Elizabeth was simmering inside but was determined not to show it as she followed Darcy to his car. Ignoring the luxury automobile around her, Elizabeth gave directions to Darcy. Then she asked the first thing she could think of. “So, why did you cut your hair?”
Darcy’s eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but she could see the annoyance in the set of his lips. “You know,” he said softly, “I have written seven number one songs. I have traveled over four continents. I have performed before hundreds of thousands of people. I have met both the Pope and the Dalai Lama, and still, do people ask me about any of that?” His voice had risen slightly, “No, they ask me about my hair.”
Elizabeth was slightly embarrassed, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. “Yes, but everyone has hair. Conversation is as much about the things we have in common as it is about the experiences that make us unique.”
Darcy turned his head to stare at her for a long beat, and then turned back to the road. “I cut my hair because it was becoming more important than my music. I don’t want people to associate my name with my appearance. I want to be known for what I play.”
Elizabeth was impressed by his answer. “I can understand that. It really pissed me off that none of the record companies would meet with us, or even respond to us, until we started including our picture with our demo tapes.”
Darcy nodded once. “It’s harder on women musicians. There is much more focus on your appearance.”
They pulled up to the store. Adam’s was a combination garden center and gourmet market. Elizabeth hung a shopping basket over her arm and looked at the produce section. “Do you like strawberries?” she asked, eyeing the first harvest of the season.
“Yes,” he replied, slightly surprised. “But Caro is allergic to them,” he recalled.
Elizabeth nodded and passed by the rest of the fruit. She moved on to the bakery and chose a fruit tart and a chocolate cheesecake. “That ought to satisfy everyone,” she smiled to her companion.
Darcy walked with her to the register and offered to pay. Elizabeth assured him it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted. She shrugged and waited in line. While waiting, she noticed the checkout girl watching them closely. When Darcy handed the girl his credit card, she giggled and blushed, but quickly processed the transaction. Darcy took the card back with a confident smile and warmly thanked the girl, which produced even more giggles.
“Does that happen often?” Elizabeth asked as they walked back to the parking lot.
“What? Being recognized?” He shrugged. “Not very often.”
“Do you mind it?” She was annoyed somehow by his behavior with the girl, and she realized she was now trying to provoke him.
“Not when people are polite about it. I hate it when people I don’t know stand and talk at me like I’m their best friend or something.”
“Hmm,” Elizabeth said noncommittally as she got into the car.
“Elizabeth, you better get used to this. Once your video hits MTV, your private life is over. You’ll have to be able to handle it.”
“You seem pretty sure we’ll be a success.”
“I believe you will be,” he answered. “You are a talented band, and you are going to have the label marketing supporting you.” He didn’t sound too convinced, but Elizabeth was willing to take him at his word.
“Can I ask you a question?” Darcy said softly.
Elizabeth snapped out of her thoughts. “Of course.”
“Why ‘Long Borne Suffering’?”
Elizabeth smiled ironically. “It’s actually a joke about my mother.”
Darcy looked at her, willing her to continue.
“My mother will sometimes go on these rants, complaining about things, the way everyone does, I guess. She always ends with ‘You don’t know how I suffer!’” Elizabeth grinned. “When we were putting the band together that seemed like a funny joke, so we picked it and it stuck.” She shrugged. “It’s too late to change it now. Why ‘Slurry’?”
“It’s just a name,” his deep voice said darkly.
Elizabeth didn’t believe that for a moment, but she also recognized that he didn’t want to talk about it. She had clearly reached the limit of questions she was allowed to ask for the day.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. Darcy stayed for the dessert and then left quickly afterward. Elizabeth, for her part, was glad to see him go. She spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the company of her family, the Lucases, and the Bingleys, forgetting about Darcy and his coldness.
Chapter 3
The blonde who walked out of the loft on Broone Street was not exceptional in appearance. She was attractive, but not so much that it would draw anyone’s attention. That was just how Rebecca Nelson wanted it. She walked out, her blue eyes carefully inspecting the street on that rainy morning. Seeing that it was clear, she raised her hand, and two men and a woman exited the building and entered the black limo that was waiting at the curb. Rebecca was the last to enter the limo, and it pulled swiftly away.
“Why are you here, Rebecca?” Fitzwilliam Darcy asked as he sipped his mug of green tea.
“Why, to guard you, Darcy,” Rebecca replied frankly. “Hence the term ‘bodyguard.’”
Darcy looked at the woman sitting opposite him. Rachel Brown was tall, leggy, and gorgeous. Unlike Rebecca, it was not in her job description to be unremarkable, something Rachel was quite pleased with. Her long legs flowed out of her short skirt, covered by the long jacket she wore over it. Her hair was long, dark, and wavy and her eyes were the color of a stormy ocean. Darcy asked his personal assistant in a tired voice, “Why is Rebecca here?”
Before Rachel could answer (not that she planned to) Rebecca gave up. “Okay, I’m here for two reasons. One: because you are going on tour tomorrow and you are out of practice moving with your security detail.” Rebecca ignored the way he rolled his eyes. “And two: because you are going on Fuse this afternoon.”
“What?”
Top 20 Countdown was the afternoon program on Fuse that consisted of a pair of affable hosts interviewing music stars and charming fans while counting down top music videos. Darcy hated the program and the hosts for their banality.
Rachel took a deep breath and suggested that they go over his schedule for the day.
“Yes, perhaps we should,” Darcy snapped and took another sip of his tea.
Rachel consulted her BlackBerry and began. “We are going to the studio now to meet with Caro and Charles. Caro has some papers for you to go over. At eleven you are going to see Long Borne Suffering perform. Charles has suggested that the two bands do lunch together.”
“He would,” Darcy muttered to himself.
“At one thirty you have to be at the Fuse studios. Slurry is going to be the first act on Top 20.”
“Did you know about this?” Darcy asked Richard, who had been watching him with amusement.
“Oh yeah. Caro told me Monday,” he nodded.
“Are we scheduled to perform?” Darcy asked Rachel.
Rachel had had enough. “No, you and Juliya are going to glare at each other on live TV for twenty minutes.”
“That’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not,” Rachel answered him flatly. “You are booked to play ‘Lost Myself.’” Charles and Richard will handle all the talking; you can brood in the corner.”
Darcy grew silent for a moment as he thought. “We need a violin for ‘Lost Myself.’”
“Caroline’s hired Kay,” Rachel answered efficiently.
“Kay?”
“She played for the recording and will be at the studio all day for rehearsal,” Rachel answered without looking up.
“How could you forget Kay, Darcy?” Richard said, amazed. “She was that hot redhead. She plays violin and she’s a yoga instructor?”
“And didn’t she totally reject you, Richard?” Rachel asked.
“And that’s why I’m so glad I will get to see her again,” Richard replied, grinning. “She can�
��t say no to me forever.”
Darcy was spared listening to any more of this by their arrival. The Studio, as it was called, was a large building that Darcy owned in the middle of 54th Street between 9th and 10th avenues. It was his home base, where he created the music that had made him famous and housed the offices that managed the business of the band.
Darcy waited impatiently until his security expert gave him the okay; then he marched into the building, his long black leather coat flaring out around his tall frame.
Caroline was waiting for him in the offices, examining papers on her desk. As he entered, she looked up and said firmly, “Good morning, Darcy. You are going on Top 20 today. Don’t try to get out of it.”
Darcy resembled an annoyed cat as he growled, “I hate Top 20. I hate the Juliya. I hate Allison. I hate performing like a monkey before all those drooling teenagers.”
“And they hate you,” Caroline replied, then she smiled, “but you are going.” She saw his face settling into his usual sulk and returned her attention to her papers.
“Where is Charles?”
“Watching LBS rehearse,” Caroline answered, expecting the question. “Slurry might want to rehearse as well, being that you haven’t played in three weeks.”
He gave her his trademark glower and walked into his office without comment. Twenty minutes later, Rachel left the office and Caroline was called in. Darcy’s office decor was purely functional. This was where Darcy the businessman reigned. It was a side of him he did not enjoy, so he spent as little time as he could in it. The premium equipment contained in the office was modern and expensive but entirely without soul.
“You have some papers for me?” he said without looking up.
Caroline passed a few folders over. “When are we expected to see the band?” he asked as he flipped through the documents.
“They will call for us when they’re ready,” Caroline answered. She watched him as he worked, waiting. Whether he was being Darcy the businessman or Fitzwilliam the artist, it was her job to wait on him, which she did with a loyalty that went beyond her job description. Luckily for her, Caroline was patient. She would wait for him forever.
The ringing of the phone interrupted her musings. Caroline reached across the desk for it when she saw that Darcy wasn’t moving. “Yes? Okay, we will be right there.”
She hung up and told Darcy, “They’re ready for us.”
He nodded and led the way to the next floor. They stopped at the smaller studio, where they found Richard talking to a beautiful petite woman holding a violin. “Will,” he said, a charming smile on his face, “you remember Kay, don’t you?”
In fact, Darcy did not remember her at all, although he did have to admit she was quite beautiful, and he found the knowledge that she taught yoga momentarily intriguing. He shook the lady’s hand then led Richard away to the larger studio. He found Charles waiting by the door. “Will! Richard! Wait till you see them; they’re wonderful!” he bubbled and led the way into the large rehearsal area.
Darcy found it difficult to credit Charles’s objectivity, but he had confidence in the band. He turned to look at them and blinked. For a moment he hadn’t recognized the trio.
Jane was the least altered, and it was she whom Darcy latched onto first. Her hair was now platinum blonde and her makeup was improved, with dark red lipstick, pale skin, and highly arched brows. On her left wrist she wore a length of rhinestone bracelets, her right arm free to play her instrument. She was wearing a red halter top that showed off her fine shoulders and her flat stomach. Her hips were circled by a white belt that was holding up a pair of low-slung jeans, which were peppered with rhinestones.
Charlotte was behind her drum kit, but Darcy could see her from where he stood. Her hair was even shorter now and had been dyed a dark turquoise blue, so it looked more like the feathers of an exotic bird than hair. Her makeup was dark, emphasizing her eyes. She wore a white tank top and black plastic bands around her wrists, exposing the colorful tattoo on her upper right arm.
But Elizabeth really captured Darcy’s attention. He dimly heard Charles announce, “Ladies and gentlemen, Long Borne Suffering,” as he watched her. She flashed a coy smile to the small audience and she began playing her acoustic guitar. She was wearing black leather pants that laced closed and a vibrant red shirt that clung to every curve. Her hair, which Darcy was sure he had never seen down before, was long and loose around her shoulders, its soft waves showing off the red highlights in the rich warm brown. It looked like she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all, but her eyes were huge and vivid and her lips full and red. The only jewelry she wore was a large silver pendant that hung between her breasts.
As striking as her appearance was, his attention was totally captured when she started to sing. Her voice was dark, rich, and full. Low and sexy, he wasn’t sure he had even heard the lyrics. Darcy found himself trapped in her eyes. They were so large and bright, challenging him with intelligence; he realized she was staring straight at him as she began her next verse.
Darcy could tell she was singing to him and he could not withdraw from her. His eyes devoured every inch of her as she strutted confidently over the stage area, her body swaying in a way that spoke of both sexuality and self-possession. He remained perfectly still until the song was over, when Jane immediately started the next one without a pause.
Hearing Elizabeth’s sister broke his trance, but he watched her still, fascinated. Darcy was struck by the differences in the two women. Jane’s voice expressed innocence while Elizabeth’s spoke of experience. Elizabeth played along with Jane’s singing, adding her voice for backup but completely comfortable with sharing the spotlight. Back and forth between the two women the performance went, ending thirty minutes later with Jane’s “Everything You Are.”
When they were done, Darcy approached Elizabeth directly. “You can sing,” he said in a tone of disbelief.
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, her voice puzzled. “I sing and play guitar.”
“I had no idea,” Darcy said softly.
“Didn’t,” Elizabeth frowned and started over, “didn’t you hear us perform at Meryton?”
“Yes, but you didn’t sing there.”
“Yes I did!” she protested. “If you missed me, you must have come really late to the show.”
Darcy began to get the uncomfortable feeling that he was making a fool of himself. Stiffly he replied, “Yes, we were late that evening.”
“But didn’t you listen to our CD?”
“No, I did not,” he answered her haughtily. “Frankly, it doesn’t matter to me what you sound like in a studio. We needed a band who could play live.”
“And what do you think?” Elizabeth asked him, her eyes demanding an immediate answer from him.
He stared at her for a beat. “I’ve told you before, Elizabeth, you’re very talented.”
“Darcy! Elizabeth! We’re going out to lunch to celebrate.” Elizabeth jerked, as if startled by Charles’s voice. She looked away from Darcy to the safety of her friends.
“No, Charles, I’m going to stay here,” he demurred. “I want to practice.”
“Will!” Richard protested. “Come on! We’re going to get Indian.”
Darcy refused, despite the protests of his friends. Finally, Caroline offered to bring him back something and the group moved out in a noisy cheerful mass.
Darcy shut the door, opened the case to his Paul Reid Smith, and plugged it in. For the next forty minutes, he played without thinking, processing emotions he didn’t care to examine or understand in the way he knew how. He felt troubled and frustrated, and he sought release of these feelings in the privacy of his music. His eyes closed and his breathing grew deeper as he focused on the sensations in his hands. His fingers moved of their own volition, without thought. They gently loved the instrument, caressing the strings, squeezing them tightly then releasing them, his fingertips dancing over the frets to cause the silver strands to vibrate at the rate he desired. The music
that came out of this communication between man and guitar would never be heard by another soul. It was his alone. It was a song of yearning, but even he could not name it as such. He just knew the music was him at that particular moment in time.
He stopped, slightly dazed, when the door opened and Caroline walked in. “I knew I would find you here,” she said indulgently. She placed a white paper bag on the table. “The others will be back in a moment. Now unplug, eat, and get changed.”
Darcy looked at her, his eyes expressing the gratitude his words never would. “Thank you, Caro,” he said simply.
With a nod, Caroline left the room, satisfied.
It was twenty minutes after one when Darcy walked into the office area. He was wearing skintight black leather pants, a loose white linen shirt that was left mostly unbuttoned, and boots. “Where’s Charles?” he asked, looking around.
Caroline could just see the edge of the tattoo on his left breast. “You are wearing a shirt?”
“Are you disappointed?”
“I’m heartbroken.”
Darcy’s eyes expressed annoyance. “Caroline.” She grinned when he used her full name. “Despite what you and every other woman in this building thinks, I do not go shirtless for your viewing pleasure.”
Caroline tilted her head skeptically and folded her arms across her chest.
“It’s very hot under the stage lights and I hate having anything binding my arms when I play,” he said in a low tone that was not to be challenged.
Caroline resisted the urge to comment on the fact that Darcy didn’t seem to mind having anything on his arms when he was rehearsing and moved on. “Sorry, Darcy. Charles is probably watching the video shoot.”
Darcy regarded her carefully and then shut the office door. “What do you think of them?”
She had been expecting the question. She valued her role as Darcy’s confidant and made a rule of being prepared for anything he might ask. “LBS?” she shrugged indifferently. “I like them. I mean, they are green and a little young—”
Fitzwilliam Darcy, Rock Star Page 5