by Bernie Su
Got to love my bestie. Always thinking of the save.
If I were at home, I would have reenacted the entire thing for Jane. . . . Although Jane isn’t at home, a fact that keeps fleeing my mind, and when I remember it, I get this small hollow feeling in my chest. I hope she’s doing well in LA. She’s sent me a care package already, and she seems to be really loving her job, but there’s a pitch in her voice that tells me something is missing.
But, if I were to talk to Jane now, she would tell me to be nice. And that’s exactly what I intend to do. I came here with the objective to see things more from Charlotte’s perspective. And there’s no reason to not extend that to Ricky Collins. Char seems to manage him pretty well, and while he can be annoying, he’s never mean. He just tends to walk in without knocking and talk way too much.
And as for Catherine De Bourgh, she can’t be that bad, either. After all, she . . . loves her dog?
However, I doubt I can extend my new open-perspective philosophy to Darcy. His defense of my (correct) argument aside, he was exactly the same tonight as he had been before: rude, standoffish, and probably thinking about what a trial it was to be forced to dine with such plebeians. So, yeah, that’s a bridge too far. Luckily, he’s just passing through. No reason to think I’ll be forced into his company again.
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 14TH
I really should just never end my diary entry on phrases like, “I’m certain to ace that exam tomorrow!” or “Let’s just keep driving over this cliff—we’re bound to land on the other side!” or “Oh, I’m sure I’ll never see him again!” It just doesn’t go well for me.
A full week after the Shock and Awe of seeing Darcy at Catherine De Bourgh’s dining table, and I hadn’t given him another thought as I went about my life. Shadowing Collins & Collins is going really well—I get to be involved in (or at least watch) all aspects of production, from writing to filming to editing, not to mention endless meetings about corporate outreach, how to create buzz, selling their “Better Living” videos to clients who want them, and then selling advertising on their own productions, like “Game of Gourds.” No wonder Charlotte works eighty hours a week, and no wonder we were spending another Sunday at the offices.
Well, at least I was. Charlotte and Ricky had a brunch with Ms. De Bourgh, where she was trying to foist a consultant on them (because Ms. De Bourgh is suddenly worried about Charlotte’s lack of corporate experience). And apparently she succeeded, because Charlotte came back with said consultant. She was adamant that I meet him.
Who’s him, you may ask?
Who do you think?
Go on, I’ll give you one guess.
“Lizzie,” Darcy said upon my entry to the conference room.
“Darcy.” I tried to mask my annoyance with pleasant disinterest. “You’re the consultant?”
“Yes. My aunt asked me to run through Collins & Collins’s numbers, to make sure that everything is progressing as it should.”
Right. Progressing as it should. Meaning, making sure that Charlotte’s lack of business experience was not a drawback to a company whose CEO has all the qualifications of an Internet-generated list of corporate buzzwords. The bonus, presumably, is to torture me. But Charlotte, with her spine of steel, did not look worried. She instead looked ready to face down the challenge.
“I’m certain you will find everything in great shape,” I said, smiling at Char.
“Yes.” He nodded. Then, “How is your family doing?”
Talk about a left-field question. Especially considering the entire room—consisting of several people—was watching us awkwardly shake hands. “They’re fine,” I replied. Then, I decided to put him under the same scrutiny he was applying to me and Collins & Collins, by asking the questions I hadn’t been able (or had been too shocked) to ask last week.
“I mentioned at dinner the other night that Jane recently moved to LA. For work. You were in LA for a while, weren’t you? Did you happen to see her?”
And I was rewarded by watching him squirm.
“No,” Darcy replied. “Los Angeles covers a large area. I, uh . . . I did not see your sister.”
“That’s enough small talk; now let’s get to the real reason you’re here!” said the smiling, afro’d guy behind Darcy bouncing on the balls of his classic Adidas shell tops. “And that’s to meet me. Hi—Fitz Williams.”
He held out his hand. And when I took it he pulled me in for a hug.
“I am Darcy’s better half and business partner in a few of his half dozen companies. And I have heard plenty about you, Lizzie Bennet.”
“You have?” I froze, my eyes shooting to Darcy. He looked at his shoes. “That can’t be good.”
“Or, it could be great. You have no idea, and you’ll just have to keep guessing, Lizzie B! Now, tell me all about yourself. Start from birth.”
“Well, I was born in California . . .” I began, laughing, but then Darcy cleared his throat.
“I’m already riveted,” Fitz said, taking his cue. “But we’re gonna have to save it for dinner. You, me, my boyfriend Brandon, who is already going to love you because he has a thing for redheads. You in?”
How could I not be in?
If I’m forced to endure Darcy while I’m here, at least he comes with a side of Fitz. A cheerful, engaging guy with manners and charm. How is it possible Fitz is friends with Darcy? Then again, I find anyone being friends with Darcy inexplicable.
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 19TH
It’s an interesting thing, shadowing a company that has recently been placed under the supervision of a consultant. Because basically, he’s shadowing the company, too.
Which means that every photo shoot, every filming, every meeting, every editing session that I am observing, Darcy is observing as well.
He’s everywhere. I can’t escape him. If I try to arrive early to a meeting, he’ll be loitering in the hall outside, insanely punctual and pleased to “escort me in.” If I try to arrive at the last minute, he’ll have held the meeting from starting so I could be shamed for my tardiness as I try to slip in unnoticed.
This has had the odd effect of making me very aware of Darcy, whether he’s there or not. It’s like my brain goes on high alert every time I’m in the Collins & Collins offices. Is he here? No? Then where is he? Knowing is the only way to avoid him!
This is normally where I would say thank God for Charlotte, but having Darcy here means she’s now working 160 hours a week just to make sure everything is too perfect to possibly find fault with, so instead, I’m going to say thank God for Fitz. Fitz makes everything fun. You name it—meetings about show development, the interminable process of editing a “Better Living” video—if Fitz is there, it’s already 1,000 percent better.
Heck, he even made this week’s foray into Dining with De Bourgh (™ me, a couple of entries ago) enjoyable.
Well, tolerable at least.
I think I’m getting used to Catherine De Bourgh. She’s just someone who wants to exert her influence on the world and is used to doing so because she has money to invest. And since she doesn’t have children, she overly involves herself in the lives of her nephew, his friend, and her weird ratty dog.
And her niece. Because this time around, the game was Compare Lizzie Bennet Unfavorably to Georgiana (Gigi) Darcy.
“How’s your sister Georgiana getting on?” Ms. De Bourgh asked Darcy, tacitly ignoring the rest of the table.
“Quite well. Actually, she’s now nationally ranked in tennis.”
“Splendid, splendid! You see, Liz, what dedication to an activity gets you? It’s too bad you gave up on tennis, although you likely don’t have the arm strength for it. You know, William, it was so unfortunate when Georgiana gave up swimming.”
“It’s for the best,” Darcy said stiffly (more stiffly than normal, even). “She wished to focus her accomplishments.”
“Such a work ethic! Liz, you should take notes—you girls today are much too prone to time-wasting.”
Darcy s
lid a glance at me that could only be called sidelong before replying, “My sister certainly does not engage in time-wasting activities.”
Again, if Fitz hadn’t been there, making funny faces at me behind Ms. De Bourgh’s back and talking to me like an adult about the finer points of business plans versus grad papers, I would have had a hard time keeping it together, even for Charlotte’s sake.
Fitz is certain I would like Gigi. He thinks she’s a cool kid, but from everything I’ve heard, she’s as focused and driven and snobby as her brother. Although I did hear a lot of that from George, so . . . consider the source.
And given the choice between the two, I would much rather believe Fitz, and give Gigi the benefit of the doubt. But then again, I don’t know if Fitz’s judgment is sound when it comes to the Darcys. After all, he thinks Darcy is a good dancer, and that he charmed the pants off of the poor girl who was forced to dance with him at the Gibson wedding.
And for a guy who is so focused and driven and snobby, and not to mention anti–time-wasting, Darcy does seem to be spending a lot of time loitering in hallways, looking at his phone, and then putting it away in a hurry when he sees me. If he has better things to do, he doesn’t have to be here, prying into Charlotte’s business. And there is no definitive end to his “consulting.” Fitz said it was only supposed to be a couple of days, but Darcy keeps wanting to stay and dig deeper.
I hope that doesn’t mean Charlotte, or Collins & Collins, is in trouble.
MONDAY, OCT 22ND
It’s no secret that I find Darcy strange. Annoying, aggravating, snobby, and pretentious, too, but mostly strange. But perhaps, yesterday was the strangest Darcy encounter of all.
I was in my little office at Collins & Collins, yet again on a Sunday. I could have stayed at Charlotte’s, but she had a morning brunch with De Bourgh (the amount of time she and Ricky spend placating that woman’s need to micromanage while she eats is amazing) and was coming back to the office afterward, so I decided I would just meet her here. I was in the process of setting up my camera for my regularly scheduled recording of my video, when who should walk into the empty office but Darcy.
“Oh. Hello,” he said, as if he was surprised to see me. In my office.
“Darcy—what are you doing here?”
“I was . . . just passing, and I thought I might check with Charlotte . . .”
“Charlotte’s at brunch with your aunt.”
“Oh,” he replied quickly. “I see.”
“She should be back relatively soon, if you want to wait.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
And he took a seat. In my office.
Obviously, I should have clarified that I meant he could wait in the office that was assigned to him down the hall, not in mine. But I didn’t, so there was little choice but to sit down as well.
“Are you filming something?” he asked, nodding toward the camera resting on its tripod.
“Oh!” I exclaimed. “No. That’s not on.”
“What’s it for?” he asked.
There are times when it’s okay to tell small fibs, massage the truth, if you will. Then, there are times when you have to outright lie.
“I . . . sometimes record things. Just notes. Documentation. To help with my, um, thesis.”
Luckily, he seemed to buy it, and didn’t poke all the obvious holes in such a lame excuse. In fact he just nodded, distracted, and looking out the window.
And said nothing.
“So . . .” I ventured after an uncomfortable amount of silence. “Were you hoping to talk to Charlotte about the operational report?”
“Yes,” he answered, although it seemed like the idea had just occurred to him.
“But I thought it wasn’t due until next week.”
“It’s not,” he agreed quickly. “I just . . . like to stay on top of things.”
And again . . . silence.
Clearly the onus of conversation was going to be on me, so I decided perhaps it was a good time to bring up subjects he had successfully avoided in the past.
“So, how are Bing and Caroline?”
“They are well.”
“You, Bing, and Caroline all left the neighborhood in quite a hurry at the end of the summer.”
That only garnered a stiffening of the mouth and furrowing of the brow.
“Do you think Bing might ever come back to Netherfield?”
“I doubt it,” Darcy replied. “He’s very busy in Los Angeles with medical school and new people.”
I nodded and tried not to let the acid churn in my stomach, lest I get an ulcer.
“Well, if he’s not going to come back, is he going to sell the property?” I asked.
“If he can. It was an impulsive purchase, considering the way the market is. For now he’ll likely rent it.”
Right. Impulsive to buy, impulsive to leave.
Darcy, probably sensing he was treading on thorny territory, tactfully changed subjects.
“Your friend Charlotte seems to have settled in well here at Collins & Collins.”
“Yes, she has.” I couldn’t help but smile. “I wasn’t very supportive at first, but it turns out I was completely wrong. She’s doing very well, and I am incredibly proud of her.”
“Must be useful, too, to be working so close to your hometown.”
“Close?” I scoffed. “It was a four-hour drive.”
“Close is relative,” he replied. “A four-hour drive means she can make it home if she’s needed. Or if she just wants to visit for the weekend.”
“True,” I mused. “But it’s also not too close. That way she doesn’t get sucked back into the minutiae of daily life there, and she can make her own life here.”
“Exactly,” he agreed, and weirdly was almost smiling. “Not too close and not too far is ideal. Your friend likely prefers it. You would probably prefer it as well. You could even move farther away.”
I had—and still have—absolutely no idea what he meant by that. Did he mean I would be happy living in Siberia? Or that I was destined to move up here and eventually go to work for Charlotte?
My confusion must have shown on my face, because he blushed and looked out the window again. Then, after a lengthy pause, he suddenly stood up.
“I should go.”
“Really?” I stood up, too—it seemed like the thing to do. “But Charlotte should be back—”
“No, I’ll . . . I’ll see her tomorrow. It wasn’t important.”
Before I could ask if the operational report was so unimportant, why was Charlotte killing herself over it, he had stalked out of the room and was gone.
Leaving me completely perplexed. But at least it made for a good video, once I was certain he’d actually left the building.
It seems like the more I’m thrown into Darcy’s company, the less I understand him.
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 25TH
I am LIVID. I don’t even know where to start.
No, that’s wrong—I do know where to start. Start at the place that all of my problems originate lately: Darcy.
Why am I so livid at the person who just days ago was vaguely strange, mildly irksome, but tolerated for politeness’s sake? Because now he’s not vaguely strange and mildly irksome. He’s the WORST HUMAN BEING TO ROAM THE EARTH. No, check that—HE DOESN’T EVEN GET THE TITLE OF HUMAN BEING. HE IS PROTOZOAN POND SCUM.
Because now I know that it was Darcy who decided that Jane didn’t deserve Bing, and broke them up.
And I got it straight from the business partner of the horse’s mouth.
Fitz told me. We were hanging out, and he thought he was defending Darcy—since it is not a secret (at least to Fitz) that I am slightly unimpressed by his friend. He was telling me how Darcy is actually a really good guy. And if you’re his friend, he’ll do almost anything for you. Then I asked for an example.
“Last month, he warned a friend about a girl he was seeing. He pulled him away from the whole situation. He warned him that it was . . . unhealthy.
She was bad news.”
“Who was the friend?”
“Bing Lee.”
It was like the world was shifting under my feet, and all I could do was hold on to my chair. When I managed to put two words together and ask what reason Darcy gave for wedging himself into the lives of Bing and the as-yet unnamed girl, he said that the girl was a gold digger—not being real, and only in it for the money.
So to recap: DARCY thought JANE was the insincere one. That she was only with Bing for his money.
Now, my sister has been called a lot of things: sweet, kind, a living Disney princess, but none of those things imply that she would ever date someone just for his money.
I know I speculated in the past about Darcy’s involvement in somehow breaking up Bing and Jane. But it’s one thing to wonder; it’s another thing to know.
And I don’t want to know this! That must be the case, right? How else to explain why I have been paralyzed from doing or saying anything since I found out yesterday? All I’ve done is dodge Darcy in the hallways and tried to process this new information.
I don’t want to know that people exist who could possibly think that badly of my sister. I don’t want to know that Bing is apparently so incredibly wishy-washy that he would believe his “friend” over someone who loves him like Jane. And I don’t want to know that people like Darcy get to roam free. I prefer to think that life is like a superhero movie—good prevails and the bad guy’s facing twenty-five-to-life for general dickishness.
But sometimes the bad guy does get away with it. Sometimes, he does get to destroy other people’s lives. Like Jane’s. Heck, like George’s.
Why am I such a coward that I can’t confront him with this? Why am I so afraid to even tell Charlotte? It’s simple—he has the ability to ruin my friend’s career. She’s all wrapped up in operational reports, and he has his aunt’s ear.
I was stuck with my feelings balling up, powerlessness rendering me frustrated to the point of shaking, so when I got back to Charlotte’s tonight, I resolved to tell someone. Thus I called the one person who most deserves to know.