Twenty Months

by Alicia Rogers

  Like the birth of Christ, Buddha discovering the eightfold path, and the invention of Dance Dance Revolution – another miracle was about to occur.

  Because if it wasn't for that pesky guaranteed prison stay (and the cellmate assignment next to some lonely Big Bertha) for committing murder one, Will Darcy would be a dead man.

  Beaten. Shot. Stabbed. Strangled. Drowned.

  Darcy had no idea how close he'd come to losing the gift of life; instead of letting out some sort of warrior cry and coming at him with a battle axe, Lizzie stood very quietly and looked very puzzled.

  He shifted uncomfortably on his feet and nervously brushed his dark hair out of his eyes. He half expected to hear a snake rattle. "Ms. Bennet…?"

  There was a low chuckle. "You've got some nerve, buddy."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You act as if you've just offered me the Holy Grail. I'm supposed to what, Mr. Darcy? Fall to the ground and kiss your feet? Thank god for whatever ass backwards neanderthal sense of obligation you seem to possess?" she snickered nastily. "Thanks for trying to make an 'honest' woman outta me, but this isn't 1956 and my 'Pa' doesn't even own a shotgun."

  Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his forefinger in an attempt to make the screaming in his head stop. It didn't work, but hey – it was worth a shot. "While I'm sure, Ms. Bennet, that you're 'every woman', my offer has little to do with your honor or my 'ass backwards sense of obligation' as you put it. Like I said before, this is a business arrangement in the strictest sense."

  He didn't think it was possible, but her eyes grew even darker and for a moment Darcy worried his head might explode.

  With a sigh he said, "Now, I don't close many business deals on front porches so…"

  "If I let you in," Lizzie began abruptly, "I reserve the right to kick you out if you as so much utter a syllable I don't like." She paused. "I also reserve the right to break your kneecaps."

  "Fair enough."

  * * *

  It was a position no man wanted to be in – cornered on both sides by two extremely pissed off women.

  The blonde one who'd waltzed into the living room muttering something about whether Colin Firth would go better with mint chocolate chip than Hugh Grant had stopped dead in her lovely tracks at the sight of him. The overwhelming sense of protection and the familial resemblance told him this must be the sister.

  Great, family. Really, if he didn't feel like a rotten bastard before, having this girl who looked liked the sort that went around buying hobos McDonald's and saving trees glaring at him certainly did the trick.

  Then of course there was Lizzie, who'd been glaring at him since two o'clock that afternoon. At this point, Darcy figured he should get used to the glaring from the fiery redhead but there was something about her eyes. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, he just knew he never wanted to see those eyes this angry at him ever again.

  Darcy cleared his throat and readied himself to speak, putting a stop to any and all thoughts on Ms. Bennet's eyes. After all, they're what got him into this mess in the first place. "In between the time you slapped me and the trip over here…"

  "You slapped him?" Jane interjected suddenly, turning her attention to her sister.

  "Hard," Lizzie answered.

  "Outstanding," Jane said proudly.

  Darcy grunted, "I've had a lot of time to think and weigh options, and I've come up with an idea."

  "That requires my participation in the sham of all shams," Lizzie grumbled.

  "Yes it does," he stated frankly with a nod of his head. "You see, Lizzie, before you stormed into my office and ruined my carpet this afternoon, I had been trapped in a board meeting which I was the subject of. Apparently my behavior lately has not been so great for my family's image and I was asked to straighten up my act."

  "Gotta love irony."

  "Needless to say, a child from a one night stand isn't going to make my investors do cartwheels of joy," Darcy finished with a sigh.

  Lizzie stared at him incredulously. "And you expect me to marry you just to save your ass from a PR nightmare?!"

  "Twenty months is all I'm asking for, Lizzie. Long enough to make it look legit. A significant trust fund will be set up for the child, you'll both be taken care of for the rest of your lives."

  Lizzie and Jane sat in stunned silence and exchanged the exact same stunned look.

  "Give me twenty months of your time, Lizzie, and you'll never have to see me again."

  Chapter 4

  I'm Like a Lawyer With the Way I'm Always Trying to Get You Off

  To say Charles Bingley woke up with a start would be a bit of an understatement. The peace and serenity of his swanky hotel suite was interrupted when his cell phone rang very loudly and very unexpectedly at five a.m. Tokyo time.

  The fact it was a ringtone of Sexyback that caused him to fall out of bed would be a secret he would take to his grave.

  The high and panicky voice of his usually calm and collected best friend on the other end of the line was enough to convince Bingley that his Sakai filled vacation needed to be cut short and within forty five minutes his bags were packed and he was on a red eye back to Los Angeles. Of course his unbelievably good character dictated he leave a note of apology at the hotel's front desk for his sisters and a substantial tip for housekeeping.

  By 10:30 a.m. Thursday morning he was back in the States and exiting a cab in front of Pemberley Publishing.

  With his bright, red hair standing on end, chin covered in stubble, and bags under his eyes, Bingley wasn't exactly the poster child for super sexy man beasts at this moment, yet when they collided around a corner (important looking papers flying everywhere), Jane Bennet thought she'd never had the privilege of nearly being killed by a more handsome man.

  "Oh god! I'm so sorry!"

  "No, it was completely my fault! You'd think this was my first day walking…"

  "No, I should've been paying attention to where I was going…"

  It was an apology fest on the twenty-eighth floor of the Pemberley building as two of the nicest people one could ever hope to meet were busy falling all over themselves. Jane worked quickly to help gather Bingley's papers, while Bingley worked just as quickly to snatch them up before she could (after all, she didn't have to help – it was completely his fault).

  Smiling sheepishly, Jane shoved the remainder of the documents into his hands. "They really shouldn't let me out in public," she chuckled.

  Bingley laughed – a little too loudly and complete with a snort.

  Obviously, Jane had never had the privilege of nearly being killed by a more "smooth" man, either.

  "You're a total danger to society," he told her while attempting to stuff said papers back into their manila folder. Normally, this task would have taken a grand total of two seconds, but the beautiful woman standing before him with the wisps of golden hair falling over her eyes and the gigantic knot forming on her head was making it impossible to concentrate.

  "Oh shit." Bingley's eyes widened. "I'm such a clumsy bastard," he said reaching out to touch it.

  Jane gasped in pain. "Could you not do that."

  "Oh, god – yeah, sorry." He blushed.

  Aspirin and (more) apologies were exchanged before the pair finally went their separate ways.

  And as he walked the rest of the way towards the oak double doors of Darcy's office –making sure to be careful of any and all human traffic, Charles Bingley suddenly felt incredibly happy to be home.

  * * *

  "How was Japan?"

  Upon entering Darcy's office, Bingley's good mood was promptly taken out back and shot. Just the general atmosphere in the place was enough to suck the happy right out of Kelly Ripa; it would've made Katie Couric slit her wrists and Rachel Ray step into traffic.

  There was Darcy, his best friend in the whole world, beating his head against the window pane. Darcy – who always appeared to be a pillar of strength looking hopeless and dejected, and worst of all lost.<
br />
  It was enough to shit on a fellow's parade.

  "Japan was good. You know, lots of…Japanese people," Bingley said absently as he closed the distance between he and Darcy. "Will, what's going on?"

  "I told you over the phone I need a lawyer," Darcy replied without bothering to face him.

  Bingley nodded. "Yeah, but you have plenty of lawyers right here in sunny LA available at your fingertips unless you just wanted to be a cock and ruin my vacation." He chuckled in an attempt to bring some sort of levity to the room.

  "While I never pass up the opportunity to be a cock, I actually need your help." Darcy's features were deathly serious as he finally turned to face his friend. "What I'm going to ask of you, Charlie, requires – well, I don't think discretion could even come close to being a strong enough word," Darcy sighed heavily. "More than anything, I need a friend."

  Bingley gazed at him with concern. "Okay, I'm officially worried."

  There was a sardonic smile and a grand sweeping gesture as the sentence "I'm gonna be a dad" rolled off of Darcy's tongue and Bingley wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry or both.

  "Congratulations," he offered cautiously and ran a hand through his wild hair. "Why didn't you tell me you were seeing anyone?"

  "I'm not," Darcy said quickly. "I mean – I wasn't technically seeing her. It was one night and the details are a little fuzzy, but we were together…"

  "Oh for fucks sake, Will," Bingley sighed.

  "If you're going to judge me, Charlie, save your breath, okay."

  Bingley shook his head. "I wasn't going to judge – I just didn't think you capable of something so irresponsible."

  Darcy shrugged. "We all have layers," he snickered.

  "And you need me to…?" Bingley began as the office doors opened and that beautiful woman with the wisps of blonde hair in her eyes and the gigantic knot on her forehead strolled inside.

  "Mr. Darcy has your lawyer arrived yet? I'd like to get started – oh, hello." Jane stopped in her tracks at the sight of Bingley and suddenly her professional demeanor gave way to a bright smile with the hint of a school girl blush.

  "Ms. Bennet, this is my lawyer Charles Bingley; Charles this is Ms. Jane Bennet the lawyer for and sister of the woman in question," Darcy rattled off while turning back to face the window.

  Bingley smiled just as brightly. "We've met."

  * * *

  Twenty-Month Agreement

  A summation of the terms presented in this contract is as follows:

  By signing this document, party (a) (Fitzwilliam Darcy) and party (b) (Elizabeth Bennet) hereby agree to wed and remain so for a period of twenty months.

  During these twenty months neither party (a) nor party (b) are allowed to stray from their wedding vows. All appearances of being a couple must be kept up in public. Any act committed by party (a) or party (b) that breaks this clause will result in the proper special clause being enforced (see page 32 of this document).

  During these twenty months party (a) and party (b) will share a residence (of their choosing). Both parties are entitled to separate bedrooms. Neither party is entitled to consummating the marriage (unless the other party consents).

  At the twenty-month mark the marriage will be dissolved citing irreconcilable differences.

  Party (b) may not profit by disclosing the terms of this agreement to the press. Any and all attempts will result in the denial of this document's existence and a lawsuit for slander.

  Upon the birth of the child, a DNA test will be ordered.

  Depending on outcome of DNA analysis:

  college tuition will be set aside for the child (party c) as well as a trust fund that will not be accessible until he/she reaches their twenty-first birthday.

  -Party (c) will take on party (a)'s last name.

  -Custody of party (c) will be shared.

  Darcy scrawled his name across the last page on the document and shoved the pen into Lizzie's right hand.

  And with slight hesitation and a heavy sigh, she signed her life away.

  Chapter 5

  Roman Candle

  "I said I didn't want gravy on my mashed potatoes and look at it – it's slathered in gravy! My steamed vegetables aren't steamed enough and you call this steak medium rare?! What the hell kind of service is this, lady!"

  Lizzie was having what could only be described as an emo moment. She hadn't sunk as low as to torture her ears with a Hawthorne Heights record and she wasn't gazing at box cutters and lady Bic's with tears in her eyes and awful, pretentious poetry in her tortured heart.

  She was, however, having a major pity party.

  It was a pity party that took over every aspect of her life; it forced her to subject herself to a matinee of Fried Green Tomatoes and Brian's Song (back to back), it made her fill her iPod to the brim with Elliot Smith and Bright Eyes, and it was the reason why she felt compelled to pick up book six of Harry Potter and skip directly to that bit about Dumbledore (yes, that bit).

  When the miserable became too much to bear and the time on the clock grew nearer to the hour when she was expected to do her part as a slave for minimum wage, Lizzie grabbed said iPod and its sad-shit music, and decided to take the scenic route to work.

  There was something about long walks that made her world seem a little less bleak – Lizzie loved them. The quickening of her heart with every step. The way the pounding of her sneakers against the pavement found perfect timing with the beat of the music blasting in her ears. She found solace in being just another face in a sea of faces moving through the city streets; it made her aware of herself. And just for those thirty minutes it took for her to reach the TGI Friday's that regretfully employed her, Lizzie's head was clear. She didn't dwell on the baby or stupid Darcy or that stupid contract, or any more of her stupid mistakes. Lizzie's feet found that perfect rhythm to Elliot Smith's Roman Candle and she was just another face in a sea of faces.

  Unfortunately, all of this new found serenity was crushed by the fiery hell that is customer service.

  "Are you even paying attention to me?!"

  Lizzie pursed her lips; outwardly she was the epitome of calm and professional, on the inside, however, she was busy coming up with thirty-six ways to kill a man. "Of course I am, sir," she replied politely.

  "How in god's name did you get this job," he spat nastily and Lizzie felt her patience snap in half. The swell name tag on her garish shirt required she follow the 'customer's always right' motto and be a smiling puppet head for a restaurant where license plates were considered hip decorations.

  "I seem to recall some sort of slack interview process," she told him with a sardonic smile curling on her lips.

  Much to the detriment of this gentlemen, Smiling Puppet-Head Lizzie was currently throwing back shots of jagermeister at the bar.

  "I'm terribly sorry about your order, sir," she continued her voice dripping with false sincerity. "If you'd like, I can have them unslather your mashed potatoes, steam your vegetables into a puff of smoke, and to make sure your steak is as rare as possible there's a cow and a .38 Special if you'd like me to bring it out…"

  It was a tiny victory getting this man who'd sent ten plates of food back to the kitchen (each time claiming his order was wrong) to storm out the door and Lizzie celebrated with a mental dance of joy.

  "Give me four very good reasons why I shouldn't fire you right here, right now."

  Smiling wearily she turned around to face her manager. "One: you love me very much and wouldn't wish homelessness upon me…"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Two: that guy was a complete ass and you have to admit, what I said about the cow and the .38 was pretty funny…"

  "It wasn't cost me forty bucks and a customer, funny."

  "Three: we're best friends and roommates, Charlotte. You fire me and you'll never be able to sleep with your door unlocked again," Lizzie grinned from ear to ear.

  "You're Satan in human form, aren't you?"

  "And four: I'm the only one w
ho knows it's you in that herpes medicine commercial."

  Charlotte's eyes widened to comically huge proportions and she let out an audible gasp. "You wouldn't."

  Lizzie laughed like a villain and made the motion of twisting the ends of a nonexistent mustache ala Snidely Whiplash.

  While the thought of living with one's boss might be the driving force behind one swan diving off of the Empire State Building, such was not the case with Lizzie and Charlotte Lucas. The pair met as struggling eighteen year old actresses up for the part of Infected Girl Number 3 in a Valtrex commercial (the part and embarrassment ultimately going to Charlotte). The second Lizzie leaned over to let a panicking Charlotte read off of her script, a friendship was born – the type of which might've included handmade bracelets and the letters B.F.F. scrawled across their respective yearbook photos had they still been in high school. Instead, they accompanied one another on auditions which varied between degrees of pretty shitty and completely shitty. With neither one of them kicking Reese Witherspoon's ass on the big screen, the natural next step was to take on a waitressing job like all struggling actors before them.

  When Charlotte grew tired of living with her head in the clouds (and with roaches in her apartment), she simultaneously moved in with Lizzie and Jane, and enrolled in TGI Friday's management program.

  Lizzie, wasn't so quick to let her dreams die.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes and smoothed out her pony-tail. "Don't make me rule with an iron-fist, Bennet." She grinned.

  "Get fist-y all you like, Lucas," Lizzie folded her arms over her chest and tried her best to look tough, "you don't scare me." There was a pause and Lizzie scrunched her face. "Um, that didn't come out quite the way I wanted it to…"

  Charlotte laughed as she helped Lizzie clear the booth of its dishes. "So, you never told me what went down yesterday. When I walked in the door I heard Hugh Grant's voice booming from your bedroom, so I assumed it couldn't have been good."