The Darcy Monologues: A romance anthology of Pride and Prejudice short stories in Mr. Darcy's own words

by Joana Starnes

  “It won’t wake your father?” I asked.

  “Pop sleeps like the dead,” she said with a laugh.

  “Is this . . . let me guess . . . Bobby Boy Blue?”

  A smile lit her face. “You’ve been listening to my show?”

  “It’s a strong release for Duke records. Two spots on the Hot 100.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re all business. Have you ever tried appreciating a song beyond its selling power?”

  “I’m not sure I have,” I said. It was the truth.

  She put a hand on my arm. “Close your eyes. Go on, close ‘em.” I did as she asked, feeling a little ridiculous.

  “Everything starts with a song. Life, love, everything. Songs are like living things, like people. Pull away the layers and listen. First come the horns, like breath. Then the guitar starts—that’s going to be the backbone. A simple sound comes in behind it. A drum, tapped with the brush. That’s the heartbeat.”

  I opened my eyes enough to peek at her. She sat with her own eyes closed, her bottom lip caught on her teeth. Was she nervous?

  My mouth felt impossibly dry the way it does when I have had too much wine; yet for all that, the words that left me were soft and heavy. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at me. What she was thinking I couldn’t tell, her expression gave nothing away. When I looked into her glittering eyes, all I could see was my own searching expression reflecting back at me.

  I slid closer to her, waiting for any sign either of invitation or unwelcome. For a moment, she tensed, shoulders set tighter than the strings on her father’s violin. I reached out, fingertips grazing along the line of her jaw, turning her face towards my own. A second later, I felt her melt against me, breath catching in her throat, before she exhaled with a shaky laugh.

  “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she said.

  I felt a grin split my face. “Oh, shut up and kiss me.”

  She was still laughing as her mouth met mine, sending a lightning storm of sensation through me . . . white-hot flashes exploded under my skin everywhere she touched, like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Her lips were soft and pliant, tasting of lipstick and sweet wine. My arm found its way around her waist, my hand splayed across the taut line of her back. I’d been wanting to touch her there again since that day in February. She shivered against me.

  “You’re so warm,” she said breathlessly. “I didn’t expect that.”

  With a growl, I grabbed her by the hips, pulling her onto my lap. “My God, do you ever stop talking?”

  I felt her laugh as I kissed her throat, making a soft sound rise out her. “Sometimes. Give me a good reason.”

  I lay back against the cushions, pulling her with me so we lay tangled together on the couch, kisses deepening. I shifted, rolling her under me, marveling at the way we fit together. My lips forged a path from her lips to her neck, trailing lower to linger on the lovely little dip at the base of her throat, my hands eagerly roaming the lean lines of her body. My lips found hers again, taking nothing but giving all—what I was, what I had been, whatever I would become, all of it was hers. We were different, but we were the same. How had I not seen it sooner? The lines drawn between us didn’t separate . . . they connected.

  “Will,” she said my name with breathless urgency. How was it possible I’d never felt this before? My blood boiled in my veins; every sense I possessed was filled with her.

  “Lizzy.” I moaned her name between kisses.

  “Will, stop.”

  I sat up on one elbow, gazing down at her. Her hair was even more of a mess than usual; her lips, pink and swollen. God, but she was beautiful.

  “Sorry, am I too heavy?”

  “No, yes . . . no,” she said with a shaky laugh. “It’s not that. I just need to clear my head for a second.”

  I sat up, untangling myself from her. She sat up too, putting space between us where only moments ago there was none.

  “Is it too fast?”

  The record player clicked as the next record dropped into place. I hardly recognized the eloquent despair of Ray Charles singing “You Don’t Know Me.” Eliza ran a hand through her hair in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to smooth it. “Considering we started this day off not liking each other? Maybe.”

  “I’ve always liked you.”

  She barked a laugh in response. “Me? The . . . what was it? Absolute shrew with a face for radio?”

  My heart sank. Damn my careless mouth. “You heard that?”

  “You didn’t exactly try to lower your voice.”

  I covered my face with my palm and groaned. “God, I’m so sorry. I’m an ass. I was feeling bitter about being here and well, damn it, I’m sorry. You are beautiful. You know you are. You drive me crazy on a daily basis.”

  She blushed. “Well . . . thanks. But I don’t know how this could work. You’re my boss, and I love my job. I want to be taken seriously. Do you know how hard it is to be a woman in this industry? Doors don’t just automatically open for you. And, well . . . you’re not staying. You’ve made it clear that as soon as your year is up, you’ll be going back to the city and leaving us all in your rearview.”

  “Do we have to have all the answers now?” I asked plaintively.

  “I’m not sure what you’re hoping for, but I’m not the kind of girl who’d just jump in the sack with someone who is only—” her eyes narrowed slightly as she appeared to search for the right words “—passing through.”

  “Elizabeth.” I took her hand in mine. It was small but steady, firm, and warm. “I like you. A lot.”

  “And I like you,” she said, pulling her hand away. “But I’m not here to help you pass the time. I respect myself too much to be your distraction.”

  There was no use arguing with that, and truthfully, I couldn’t. I did care for her, I probably even loved her, but was it enough? Would I give up my company, my trust, my life . . . to stay here for love? While momentarily a thrilling notion, just walking away from it all forever, I knew myself well enough to know where that would lead—to bitterness and resentment. She deserved better than that. I stood, straightening my shirt, making myself presentable again.

  I turned to look at her, sitting there on the couch with her knees tucked under her, and felt a piece of myself shatter and break.

  “I’ll see you at work,” I managed to say before turning around and heading for the door. I just had to make it to the door. Only a few more steps and I’d be free.

  “Wait!” she called out as I reached for the door handle. I stopped and looked over my shoulder, unable to turn and face her. Like a coward.

  “Don’t forget your shoes,” she said in a small voice.

  I looked down at the neat line of shoes by the apartment door, mine the largest by far. I leaned down and picked them up without a word, closing the door behind me.

  May

  Garden parties are the 1960’s answer to the question, “How can we torture men, legally?” I gulped down another glass of iced tea—my third—and silently cursed the Mother’s Morality League for their intolerance towards a lovely thing like gin. What did Tanqueray ever do to these women?

  The party was sponsored by the station to fulfill my promise to Regina Bliss. I’d spent a fortune on the country club, the catering, and a good deal of my pride calling and begging the so-called elite of Buffalo to attend. The whole thing had been exhausting, but it had come at last, and all I had to do now was ride out the day.

  “You might try to look a little less . . . forbidding,” Charlie said quietly in my ear. I nodded and plastered on a smile.

  “How’s this?”

  He looked at me and shuddered. “I take it back. Forbidding is better.”

  “There you are.” Regina Bliss appeared, silver hair swept up into an impeccable updo, her Chanel two-piece flawlessly tailored around her trim figure. I forced myself to smile, hoping it was not the horror that had just driven Charlie away.


  “I hope you’re pleased with the turnout,” I said, searching for a neutral topic.

  “Oh, it’s wonderful,” she said as she looped her arm in mine. I fought the urge to push her away. Her husband, an older man that had struck me as being rather simple, stood within shouting distance. Maybe I should cry for help?

  “Though I am still concerned about the midday programming, your support of our organization has been above reproach.”

  “Ah, yes. Well . . . ” I trailed off. Nothing I could say would change this woman’s mind. Why waste my breath?

  “Oh, is that your secretary?” Regina asked, pointing at someone in the crowd. My heart sank. Eliza was there, in a brightly-colored dress that was short enough to be shocking. Her chestnut hair was bigger than ever before, reminding me of a lion’s mane. I had no doubt it was intentional. She, like a lioness, would cut down her prey on its own savanna.

  “Um, she works in the office, yes. Excuse me for just a moment.” I untangled myself from Regina, striding purposefully over to the buffet where Eliza was piling a plate high with sweets.

  “What are you doing here?” I whispered. “And why are you wearing that?” I nodded towards the silver Star of David that hung around her neck.

  She blinked up at me before dropping that atom bomb of a smile on me. “What?” she said. “Jews can’t be moral, too?”

  I took her by the elbow and guided her away towards the exit. “If I thought you were here for anything but mischief I’d let it slide, but you are going to play along with these women and get them off my back. Otherwise your Miz Bliss will never stop trying to get me on my back.”

  She paled, then turned bright red. I admit, it was momentarily gratifying. “I didn’t know . . .”

  “Of course, you didn’t. You just got out of bed today and thought, ‘How can I make Will’s life more difficult than it needs to be?’”

  “Will, I—”

  “Put this on,” I said, taking off my own silver cross, which I always wore under my shirt. “And give me yours. I don’t trust you not to show it off until this ordeal is over.”

  She looked at the cross in her hand. “This is a woman’s.”

  “It belonged to my mother,” I said shortly. “Come on, come on. We don’t have all day.”

  Wonder of wonders, she complied, hastily handing over the silver star. She hung the crucifix around her neck, looking down at it like it was some curio from a savage tribe. Considering it was a representation of a man literally being tortured to death, maybe that wasn’t too far off the mark. I hung her silver star around my neck, tucking it under my shirt. It was still warm from her body, and I had to force myself not to press it closer to my skin.

  “Don’t worry. You won’t burst into flames.”

  “I think I’m more worried that I might lose it,” she said in a small voice. I smiled, heart wringing like an old mop. She looked back up at me, face solemn. “I heard you’re leaving soon.”

  I nodded. “Thanks to you. You helped take our station into the top spot. Catherine was very pleased to say the least.”

  She looked down again, hiding her eyes. “Don’t thank me. Thank Chubby Checker.”

  You love her, my heart reminded me. Sometimes my heart was a real bastard.

  “Come on, Eliza,” I said in a gentler voice, leading her back to the party. “Let’s go make nice.”

  June

  “Welcome home, Darcy!” Catherine rose from their usual table at the 21 Club to come greet me, giving me a dry kiss on the cheek. Out of habit, I held my breath as I was surrounded in a cloud of Chanel No.5, which my aunt has always used liberally. I forced a smile and took a seat at her invitation.

  A waiter appeared, putting an Old Fashioned in front of me. Catherine raised her own.

  “A toast to my nephew, for a job well done.” She clinked her glass against mine and drank. I put mine down untouched. For the first time in my life, I felt like a fraud. The success I was supposed to be celebrating wasn’t an accomplishment I’d worked for or earned. Managing to keep Regina Bliss and the Mother’s Morality League happy had been my only true accomplishment during my tenure in Buffalo. Charlie Bingley kept the advertising ball rolling; my secretary, Jane, kept the office running smoothly. The hosts watched the charts and kept to their schedules. What had I actually done?

  “Now, we should talk about what’s next for you,” Catherine said, pulling me out of my wandering thoughts.

  “I’m not Head of Accounts anymore?”

  “Oh, I think we can do better than that,” Catherine scoffed. “You must be waiting for me to retire.”

  The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. “I think the place would fall apart without you.” She chuckled and raised her glass.

  “A good reason for a long transition, then. No, it’s time you took the reins, William. We’ll begin after you’re settled and make it official after the new year.”

  “That’s only half a year! That’s not enough time to learn anything.”

  “I disagree. Just look what you did with a nearly bankrupt station!”

  “But that was—”

  Catherine held her hand up, silencing me. “No arguments. If you don’t want to take over, sell me your shares and I’ll find another successor. Otherwise, it’s time to accept your responsibilities.”

  I realized she was right. I’d run from my legacy into a life of indolence, and now the bill was due. I owed it to my father, to Catherine—to do what was required of me. And I owed it to Eliza, to keep the lights on if nothing else.

  My heart squeezed in my chest to the point of pain at the thought of her. She’d just be getting into the station right about then, arms loaded with records, her voice carrying through the hallways into the office now occupied by Charlie, who I’d chosen to run the studio in my stead.

  “All right then,” I said, raising my glass to Catherine. “Six months and you’ll be golfing in Boca.”

  She laughed. “I’ll drink to that!”

  July

  Closing my eyes didn’t help when the plane took off. There was still the queer feeling of my organs shifting inside of me as my back was pinned against the seat. I hadn’t been on a plane since I was a kid, when my father would occasionally take me to business meetings in his private jet—never to see the Yankees play the Cubs like I’d wanted—always business. I took a moment to be glad I’d followed Catherine’s advice a few years ago and upgraded to a newer model. “Who knows?” she’d said at the time. “You might really need it one day.” I laughed then because I knew Catherine would be the one using it to fly down to Florida every chance she got. Bless her. I wondered what my father would think of my purpose in using the plane today? He’d probably be livid. The thought cheered me somewhat.

  The day had started normally enough, with meetings and numbers and Catherine finally approving the company bonuses I’d lobbied for. It had been a good summer for radio, between Kennedy’s speeches on the escalating tensions in Vietnam and some hits by Dee Dee Sharp and Little Eva. I’d been signing checks when I’d gotten the call from a tearful Jane. “It’s about Eliza,” was all she’d needed to say to make me jump to action.

  I touched my chest, tracing the outline of the silver star that lay under my shirt. After the garden party, I’d “forgotten” to return it to her. And, perhaps purposefully, she’d forgotten to return my mother’s cross. I didn’t mind. I liked having this talisman of her so close to me. I often wondered if she felt the same.

  The plane touched down a few hours later, much to my relief. A short plane ride was nothing to the nine-hour train journey but still felt too long. Jane had promised to have a car waiting for me, and true to her word, there was. Charlie Bingley was leaning against the side of his bright red Plymouth. When I approached, he let out a low whistle and shook his head.

  “I knew you were rich but a private plane?” His earnest face was a welcome sight, even down to those big, goofy ears of his.

  “How is she?” I asked, cutting through
the pleasantries.

  Charlie’s face fell. “Not good. Get in. I’ll drive you.”

  I was glad for once that Charlie was such an impatient and reckless driver. We shot like a bolt into the heart of Buffalo. It felt strangely nostalgic. It couldn’t be that I missed it there?

  “Congratulations, by the way,” I said absently. “On your engagement. Jane’s a lovely woman. I’m sure you’ll both be very happy.”

  A serene look slipped across Charlie’s face. I’ve never been more envious of another man in all my life. To have the promise of his future in hand. To have an uncomplicated love.

  “Thanks, Will. I’m a lucky S-O-B.”

  I silently agreed, on both the “lucky” and the “S-O-B” remarks.

  Thanks to Charlie’s appalling driving, we reached our destination in no time. I ran up the stairs, not stopping until I came to a familiar door. Heart pounding, I raised my fist and knocked. The door swung open.

  “Hello Jane.”

  Jane’s lovely face was tear-stained, eyes rimmed with red. “Come in, Mr. Darcy.”

  “You may as well call me Will,” I said gently. “I’m not your boss anymore.”

  Jane smiled weakly. “Come in, Will. Don’t forget to take off your shoes.”

  I walked in, toeing off my shoes as I did. The apartment looked different somehow, darker. I realized it was because the mirrors had been covered, the curtains drawn. Ezra Goldman stood just inside. We exchanged a polite nod before I turned to the couch where Maddie sat next to Eliza, the same couch where we’d once become tangled and fused like tree roots. Eliza’s hair was pulled back into a bun, making her face look thin and drawn. She looked up and saw me.

  “Oh!” she cried out, her tears renewed.

  I sank to my knees in front of her, wrapping my arms around her slender frame and pulling her close. She rested her head against my shoulder, body shaking with sobs as I held her and rocked her. Over her shoulder, I could see the violin resting in the corner, now silent for good, looking like an arcane artifact without its owner.