by Bernie Su
Caroline preened. “See, I told you.”
“Come on. The women around here have grace and style,” Bing said. He did glance at Jane then, and I watched her blush. “They’re funny, and kind, and can balance a checkbook. What more do you want?”
“And that’s the problem. The bar is set too low. Some women are considered together if they know how to tip a waiter and go to the gym twice a week. I doubt there are half a dozen women I know who actually have their lives together,” Darcy said.
I can feel my blood starting to boil just remembering him saying that.
“Then you must have a very strong opinion of what constitutes someone who is together.”
He looked at me directly then.
“I do.”
“Oh,” Caroline said, not noticing the stare-off between us. “Like what, Darcy?”
And then he proceeded to reel off his List.
“Someone who is together is someone who is fiscally responsible . . . and interested in arts and culture beyond the standard Hollywood movies or pop music. Someone who is physically fit, and takes care of herself. And also takes care of others by being courteous, and has a charitable nature.
“But she should be selective of who she spends her time with. Education is important, so she should at least have or be pursuing an advanced college degree, and fluency in more than one language is so important in this day and age. As is being up to date on current affairs, and I’m not talking about who did what on whatever reality show seems to have gripped the nation at the moment. That is not a talent anyone need pursue.” He paused, seeming to consider a moment. “Oh, and she should be well read, especially in the classics.”
I don’t know which was more amazing—the fact that Darcy said that many words to me at once, or the fact that he obviously meant it.
You hear about guys who have prerequisites. You read articles about them putting those requirements up on their online dating profile and then being shocked when they get no dates . . . and you laugh and laugh at their boy rage. But I’ve never actually met a guy who has such a list. Or at least, I’ve never met someone willing to admit it.
“You said that you know six women that fit these standards?” I asked bluntly.
“I said I doubt I know as many as six.”
“I can’t imagine you know any.”
“I do!” Caroline piped up. “There’s Gigi, Darcy’s sister—”
“There is no woman in the world who meets every requirement on that list. In fact,” my eyes fell to my book, “the only one I can think of is Anna Karenina. And she’s fictional.”
“Anna Karenina?” Darcy asked, skeptical.
“Tolstoy wrote the perfect woman. Elegant, refined, socially savvy. She was, in fact, your perfect woman. Until she dared to be herself.”
“And that didn’t go so well for her, did it?”
I felt the corners of my mouth tighten. “No. But I like to think that women don’t live and die by what people think of them anymore.”
Before Darcy could respond, Caroline broke in, her voice over-bright.
“Ugh, this is so boring. Bing, deal out another round—or better yet, who wants a cocktail? I have a great organic juice Daquiri recipe!”
Darcy seemed happy to go back to his computer, and I was happy to drop the subject. But that didn’t mean I got any reading done.
I couldn’t help running the list over in my head. Trying to imagine the person that would pass muster. It sure isn’t me. Honestly, I think I hit three—maybe—out of all eleven requirements.
I am pursuing an advanced degree, and I do read a lot. When it comes to languages, I’m passably fluent in HTML. But everything else . . .
Jane’s the charitable, courteous one. I have too short a temper, am too quick to bring the snark.
As for exercise, I haven’t played tennis in years.
My student loan situation speaks to my fiscal responsibility.
While not a fan of most reality TV, Top Chef rules.
And you know what? I occasionally like going to see the latest cheesy blockbuster with a big bucket of popcorn. So sue me!
Darcy’s list is preposterous. Unachievable by human standards—male or female. Though apparently he was raised to expect no less than Wonder Woman as his potential life mate.
But the scary thing is he’ll probably end up with a reasonable facsimile. There is a bubble of delusional privilege that people like Darcy live in, so he’s likely to find someone who wants the status he has to offer so much, she’ll bend herself into a pretzel trying to hit every check box on his List.
That’s what his money will buy him. Someone perfect, but empty.
All last night did was solidify my opinion of Darcy, and make me glad that our two weeks of house-guesting will be up any minute.
I cannot wait to get out of here.
SATURDAY, JULY 21ST
We’re still here.
The remodel has been extended. According to Mom, and every single home repair show I’ve ever watched, this is normal. It always takes longer than the time quoted by the contractor.
But I can’t help but be frustrated by the fact that we are still here. We still have to wear a bra under our pajamas when we leave our rooms. We still are not allowed to pour ourselves a bowl of raisin bran for breakfast on the way out the door, lest the chef think we don’t prefer his morning quinoa-and-cranberries mix. And we are still forced into group activities, to foster . . . I don’t know. A higher tolerance for a certain douchebag?
Don’t get me wrong, Bing and Caroline have been great, but there is only so long a person can be on her absolute best behavior without psychosis setting in.
I’ve resolved to spend as little time as possible at Netherfield, and for the past two days, I certainly managed it. I have my comfy chair in the library for thesis work and tutoring students. I roped Charlotte into yet another twenty minutes of coffee and catch-up. And I even went to the movies by myself, enjoying a vat of popcorn and gratuitous explosions (followed by a British costume-drama palate cleanser).
But weekends are harder. I do occasionally need a day to recharge my brain. Plus, Jane has weekends off, and she wants me to join in with everyone at Netherfield—and it’s hard to say no to her.
But of course, on weekends, Darcy doesn’t have anyplace to go, either.
Today, we enjoyed a nice, lazy afternoon. I was in the family room helping Jane put together a care package for Lydia. Everyone was there. Caroline was idly reading her iPad, while Bing was ostensibly trying to find a college football game on TV, but really he was too invested in seeing what Jane was putting in the care package to channel-surf. I had been put in charge of curling ribbon. Jane knows my visual/craft talents are limited, and that I’m best left to basic manual labor.
Darcy of course was in the farthest possible corner of the room, click-clacking away on his laptop, as per usual.
“That is a lot of glittery unicorn stickers,” Bing said, seeing the piles of sticker books going into the care package.
“Yes, but I couldn’t resist. They are all so Lydia.” Jane wrinkled her nose as she put them in the box, along with a few lipsticks and a bell toy for Kitty. “I miss my little sister.”
I met Jane’s eyes. I do, too, I suppose. There has been a certain amount of boy-crazy hyperactivity and chaos missing from my life the past couple of weeks.
“Speaking of little sisters,” Caroline jumped up, carrying her iPad over to Bing, “have you seen Gigi’s new Twitter background? I know she did it herself.”
Bing glanced at it and showed it to Jane. “Very nice,” she said. “She has a good eye for colors.”
“Good eye?” Caroline scoffed. “Gigi Darcy is soooo talented.” She marched over to Darcy, on the far side of the room, and leaned over his keyboard and typed in the URL.
“See? I’m in raptures over it.”
Darcy sighed. “I’ve seen it. It’s very good.”
“Are you writing an email to Gigi? Tell her t
hat I love the new background. It’s so cute!”
“I’ll tell her to call you. I’m sure I couldn’t do your enthusiasm justice.”
I’m still a little clueless about Caroline’s friendship with Darcy. When she’s with him, she’s all over him—trying to get him to come and hang out, play games, compliment her hair (which is like a black silk curtain—how do I get my hair to do that?). But when she’s with me, and especially on the videos, she’s more than happy to encourage my Darcy-bashing. It’s as if she won’t let me keep my opinion about him to myself; she wants everyone to know.
Maybe she’s just trying to be a good hostess to her brother’s friend? And expressing her frustration with him when she’s with me?
But at that moment, she was draped on his chair’s arm, trying to get him to engage with the group. Which he seemed bound and determined to not do.
“That sister of yours is going to do something amazing.” Caroline gasped. “Like . . . oh! Maybe she’ll create her own handbag line! You should suggest that to her.”
“I don’t know if my sister has much interest in handbags. I think that suggestion might be better coming from you.”
He went back to typing.
“You are so dedicated to your business. I can’t seem to focus when I’m out of the office.”
“Good thing you don’t have my job, then.”
More typing.
“Good Lord, you type fast!” Caroline remarked.
“On the contrary. I type slow, comparatively.”
“Oh?” she smiled at him. “Comparative to what?”
“People who don’t think about what they say. They just send it off in a rush.”
Bing barked out a laugh. “Don’t get offended, Caroline. That one was directed at me. Darcy keeps sending me back my own emails with my typos fixed. Put the laptop away, man. No one else is working. It’s weird.”
“That was why I was working in my room, until you insisted I come down here. The only strange thing is you thought it wouldn’t be weird,” Darcy said.
“I thought you could use a break.”
“You thought wrong.” Darcy went back to his computer for a moment; then his head came up again. “And as for your typos—you’re going to be a doctor, Bing. Being clear is important.”
“It’s true.” Bing smiled, and winked at Jane. “There aren’t that many letters difference between ‘Advair’ and ‘Advil.’ ”
Jane giggled. And I have to admit, I did, too. Whatever criticism Darcy whips out, it just rolls off of Bing.
But Darcy remained stern. “It’s not just that. You could be less . . . effusive.”
“It’s true.” Caroline sighed. “My brother has always said whatever he’s thinking at the moment, no filter whatsoever.”
“And I don’t consider it a bad thing,” Bing replied.
“Neither do I,” Jane added sweetly.
“Of course you don’t, Bing—you consider it a mark of pride,” Darcy chided. “Every typo and illegible autocorrect is a badge of honor. It means you are thinking so fast you can’t be bothered with circumspection. And such a lack of circumspection opens you up to being used.”
Used. He didn’t have to look at us as he said it, but I knew he was talking about me and Jane, using Bing while our house is being remodeled. It was all I could do to not growl under my breath.
“So basically, what you’re saying is that Bing is too open and too nice?” Caroline raised an eyebrow.
“That’s not possible.” Jane squeezed Bing’s hand, but she shrunk back a little. This argument was getting a little too combative for her, even though Bing was still smiling.
“There is one person in this room studying communications,” Darcy said abruptly. “Perhaps we can ask her which is better.” He kept his eyes on his computer. But he had stopped typing.
Everyone else was looking at me. I swallowed. Then I gave my honest opinion. “I think that, of the two, being an open person is certainly better.”
Darcy looked up at me. I met him stare for stare.
“Too much restraint in communication is just as bad as none at all. If you’re too careful, you can never really say what you mean. Or, mean what you say.”
“Thank you, Lizzie,” Bing said. “And what I mean to say right now is that I think we should check out that winery we saw on our carpool the other day. Now that Jane’s cold is gone we all can go. What do you think?”
Jane smiled at him, much more comfortable with the change of subject. Caroline was in wholehearted agreement on the winery plan, going on about driving with the convertible top down and plotting what to have the chef make for a picnic. Meanwhile, Darcy held my gaze for another long second, until he returned to his keyboard.
TUESDAY, JULY 24TH
Almost through week three at Casa de Lee, aka Netherfield, and things have only gotten weirder.
Earlier tonight, Caroline asked me to take a turn about the room.
She’s gotten this new fitness band that buzzes when she’s been sitting for too long. It’s supposed to encourage movement and health. Although why Caroline decided to suddenly get physically fit now is beyond me—she’s already a macrobiotic goddess.
Anyway, I came into the sitting room (or is it the living room? I remember Bing calling it something else but I don’t know what. So many rooms!), and Darcy and Caroline were there. Darcy was on his computer—let’s not be shocked—while Caroline was talking to him.
“ . . . said open is better, so she obviously wouldn’t mind. Your house would be overrun with in-laws,” Caroline was saying to a tight-lipped, computer-focused Darcy.
“What are you guys talking about?”
“Oh, Lizzie! Come join us!” Caroline cried, jumping up and waving me over to them.
“Are Jane and Bing not back yet?” I asked. Bing had taken to “giving a ride” to work with Jane in the morning and evening. Except, Bing didn’t have a work to go to, so basically, he was driving Jane around. Which gave them some much-needed alone time, and often, they would take the long way home, meandering down country roads and driving to the coast to watch the sunset. I’m going to assume that’s not a euphemism, because it’s Jane. She really likes a good sunset.
I came and sat beside Caroline.
“So, Lizzie . . .” she said.
“So . . . Caroline.”
“How was your day?”
“Good,” I replied, dodging a hair flip from her. She seemed to be oddly postured, like she was trying to show herself off to advantage. “I . . . am through Anna Karenina with my student. On to War and Peace.” I was also really pleased with myself because I had finished laying out my rough outline for the framework of my thesis. Although I don’t talk much about my thesis in front of anyone here, since there is the chance I would then have to explain it. Which means I would have to tell them about my videos, and that would not end well.
“Good for you, and good for your student!”
“Thanks,” I said. “Well, I should go read.” Again. Some more.
“Don’t let our presence send you away,” Darcy droned from behind his computer. “If you wanted to read in here, we would not bother you.”
“Right!” Caroline agreed immediately. “Darcy has work to do; so do I. It’ll be like a . . . study session.”
And with that enticing invitation, I sat down on the couch and proceeded to read.
Darcy returned to typing and ignoring everything else.
Caroline, however, did not settle into her work as easily as we did. Whatever her work may be, I doubt it involved Twitter, which is what I saw on her screen when I glanced over her shoulder.
“Oh, my God, Darcy, you have to see this ugly baby picture our friend posted.”
Darcy didn’t look up.
Caroline blew out a sigh, meeting my eye with a frustrated smile. I guess Darcy had been getting to her all day.
“Isn’t this so much fun?” she asked no one in particular, breaking into the silence again. “I can’t imagine
a better way to spend my afternoon in this town.”
I smiled at her, trying to commiserate, but pretty soon I fell back to reading, the only sound in the room being the clickety-clack of Darcy’s keys. (He types with some serious force. He must go through keyboards by the dozen.) Until, of course, Caroline’s wristband buzzed.
“Oh!” she said, popping up. “Time to walk!”
She proceeded to walk the length and breadth of the room, in a big, wide circle. It was a little strange, but people have done stranger for physical fitness.
“Lizzie!” Caroline came over to me. “Join me! Come on, it feels good to move after sitting for so long. Let’s take a turn about the room.”
A slightly odd request, but then again, no one wants to look silly alone. So I figured what the hell, and joined her in another circle of the room.
“I knew it,” she whispered to me. “I knew that if we both started walking around, Darcy would have to stop being so rude and look up from his ‘duties.’ ”
I stole a glance at Darcy. Yes, for the first time that evening, he’d brought his eyes up from his computer, and was watching us. In fact, he’d even closed his computer.
“Would you like to join us, Darcy?” Caroline asked sweetly as she passed him.
“No, thank you.”
“Why not? It’s good for you.”
“Because I can see through your deceptive motives, Caroline.”
“Deceptive motives?” she gasped. “Me? Lizzie, what is he talking about?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” I replied, trying to stay out of it.
“The two of you are either together to banter about secrets, or you know the aimless strolling about the room shows your figures.” He laced his fingers over his closed laptop. “If the first, I should be in your way. If the second . . . the view from here will do.”
Okay, wait . . . did Darcy just say he was ogling us? I didn’t know if I should be insulted, complimented, or shocked . . . I decided to go with shocked. Shocked that he’d closed his computer. Shocked that he said something slightly risqué. Shocked that he was looking at me as he said it.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one who was shocked, because Caroline’s jaw dropped and she squeaked. “Darcy! How can you say that?!”