Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Saturday morning found a few inches of snow on the ground and a claustrophobic Elizabeth staring at the previous Sunday’s crossword puzzle.
After a trip to the gym and an hour spent noodling with some writing, she was happy to meet Charlotte for lunch, and was rather pleased to arrive only five minutes late, which meant she was only ten minutes later than her ever-prompt friend.
What was it with accountants? Bean counters, clock watchers…
She indulged in a chicken potpie and a glass of pinot while listening to Charlotte’s frustrating stories of accounting incompetence, twisted tales of her foray into online dating, and complaints about annoying cowlicks that kept her hair in a permanent pixie-cut.
“Geez, you sound like Jane sometimes. She’s tired of being a bridesmaid at Gamma Phi weddings and tired of breaking up with squishy guys who can’t commit to her but then get engaged to the next girl they screw.”
“Lizzy, wait! What do you mean ‘squishy’?” Charlotte finished the last of her beer and leaned closer. “Since when has Jane dated men who don’t work out five days a week?”
“Squishy, sleazy, slimy, faithless. Whatever.”
“I’ll have another,” Charlotte said to the waiter as she tapped the rim of her glass. “So tell me, is this really about you, the woman of a thousand men?”
“Ha. They’re not my men. They’re my clients. Interviewees. Subjects.”
“Subjects?” Charlotte cackled. “And you, the queen, deign to take them to parties? To the Guggenheim? To your dad’s house? Do you knight them too?”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes though she wasn’t quite as lighthearted about it as she tried to appear. “It’s not like that. I’m trying to gain their trust and talk to them as a friend, somebody they can tell their stories to.”
“Are they arm candy? Or are you getting a taste of any of those sweet, muscled men?” Charlotte snickered. “That Stefan guy was pretty hot.”
“And very much in love with his boyfriend in New Mexico.”
“Really? Really! So much for my gaydar.” Charlotte took her fresh drink from the server and reached for a breadstick. She tapped it against Elizabeth’s wine glass. “None of these guys you’re dragging to New York hot spots are anything more than business relationships?”
“Nope. Sadly, I have become an ace at short-term, but lucrative and entertaining, business relationships.”
Charlotte regarded Elizabeth thoughtfully. “How about real men?”
“Know any?”
“Jane seems awfully happy with Charles. He’s sweet, solid, and loyal. Whatever happened to his friend, the stiff English guy who bought us nachos? What was his name?”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy.” Elizabeth took a bite of her meal as she considered her answer. “He’s not that stiff. Apparently, he’s some kind of sleazy playboy. Sleeps around but still thinks he’s all high and mighty.”
“Really? Well, he did dress nicely. The money was obvious, but are you sure about the sleazy part?” Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “What do you know?”
Elizabeth finished her wine. “I know Charles is an honest guy who has better taste in girlfriends than he does in friends”
“Whoa. That’s harsh. Why do you care so much?”
Stabbing her fork into her potpie, Elizabeth focused on trying to find a piece of chicken or a potato or a carrot—anything but another chunk of celery or onion. The best bits were always buried deep, under the gravy and flakes of crust.
“We had a near miss. A close encounter of the horizontal kind. An almost one-night stand.” There was silence on the other side of the table, and she looked up. “Oh, for God’s sake, close your mouth and chew.”
Charlotte put one finger in the air and rapidly chewed and swallowed her mouthful of salad. She sipped her beer and slowly lowered her hand.
“Shut the back door! I knew you liked him!”
“Oh God, no. I was spun out on wine and Vicodin.”
“Not when I saw you with him at the game. You guys sparked.”
“Ugh, that was before. The close encounter was a couple of weeks later.”
“A couple of weeks?” Charlotte shook her head. “Elizabeth Bennet, I don’t know where to begin. First off, why the hell were you taking Vicodin? Second, where the hell did you get it? From some skeeve down on Bleecker? And lastly, I need details! You made out with that smoldering mass of man?”
D for Duh…why do I tell her anything? “Okay, here are your answers: because my leg hurt, I had one pill left over from last year, and he is not smoldery. He just wears a lot of black.”
“And orange stripes on his socks. Supposedly.” Charlotte arched an eyebrow. “You covered for him at that game, a total stranger. Why? I’ll tell you why. Because you liked him.” She observed Elizabeth’s defiant stare. “Or, at the very least, you thought he was hot.”
“Look, we were at Netherfield, and Jane and Charles deserted us. He helped me after I hurt my leg, and I was woozy. The room was dark, the couch was comfy, the night stretched out before us in all its inky splendor…”
“Who made the first move?”
Elizabeth took a sip of wine and cleared her throat. “Me. But before things got too hot and heavy, he stopped.”
“He what…? Be specific, please. Stopped as in pulled out or zipped up…?”
“There was no pulling or zipping! We made out like a couple of teenagers. It was stupid. I was stupid. Darcy is apparently some kind of playboy, ‘sex on a stick’ to busty blondes, and sleeps with everyone.”
“Except you.”
“Yup. Except me.” Elizabeth wanted to stop remembering his cold words and his solemn expression when he’d said them. “This is wrong. We can’t do this.”
“I don’t get it. And that’s why you hate him? Because he respected you too much? You said you were in pain and on prescription meds, and you’d had a drink. Maybe he was just being a gentleman.”
“No. His mother was a party girl, and he’s following suit.” Briefly, she wondered about his sister. Did such behavior run in the family?
“You have this on good authority?”
“I’ve heard it from one who knows. And I have eyes and ears.” Elizabeth kept the former focused on her plate.
“Perhaps you’re listening to the wrong people. He’s Charles’s best friend, isn’t he? Would Sweetie Pie Charles tolerate that behavior? Would he want to be friends with a jerk?”
“Argh, you’re like Jane, always looking for the shining heroic bits in people.”
“You know that’s not true.” Charlotte shook her fork at her friend. “But maybe in this case, that’s what’s called for.”
“Hey, even Charles jokes about Darcy’s playboy habits.
And I’ve spent time with him. The man is a walking, talking commercial for the Social Register.
You saw how he reacted to UM fans. He doesn’t sleep with women like me.
He clearly didn’t want me and whatever plebeian STDs I might bring to the party. ”
“But…”
Elizabeth pushed away her food and folded up her napkin. “No buts. You should’ve seen him Thursday night with this perfectly polished, high-gloss, Upper East Side blonde. That’s his type.”
Even if he looked miserable with her.
Still blinking as his eyes adjusted from the bright March sunshine to the dimly lit restaurant, Darcy scanned the room, looking for his cousin.
“Sir, can I help you?” A petite woman, her thin face punctuated by unnaturally blue eyes, beamed at him.
“No, thank you. I’m meeting someone. I’m late. He’s probably already seated.”
“Do you have a reservation?”
“Uh, I’m not sure.” He glanced at his watch.
Finally, in the furthest corner, he spotted the familiar posture of his broad-shouldered cousin. “Excuse me.” He gave the woman a tight grin and headed toward him.
“You’re late. Hope she was worth it.”
Darcy slid into the silk-covered booth. “Shut it, and tell me you ordered me a tonic.”
“I ordered you a tonic.” Richard Fitzwilliam stroked his beard and gave him a once-over. “So, rumor has it you looked at a woman today. It’s been a while, right?”
Darcy leaned back in his chair and leveled a hard stare at his cousin. Does he have eyes in the back of his head?
“Why is it you enjoy inquiring about my love life rather than, say, my work? Or world affairs? Or the state of your stock portfolio?”
Rich laughed. “Are you denying you smiled at our lovely hostess over there?” He gestured toward the brunette standing at the dining room’s entrance. “Her name is Lila.”
Darcy rolled his eyes and reached for the glass being delivered by the server.
“Oh, fine,” Rich sighed. “I suppose that nothing amuses me more than hearing your stuffy denials in that plummy accent. Honestly, you’ve lived here for so long now, and we’ve sat through so many Yankees games, I sometimes expect to hear the nasal tones of the Bronx come out of your mouth.”
“As opposed to your refined East Hampton vowels?” Darcy smirked. It was good to see his cousin. He’d been his closest friend for years. Rich knew him as well as anyone could, but they’d spent less time together in the past year.
Darcy was weary of the ribbing about his personal life.
Rich’s parents were the ones behind the leading questions and the joking asides.
He hadn’t seen them since the holidays, but he’d had little patience over Christmas for the couple’s less than subtle hints and name-dropping of every extremely eligible, extremely intelligent, extremely wonderful woman of their acquaintance.
“A young man of good fortune, indeed,” he’d heard his aunt whispering.
And that was even before the sherry had been served.