by Ari Rhoge
Maybe she was a delicate flower deep down.
“Jane, I just want you to know that I'm okay with being a vomit bag,” she suddenly alerted her sister. “If you feel it, just go. I'm okay with chunkage.”
Okay, maybe not.
“I'm flattered, Lizzy… but I'm fine.”
Charlie grinned, and took her empty mug and his own from the table, approaching the kitchen sink to wash them. “You know, I really wish I had some post-birthday food, but it's all mostly hors d'oeuvres and half of a frozen cake from a bakery in the Northeast.”
“Oh, you mean like those big, iced cakes from the Russian bakeries?” Lizzy grinned, splaying out her fingers to guesstimate the size of this concoction. “With all that nauseatingly rich icing? All those chocolate layers?”
“Disgusting,” Carolyn agreed for once. “I really wish you would've let me buy the cake, Charlie.”
“No, I love those cakes. They're so rich that you kind of feel like throwing up afterward,” Lizzy justified, shrugging.
“And that's obviously something to love about them,” Darcy replied, dryly, raising an eyebrow at her from across the table.
“Yeah — I can't really explain it.” Elizabeth chewed on her lower lip in thought. “It's amazing for about two minutes, and then you just upchuck the rest of it.”
“That's gross.”
“Lizzy, how many more times in one morning are you going to mention vomiting?” Charlie said, laughing, replacing the mugs up on the highest shelf of one of his cupboards. “I think Jane sparked some morbid obsession of yours.”
“Lizzy doesn't really have a filter between her mind and her mouth,” Jane said, matter-of-factly.
“We've noticed,” Darcy muttered, into his cup, surprised to find that everyone was looking at him for a moment. He cleared his throat and dug through his laptop bag until the attention focused on something else. Thank God he had brought his Mac.
Carolyn leaned against him, watching his screen as he opened his email. “Who are you emailing?”
“Just a co-worker.”
“Wow — you're so quick with technology, Will! I can barely work a Mac.”
He distinctly saw Elizabeth roll her eyes at the other end of the table.
“Carolyn spends a lot of time on the internet,” Charlie said, smiling affectionately. “Reading CNN articles and updating her stock portfolio on Ameritrade.”
Carolyn sneered, clearly not appreciating the joke.
“No, a girl like Carolyn? She probably just uploads bikini photos to Facebook, dontchya?” Lizzy shrugged, smiling in a sense that could be described only as syrupy and very similar to Carolyn's own facial expressions.
The air was static for a second, and Jane looked worried.
Finally, Carolyn released a tinny, completely insincere laugh, and settled for watching over Will's shoulder again.
“Will, seriously, do you have to be online now?” Charlie begged. “We're sitting here having some semblance of breakfast, and it'd be nice if you could join us. This is the first semi-meal this table has seen in about a year, if you can believe it.”
“I can,” Darcy replied.
“He needs it as a crutch,” Lizzy justified. “Darcy's just socially inept.”
“Wow, are you really back to spinning judgments again?” Darcy scowled, snapping his laptop shut.
“I can't really help it — it's that filter thing, remember?” she answered, steepling her fingers and fixing him with a cool stare. “I'm apparently beyond rude.”
Jane paused. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” they chorused, one glaring and the other smiling pleasantly.
God, she pissed him off.
Carolyn, on the other hand, didn't like the cryptic connection between the both of them, and promptly pried the silver Mac from Darcy's hands and opened it up before her. “How do I access the internet?”
“Safari,” Will muttered, looking away. “—— the compass icon.”
“See? This isn't very daunting.” She cast him an award-winning smile, and Lizzy drummed knuckles loudly on the table. Carolyn flexed her fingers and opened a Gmail account, scrolling down a list of contacts. “I think I'll email Georgy today. I haven't spoken to her in so long.”
“She's probably studying,” Darcy answered.
“Such a good girl,” Carolyn sighed, typing — or rather pecking at the keys. “Does she still play the guitar?”
“No,” Darcy responded, tracing the rim of his mug idly. “She stopped a couple of months ago because it was distracting her from her studies.”
“She should've taken up the piano.” Carolyn pursed her lips. “It's a much more refined instrument.”
“And you play ——?” Elizabeth prompted, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. Darcy looked up, watching her interview Carolyn.
The elder Bingley glanced down her nose at the girl. “I used to play the flute.”
“Wasn't that in the third grade?” Charlie asked, confused. “The one you threw at Lyssa when you dropped out of the program?”
“I did not drop out of the program,” Carolyn said, pointedly, rolling her eyes. “I just declined from performing at any of the school's concerts. They were all amateurs.”
“Right,” Lizzy said, dryly, grinning. It was then that Darcy noticed that, if anything, she had uncommonly bright eyes. They might have even been considered pretty, when she wasn't glaring. Okay, fine — maybe even when she was glaring.
Carolyn ignored her comment, and raked a hand through her flatironed hair. “Anyway — I think it's wonderful that Georgy turned to music as a hobby. She's definitely growing into an accomplished young woman. —— You know, she reminds me of somebody.”
“I hope you're not going to say you,” Lizzy said, laughing. After a second, she paused at Carolyn's glare. “Oh, fuck, you were. My bad.”
“Lizzy,” her sister warned, pointedly.
“It's okay — I'm already marked in Carolyn's book,” Lizzy sighed. “I accidentally spilled Gatorade on her designer boots this morning — oh, noes.”
“You didn't!” Jane looked on, wide-eyed.
“Well, she already apologized, so it's forgotten,” Carolyn said, smiling forcedly.
Darcy raised an eyebrow, and Charlie cleared his throat, seeking refuge in jumping ahead in the topic. “I never really understood what you would mean by saying a girl's accomplished, though. What is that? A high GPA, impressive degrees, and a penchant for needlework — or something?”
Lizzy smiled at him, amused.
Darcy shrugged. “Obviously, she needs good schooling, so impressive degrees don't hurt. Some fluency in another language or two would be nice. Musical experience. Pleasant with families and children. A—”
“I'm sorry, are we talking about a Stepford Wife or something?” Elizabeth asked, eyebrow arched.
Darcy frowned. “No, not at all.”
“It's just sounds like the next thing on that list would be an affinity for cooking gourmet dinners and popping out six babies,” she shrugged. “It's like you're describing a robot.”
“That's a little harsh, speaking about your own gender, don't you think?” Darcy justified, blue eyes narrowed. “It's not unattainable.”
“Of course not,” Elizabeth said, smiling. “If she's a robot. Or a blow-up doll you can invent a story about.”
“Lizzy, I promise you not everybody has seen Lars and the Real Girl,” Jane assured her twin.
“I know, but Ryan Gosling owns.” She noticed Darcy's confused stare, and shrugged. “Look, all I'm saying is that no self-respecting woman would do all that for a man. If she does, then that bitch must be terrifying.”
Charlie snorted, laughing.
Lizzy shrugged, and leaned back in her chair. Darcy stared at her — and, once again, was nowhere closer to understanding Elizabeth Bennet.
9
—
First Impressions of Earth
It was Wednesday before I even spoke two words to Geor
gy. I wouldn't go so far as to say she had been avoiding me since Jane and I returned Sunday afternoon. But she would always leave the house just as I was digging out coffee filters, bleary-eyed, from the kitchen cabinets in the mornings — the door would slam long before I could even register sound. She'd come back an hour before midnight.
This happened on three consecutive evenings in a row.
If we had known each other longer, I might have taken the incentive to creep into her room and see if something was amiss. And it obviously was, but I'm a preachy kind of girl when it comes to privacy. Plus, bedrooms are a kind of personal sanctuary. They reveal a person's true nature, and I wasn't convinced that I was ready to deal with whatever Georgy was hiding in there — be it weed, used condoms, or a smuggled Mexican.
Then at seven o'clock that Wednesday morning, whilst I was dispersing grimy little fish food to Affleck and Damon and trying pretty fiercely to avoid getting flecks over my plaid PJs — that damned she-Darcy snuck up on me and I nearly had a heart attack.
“I just wanted to give you this,” Georgy said, quickly, blue eyes urgently wide. She pressed a slip of loose-leaf into the palm of my hand, and I must have been staring at it like I was mentally incompetent, because she elaborated with, “it's an address.”
“Oh,” I said, reading her loopy, neat scrawl:
S. 28th Street, Philadelphia, PA.
“Can you meet me there?” Georgy asked, adjusting the strap of her messenger bag. “My last class ends at four today, so let's aim for 5:30.”
And in my state of sleepy haziness, I just nodded passively.
It wasn't until three of my own classes, two Thermos flasks of coffee and one conversation with Jane later that I realized I had no idea where I would be meeting my ever-elusive housemate. Sense of direction — remember? Scant to nil.
South 28th Street was the address for a music lounge. Legit, a cramped, sleek little afterthought of a restaurant jammed between two depressed looking establishments — a drugstore and an old children's boutique.
The place was called 43 Steps. They had live music and $10 rounds of drinks. And my just-shy-of-18 housemate had led me astray here, of all places. When I found her inside at a corner table, flipping and closing her cell phone repeatedly, I couldn't help but point out, “y'know, Starbucks doesn't even serve alcohol. We could've met there.”
Georgy smiled apologetically, and we sat down — and I watched her wring her hands together repeatedly. “Lizzy, I know I have some explaining to do here.”
“That's your choice,” I said, shrugging, drumming my fingers on the tabletop. “I mean, I'm curious, sure. I have been protecting your ass from Big-Brother Darcy.” I leaned back in my chair and admired the big, looming black-and-white stills of Center City architecture hanging on the opposite wall.
“See, that's the thing,” she sighed, raking a hand through her black hair. “Will wouldn't understand. All he would see is that I'm avoiding the truth with him, and that's it.”
“Georgy, I'd love to comment.” A pause. “I just have no idea what the fuck you're talking about.”
“Fair enough,” she said, nodding, and chewing on her lower lip. And, in a second, she reached under the table and withdrew a long, distinctly instrumental case — one for an acoustic guitar.
“Do you have weapons in there? Like Antonio Banderas à la Desperado?”
“No.” She unlatched it, revealing a beautiful, if not slightly aged, acoustic.
I ran a hand down the furnished wood, up to the neck, plucking a string or two. “I heard you dropped this for your studies.”
“That's the thing,” she said, wincing. “Lizzy — I work here.”
I frowned, confused. “Sorry, what? Here.”
“Yes, at 43s.”
“You're a minor.”
“I don't wait tables — I play.” She gestured to the guitar. “—— It's a long story, but a friend of a friend heard me playing a few weeks ago on campus, and introduced me here,” she said, smiling. “And, well, I love it. It pays extremely well, and I feel really appreciated for my music.”
I blinked at her repeatedly, kind of at a loss as to what the hell a supportive housemate would say in this situation.
“Hold up.” I raised a hand. “Why would it be such a big deal if that's the case? Why would Dar —— Will —— be so pissy about your continuing music if that's what you really love?”
“Because I'm not doing too hot in my classes,” she said, wincing, resting her chin on her palm. “Or, y'know, at all. I'm an all-or-nothing girl, and music completely distracts me when I let it. Maybe it was bad timing to get this job.”
“You think?” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Please tell me you aren't flunking classes.”
She didn't say anything.
“Georgy!” I groaned. “Fuck, I can't keep covering your ass. Especially for reasons like this. Something's got to give. What are you going to do? Become a professional musician?”
Georgy slumped, looking disappointed.
“I'm not doubting your abilities —— I hear you're incredible.” I patted her hand. “But if you can't find a balance then cut it off and move on. If that's too difficult, then maybe we can work something out. But school comes first, you know that.”
“I know,” she sighed, tracing circles on the tabletop. “Especially because Will wants me to transfer to Duke once I reach a certain amount of credits — the dean's family and ours go way back, and he'd like me close to home. I need beyond stellar grades at this point.”
“First off, I don't think I've made it secret that I think your brother's a controlling —” I paused. “— person. But, besides that, you have to work something out to be well off at HU. Who found you this job?”
“This guy that my friend Lucy's sister used to date,” she said, quietly, spreading her hands out before her. “He's a little older, but he's really nice. He works here on Friday nights.” Georgy smiled slightly, but it was enough to tell me what I needed to know.
“Uhm —— how much older?”
She, wincing, said, “23?”
“I'm sure your brother's going to have a field day with that one,” I snorted, leaning back on my seat.
“We're just friends, honestly.” Georgy rolled her eyes. “I mean, he's sweet, but I'm not stupid. And speaking of Will, please don't mention anything to him, Lizzy.”
“You already know I won't.”
She stared at me meaningfully.
“So,” Georgy shrugged. “This is where I was Saturday night instead of at Charlie's,” she beamed, after a second. “It was so crowded here — it's lax at noon, but seriously.”
I smiled at her, and she adjusted her acoustic guitar with its shoulder-strap. After a moment or two, she started plucking out the first notes of what I recognized (with sheer, piss-your-pants delight) to be the beginning chords to Chris Cornell's Seasons.
“Oh, my gosh — I love you.” I sat, fascinated. “Let's have children.”
Georgy grinned, strumming the introduction with nimble, beautiful clarity. After a second or two, she began a lilting, acoustic version of Moonlight Sonata and I was lost in a daze for a good three minutes or so.
“Okay, August Rush, here's a question for you,” I pointed out, resting my chin in my hand. “Why not musical school?”
“It's not practical. Will thinks I should go into business and finance.”
“If you start one more sentence with 'Will thinks', I'm going to kill something,” I warned her.
Georgy snorted. “You really don't like my brother, do you?” She paused. “I feel like there's a stronger dislike after Saturday than before it.”
“He's a treasure trove of all things good in the world, GDarce,” I said, matter-of-factly.
One who kind of had the increasingly awkward tendency to stare at me from Sunday morning until we left in the afternoon. Glaring or just staring, or what have you, Will Darcy had one of those intense gazes you could feel in the back of your head. It was
unsettling, and it increased up until Jane and I left Charlie's.
“He's a complicated guy.”
“See, you're the second person to tell me that,” I said, clicking my tongue. “The first was Sam Hutton. I'm starting to think there's a strict family-and-acquaintance bias going on here.”
“Or maybe you're just ignoring the fact that two people are defending him,” Georgy teased, grinning. “—— Wow, Sam Hutton. I haven't seen him in years. I used to annoy him and Charlie all the time.”
“I think that position's occupied by Carolyn now,” I muttered, and Georgy laughed. “No, honestly, Georgy, the entire morning after we slept over, all she did was overkill flirt with your brother, giggle and surf Perez Hilton.”
“I would have been pretty surprised if she had done anything differently,” Georgy said, wincing. “As for Will — well, yeah. She's kind of wanted my brother since, well, ever. It's disturbing.”
“She was all cutesy about you, too. Singing praises,” I sighed. “God, but she's such a witch. She could give Cathy Ames a run for her money.”
Georgy raised an eyebrow.
“East of Eden?” I shrugged. “Never mind.”
“See, Carolyn kisses ass to get on Will's good side,” Georgy continued. “But, the truth is, Will just puts up with her for Charlie's sake. As if he could ever be interested in Carolyn.”
“It could work.” I shrugged.
“No,” Georgy said, emphatically, wrinkling her nose. “Doubtful. Besides, Will usually goes for brunettes. Or at least he did when he was still dating.” She paused. “By the way, how's Jane?”
“Sleeping,” I replied, ignoring her quip about brunettes. “I took her to the doctor's Monday morning. She's on antibiotics now — for the next few days, anyway.”
“That sucks,” Georgy said, wincing.
“I think she's okay with it, though.” I paused. “I've been picking up her assignments, and she's been at home eating leftover Chinese and watching Will & Grace reruns. Oh, and chatting it up with Charlie for the past three days.”
“Oh, really?” She smirked, intrigued.