Pride, Prejudice, and Push-Up Bras

by Mary Strand

  Stephanie whipped her wide-eyed gaze from one guy to the other, looking as stunned as I was at the sight of Alex telling off Charlie and Charlie telling off anyone.

  Alex ignored us. “You’ll just let the lawyers finish the deal? Or aren’t you coming back to New York?”

  Charlie stared at Jane, making me wonder if he’d stayed here so long for business or because Jane was here. But when Alex rolled his eyes, I steamed at his arrogance. After all, Charlie was the one with the hot company. What did Alex have? Not even his own condo.

  The room lapsed into an uneasy silence. I glanced at Alex just in time to catch him staring at me, so I zipped my gaze somewhere else. What was up? Had I smeared lasagna or gelato or both all over myself?

  Stephanie suddenly hopped up and shot over to the stereo like she was on speed—or possibly drunk. The Weather Girls started belting “It’s Raining Men.”

  She had to be drunk. I mean, it’s a great song from the prehistoric era—which I don’t exactly hate when it comes to music—but girls don’t play it in front of guys. And they really don’t gyrate to it in front of guys. When Stephanie’s hips started swishing from side to side, I closed my eyes.

  That’s why I didn’t notice Alex get up from his chair until he was standing right in front of me.

  “Do you feel like going somewhere and talking?”

  I looked at him and smiled. Politely, I thought, even though he was obviously drunk, too. Where was all this alcohol, and why hadn’t anyone offered it to me?

  “I said, did you want to talk? In another room?”

  “Oh! Geez.” My hands were sweating, weirdly enough, and I tried to wipe them on my jeans without looking obvious. “Sorry. I thought you were joking.” I waved my hand in the air, tempted to point out the obvious fact that Stephanie would scratch out both my eyes if I went anywhere with Alex. “I mean, I figured you were just playing me. Like, wanting me to say yes, and then telling me it was just a joke. So if I say no, you can just hate me instead.”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  The stereo snapped off, mid-song. The next thing I knew, Stephanie was loudly telling Jane she looked really pale—not—and asking if she wanted to go home.

  I wasn’t even interested in Alex, as if that weren’t totally obvious to everyone but Stephanie, and it pissed me off that she had to rain on Jane’s parade. Jane stammered and touched a hand to her cheek, and two minutes later we hustled out the door. I hurt for Jane, who looked crushed. As we headed to the elevator, I could swear I heard Stephanie mumbling, “Don’t let the door hit your butt on the way out.”

  Stunned, I sucked in a breath. I was tired and so ready to go home, and even more tired of Stephanie and Alex and maybe even Charlie, but I grabbed Jane’s arm, turned around, and headed back inside.

  Stephanie wasn’t going to win. Not if I could help it.

  “We’re back. Did you miss us?” I waltzed past Alex, gave Stephanie a friendly little wave, and strode right up to Charlie. “You didn’t really want us to leave, did you?” Baffled, he shook his head. “I decided Jane looks just fine. I mean, what does Stephanie know about medicine, anyway?”

  I knew I was pushing my luck when Jane dug her nails into my arm, but Charlie grinned and grabbed Jane’s hand. When Stephanie stalked off into another room, Alex actually did a good deed, clicking on the fire in the fake fireplace and rounding up hot cocoa. I didn’t think he had it in him.

  Within minutes, I was perched in a leather recliner near the fire, feet curled up and hands clasping a mug of hot cocoa packed with mini marshmallows. It felt good, but part of me wondered why I’d come back. Just to annoy Stephanie?

  Alex grabbed a chair on the other side of the fire and leaned toward me, opening his mouth to speak, just as Stephanie reappeared in a leopard-print outfit that looked painted on. Miss Jungle Cat. When she stretched out on the rug in front of the fireplace, purring at Alex’s feet as she contorted this way and that, I nearly gagged on my hot cocoa.

  Alex didn’t pay any attention to Stephanie—how could he not?—so she kept jumping to her knees and peeking at Alex’s book, practically landing in his lap each time. She finally gave up, yawned, and did another big stretch. Alex had his nose in the book, or pretended he did, so she whirled on Charlie when he mentioned a party.

  “You’re not serious.” On hands and knees, Stephanie moved closer to Charlie and Jane. “A party? Here?”

  Charlie shifted his glance from Jane to Stephanie. “Next Saturday. I’ll do some invites on my computer.”

  Stephanie screwed up her face.

  Standing up, Charlie grinned and grabbed Jane’s hand. “It’ll give me an excuse to dance.” He looked ready to spin Jane into orbit. I liked Charlie, but I’d already seen him dance once, and I still had lasagna to digest.

  With a toss of her hair, Stephanie shot to her feet and strutted to the far corner of the room, where she grabbed a yoga mat. My dad kept a yoga mat in the living room, but he was a bit nutty that way. Did normal people do it? I shrugged, reminding myself that Stephanie wasn’t exactly normal.

  She rolled out the mat at Alex’s feet, then turned to me. “Liz, want to grab a mat, too? My legs were getting stiff, and yoga really helps loosen me up.” When I just stared at her, she smiled innocently. Too innocently. “But you probably know that. I hear your dad is a big yoga fiend.”

  I blinked, wondering what Dad had to do with anything. “He teaches yoga. I’m not really into it.”

  Besides, something just seemed...wrong. I shook my head and glued my butt to my chair as Stephanie went from basic stretches to poses. The words “Stephanie” and “poses” are redundant, I admit, but I couldn’t help watching her, the way you can’t pass a train wreck without looking.

  Lost in my catty thoughts, I didn’t notice Alex close his book until Stephanie asked him to join her. Hopefully, she meant on his own mat, but I had my doubts. In any case, Alex mumbled something I couldn’t quite hear.

  “Look at him.” I couldn’t help it. I did, and he looked back, which couldn’t have been Stephanie’s plan. In a shrill voice, her butt wiggling in the downward-dog position, she called to Alex. “What did you say, you wicked boy?”

  Ew! As I slinked down in my chair, Alex shrugged. “I figured you just wanted me to watch you.”

  Even though he kept staring at me, not Stephanie in her painted-on catsuit, her butt waving like a flag in the air.

  “Very wicked.” Stephanie dropped to her knees and wagged her finger at Alex. “How should I punish you?”

  I had a sudden urge to shove her into the fire before she embarrassed herself any more. I hadn’t acted so stupid in front of a guy since middle school. Okay, maybe high school.

  I sighed, feeling a headache coming on. When Alex turned to stare at me, obviously waiting to see what I’d say, I bit my lip. He hangs out with Stephanie and lives at Charlie’s with no visible means of support—but he drives a Lamborghini, which doesn’t make sense unless he’s loaded. He’s way beyond cute, sure, but he thinks Jane is a stalker. And he keeps wanting to “talk” to me about it.

  I glanced at him, my eyes flickering on his lips. Really nice lips. Not that I wanted to kiss him or anything. I didn’t. For one thing, Stephanie was already giving me the evil eye. For another—

  Okay, right that moment, as I stared at Alex’s lips, I couldn’t remember why I didn’t want to kiss him. But I didn’t. I was pretty sure.

  He rose to his feet just then, turning to fiddle with a fake fire that didn’t need fiddling. Dang. He really did have a cute butt. Unfortunately, he turned around again and caught me staring at it.

  Stephanie decided to end our latest mutual starefest in a hurry. “How about some music?”

  I didn’t give a rat’s ass about music or Stephanie or anything else. I wished I were home, snug in my own little bed, passed out cold. And not dreaming of Alex.

  Chapter 7

  “There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in his letter, which promis
es well. I am impatient to see him.”

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

  Sunday morning, Dad shocked us by abandoning his yoga mat in the middle of one of Deepak’s meditation tapes, which he played at the “jackhammer” volume setting, to join Mom and me at breakfast. When he sat down at the kitchen table, Mom almost spat out the side of bacon she’d just inhaled with her half-dozen eggs.

  “What’s for dinner tonight, dear?” Dad glanced at Mom while I looked wide-eyed at both of them. Dinner at our house usually meant takeout or cold cereal, since both Mom and Dad hated to cook and food poisoning wasn’t exactly a rare event. “We’ll be having a guest.”

  “Oh?” Mom swallowed hard, choking when something lodged in her throat. “What haven’t you told me this time?”

  “An interesting young man will be joining us.” Dad’s eyes twinkled, but Mom’s were practically on fire.

  “Charlie? I keep telling Jane I don’t want—”

  Dad held up a hand. “It’s not Charlie.”

  As I kept chomping on my Lucky Charms, Mom peppered Dad with questions until he finally explained. “I got an email from a very distant cousin, so many times removed that he might be equally related to this bowl of oatmeal.”

  Mom and I stared at Dad’s oatmeal, transfixed.

  Dad continued. “He has a son, Bill Cooper, and is hoping for a little nepotism.”

  I frowned. “Can you even afford an employee?”

  “I’m crushed to know you think so little of my work, Lizzie.” Dad touched my hand, but I bit my lip and looked away. I’d never slammed his yoga crap, at least not to his face, even though I wondered how Mom and Dad could afford to pay for college for five girls. Or if they intended to. “Lizzie. Really. My reputation is growing in the spiritual community, so it only makes sense that I start to gain more followers.”

  Mom slapped a hand on the table, rattling the silverware. “What an awful young man. As if he can waltz in and steal the yoga mat from right under your feet.”

  “He’s not going to steal anyone’s yoga mat.” Dad shook his head at Mom, as if what she’d said was ridiculous, but for once I was with Mom. Skeptical. “Bill is Lizzie’s age, I think, and just wants a little experience in the real world.”

  Oh? He wouldn’t find much real-world experience on a yoga mat, unless we’re talking about the reality of not being able to afford anything.

  Dad chuckled as he pulled an email printout from his pocket and skimmed it, but he tucked it away again before Mom could leap out of her chair to read over his shoulder. “He graduated last spring from the Sharmon School for Boys—”

  I nearly choked on my Lucky Charms. “The Sharmon School? Isn’t that the boarding school for out-of-control boys? As in, guys who are lucky they’re not in jail? And he’s coming here for dinner? Mom, hide the silverware.”

  Mom’s brows shot up. “Howard? Is that right? Should I hide my purse, too?”

  Dad rolled his eyes.

  “Why are you telling me today, Howard? How long have you known about this?”

  Dad glanced at me, his eyebrows dancing. “I didn’t want to give Lizzie too much advance notice. This way, she’s stuck with the seven-day waiting period to buy a handgun.”

  “Ha. Ha. You’re not seriously hiring him at your center, are you? You don’t even know him.”

  “Well, none of my daughters is interested in what I do...”

  I jerked to my feet and tossed my napkin on the table. “I used to be, Dad. When you were an engineer. It’s why I chose my major, not that anyone gives a rat’s ass.” I blinked, willing the traitorous tear in my right eye not to fall, and wondered why I’d followed Dad’s path. I might as well buy a yoga mat.

  Dad frowned at me. A first. “Sit down, Lizzie.”

  Arms crossed, I stayed standing.

  Mom spoke as she kept chewing her mountain of eggs. “So he’s interested in your yoga center. But you’re always doing these things at the last minute, or telling me at the last minute, when I don’t even have enough time to Google him.”

  Dad nodded. “My point exactly.”

  The doorbell rang at four. Bill Cooper.

  Oh. My. God.

  He might be my age, but he looked about fourteen, right down to the zits and greasy hair. He was also a bit porky, with baggy pants that hung halfway down his butt, a leather vest that reminded me of Greg Brady, and wire-rimmed glasses that looked more like Jan Brady.

  It’s not my fault that my mom owns every single season of The Brady Bunch on TV.

  I figured he’d never looked in a mirror, though, because he swaggered into the living room like he owned it. Jane glanced up from Beowolf, scrunched her nose, and went back to reading. Lydia and Cat giggled and made faces. Mary just looked curious, like she’d never seen a guy up close before, but even Mary could do better than Bill. He glanced around the living room at the five of us girls, practically drooling. Ick.

  Then he started talking about Dad’s yoga center, but I had a feeling he didn’t know a downward dog from a pit bull. “I can’t wait to find out what Howard’s work entails.”

  I frowned. “Where are you staying?”

  “Here?” Bill flicked a surprised glance at Dad, who was reading the paper. “My dad said it’d be okay if I stayed with you.”

  “Like, for dinner?”

  “Liz, your manners!” Mom slid to the edge of her seat, ready to strangle me.

  “It’s cool, Mrs. Bennet. Connie.” Bill looked around the room, his eyes lingering on Jane. Right. Like she’d give him a second glance. “Dad first set me up in Dubuque with a guy he used to know, but I wasn’t into Dubuque. So he sent me to Fargo to stay with Olivia Parks.” He paused on her name, like we ought to know her, but even Mom’s face was blank. “But it’s not exactly easy to find the right, uh, set-up for my particular skills, so Mrs. Parks suggested you to my dad.”

  He didn’t look like he had any particular skills, unless grand theft auto counted as a skill.

  I’d wondered why Bill’s dad kept pawning him off on strangers, but it was becoming obvious. “Where does your dad live? Why don’t you live with him?”

  “Liz...” Mom again. Dad wasn’t saying anything.

  Bill glanced up at the ceiling. “My dad isn’t, you know, super available.”

  His dad might be the one in prison for grand theft auto.

  “Anyway.” Totally ignoring me now, Bill gave Mom an aw-shucks grin after first trying it on Dad, but Dad buried his head in the newspaper. “Mrs. Parks told me it’d be great to work with Howard. And we’re, like, family. Sorta.”

  Was he really staying with us? And for how long? I gave him twenty-four hours, tops. Less than that if we let either Lydia or Mary loose on him.

  Before I could make it happen, we sat down to Mom’s baked chicken. As in, baked by the people behind the deli counter at Kowalski’s, Mom’s fave grocery store. Watching Bill shovel a constant stream of food into his mouth, I figured he hadn’t eaten in a month. After a while, I couldn’t look.

  The minute Cat and Lydia cleared the dessert plates, Dad cleared his throat. “Bill, what did you think of Fargo?”

  “It’s okay.” Bill chuckled, in a fake sort of way. “I mean, except for the dating scene.”

  He winked at Jane, who glared at me when I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. I kept picturing a porky Greg Brady wearing Jan Brady’s glasses while trying to hit on the prom queen.

  After an awkward pause, Bill turned back to Mom. “But it was a good set-up. Mrs. Parks owns this huge house and has a daughter. Veronica.”

  I wondered why Bill wasn’t still at Mrs. Parks’s house, hitting on the rich daughter, instead of here wolfing down our food and trying to get a job in a stranger’s yoga center.

  “Didn’t Veronica make the cut on the dating scene? Or aren’t you her type?”

  “Liz!” As Mom fumed, I gave Jane a sideways grin.

  Still, maybe that was why Mrs. Parks found a n
ew gig for Bill. He hit on Veronica and it didn’t work out?

  He slid me a patronizing smile. “She’s a little young for me. Veronica is fun, though. She finds school exhausting—” I tried not to roll my eyes, I swear I did. “—so she spends most of her time shopping. She has great taste.”

  “No doubt.” My dad coughed into his napkin, probably trying not to think about having five daughters who’d love to spend all their time shopping. On his credit card. “Too bad it didn’t work out with Mrs. Parks. But I’m sure the right, er, set-up will come along for you.”

  Bill shrugged. “Maybe it already has.” Giving up on Jane for the moment, he turned and gave Lydia a sly grin.

  Lydia made a gagging sound.

  Finally, we left the table and headed to the living room. Lydia and Cat picked up a smuggled-in copy of the National Enquirer and grabbed the couch. Bill sauntered over and tried to sit between them, but Lydia gave him a swift kick, sending him to the floor.

  So far, the dating scene in Woodbury wasn’t looking any brighter for Bill than it’d been in Fargo. Even though he’s such a wild guy. Not.

  I kept wondering why Dad let this dork in our house. With our luck, Bill is a scam artist who wants a job and a place to stay, if not all the cash and jewelry he can nab while Mom and Dad aren’t looking. Dad wouldn’t fall for that, would he?

  Lydia sent the National Enquirer flying at Bill’s head. “Did you know, Mom, that Phil Donnelly met some of the circus guys who are staying in town? He did some legal work for them.” Probably not a good thing to hear, since Phil, Mom’s law partner and a close friend, specializes in criminal defense.

  As Bill brushed the National Enquirer off his head, I frowned at Lydia, even though I wouldn’t mind throwing something at Bill’s head, too. She stuck out her tongue at me.

  “Not to worry.” Bill gave a long-suffering look, which was exactly how I felt. About him. “Young girls don’t always—”

  “I’m not that young!” Lydia stamped her foot.