Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set

by Gigi Blume

  Our heads whipped back to one another, my features cringing, his flushed and bothered. The veins in his neck were protruding, bulging tunnels ready to burst, reaching the surface of his skin. His jaw ticked and set like stone on his somber face while his eyes pierced through the fog of discord we’d created.

  “The Opus One will be fine, thank you.” His eyes never left me, and I could feel the weight of his stare as I walked to the bar to place the order.

  “This is a far leap from the usual Bud Lite,” said Charlotte with dollar signs in her eyes. “How did you manage this?”

  “I got skillz.”

  “What you got is an admirer.” She nodded in Will’s direction as she polished two wine glasses. I casually glanced over my shoulder to find Fitz chatting away to a very inattentive Will, who watched my interaction with Charlotte with pointed interest. Was he worried I’d spit in his glass or something?

  “Why is he staring like that?” I groaned. “It’s creepy.”

  Charlotte shot me a ‘girl, you cray cray’ look. “Creepy? Really? Are you blind?”

  I huffed. “Just because he’s good looking doesn’t give him the right to ogle people at work. It’s making me uncomfortable, like he’s waiting for me to make a mistake.”

  Charlotte crawled into the cabinet behind the bar and emerged a moment later with the Opus One.

  “Whatever you say, Beth. I’m sure he’s moonlighting as a secret shopper. Oh, look! He’s making his report now. You’re so busted.”

  I admit, she made me look. He was still staring with his signature sour expression, and Fitz was still talking his ear off.

  I snatched the bottle of wine and one glass. “Give me another Bud Lite.”

  “Only one wine glass?” she asked.

  I was about to confirm her question but thought better of it when Will stepped outside to answer his phone.

  “On second thought, I’ll take two glasses. And the Bud Lite.”

  Charlotte shrugged and popped the top off the beer, which I happily placed on my tray with the wine service and made my way back to Fitz. He was taking in all the visual stimulus Lucas Lodge had to offer. There certainly was no shortage of interesting things to occupy one’s eyeballs.

  “That’s a real beaver,” I said, nodding to the shelf of taxidermied animals as I uncorked the bottle. He chuckled.

  “If I were a straight man, I’d have a joke for that.”

  “If you were a straight man, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.” I winked, pouring a sampling of wine and offering him the glass for approval.

  He nodded for me to fill the glass, and I poured two generous portions, plopped onto Will’s side of the booth and took a long gulp.”

  Fitz regarded me quizzically. “I thought you couldn’t sit on the job.”

  “Oh. That was a lie.”

  “I see.” He laughed. We clinked our glasses and sipped the Opus One in silent appreciation for a long moment. It was the best wine I’d ever tasted. I’m not sure if I’d say it was worth eight hundred dollars, but it was definitely worth charging Will Darcy eight hundred dollars.

  “What’s twenty percent of eight hundred?” I asked nonchalantly.

  “One hundred sixty.”

  I raised a brow. “Not bad for a day’s work.”

  The wine, plus two filet mignon dinners—I was looking at a two-hundred-dollar day. “Not bad at all.”

  I wondered how long I could hold on to Will’s credit card and if I could somehow strong-arm him into bringing a large party next time. Lobster for everybody!

  “May I ask why…” Fitz began tentatively.

  “Well, we’re technically supposed to only add eighteen percent, but I figure twenty is customary. Although, some people still only tip fifteen percent…”

  “No. Not that.” He shook his head. “Why do you work here? Aren't you on equity contract?”

  “You want to know why I still wait tables when it would seem I’ve made a career in theatre.”

  “Exactly.”

  I shrugged. “What happens when the show closes? What happens when I don’t book another gig for months? There’s no guarantee.”

  “Okay.” He took another sip of his wine. “I have another ‘why’ question.”

  “Why am I drinking on the job?”

  “Actually, I was going to ask why you wouldn't be talking to me if I were a straight man, but the drinking question is interesting, too.”

  I let out a long sigh, somewhat warmed by the tannins in the wine. Fitz didn’t really want to be bored with my feelings towards men. The fact was, I had trust issues. I supposed part of it stemmed from my recent disappointment in Bing. I seriously didn’t think there were any good men these days. Except the gay ones. Why were all the good ones gay? It didn’t seem fair.

  Then there was Brett. I thought he was the one. But when Hollywood called, he turned into someone I didn’t recognize. Breaking up with me would have been a blessing. But he humiliated me at an important screen test. If I’d gotten that job, it would have changed my life. Actually, it did change my life because the next day, the video went viral on Brett’s YouTube channel. He’d used my humiliation for personal gain. I vowed never to trust another guy ever again. Especially Hollywood types.

  “You know, Fitz,” I said after some thought, “I just don’t believe in happily ever after. Men and women can’t be friends, and I’d rather not waste my time.”

  He gave me a small nod and was silent for a long time after that, watching me sip my wine and pouring more for us to enjoy together. I was probably drinking faster than I should have, especially considering I was devouring Will’s portion. We had gone through three quarters of the bottle when Fitz said thoughtfully, “You’re right. There are no guarantees.”

  Interesting. Most people didn’t agree with me on anything, but I just rolled with it.

  “The entertainment business is fickle,” he continued. “You might not get another gig for a while, that’s true, but you also might get carpal tunnel or something and lose your ability to wait tables.”

  “Okay, you have a point there.”

  “And call me a Disney princess, but I believe in happily ever after. How will you know if you don’t take a chance? Audition for more shows, put yourself out there. Go on dates. The only guarantee is failure if you don’t try.”

  This was the first time I’d seen this side of Fitz. He was all business at rehearsals, surprisingly fun at parties, but here he was getting all deep on me. Maybe it was the wine, but my eyes welled up with moisture. I wanted to return his sentiment, say something profound that would match his wise words, but his features shifted like he had turned off some switch, and he laughed. “And then the bartender says, ‘I’m sorry, we don’t serve breakfast here.’”

  “What?”

  “Just laugh.” His eyes flickered behind me and sure enough, Will was approaching the table. By the time he reached us, Fitz and I were laughing our heads off. I had no idea why, but who cared?

  “You are too much!” I portioned the last of the wine between us, and we offered an air toast to one another.

  “I’ll be here all week,” he quipped. “Tip your waitress.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said. “Twenty percent.”

  Will loomed over the table, looking between the empty wine bottle to the two untouched Bud Lites, to Fitz, and then he let his eyes land on me sitting in his seat.

  “I have to get going,” he said with a frown. He turned his attention to Fitz in a silent command to join him.

  “Well, Beth,” Fitz said, rising from the booth. “It’s been fun, but my Uber is leaving.”

  “But your food should be coming out soon,” I protested. “At least wait a few minutes so we can pack it to go.”

  But Will was already out the door, so Fitz shrugged and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Sorry, love. Let me know how it tastes.”

  As he retreated from view, all I could think of was how selfish Will’s behavior was to expect
his friends to give in to his demands. Even Fitz, who I admired, was ordered around like a pageboy. What was so important to drive Will out of the lodge so quickly? He hadn’t even tried the chili fries.

  19

  Some Disenchanted Evening

  Beth

  Jane was home for Christmas. It was all the present I needed, although the whole cheesecake she brought from Junior’s was pretty awesome, too.

  After the obligatory celebrations with my family in which my father made a fabulous prime rib, the Lucases came over for a cringeworthy gift exchange where my mother drank too much, Charlotte accompanied me back to the apartment where Lydia and Jane had games planned for the whole night.

  I’d never had so much fun playing poker and the arrival of Jorge, Denny, Cole, and Holly made it even better. My little apartment could hardly fit all those people, but that made it all the more hilarious and memorable for our insane game of Guestures. You’d think a bunch of performers would be good at a game where you have to pantomime everything, but most of us were spectacularly horrible at it. Lydia beat us all by a landslide, only because she had no inhibitions to make a complete fool of herself.

  We didn’t make a big deal over exchanging gifts, but Jorge took me aside and gave me a vintage book he picked up in a boutique bookstore. It was a first edition of The Hobbit, signed by J.R.R. Tolkien. It was one of the most thoughtful gifts I had received in my life. Made me feel a little rotten about the lame sweater I bought him. He hardly ever wore regular shirts. I don't know what I was thinking when I bought it.

  We were in the hallway to the bedrooms, partly secluded from the rest of the party when he gave me the gift. I felt like he was ashamed for giving me a used item and didn’t want the others to see, but I assured him how much I loved it and gave him an appreciative hug. His eyes flickered over me in unveiled carnality, and he leaned one arm over me against the wall to the point of backing me up against it.

  There was an intensity in him that unhinged me. He’d always been comical in the little flirty innuendos that spilled from his lips, but this time, his features claimed a deliberate intention, a heady, suggestive, potency in his body language.

  “I’d like to stay the night,” he whispered.

  Not a chance, bucko.

  First of all, he was drunk. I didn’t need an encore performance of Naked Man in my shower. The last time he was in there he used my razor. I was a strong supporter of guarding my personal sundries. Furthermore, I wasn’t sure how I felt about Jorge, even if he had been sober. He projected so many crossed signals, it was hard to keep up. I didn’t have time for that. Nope. No sir.

  I’d thought about the things Fitz had said to me. They made sense. There were no guarantees. But I decided to concentrate on one ambition outside my comfort zone at a time, and that was my career. After the show closed, I would follow Jane’s example and go to New York. Maybe I’d even move there if I could afford it. Who didn’t love sharing a two-bedroom apartment with ten other girls for a small fortune? I could totally do it.

  What I couldn’t do was Jorge. I convinced myself quite easily that he couldn’t be all that serious, especially since his words were a little slurry.

  “I’ll ask Denny to take you home,” I said, slipping out from under his arm, but he grabbed my wrist and said, “Beth, I’m afraid.”

  Ummmm.

  “Afraid?” I asked. “What are you afraid of?”

  He stared deeply into my eyes, suddenly grave. “Obscurity.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about that.” I laughed.

  “I do,” he replied. “The Darcys will make sure of it.”

  I was a little troubled as to why he would choose that moment to bring it up. The Darcys. Plural. Not just Will, but his little sister, too. What were these people up to now? I patted his hand and wiggled my wrist from his grip.

  “I won’t let that happen,” I said. “I promise.”

  I was happy to send him off that night so I could be alone with my thoughts.

  What was the deal with Will Darcy that kept him constantly in my life? I couldn’t very well avoid him at the theatre for obvious reasons, but then he showed up at my work and now was making an appearance on Christmas, even if it was only in conversing about him. It was like that show Man in the High Castle where every film reel, every scenario in the parallel universe involved the same woman. Will was that woman. He was everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him at the Rosings New Year’s Eve Ball, but when I saw him, I wanted to run. His eyes met mine from across the room, searing into me like a sniper’s target. I wondered if I had one of those red laser dots on my forehead. He was at the bar, and without letting his eyes lose focus on me, drained his drink, set the lowball glass on the bar, and made the trek through the crowd towards where I stood. You’ve heard the term deer in headlights? That was me, because although I knew danger was approaching, I was unable to move. The T-Rex had his sights set on his prey, and I had nowhere to turn.

  “There you are.” Charlotte stepped in front of me, right within Will’s path, and he halted. Thank goodness! “We were beginning to worry you wouldn’t show.”

  She looked absolutely radiant in a black sequin halter dress. Her hair was in a loose French knot with tendrils of her auburn hair cascading down onto her fair skin. I don’t think I’d ever seen her so dressed up. But her smile was the most beautiful accessory she wore. Her arm looped around Colin’s, and she absolutely beamed. She was truly and deeply happy.

  Colin wore that same goofy smile on his face, happy as a clam to have a woman on his arm as gorgeous as Charlotte. He looked so different. Handsome. I tried to put my finger on the change I saw in him when I realized he wasn’t wearing any makeup. He no longer looked like a confused drag queen. Without layers of foundation and mascara caked on his face, he appeared younger, with a boyish charm. He and Charlotte were adorable together. She was good for him. I couldn’t say the same for his choice of dress wear, though. He wore a light-pink tux with a ruffled shirt and a matching pink top hat. Wisps of hair curled from under the brim and framed his face, the fringe of his bangs almost covering his eyes. He had his own style, that was for certain.

  “How long have you been standing around all by yourself?” Charlotte pulled me in with her other arm. What a trio we were. The egret, the swan, and the flamingo. (I was the egret).

  “Not long,” I lied.

  In truth, I’d been looking for her for what seemed like forty-five minutes. That place was huge. There was a main ballroom, where we were currently conversing. Then there were several smaller rooms with gaming tables and other interesting entertainment. And outside was an enormous garden with a hedge labyrinth and secluded sitting areas surrounded by conifer trees. I’d made a full circle around the property before ending back at the ballroom.

  “Beth.” Colin took my hand in his, so we were standing in a lopsided circle. I would have protested had he begun to dance the Horah. “I hope there are no hard feelings between us. I actually want to thank you because…”

  He let go of my hand to rest his palm on Charlotte’s and gazed in her eyes with a sappy expression. “…Charlotte has made me the happiest of men.”

  I didn't know how much of their sugary sweet exchanges I could handle, but I didn’t know anyone else at the ball, unless you counted Will, which I preferred not to. I’d put on a smile, support my friend, and make it home before the ball dropped. Technically, the ball had already dropped on the East Coast. Happy New Year! My idea of the perfect New Year’s celebration included cozy pajamas, pizza, and Netflix.

  I plastered on a thrilled expression which contained too many teeth and respectfully slunk out of Charlotte’s vice grip. I think she was a little nervous around all the industry big wigs and supermodels.

  “No hard feelings here,” I said. “I’m happy for you both.”

  “Excellent,” he said with a huge smile. “Because I want to introduce yo
u to the great Catherine de Bourgh, founder of Rosings Institute and international ballet legend.”

  With an introduction like that, no wonder the pressure was on for Charlotte. She’d met her briefly once before and told me the woman was a force to be reckoned with. I get that she wanted to make a good impression on her boyfriend’s boss, but if the woman was so fierce, I didn’t see why she couldn’t just avoid her company. It’s not like she was a dancer or anything.

  Colin led the way through the serpentine path beyond the crowded ballroom, down a paved walkway and into an elaborate private room. There was a password to enter, like a speakeasy. It was kind of cool. Catherine de Bourgh sat on a wingback chair with her hands folded on her lap. Lots of people mulled about, drinking and conversing in small groups, but there were a few fortunate (or unfortunate however way you look at it) people sitting in her circle holding court. When we approached her, I had to fight the urge to bow or curtsy.

  “And who is this you have here, Mr. Hunsford?” she said with a regal air.

  Colin removed his hat and introduced me, half prideful, and half groveling. “May I introduce a member of my company at the Gardiner, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  He crowned the introduction with a flourish of his arm. His hat, a pink beacon in my direction. I smiled, not entirely sure of the correct protocol. After all, she was an international ballet legend. She narrowed her wrinkled eyes on me and puckered her lips into a frown.

  “Well?” she said after a short pause. “Do you talk?”

  “What?” I was caught off guard by her sour disposition. Of course I could talk.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ll forgive your unintentional incivility. You must be quite overcome by the grandeur of Rosings.”

  “She is,” exclaimed Colin. “Quite overcome.”

  “I wasn’t speaking to you, Mr. Hunsford. You must let the lady answer for herself.”

  Alrighty then.