by Bernie Su
“Hey, Lizzie!” Jane picked up on the first ring. “It’s so good to hear from you!”
“Hey, Jane. Good to hear your voice.” And it was, too. She sounded at once bemused and happy and engaged. Like a steaming cup of tea. All of my anger temporarily dissipated.
“Did you get my care package?”
“Yes,” I replied. Jane had sent me yet another care package, full of warmth and love and home. It made me smile and my chest all hollow and achy. “It was fantastic. I love the postcards of LA in the thirties.”
“I knew you’d like those,” she replied. “So what’s up?”
I could have told her right then. But instead, my resolve had dissipated with my anger, and I ended up chickening out. Like the coward that I was.
“Nothing,” I mumbled. “I just . . . wanted to hear your voice, is all.”
“Wow,” Jane said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “Everybody wants to talk to their big sister today.”
“Why? Did Lydia call?”
“Actually, Lydia turned up on my doorstep.”
“Really?” I sat up straight. “Wait, doesn’t she have midterms?”
“Yes,” Jane replied very carefully. “That she does.”
“OMG, is that Lizzie?” I could hear Lydia in the background, practically bouncing off the walls. “Tell her that we are going to have the awesomest time in LA and she should hop in her car and come down here and haaaaaaang!”
“Did you hear that?” Jane asked.
“Yes. Tell her that I would love to.” And I would, I realized. I would like nothing better than to hop in my car, drive through the night and wind up on Jane’s doorstep tomorrow morning, and spend the weekend with my sisters. “But unfortunately I have to stay here.”
“I’ll try to convey your disappointment.” Jane replied kindly.
“Jane, can I ask you something?” I girded my strength. Tried to find my resolve.
“Of course, Lizzie.”
“Have you heard anything from Bing?”
There was a long pause. I had never really asked Jane this directly. I always talked around it, and she talked around it, but now I had to know.
“No. Lizzie, that’s . . . that’s over.” For once, Jane let her sadness show through. But also, her resignation. She had accepted it. It was over between her and Bing. Nothing to do but move on.
“Did you ever tell him about . . . you know. The forty-eight hours of worry?”
“No.” She sighed. “By the time it had happened, there was no point. He just . . . he pulled away from me. That’s all that happened.”
All that happened was, just when Jane had realized that she’d fallen in love with him, Bing had pulled away. No, check that. Bing was pulled away. By someone who he thinks is his friend.
I fell back on my bed. The tear that had been threatening to fall all day slid out of the corner of my eye.
I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream the truth. But I couldn’t.
If I told Jane what I knew, it would just drag her back to a place she’d decided to leave behind. A place I didn’t want to see her, locked in her room for three days, picking over every aspect of their relationship. She didn’t need or want that.
But I was still stuck knowing this thing I didn’t want to know.
“So, how’s work?” I asked instead.
“Crazy. But great,” Jane said.
We talked for a couple more minutes, but since I couldn’t say what I wanted, I got off the phone pretty fast.
Now, I’m still stuck not knowing what to do. I hate this. And I hate, I hate, I hate Darcy.
I guess I have to do the only thing I can. Keep it inside. Somehow. Avoid Darcy like the plague, and hope this doesn’t bubble over into a rage-filled tirade that costs Charlotte her job—and me my dignity.
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 28TH
Well, that was interesting.
I can’t even begin to describe what just happened.
Luckily, I don’t have to. I have it all on video, and can simply transcribe it.
COMPLETE TRANSCRIPT OF EVENTS RECORDED ON SUNDAY, OCTOBER 28TH
(Knock on door.)
DARCY: Excuse me, Lizzie.
LIZZIE: Darcy! (sotto voce) What?
DARCY: I need to speak with you.
LIZZIE: Wow, this really isn’t a good time.
DARCY: Are you all right?
LIZZIE: I’m not, actually, and I don’t think you should be here—
DARCY: Please let me explain—
LIZZIE: This is the worst possible time for you to be doing this.
DARCY: I’m sorry, but the last few months have been crazy. I’ve been hiding something that I shouldn’t have, and that I can’t anymore. I need to admit something to you. Please sit.
(Shuffling noises, as seats are taken.)
LIZZIE: Well, this should be good.
DARCY: (pause) You’re filming.
LIZZIE: You have something to say to me, you say it here and now.
DARCY: I didn’t come to Collins & Collins to . . . monitor corporate progress. I came here to see you.
LIZZIE: Okay . . .
DARCY: Two parts of me have been at war. Your . . . odd family, your financial troubles—you’re in a different world from me. People expect me to travel in certain circles. And I do respect the wishes of my family, but not today. I’ve tried to fight it for months now, but Lizzie Bennet . . . I’m in love with you.
(pause)
DARCY: I can’t believe it, either. That my heart could completely overwhelm my judgment.
LIZZIE: Well, I hope that your judgment will be some solace in your rejection, because these feelings are not mutual.
DARCY: You’re rejecting me?
LIZZIE: Does that surprise you?
DARCY: May I ask why?
LIZZIE: May I ask why you’re even here despite your social class, the wishes of your family, and your own better judgment?
DARCY: That was badly put, but that’s the world we live in, you can’t deny it—social classes are a real thing. People who think otherwise live in a fantasy.
LIZZIE: And that is just the beginning of a substantial list as to why I am rejecting you.
DARCY: Such as?
LIZZIE: Such as . . . the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me was that I was “decent enough.” You act like you’d rather have a hernia repaired than be around me. You have a checklist of what makes for an “accomplished” woman. And don’t even get me started about what you did to Jane.
DARCY: What about her?
LIZZIE: You took the heart of my sister, the kindest soul on the planet, and tore it in half!
DARCY: I . . . didn’t mean . . .
LIZZIE: Why did you do it? Why, Darcy? Does causing pain to those lower than your social standing bring you joy?
DARCY: No, I simply doubted her long-term faith in the relationship. I watched her dealings with other men. At your local bar that night when he was away. She was being very social.
LIZZIE: That’s because she’s nice! Have you not met Jane?
DARCY: And what about his own birthday? Her indiscretion.
LIZZIE: Indiscre—?!
DARCY: While he was entertaining his guests. She was . . . engaging with another man. I saw it with my own eyes.
LIZZIE: That’s not true!
DARCY: It was then clear to me that Jane’s feelings for Bing were fleeting and that she never truly cared for him as he did for her.
LIZZIE: Are you kidding me?!
DARCY: From that point, I never believed that her feelings for him were any more than simply her kindness. I was protecting him.
LIZZIE: Protecting him or protecting his wealth? Did you really think that she was dating Bing for the money?
DARCY: Well, it was made pretty clear to me that this would be an advantageous relationship for her!
LIZZIE: By JANE?
DARCY: No! But by her family, YOUR family.
LIZZIE: My . . . family.
DARC
Y: Your energetic younger sister, and especially your mother. Every discussion, every moment I observed her, she would blabber about Jane and Bing—it defined and consumed her life.
LIZZIE: I . . . I’m . . .
DARCY: I’m sorry, I never thought of you that way.
(pause)
LIZZIE: And what about George Wickham?
DARCY: What about him?
LIZZIE: What imaginary act of friendship caused you to do what you did to him?
DARCY: You seem unnervingly interested in his concerns.
LIZZIE: He told me of his struggles.
DARCY: Oh, yes, his life has been quite a struggle.
LIZZIE: You destroy his life and joke about it?
DARCY: So this is what you think of me? Thank you for explaining it all so eloquently.
LIZZIE: And thank you for proving time and time again that your arrogance, pride, and selfishness makes you the last man in the world I could ever fall in love with.
DARCY: I’m sorry to cause you so much pain. I should have acted differently. I was unaware of your feelings toward me.
LIZZIE: You were unaware?! THEN WHY DON’T YOU WATCH MY VIDEOS?!
(pause)
DARCY: What videos?
END RECORDING.
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 30TH
I . . . It’s been two days and I still can’t believe he said that—and I can’t believe how I responded! Oh, shit—I told him to watch my videos. Watch my videos. If there was one person in the world who I never wanted to find out about them, it was Darcy.
I manage to be polite when forced to be in company with him—sometimes even amused—but I don’t exactly hold back in my videos. At this point, I’m betting he’s watching through the events of the Gibson wedding and our stay at Netherfield and realizing just how much restraint I practice in face-to-face situations. And some of the things I say . . . they’re not untrue, but they are likely considered defamatory.
I could get sued.
I’m going to get sued.
Oh, shit.
And what am I supposed to do now, at Collins & Collins? Just go through every day pretending it didn’t happen? That Darcy didn’t confess his (erp) love for me, and he doesn’t know about my vague Internet fame and his sort-of vague Internet fame because of it? That is going to make for one awkward budget meeting.
I can’t pretend everything is the same as before because nothing is the same. I’m not that good a liar. And . . . I can’t go on camera and pretend to all my viewers, either. This is just too big to ignore.
I really want to talk to Charlotte. And she can tell something is wrong by the way I give monosyllabic answers and change the subject when we get back to her place at night. But I’m not sure I can—I’m not sure how.
Hell, I could just show her the video . . . since Darcy decided to walk in and make his declaration while I was filming. I could show the world the video, and not go through the pain and awkwardness of having to explain it to all of the viewers.
I’m of two minds about this, though. Part of me, knowing he’s watching, wants to spare him any further embarrassment—as distasteful as I find him, I’m not vengeful. Plus, I’m not at my best, either. But then the other part of me knows that I have a contract with my audience. They are, frankly, expecting to see what happens in my life. And this is a big, big thing that happened. A reenactment wouldn’t do it justice. And hey, he knew I was filming. What he did afterward on camera is on him.
Also, 95 percent of my comments are asking, “When do we get to see Darcy?”!
Sigh. Deep breath, Lizzie. Deep breath.
What it comes down to is this: any reservations I feel be damned. I wouldn’t be honest in my communication with the world, and that’s what this entire project is about, right? So, how I come off, how he comes off—that doesn’t get to matter.
What matters is that I express the truth. In the clearest way I know how.
Well, everyone wanted to see Darcy—now they get him.
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 2ND
Darcy came by. I was filming Charlotte’s reaction to my last video when he just showed up. The bad news is, yes, he’s watched all the videos. The good news is, he promised not to sue me. But the terrible news is that he handed me this letter.
And . . . I think I may be wrong. About everything.
Lizzie—
Don’t be alarmed. This letter is not meant as a reiteration of the feelings I expressed to you previously—and as I now know, on video. I won’t do us both the insult of replaying that scene. But you once asked me to simply say what I mean, and though I made that my goal when I approached you last, apparently I had not expressed myself well before that. You charged me with two very different crimes last night, and I feel I have the right to answer those charges.
The first is that I intervened in the relationship between your sister and my friend Bing. I admitted this freely, and I stand by what I said—the reservations I expressed about your family (specifically your mother and younger sister) and our fundamental differences apply equally to Jane and Bing. But most especially I stand by what I saw when they interacted. Bing is a person who falls in love easily, be it with a girl or a house in a remote town in central California. I have seen it happen half a dozen times, and it never lasted. But Jane seemed to be different for him. Which is why it was painful for me to see that she didn’t seem to be as invested in their relationship as he was. The way she looked at and spoke to him was pretty much the same way she looked at and spoke to everyone, including myself.
I will admit, I cannot account for Bing and Jane’s interactions in private moments and, having watched your videos now paints their relationship in a very different light. It is possible Jane’s feelings for Bing were deeper than I initially thought. That said, it does not justify her indiscretion on the night of his birthday party, nor does it negate the fact that Bing was so easily separated from her. If his feelings were as engaged as Jane’s, it would have been a much more difficult task. His summer was tumultuous, anyway; it was time for him to get back to the reality of his life. Like I said, Bing falls in love easily. He also falls out of love easily.
I am sorry for any pain your sister may have felt, but perhaps it’s best in the long run. I am very cautious of situations where one of my friends might be getting used. You will see why in a moment.
The second charge you lay at my door is that I ruined George Wickham’s future, by ignoring my father’s wishes for his education after my parents’ deaths. While you may feel the weight of your accusations about Jane and Bing heavier, this one is the far worse, in my opinion. Because it is patently false.
I’m sure it doesn’t surprise you that I didn’t have many friends growing up. But one friend I did have was George. He was the son of our housekeeper, and she was practically family, having the charge of both my sister and me when we were young and our parents had to be away on business. As we got older, George and I started to go to separate schools and run in different crowds, but I still considered our friendship bedrock.
My parents died when I was a freshman in college. Technically, I was an adult, but I didn’t feel like one. Suddenly I was the head of my family’s company, and the guardian to my little sister. George—who since his mother had decided to retire had been less and less in our lives—came to me the day after my parents’ funeral. He asked, as he’d been recently accepted to college, if he would still be able to go, as my father had promised to pay for his education. I told him of course—I was aware of my father’s request and intended to honor it. But when I asked that George have the school send the bills to me, he said that he didn’t want to bother me with paperwork when I obviously had so much going on, having to deal with the company and my sister on top of being in school. I must have been run over with grief, because I agreed to simply transfer $125,000 to his bank account.
I didn’t hear from George again—which was unfortunate, because I could have used a friend then—until near the end of his first year. He said col
lege cost more than he thought, and could he please have some of the tuition bills sent my way, as my father no doubt had wanted?
I have no idea how he spent all the money, but there’s not a school in the country that costs $125,000 a year. I told him no.
Our relationship suffered after that.
I know, again from your videos, that this is not the story you were told by George. And also that your relationship with him was closer than that of mere friends. So before you discount what I say as stemming from jealousy, please consider that I do have proof—bank statements, etc. I have also known George much longer than you have. And while he can be charming, he can also be ruthless. But I didn’t know how much he hated me—and had probably hated me for a while—until he took things to the next level and involved my sister, Gigi.
As George was around when Gigi was growing up, she naturally looked up to him. She even developed a bit of a childish crush on him, but as George was our close friend, it was considered by all parties involved rather harmless.
Gigi grew up, and began college herself a few years ago. I hadn’t thought about George in quite a while when suddenly (and more recently than I think would make you comfortable) I received an email from him.
It was full of the usual cordialities. He was simply “saying hi,” was eager to catch up the next time I was in San Francisco and put the “ugly financial matters of the past” behind us. Then he included a photo. It was a penthouse apartment deck at sunset, with a girl in a hot tub. I knew that deck, that view, and that girl. It was my sister Gigi, and the photo was taken at her apartment in the city.
I left for San Francisco immediately. When I arrived at the apartment, Gigi was—to put it mildly—surprised to see me. She knew nothing, and still knows nothing, about the email George sent, which was as blatant as a ransom note. George was waiting for me to pull out my checkbook, so I did. He must have been hard up for cash, because it took significantly fewer zeroes for him to remove himself from our lives this time. But as glad as I was to see him go, he left my sister devastated to realize that the man she was falling in love with had just been using her.