Love and Loathing

by Gigi Blume

  “Pride,” offered Mary, “is different from vanity. Pride can have a lot to do with one’s accomplishments. For example, I’m proud of my grades.”

  “And we’re all proud of you, dear,” Dad appeased with a nod.

  “But vanity,” she continued, “that has more to do with one’s preoccupation of what other people’s opinions of them are. So like I want Mom and Dad to be proud of me, that’s fine. But I shouldn’t care what the popular girls at school think about me. That’s vanity.”

  “Thank you, Mary,” I deadpanned. “So very helpful.”

  “Oh, yes,” my father winked at me. “Your sister is a young lady of deep reflection.”

  “And she quotes great books,” I agreed.

  “In any case,” said Dad. “If Will Darcy really is the devil Jorge paints him to be, there’s nothing we can very well do about it. Just don’t tell your mother.”

  “Don’t tell your mother what, exactly?” Mom had her phone in her hand and entered the kitchen with her war face.

  Mary, always seeking approval from either one of my parents, couldn’t keep anything from them and blurted, “Will Darcy is a jerk-face.”

  My mouth fell open. “Mary!”

  Also—jerk-face? She was adorably juvenile.

  “Oh, I knew that,” said my mother with a wave of her hand. “Everybody knows that. Don’t you people read?”

  That was an ironic statement coming from Mom because the only reading she did was on gossip sites. Dad and I stared at her for a few seconds because all this time we thought her celebrity crush on Martin Darcy extended toward his son. I surmised by her candid dismissal of Mary’s statement that Mom had found some dirt on Will in the tabloids, and apparently, it didn’t bother her much.

  “Then what are you so bent out of shape about?” Dad asked. “I know you didn’t come in here for a cup of tea.”

  Dad knew Mom so well, it was scary. Or rather, Mom was scary and Dad knew that so well. Or something.

  Mom held up her phone and shook it for emphasis. “You’ll never guess what I saw on Facebook.”

  “You’re right,” said Dad. “I’ll never guess.”

  “Well, don’t you want to know?”

  “I know you want to tell me. And where am I to go at this time of night to avoid hearing it?”

  Her jaw dropped in furious indignation, and she waved her phone at him. “You are impossible. You don’t even know about my stress.”

  “That’s not true, my dear. I’ve lived with your stress for twenty-eight years.”

  “Fine,” she exclaimed. “I won’t even tell you.”

  “If that’s what you want.” He smiled.

  Mom huffed, stomped one foot, and turned toward the door but changed her mind and immediately spun back around.

  “It’s Mrs. Lucas. She had the nerve to post this on Facebook.”

  She unlocked her screen and handed me the phone. I glanced at it with amusement. It was a video of a monkey playing the accordion.

  “That’s funny,” I said, laughing.

  She bent her head to see what was so funny.

  “Oh, wait.” She grabbed the phone from my hands and tapped around to find what she was looking for. “Here.”

  I accepted the phone, again assaulted by Mrs. Lucas’ newsfeed. It was mostly political nonsense and photos of her garden. But one post in particular stood out in bold lettering on a bright pink background.

  “SO PROUD OF MY DAUGHTER AND HER NEW BOYFRIEND”

  All caps. Somebody needed to inform that woman of internet etiquette.

  I looked up at Mom. “So?”

  “I did a little digging. That so-called new boyfriend is the same man who wants to date you, Lizzie. That choreographer.”

  My sister took her turn with the phone and scrolled to the comments where there was a photo of Colin taken off the internet.

  “I knew the Lucases were jealous of us, but I didn’t think they’d go so far as to lie.” Mom paced the small space of the kitchen. “It makes me so angry to have neighbors who only think about themselves.”

  “What do you care who their daughter is dating?” Dad questioned.

  “Because that famous choreographer is sweet on Lizzie!”

  Mom was practically screaming by now. Any more excitement, and we’d have to give her a paper bag to breathe.

  “I don’t like him, Mom,” I said, trying to calm her. “I told you that.”

  Her face morphed into a scowl that Maleficent would envy.

  “I didn’t put you through college so you can just throw every opportunity out the window. You are going back there to tell that man you’ve changed your mind.”

  “What are you talking about?” I cried. “One, I don’t know where he is right this second, and two, he’s dating Charlotte.”

  “Lizzie, don’t you realize you are committing career suicide? Call him on the phone and apologize. I’m sure you can salvage something out of this fiasco.”

  “What part of ‘he’s dating Charlotte’ don’t you understand?”

  “I am still paying for your bachelor’s degree,” she growled. “I wanted you to be a lawyer, but noooooo! You had to be an actress. You swore to me that you would work hard and make it all worth it.”

  “I am working hard.”

  “This man could give you the push your career needs. Charlotte stole him from you. So, go steal him back.”

  “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s boyfriend,” said Mary.

  “Go to bed, Mary.” Mom was almost ready for that paper bag. “Tell her, John. Tell her what she has to do.”

  Dad arched his brow and let go of a deep breath. He glanced at me, glanced back at Mom, and back at me again, and when he spoke, his calm, soft voice was almost a whisper.

  “Well, Lizzie, it seems your mother has some strong opinions about this.”

  “I’ll pay you back for college,” I said. I was so tired of Mom bringing it up whenever she wanted to throw something in my face.

  “Tell her she has to call that choreographer,” she demanded.

  Dad looked from Mom to me. This was ridiculous.

  “He’s not even that famous, Mom.”

  “Tell her, John. If she doesn’t call that man…” She paused for a moment to think of a good ultimatum. When I was sixteen, it took her an entire weekend to decide my punishment for staying late at a party. Finally, she grounded me—for the entire weekend. My sentence was over before it began. I didn’t have that kind of time to hear what she had to say.

  “If she doesn’t call him,” she decided. “I will never speak to her again.”

  Whoa. That was harsh. A little melodramatic, maybe. Even for Mom.

  “Hmmm.” Dad got up and cleared the empty Coke bottles. “You have a tough choice, Lizzie. Your mom will never speak to you again if you don’t call Charlotte’s boyfriend.” He put the bottles in the sink and rinsed them. “And I will never speak to you again if you do.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh a little. That was Dad for you: always the pragmatic one in the family. Mom wasn’t happy about it, though. Dad blew her a kiss, and she stormed out of the kitchen. She’d get over it eventually.

  Mary, who hadn’t gone to bed as she was ordered, watched with eyes as big as saucers while Mom left the room. I half-expected her to offer another one of her insightful, philosophical extracts, but she waited until Mom was completely gone and looked between me and Dad, silently asking if this was all a bad joke. I just shrugged and picked up the plates to join Dad at the sink, and that’s when Mary shouted at the top of her lungs, “You ate all my kettle chips!?”

  Oops.

  16

  At Common Sense She Gaily Mocks

  Beth

  If I were the type of person to hold a grudge like some people who will remain anonymous (whose name rhymes with kill), my friendship with Charlotte could have suffered damage of momentous proportions. But as I wasn’t like a certain someone (whose name rhymes with kill), Charlotte and I were on go
od terms by the following morning. I don’t remember who called who, but I can tell you we both stretched out the proverbial olive branch and laughed about it.

  Over the course of our conversation, I gathered that she did indeed like Colin, although I couldn’t imagine why. As far as I knew, he’d won her over by a little tactic used by men called the wounded lover syndrome, or the old but rather effective victim of unrequited love schtick.

  After I left the lodge on Thanksgiving, a moment I care not to remember as I was covered in yams and stripped of my pride, Sir William Lucas offered Colin a meal on the house and an open invitation to return any time he desired. Colin, being quite respectable and overly grateful, sat at the bar, letting out all his woes to Charlotte, the receptive bartender—and we all know bartenders were a poor man’s shrink. Charlotte listened intently, poured him more Shirley Temples, and offered her sage advice as was her Charlotte way. Then, as I already knew, he spent the evening at the Lucas house, whereas Mrs. Lucas referred to him as Boy George.

  It must have had a profound effect on him because he returned the following day, unbeknownst to me, to seek the company of Charlotte and her serene ability to listen to hours of nonsensical yammering. And if there was one thing Colin was good at, it was nonsensical yammering. In short, it appeared to be a match made in heaven. He couldn’t stop talking, and she had no reservations to listen all day.

  And so, although I couldn’t understand the mystery that was Colin/Charlotte, I was happy they both found a partner in this big, scary world.

  My mother would take a little more convincing, but for the time being, I felt it was best to just avoid her calls and incessant Facebook messaging.

  When I arrived home from my parents’ house, it was close to two in the morning. Not that avoiding my roommates by staying away was successful at all. After the drama with Mom, I could face anything. As it turned out, Jane was awake, checking online trade magazines.

  All I wanted to do was lie my weary body down on my bed, but my legs betrayed me and sent me to the couch to sit by Jane. She smiled at me from behind her laptop screen and asked me how my day went in the gentlest of fashions. Her tone of voice was calm and… dare I say content. It was almost as if her heart hadn’t been put through a meat grinder less than two weeks before.

  Although Charlotte had been my longest and dearest friend, Jane was more like a sister. Someone I could confide in. I supposed by telling her all about the Colin loves Charlotte story, it would bring her a welcome distraction. I still couldn’t help but think she was sweeping her feelings about Bing under the rug. Or had the telenovelas helped her cope? She’d gone cold turkey, so I was a wee bit concerned.

  When I was done blabbering about Colin and Charlotte and then Mom’s reaction, she was able to find humor where I hadn’t before, and in seeing it through her eyes, it made me laugh. It was quite ridiculous and silly when I thought about it.

  But then in a tone a little more somber, she said, “I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll be fine, and everything will be the same as before.” She must have read the disbelief in my features because she added, “You don’t believe me. I’ll always remember Bing as the nicest man I’d ever met, but that’s all he’ll ever be to me. I read more into it than there was in the relationship. I’ll get over it.”

  “Jane, I’d have to be blind to not see how much he liked you. You didn’t ‘read into’ anything he wasn’t writing all over the place. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s him.”

  “I don’t blame him for anything,” she said. “We were never official.”

  “We’re not in high school. Guys don’t ask girls to go steady. Besides, the whole theatre company was taking bets on the wedding date.”

  A wash of pink spread over her face, and she shrunk behind a throw pillow to hide it.

  “Okay, maybe not a wedding date,” I amended, “but still. You just think too well of people in general to let me say anything against them. But you’re the only person I know that’s even close to perfect. It’s true. And as you know, I don’t think well of anybody. Not even myself. The more I see of the world, the more I think everyone in it are psychos.”

  “You know, I don’t mind being the idiot,” she said as if in thought. “I liked him. He didn’t return the feeling. End of story. If he liked me as much as you think he did, we’d still be together. But he didn’t, and I’m fine with that. I won’t hold him to any promises he never made.”

  She was a better person than I, always seeing the best in people even when they broke her heart. In the end, it wasn’t up to me to be offended for her. It was her life, after all. Still, there was a tiny part of me that wanted to squeeze Bing’s nipples with a vice grip. I wondered if Jorge could get me one of those from the scene shop. If I actually thought it would work, I’d be on it in an instant.

  I couldn’t help but hope, however, that it was possible, even probable that Bing might still come to his senses. That he would get over whatever was keeping him from opening up to Jane. That he would give in to his obvious attraction to her. I watched him every day at rehearsal. I was sure he still had the hots for her, but something prevented him from admitting it. Maybe the idea scared him? Maybe it was moving too fast. Guys tend to freak out about these things. If only he had better influences. Someone like Cole, who in his time of life saw what he wanted and took it. He never displayed his affection for Holly at the theatre. He was a professional. But every other nanosecond of his free time was spent with her, and in the moments I’d witnessed, he was the most romantic person on the planet. He made Romeo look like a schmuck. Actually, scratch that. Romeo was a schmuck.

  If only Bing could recognize what he was missing.

  Pirates of Penzance was on its feet. The magic truly began to form at the sitzprobe—a fancy German term for rehearsing for the first time with an orchestra. Fitz was brilliant, and from the first note of the show, I felt shivers down my spine. That was the beauty of live theatre right there. That was what I was talking about with Jorge the first day we met.

  Cole had worked the cast to the nubs of our toes to get the show up and running to the closest to perfection as possible. Truthfully, I was a little worried there for a while. But most of the kinks were ironed out, and we were ready to go. Tech rehearsals had been from hell, but other than that, it was an exhilarating thing to behold. The show was awesome. It was better than awesome—it was funny and energetic and beautiful.

  I found myself enthralled by everyone’s performance. Even Will’s. He was actually an excellent performer. Perhaps I hadn’t noticed it before because I actively avoided him whenever I could. But now that the show was in run-throughs, there were fewer opportunities to hide from him. It was annoying, for once he began to sing, I couldn’t peel my eyes off him. He commanded the stage. Bigger than life. It truly was a glorious thing to see the Pirate King. His booming voice shook my center and tilted my equilibrium.

  Gah! Why did he have to be so talented? It made it so much harder to dislike him.

  Every concern I had in the weeks of toil were laid aside when we completed our first dress rehearsal. It was magical. Earth stopped on its axis to applaud. It was masterful. It was also weeks before we’d have an audience because we had to break for the holidays.

  The Gardiner Theatre had a Christmas tradition of hosting holiday concerts with the local philharmonic. The house sold out every year, and it was a major draw for the season. All the subscribing patrons looked forward to a spread of holiday hors d’oeuvres on the terrace before the concerts. During this time, the Gardiner was transformed into a winter wonderland. This annual event was one of the reasons Stella scheduled our rehearsals to end in mid-December. We would have to be completely ready to open after the new year, and there was no time for rehearsals at Christmas. A schedule like that was generally unheard of in a professional or even amateur theatre. But Stella was determined for a January opening, and there was no other way around it. Therefore, the company had a long break. Which meant no Caroli
ne and, best of all, no Will for three glorious weeks. What would I do with all the excess sarcasm?

  Jane booked the first flight out of California she could find. I hadn’t even realized she’d been packed for days until I noticed her wear the same three outfits in regular circulation. When she left, the apartment was so quiet, I found myself tuning in to telenovelas just to see what the appeal was. From what I gathered, there was a whole lotta cheatin’ going on. Those characters were in serious need of a hobby. Or a chastity belt.

  I was able to use my extra time to catch up with Charlotte over pedicures and peppermint lattes. Everything was going swimmingly until she invited me to a New Year's Eve party at Rosings.

  That sounded like the opposite of a good time. Ring in the New Year with Colin? Hard pass.

  But Charlotte nearly pleaded with me. Moral support, I guess. I told her I would think about it.

  One event I was looking forward to was Cole’s Christmas party. He invited the entire cast and crew. I was pleased as punch to find out Will didn’t plan to attend. It gave me a sense of freedom to have the liberty to enjoy the evening in the company of Jorge without looking over our shoulders or checking for poison in our eggnog. Plus, Cole pulled out all the stops for the festivities. It wasn’t an uppity Hollywood party although his house was fabulous. He had a view of the valley from the hills. The twinkling lights of the city on the horizon wrapped around his property in an absolutely breathtaking, panoramic vista. He certainly had the perfect house for one of those classy soirees with a fancy caterer and valet parking. But Cole was a Jersey guy at heart, so his idea of an ideal party included a mobile woodfired pizza truck and plenty of beer. Everybody was encouraged to wear ugly sweaters, and we had a white elephant gift exchange. Then, once everyone was warm with their innards full of spirits, Stella stood by the fireplace and recited a poem with a line for each person in the cast and crew. It was both poignant and hilarious. Mostly, it was just cheeky, but every bit Stella. Nothing got past her.