Pride, Prejudice, and Push-Up Bras

by Mary Strand

  “Well, she can’t be good at everything.” Rachel tossed a gorgeous black designer coat I could’ve sworn her mom bought a month ago on top of the heap. “She’s a successful lawyer. You don’t have to worry about your parents running out of money.”

  I frowned at her. “You’re kidding, right? What about my dad? And Jane having to come home from Carleton?”

  “Carleton is expensive. My mom doesn’t work at all.”

  I kept staring at the black coat in the truck, trying to work up the nerve to swipe it from the pile, but it was like stealing from the poor. Even if it wasn’t always the poor who shopped at Goodwill.

  “Yeah, well, your mom doesn’t have to work.” I turned my back on the coat and headed inside, Rachel trailing me. “The royalties your dad gets on his inventions obviously more than make up for it.”

  Back in the lobby, I glanced around again, comparing the marble floor with the frayed oriental rug in our front hall at home. I’d actually rather live in our own house than in a fancy condo building that didn’t feel like a home, and maybe Rachel felt the same way. I smiled, thinking about all my grand plans for getting an apartment someday, if I could somehow swing the money and get Jane to stop focusing on guys all the time. It’d probably be some dinky little apartment that made my house look like the Taj Mahal.

  “What’s so funny? My dad’s stupid inventions?”

  My jaw dropped as I stared at Rachel, who leaned against the elevator button, her arms crossed, her mouth...grim?

  Huh?

  I shook my head. “I was just thinking about getting an apartment. You know. When—”

  “When you don’t have to watch over Jane. When you’ve got enough money. Whatever.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “Quit worrying about Jane. She’s a big girl, and Charlie’s a nice guy. There are worse things in life.”

  “Like?”

  “Like my life.” The elevator dinged, and Rachel hurried inside, not looking at me.

  As I stared at her ramrod-straight back, something told me not to ask. Even though she lived in the Taj Mahal. Even though she didn’t have to worry about anyone but her. Even though I’d known her forever and knew she had a great life.

  For starters, Jane Austen hadn’t already written it.

  I spent the next couple of weeks trying to keep an eye on Jane and Charlie, with no success, which actually gave me hope that Charlie had gone back to wherever he’d come from. Jane alternated between moping and giggling almost hysterically, and kept disappearing for hours at a time, so I had a feeling we hadn’t lost Charlie yet.

  Tonight, as Rachel and I walked back to a Halloween costume party at Rachel’s condo building after a last-minute run to a store for ice, I mentioned the possible romance.

  She looked at me like I’d grown three heads. “I’ve seen Charlie and Jane together, but...”

  “You’ve seen them? Charlie’s still in town?”

  “He comes and goes, but when I see him, it’s usually not long before I see Jane.” Rachel shook her head. “How does she do that? I mean, zero in on the cutest guy around, then dump him a month later. Don’t guys figure her out?”

  “In a word? No. They all want to hook up with her.” Even guys named Charlie Bingham, who, if they read The Book, would start running. “Not that she’s actually hooking up with Charlie. Not that way. I mean, we’re talking about Jane.”

  Rachel and I had had more than a few rap sessions about the likelihood of Jane’s virginity. Rachel considers it a no-brainer. But then, she assumes that most girls save themselves for marriage, or at least until Channing Tatum looks them up. I haven’t had the heart to set her straight.

  Rachel breathed hard. Her Halloween costume consisted of a black cape and a Darth Vader mask she bought at Target, and it had to be cutting off her air supply. “Well, if she likes him, she should go for it. Jump his bones.”

  I nearly ran into a tree. “She hasn’t even admitted they’re dating.” I glanced sideways at Rachel. “And I don’t think bone-jumping is high on Jane’s strategy list. If she has a strategy list, I mean, other than finding Mr. Right.”

  “That’s Jane’s problem. She needs a strategy.”

  Rachel dated less than my sister Mary. You’d have to know Mary to appreciate this, but we’re not talking vast experience. We’re talking the proverbial tree falling in the forest with no one around to jump its branches.

  “She doesn’t need a strategy. Guys fall all over themselves to go out with her.” None I’d ever be interested in, but I told myself that was a good thing. No conflicts. “I’m sure Charlie knows she likes him.”

  Alex had noticed, obviously. Was he still worried about Jane being a stalker?

  I started to run a finger around my collar, forgetting that I’d taken a white bedsheet and turned myself into a tube of Crest toothpaste. I hit the white tagboard I’d shaped as a screw-on cap, knocking it halfway off my head.

  After readjusting it, I fell silent, thinking about Jane. Normally, guys came to her, and I’d never seen her so intent on “running into” a guy as she’d been with Charlie. Had all my warnings actually pushed her into it?

  I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t really talk to Rachel about it. She wasn’t a Pride and Prejudice fanatic and never understood my family’s fixation on it. Rachel was more into science fiction. Maybe if Charlie’s last name was Skywalker, it’d make more of an impression on her.

  We reached the brightly-lit condo building and clunked our way through the lobby and into the elevator. I nearly did a face-plant when we reached the party room.

  Alex, wearing a Shrek costume, stood at the door.

  I barely said “hi” as I lumbered past him in my tube of Crest toothpaste and didn’t give Alex another thought. Well, except whenever he spoke to Stephanie Bingham, who was dressed as a hooker—I mean, a French maid. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about Alex. Or Stephanie and her underwires.

  Inside and across the huge party room, which was decorated with dozens of wildly carved pumpkins and lit with orange and black Japanese lanterns, Jane was dressed as Belle, and Charlie was her Beast. I guess the lovebirds were seeing each other more than I’d known. They were already coordinating outfits.

  I tried to keep an eye on Jane and Charlie, but Alex kept getting in my way. No matter who talked to me all night, I swear Alex was right behind me, taking notes.

  After the fifth conversation he’d bugged, this time when Jane took a break to giggle in my ear, I decided to flat-out confront the jerk. The minute Jane left my side, I whirled on Alex. “What’s the matter? Are you worried my sister is stalking me or something?”

  “No, not that she’s stalking you.” I thought I detected a glimmer of a smile on Alex’s face, but then, it could’ve been gas. “You don’t seem like the type who’d let someone stalk you.”

  “But Charlie’s the type?”

  Alex flinched. “Not willingly. At least, not usually. But your sister is cute, and then there’s the Bingley-Bennet thing—”

  “Bingley-Bennet?” My turn to flinch. Alex couldn’t possibly be worried about The Book. I couldn’t believe he’d even read it. “Don’t you mean Bingham-Bennet? Charlie’s name isn’t Bingley.”

  “But mine is Darcy. And yours is Bennet. And this is so not happening.”

  My lips twitched. Alex annoyed me, and I still thought “toad” when I looked into his eyes, but something actually bugged him: my name, The Book, and maybe even fate. Too funny.

  He leaned forward, and I don’t think it was to sneak a peek down my Crest toothpaste costume. “You know, we could work together on this. Team up. Keep Jane and Charlie apart.”

  Alex and me? Work together? Even if I wanted to keep Jane and Charlie apart—which was more about getting an apartment than avoiding fate—did I dare play any “team” sport with Alex? Bad idea.

  I rolled my eyes while trying to avoid his oh-so-dark ones. “Jane isn’t stalking him, and I don’t see how we could team up. Last time I checked, you didn’t do charity w
ork.”

  Zing. I could’ve sworn his green Shrek face turned bright pink.

  Rachel stepped to my side just as I contemplated yanking off one of Alex’s ugly Shrek ears.

  “Liz.” Rachel grabbed my elbow. “Sorry, but Dad wants you to show off on the piano.”

  Alex leaned forward, probably pressing the “record” button on his secret microphone.

  Ignoring him, I whispered in Rachel’s ear. “If I wanted to show off for Alex Darcy, it wouldn’t be on the piano.”

  This time he definitely smiled.

  I trudged off to the baby grand, grumbling to Rachel the whole way, but just as I started to sit down, my sister Mary slid onto the piano bench and pushed me off the far end.

  Mary is a junior in high school who acts about ninety. She spends half her life practicing piano, but all she plays are dirges. After Mary played something that sounded like Requiem for a Dead Skunk, I moved as far away as I could, landing in the unlucky vicinity of Rachel’s dad and Alex.

  Norm Langdon was droning on to Alex, who kept trying to edge away. Mr. Langdon just shuffled along with him, probably thinking it was a Halloween game.

  “Isn’t this an excellent party, Alex?”

  Alex blinked. There just wasn’t a good answer to Mr. Langdon’s question. I mean, even Alex isn’t enough of an ass to say the party took a nosedive when Mary Bennet hit the piano.

  I must’ve snorted, because Mr. Langdon called to me. “Liz, why aren’t you dancing?”

  As he spoke, the Ramones started blasting on the speakers, squelching Mary’s latest funeral hymn. “Uh...”

  Mr. Langdon turned to Alex, who’d been trying to slither away. “Alex, you know Liz, don’t you? Dance with her.”

  Right. Even though no one else was dancing. Even though Alex thought Jane was stalking Charlie. Even though his last name was Darcy and I didn’t want The Book to be My Life.

  Alex grinned at me, which felt like a straw slamming into the camel’s back. So I smiled right back but mumbled that I had a previous engagement. With the bathroom. As a tube of Crest, I could stay in there all night without raising eyebrows.

  I scooted away as fast as my costume allowed and slid around the corner. The bathroom was occupied, so I stayed in the hall.

  “Alex.” A pseudo-sultry voice soon hit my ears. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Yeah? I doubt it, Steph.”

  “You’re thinking what I am. That the parties in this town are d-u-l dull.” I snickered quietly. I wasn’t even an English major and I could see that Stephanie had a few spelling problems. Vassar? No way. “I’ve never been so bored.”

  “Nice try, but I was actually thinking about someone with a wicked, uh, sense of humor.”

  I heard a strangled gasp. “You’re kidding. Who in this place could possibly have a sense of humor? Most of these losers have trouble stringing together a simple sentence.”

  And spelling. She’d forgotten about all the bad spellers.

  Alex chuckled. The guy could laugh? “No one you know.”

  Startled, I fell sideways, banging my head—and toothpaste cap—against the wall. Did he mean me? He’d followed me around all night, listening, then talked to me about “teaming up.” Was that code for hooking up? I slumped to my knees, got twisted in my Crest outfit, and prayed desperately that Alex and Stephanie wouldn’t take a peek into the hall.

  They didn’t, and I was saved. For now. But Alex liked my sense of humor? Next thing I knew, maybe he’d start noticing my lips!

  Chapter 4

  “Well, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note aloud, “if your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness, if she should die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders.”

  — Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume I, Chapter Seven

  Over the next few days, no one noticed my lips or, as far as I could tell, even my so-called sense of humor. I told myself I didn’t care, and I didn’t want to “team up” with Alex—whatever that meant—but I caught myself sighing a few times for reasons I didn’t want to explore. I also noticed Jane whispering into her cell phone or sneaking out on “errands,” so I had a feeling she and Charlie were still an item.

  In a top-secret sort of way.

  It didn’t help that we live in Woodbury, Minnesota, near the Wisconsin border and not far from Stillwater. In other words, in the middle of nowhere. Minneapolis is a half hour away, but it feels like forever if you’re without wheels. Dad had bought Jane a Toyota Prius when she went off to Carleton, before he finally admitted to Mom that he’d invested all of his huge trust fund with a Bernie Madoff clone and before Deepak Chopra led him to yoga and away from his lucrative engineering firm.

  Jane still has the Prius, which leaves four of us fighting over a rusty Jeep, especially now that Jane kept disappearing for hours at a time. Jane and I mostly drive together to the U of M, and Mary drives herself and the twins, Cat and Lydia, to Woodbury High School. Even though it’s close enough to walk. And even though Lydia, who doesn’t have a driver’s license yet, steals the Jeep from Mary half the time.

  You’d think I’d at least have a clean shot at the Jeep at night, since Mary never goes anywhere except school, and Cat and Lydia can never talk Dad past the pesky driving-without-a-license issue. But no. Tuesday night, I grabbed the keys and walked out to the curb to find the Jeep missing. As usual.

  Groaning, I shook my head, pocketed the keys, and decided to walk over to Rachel’s condo. It’d be too dark to walk home, but Rachel could borrow her dad’s car and give me a ride. Rachel had all the luck. She didn’t have sisters.

  Rachel met me in the lobby and took me to the pool deck. Not surprisingly, no one else was around.

  “Rachel? It’s the beginning of November.” In jeans and a fleece hoodie, I wasn’t exactly freezing, but I would be if we stayed outside much longer than fifteen minutes. “Don’t you wanna go up to your place?”

  “It’s kind of a mess.” Rachel kept rubbing her hands briskly against her upper arms. Wearing a short-sleeve V-neck, she probably wouldn’t last five minutes outside, but her gaze kept darting around as if she expected company. Doubtful. “You know my dad and his inventions.”

  I blinked. “His stuff is always a mess, sure, but I’ve seen your place.” Before Rachel’s lips turned blue, I grabbed her arm and nudged her in the direction of the elevator. “It can’t be worse than seeing my dad on his yoga mat in downward dog.”

  Rachel let me drag her inside, but she headed to the party room, not their condo. “Nothing is worse than your dad in downward dog. But my dad, um, hasn’t ever made quite as big a mess as this one.”

  I shrugged as I glanced around the empty party room. A few stray remnants of Saturday night’s Halloween party littered the edges of the room, and the huge flat-screen TV blasted a QVC commercial, but something felt off. I looked at Rachel, who was still rubbing her hands against her arms even though the thermostat had to be set at sweltering.

  “Rachel? Is something wrong?”

  “Wrong?” Rachel’s gaze fluttered around the room, and one foot tapped a nervous beat. “What would be wrong?”

  “For starters, I’ve never seen you freeze in ninety-degree heat. Not to mention that you won’t let me come up to your condo even though you invited me here.”

  Rachel pushed her glasses up her nose, reminding me of my sister Mary. “Actually, you said you were coming over. I suggested Dairy Queen.”

  “No offense, but biting into ice cream on a cold, windy day wouldn’t be my first thought.” I shrugged, trying to shrug off the niggle of hurt. What was going on? Rachel had always been so open, so what-you-see-is-what-you-get, but the secrecy sickness infecting Jane must be contagious. Rachel had it now, too. “If you didn’t want me to stop by, you could’ve said so. Or come over to my house. But—”

  “—Lydia and Cat and Mary live there too.” Rachel sighed. “I know. It’s just, well, i
t’s not a good time.”

  “Like I said. You should’ve told me.”

  Rachel glanced at me, opened her mouth, then closed it. She plunked down on one end of the big couch, grabbed the remote, and changed the channel to a reality show. From the looks of it, Dancing with Ex-Stars Who Weren’t All That in the First Place. “Want to watch something?”

  Not really. I wasn’t exactly the queen of television—understatement—and Rachel knew it. Neither was Rachel, whose head was always in a book, but I suppose she figured it’d be rude to sit here and read in front of me.

  I pretended to watch, but I gave up after a butt-ugly routine by a former wrestler who danced even worse than my dad. If Rachel didn’t want to tell me what was going on, I didn’t need to sit here watching this stupid show. I could go home and listen to one of Lydia and Cat’s conversations.

  I glanced at the clock on the wall, tried to look startled, and leaped to my feet. “Yikes. I really oughta get going.”

  A flicker of relief crossed Rachel’s face before she frowned. “You just got here.”

  “I guess it took longer to walk over here than I thought. And I forgot all about my chemistry test on Friday.”

  “Friday?” Rachel really frowned this time. “It’s Tuesday. Since when did you start studying for tests so early?”

  “Since the last one?” I tried to look as if Rachel hadn’t nailed me, especially since the test was actually next Friday, but I wasn’t totally scamming her. My chemistry professor was unpredictable about what she covered on tests. Unfortunately for me. “Do you mind giving me a ride home? One of the brats stole the Jeep.”

  Rachel bit her lip. “I, uh...”

  “Your parents won’t mind, will they? It’s just, like, five minutes away. You’d be home in fifteen, max.”

  “It’s just that they...”

  Rachel trailed off and turned again to the TV, where the wrestler slid across the floor. On his butt.

  Rachel’s parents were pretty strict with her, practically treating her like a ten-year-old. I always wondered why, especially since Mr. Langdon looked like Jerry Garcia and tended to stay up all night working on his inventions, which could be wild and even explosive. Still, they had two cars. They could let Rachel take one for fifteen minutes—if she had the guts to ask. When it came to her dad, at least, she often didn’t.