Oh, right. Yes, I remember now. But…I still don't agree with your theory.”
“No?”
“No.” She said the word with such finality that William knew not to attempt any conversation after that. It was just as well. The quartet had just reached the restaurant. Tuesday nights in most New York eating establishments were usually quiet affairs, and this Tuesday night was no different. Aside from a lone patron sitting by herself across the room, the restaurant was empty.
“Well, this is nice and intimate,” Charles said smiling around the table. Jane returned his grin with an equally bright one. William simply nodded. Elizabeth fingered the edge of her glass.
“Lizzy, when you and I came here, what did we get? It had beans in it,” Jane said.
“I think it was dal.”
“Oh, right! Dal. That was good. I'm getting that.”
That's when William caught her. Elizabeth, her head still turned down towards the table, raised her eyes and gazed at him. There was no reason for her to do it. It had been an innocent comment about Indian curry, and yet she had never excelled at hiding the feeling in her eyes. He could see something was bothering her. He had a sinking suspicion the reason lay in himself. Almost desperate to bring back the vibrant, cutting Elizabeth he knew so well, William decided that he would be as cheery as Charles tonight, or at least, fake it well.
“Do you like Indian food?” he asked Jane. The chipperness in his voice nearly sent him choking in embarrassment. It was so unlike him.
“Oh, I adore Indian food.”
“Have you ever been down to 1st and 6th Street? Where all of the Indian restaurants are?”
“No, never.”
“It's a experience. Every restaurant dripping with Christmas lights. And the waiters actually come outside and verbally spar against each other for your business.”
“Will thinks it's all staged, though,” Charles interjected.
“Completely staged. I wouldn't be surprised if every restaurant on the block was owned by the same guy.”
Jane laughed, her eyes crinkling charmingly. “We've never been! Lizzy we should go!”
Elizabeth wore a sour expression. She merely shrugged. Laughing uncomfortably, Jane explained, “Lizzy's not a big fan of Indian, so we don't go that often.”
William turned to Elizabeth, who only looked at Jane and smiled half-heartedly. “I prefer Chinese. I can't really tolerate spicy food that well.”
Which might have explained why Elizabeth barely touched her food, but William sensed it was more than a revulsion to garam masala. As Jane, Charles, and he chatted amicably, she sat stone-faced, with her countenance growing grimmer as their conversation progressed. William wondered if she were offended. After all, he hadn't seemed eager to have the girls come along. Straightening in his chair, he vowed to try even harder to prove that he could be affable and welcoming. And he would start with Jane, who he knew Elizabeth cherished more than anyone.
“So, Jane,” he began, “tell me your honest opinion.”
Jane smiled in response.
“Is The New York Times going to fry me over this piece, too?”
Laughing, Jane shook her head. “Don't say that! You're not going to be fried. It's great. Probably even better than your last.”
William caught Elizabeth lift her eyes from the tablecloth and glance at her sister sharply.
“That's not saying much,” joked William.
Charles laughed, too. “Someone's fishing for compliments.”
“No, not fishing at all. I'd just like to hear one of my dancers' opinions, that's all.”
Hazarding a glance in Elizabeth's direction, William nearly started at the haunted look on her face. She licked her lips, pursed them, and then went back to the tablecloth.
“Well, I love how you have the dancers walking slowly behind me in the pas de deux,” Jane offered. “The contrast in tempo is really interesting. And the movements are so gorgeous. So flowing and easy to dance, you know?”
William smiled uncomfortably, aware that this was not producing the reaction he wanted from Elizabeth.
“Yes, but is there anything that I could improve upon? Anything that's not right?”
Knowing one of Elizabeth's loves was criticizing him, William steered the conversation to a place that might be easy for her join in. She didn't take the bait.
“No, nothing,” Jane said, giggling. “I think your piece is perfect.”
The shriek of a chair scraping against the floor startled the entire table. Everyone looked up to Elizabeth now standing, with her napkin balled in her fist.
“Excuse me,” she said, “I'm going to use the restroom.”
She returned her napkin to the table with a sharp toss of her arm. They all watched her go. Jane colored.
“I'm sorry about her,” she apologized. “She's going through this weird phase. I think being back in New York is a lot for her to handle.”
Charles nodded sympathetically. William simply stared to where Elizabeth had disappeared, a contemplative frown creasing his forehead. He knew this was no “weird phase.” Elizabeth was livid. Looking down at his lap, William attempted to control his disappointment with himself. No matter how hard he tried, he pissed her off. It was like an indelible force between them: pungent physical attraction tempered by stubbornness and pride on both sides. William closed his eyes, wondering if things would ever be right with them. He so desperately wanted to amend all that he had done to her. Elizabeth, however, seemed unwilling to budge.
“I'm going to go check up on her,” Jane said, edging out of her chair.
Just as she stood, Elizabeth re-emerged from the bathroom. She approached the table with her gaze lowered. As she neared them, she looked up with a scorching frost in her eyes. Only, William was surprised to note, she fixed her look on Jane, and not on him.
“I'm sorry,” Elizabeth said woodenly, returning to her seat. For the remainder of the meal, she continued to give off a “don't talk to me” aura, and so no one did. Jane and Charles chattered happily about the intricacies of sequins on Snowflake costumes, and William sat enveloped in the same cloud of silence hanging over Elizabeth. He wondered if she felt any kind of communion with him, whether she appreciated his silence in the face of their bumbling dinner-mates. Every few minutes, he stole a glimpse at her. Her eyes and lips were set in stone. Once, however, he caught Elizabeth staring at him with a look he could only pinpoint as soulful. She quickly looked away.
The walk back to the subway station began as a silent affair. Jane and Charles were still on the subject of tutus. William wondered how two people could talk about the most insipid of subjects for such a lengthy span of time. With his hands in his pockets, he walked next to Elizabeth, his pace unbearably slow just to match hers.
Inhaling, William made one, last effort to lift her from her mood.
“Marge Phillips tells me she has a promising new student.”
Elizabeth smiled down to the sidewalk. “No, not promising at all, just inspired to improve herself.”
“Inspiration is everything,” said William. “Or so they say.”
Once again, Elizabeth only lifted the corners of her mouth in response.
“Elizabeth, I'm…glad you've started going to Pilates. And relieved. It would be such a shame to waste talent like yours to an ankle injury.”
Lifting her eyes, she stared at him in silence. Then, William saw her face flush. Elizabeth looked away bashfully, considered his words for a few seconds, and then her cheeks lifted into a genuine smile.
“I can't think of any better way to waste it.”
Arching an eyebrow, William looked away and considered her quip. Here was the Elizabeth he knew; the one who would say anything simply to oppose him. “You can't? Well, there's always narcissism. I hear arrogance is en vogue these days, too.”
“No, arrogance is so five years ago. Temper-tantrums and blackmail are all the rage for talent-wasting.”
“And you can't forget drugs and alcohol.”
“Oh, yes. How could we forget drugs and alcohol?” said Elizabeth, with a conspiratorial grin.
William laughed at their nonsensical battle and she joined him in that sultry, throaty way that drove him crazy. It was a laugh he wanted to take possession of, that he wanted to drink in with his lips, and that made him smile with every muscle in his face.
They walked the remaining two blocks in silence again, but the cloud had lifted. William felt as if he were walking with a long-time friend, with someone who he didn't need to speak to at every moment for there to be comradeship. He felt quietly happy, even though he knew it was fleeting. But that was what Elizabeth did to him. William had long ago accepted it.
They rounded the corner and saw the green street-lamp of the Columbus Circle subway entrance. William and Elizabeth watched awkwardly as Jane and Charles said their gooey good-byes. It was a farewell that William observed with a twinge of jealousy as he wanted to turn to Elizabeth and do the same—take her cheeks in between his hands, turn her face up to his, and kiss her swiftly, but tenderly. Being with her made his every thought seem so visceral, and he quickly looked away.
Once their farewells were said, Jane and Elizabeth turned to head down the stairs. Before the girls had completely turned their backs, William heard a small, shy voice whisper.
“Goodnight, William.”
His eyes widened and, for a moment, he didn't understand. Once the words registered, Elizabeth was half-way down the stairwell. William stared in amazement.
That night, his head was filled with Elizabeth's voice. Goodnight, William. It meant little, but it had been something, when for so long that had been nothing.
It just made the announcement he would have to make tomorrow all the more awful.
**
After reverence, the dancers applauded the ballet mistress and the pianist and were about the gather their things to leave, when the door swung open, and Sir William Lucas strode in with William Darcy behind him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stay where you are? I have a few announcements to make,” the artistic director said.
He cut William a glare before sashaying to front and center. As if on instinct, William looked around the room to catch Elizabeth's gaze. He found her towards the side, staring back at him with the same look of wonder reflected on all of the dancers' faces. Sir William began.
“First, Nutcracker casting will be up within the week. Charles and I have been making some final adjustments which explains the delay. Rehearsals will begin next Friday, as originally scheduled. I remind you that costume fittings for the fall program are this afternoon at three. Attendance is mandatory. That means you, Caroline...”
Light laughter was heard around the room. Rolling her eyes, Caroline turned her back towards the artistic director and walked away.
“Lastly, I have a surprising and rather sad announcement to make.” The tone of Sir William's voice was sharply professional, and anything but sad. “We have had the pleasure of having William Darcy here for several months to choreograph for us. While he will stay for the remainder of the year to choreograph one more piece, I am sad to say that it will be his last...”
The dancers murmured to each other in shock. William didn't care about their reaction; he could only see the change on Elizabeth's face, her forehead wrinkling in disbelief.
“...Rest assured that this decision was made in mutual agreement. We will be sad to see Darcy leave us, but he has made the decision to start his own company, and he will have our full support—unless he starts adversely affecting our ticket sales.” Sir William laughed hollowly. Few joined him.
“Please join me in thanking him for his hard work.”
All throughout this speech, Sir William's face remained stiff. He clapped and bowed his head to William, who returned the gesture just as rigidly—two seasoned performers in just another dance. The company applauded William politely, except one. Elizabeth remained with her arms at her side, gazing at him with an unreadable expression. When she realized that he, too, was staring at her, she looked away, licked her lips, and then followed as the company disbanded for their lunch break.
Sir William had already begun striding towards the door, and, if he didn't want to be left alone and bereft, William decided he would have to follow. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach, as if he had just committed a sin, even though he knew the decision to leave was the most upright decision he had made since he'd arrived at Ballet Theater. It was simply hard to remember that when Elizabeth Bennet stared at him with those glacial eyes that he remembered so well from all those months ago.
**
“Freaking tragic,” declared Lydia, in the dressing room after work that day. “Now whose ass am I going to stare at when rehearsals get boring?”
“Oh, no. You may have to actually pay attention,” teased Katherine.
“I know!”
“Jane, did you know anything about this? Were you holding out on us?” Lydia asked.
“This is the first I've heard of it, too. But, wow, his own company. That's awesome.”
“Well, I know who will be the first in line at his auditions,” teased Charlotte, with a playful pinch to Elizabeth's arm. “Lizzy, you're not going to let your all-time favorite choreographer slip away so easily, are you?”
Elizabeth clenched her jaw and stuffed her tights into her dance bag. “You're hysterical, Charlotte.”
“Oh, look!” laughed Lydia, “Lizzy's pissed! Aw, Lizzy, don't cry. If you're lucky, he may keep his company in Manhattan.”
Slamming her locker shut, Elizabeth glared at her friends. “Thanks,” was all she said, before hefting her dance bag over her shoulder and storming out of the locker room. Some friends.
There was no one in the halls; she was the first one out of the dressing room and up the stairs. Elizabeth felt her chest shaking with an inexplicable fury. As she took the stairs two at a time, she heard herself breathing raggedly. She burst outside, ran down the front steps, and was about to turn downtown to head for the subway, when a voice stopped her.
“Ms. Bennet.”
Halting, Elizabeth looked up in surprise to see a man standing rigidly by a black limousine. He wore dark aviator sunglasses. She didn't know who he was.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Elizabeth Bennet?”
“Yes.” She frowned in confusion. Why did this stranger know her name?
“Ms. Bennet, Ms. Boroughs would like a moment of your time.”
“I'm sorry?”
“Ms. Catherine Boroughs.” Saying nothing else, the chauffeur opened the back door of the limousine. Elizabeth peered in, seeing nothing in the dark interior of the car except a bourgeois hand, holding a long, thin cigarette in between the second and third fingers. Swallowing, Elizabeth remembered the childhood warning—the one about getting into cars with strangers. Most strangers, however, did not approach their victims in sleek, dark-tinted limousines accompanied by sunglassed chauffeurs. They also weren't one of the wealthiest and most public women in the city. Forcing down her dread, Elizabeth reluctantly ducked into the limousine and found herself sitting across from the infamous Catherine Boroughs.
She wore an immaculate gray suit, Ferragamo heels, and blood-red lipstick on her thin lips. Although she looked to be nearing sixty, Catherine had not a wrinkle. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, giving her face a taut, unsmiling look. Inhaling from the Virginia Slim in her fingers, Catherine Boroughs looked to Elizabeth with a supercilious raise of the eyebrow, and then smiled. The gesture only reached her lips.
“Do you mind?” she asked, holding up the cigarette.
“No. No, go ahead,” Elizabeth stammered in response.
Catherine took another long drag from her cigarette and began.
“Miss Bennet, I do apologize for the inconvenience of this meeting. It's not usually how I do business.”
Elizabeth nodded and smiled nervously, unable to believe that the same blood ran through the veins of the proud woman across from her and her silent, disaffected friend, Anne.
“You probably don't know who I am.” There was an unmistakable conceit in her voice. She expected to be unknown—not by any deficiency on her part, but rather, from a lack of worldliness in the mere corps girl. Elizabeth bristled immediately at the tone, and raised her chin defensively.
“No, in fact, I do know who you are,” she answered, causing Catherine to smile slightly. “You're my friend, Anne's, mother.”
The smile wilted.
“Yes, I'm that, too. It's coincidental that you would mention your 'friend,' Ms. Bennet. I've come to talk to you about just that.”
“About Anne?”
“Amongst other things.”
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in the plush, leather seat. She wondered if Catherine was here to wrench a confession from Elizabeth regarding Anne's sexual preference.
“Is everything okay with Anne?” Elizabeth began, softening her tone.
“Miss Bennet, I am well known amongst my friends and acquaintances for my frankness, and I won't mince my words with you. I want to know why you've done it.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Done...what?”
Catherine smirked and inhaled her cigarette again, before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “Why you cost William Darcy his career.”
Elizabeth's eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“No need for theatrics here, Miss Bennet. I know your game, but I simply can't figure out why you've played it this long. You do know you're shooting yourself in the foot?”
Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows. “I'm sorry, I really don't know what you mean.”
“You don't? One would think that to get your way with Darcy, he would have to actually be around.”
“My way with Mr. Darcy?” repeated Elizabeth defensively, the woman's meaning slowly becoming clearer.
“You won't deny it, will you? I have it on good authority that you and William Darcy are having an affair.”
Starting, Elizabeth frowned deeply. She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off.
“I refused to believe it myself, at first. I could scarcely believe William Darcy would be interested in a woman like you. But then, well, how could I deny it? After he gave that role to your sister...and after what it cost him! And for what?” Catherine swept her eyes down Elizabeth, censure bubbling on their surface.
“That's a good question,” Elizabeth replied ironically, which Catherine missed totally.
“It is a good question. You must know that William is already engaged to my daughter—your so-called friend. He's an extremely loyal fiancée; they've been together for years. And I know he's not usually so easily tempted by girls like you. So you can see how I would dismiss the rumors for as long as I did.”
Elizabeth bristled. “Yes, well, you had two very excellent reasons to do so.”
Catherine did not miss the tone in Elizabeth's voice this time. She glared with poisonous eyes at the corps girl and then slowly reached into a sleek, leather bag lying beside her and pulled out a silver cigarette holder. Plucking a cigarette from within, Catherine lit it, inhaling long and thoughtfully, and then blew a stream of smoke straight into Elizabeth's face.
“I know about you, Miss Bennet.”
“And what exactly do you know?”
“I know that you were in Mr. Darcy's piece. I know you rehearsed privately with him. And I also know that your sister lost her promotion to Anne. What scheming, little corps girl wouldn't want to exact revenge? I've been in the arts for years. I know all of the games dancers play. And I know that trading sex for professional favors isn't below many a corps girl.”
Elizabeth could only glare at the woman across from her, so furious and insulted at all of her implications. “Yes, you're right.”
Catherine waited for a continuation. When she received none, she narrowed her eyes. “And that's all you have to say for yourself?”
“I don't think I have to say anything for myself! I don't see how my sex life affects you at all.”
“Might I remind you that I pay good money to ensure that Ballet Theater remains the best ballet company in the nation, uncompromised by anything less than the highest artistic standards! I do not look kindly upon women who are so willing to tarnish those standards to further their own ambitions. Frankly, I find you vulgar, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Vulgar?
“Would you describe using sex to get your way any differently?”
“It's an apt word to describe using money to get your way, too. Don't you think?”
The grand dame's face went black. She took another long drag of her cigarette. “You cannot truly be insinuating that supporting the arts and sleeping with the choreographer are the same thing!”
“According to you, I'm also doing my part to 'support the arts,'” Elizabeth retorted with the same black glint in her eyes.
Catherine sneered. Elizabeth noticed her color change, and knew the old bitch was pissed. “Vile! You call that 'supporting the arts?' You saw what happened with his last piece. We all know how that ended. It was a critical disaster! And now you're doing it again! Only this time, you've gotten him fired. Do you want to ruin him, Miss Bennet? He'll never be able to choreograph anything of worth in that silly, little company of his.”
Fired? thought Elizabeth. Knowing that surprise would give Ms. Boroughs the upper hand, she hid her reaction and continued calmly. “I don't hand out the pink slips, Ms. Boroughs. Unless you think I'm sleeping with William Lucas, too.”
Catherine snorted, slowly losing her self-control. “You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. Who convinced Darcy to go modern, who convinced him to cast your sister as the lead in his piece? You must have woven quite a potent spell over him, Miss Bennet. Not even Lucas could change the man's mind. And look what you've cost him. Look what you've cost the company! I can't possibly support a dance company that's filled with dancers like you—coarse, common, amoral. I don't like modern pieces, and I especially don't like it when senior dancers, like my daughter, are passed up for roles because of people like your sister!”
Elizabeth slowed her breathing and studied her nails with mock indifference. “I still don't see how I got Mr. Darcy fired.”
Catherine snorted. “Well, what else was Lucas supposed to do? Darcy refused to cast prudently, and I refused to support such reckless, unprincipled artistry. Fortunately, Lucas is a man of sense. But I can hardly imagine a reason why Darcy would go mad and throw all rationality out of the window, with merely the 'inducements' you're giving him.”
Stunned more by the contents of Catherine's account, rather than the bile behind her words, Elizabeth breathed deeply once, then twice, before she answered.
“Your money doesn't buy his principles.”
“What?” Catherine seethed.
“Mr. Darcy isn't the kind of man who allows others to decide for him.”
Catherine snorted, her control slowly uncoiling in the face of Elizabeth's facade of calm. “If that's the case, how did someone like you manage it?”
The accusation, the disbelief, the horror in Catherine's voice set off something in Elizabeth. She smirked, narrowed her eyes, and then licked the corner of her lip. “It's simple. I have no gag reflex.”
“No g...!” Catherine began. Then, the words sunk in, and her mouth fell open. For the first time since she was a teenager, Catherine Boroughs blushed scarlet. She sputtered, paused, gulped in a breath of air, and then turned a regal shade of violet.
“Miss Bennet!” she gasped, dramatically thumping her palm over her chest, “I am horrified! Have you no shame!? I don't think I've met a girl as vulgar as you in all of my life. You call yourself a dancer? An artist?! You're no more than a common prostitute.”
Elizabeth's smirk had morphed to a fiery glare. Catherine finished her rant with a exaggerated fling of her arm.
“Since you're such a fan of being blunt,” Elizabeth replied, in a voice filled with acid calm, “then here it is. I don't care who you are, how many companies you donate to, how many artistic directors and finance directors and managers and 'artists' you have chained to you and your money. It doesn't matter to me. The only reason I'm talking to you at all is because I like your daughter. I don't want it passed around at some bajillionaire soirée that I'm a whore who will screw over my friends to get what I want, and I'm not sleeping with William Darcy.”
Catherine narrowed her eyes. “But you have slept with him.”
“Maybe I should be more explicit. I don't have sex for roles. And this conversation is over.” Scooting over on the leather seat, Elizabeth grabbed the door handle. Catherine's arm shot out to still her wrist.
“You haven't been dismissed,” she hissed. She smelled of stale tobacco mingled with Chanel No.5. Balling her fist, Elizabeth swallowed down an explosion of rage and answered in a voice so deadly calm, it made Catherine's grip falter.
“This. Conversation. Is. Over.” Elizabeth yanked her hand away and pushed open the door.
“Miss Bennet!” she heard the old woman yell. Leaping out of the car, Elizabeth's feet hit the pavement, and she slammed the door, startling Catherine Borough's chauffeur from his halcyon cigarette break.
© Jessi 2005-2006
email Jessi
Next Section
Previous Section
Return to Austen Interlude