by Gigi Blume
“Okay, you have a point there.”
“And call me a Disney princess, but I believe in happily ever after. How will you know if you don’t take a chance? Audition for more shows, put yourself out there. Go on dates. The only guarantee is failure if you don’t try.”
This was the first time I’d seen this side of Fitz. He was all business at rehearsals, surprisingly fun at parties, but here he was getting all deep on me. Maybe it was the wine, but my eyes welled up with moisture. I wanted to return his sentiment, say something profound that would match his wise words, but his features shifted like he had turned off some switch, and he laughed. “And then the bartender says, ‘I’m sorry, we don’t serve breakfast here.’”
“What?”
“Just laugh.” His eyes flickered behind me and sure enough, Will was approaching the table. By the time he reached us, Fitz and I were laughing our heads off. I had no idea why, but who cared?
“You are too much!” I portioned the last of the wine between us, and we offered an air toast to one another.
“I’ll be here all week,” he quipped. “Tip your waitress.”
“I’ll do that,” I said. “Twenty percent.”
Will loomed over the table, looking between the empty wine bottle to the two untouched Bud Lites, to Fitz, and then he let his eyes land on me sitting in his seat.
“I have to get going,” he said with a frown. He turned his attention to Fitz in a silent command to join him.
“Well, Beth,” Fitz said, rising from the booth. “It’s been fun, but my Uber is leaving.”
“But your food should be coming out soon,” I protested. “At least wait a few minutes so we can pack it to go.”
But Will was already out the door, so Fitz shrugged and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Sorry, love. Let me know how it tastes.”
As he retreated from view, all I could think of was how selfish Will’s behavior was to expect his friends to give in to his demands. Even Fitz, who I admired, was ordered around like a page boy. What was so important to drive Will out of the lodge so quickly? He hadn’t even tried the chili fries.
19
Some Disenchanted Evening
Beth
Jane was home for Christmas. It was all the present I needed, although the whole cheesecake she brought from Junior’s was pretty awesome, too.
After the obligatory celebrations with my family in which my father made a fabulous prime rib, the Lucases came over for a cringeworthy gift exchange where my mother drank too much, Charlotte accompanied me back to the apartment where Lydia and Jane had games planned for the whole night.
I’d never had so much fun playing poker and the arrival of Jorge, Denny, Cole, and Holly made it even better. My little apartment could hardly fit all those people, but that made it all the more hilarious and memorable for our insane game of Guestures. You’d think a bunch of performers would be good at a game where you have to pantomime everything, but most of us were spectacularly horrible at it. Lydia beat us all by a landslide, only because she had no inhibitions to make a complete fool of herself.
We didn’t make a big deal over exchanging gifts, but Jorge took me aside and gave me a vintage book he picked up in a boutique book store. It was a first edition of The Hobbit, signed by J.R.R. Tolkien. It was one of the most thoughtful gifts I had received in my life. Made me feel a little rotten about the lame sweater I bought him. He hardly ever wore regular shirts. I don't know what I was thinking when I bought it.
We were in the hallway to the bedrooms, partly secluded from the rest of the party when he gave me the gift. I felt like he was ashamed for giving me a used item and didn’t want the others to see, but I assured him how much I loved it and gave him an appreciative hug. His eyes flickered over me in unveiled carnality, and he leaned one arm over me against the wall to the point of backing me up against it.
There was an intensity in him that unhinged me. He’d always been comical in the little flirty innuendos that spilled from his lips, but this time, his features claimed a deliberate intention, a heady, suggestive, potency in his body language.
“I’d like to stay the night,” he whispered.
Not a chance, bucko.
First of all, he was drunk. I didn’t need an encore performance of Naked Man in my shower. The last time he was in there he used my razor. I was a strong supporter of guarding my personal sundries. Furthermore, I wasn’t sure how I felt about Jorge, even if he had been sober. He projected so many crossed signals, it was hard to keep up. I didn’t have time for that. Nope. No sir.
I’d thought about the things Fitz had said to me. They made sense. There were no guarantees. But I decided to concentrate on one ambition outside my comfort zone at a time, and that was my career. After the show closed, I would follow Jane’s example and go to New York. Maybe I’d even move there if I could afford it. Who didn’t love sharing a two-bedroom apartment with ten other girls for a small fortune? I could totally do it.
What I couldn’t do was Jorge. I convinced myself quite easily that he couldn’t be all that serious, especially since his words were a little slurry.
“I’ll ask Denny to take you home,” I said, slipping out from under his arm, but he grabbed my wrist and said, “Beth, I’m afraid.”
Ummmm.
“Afraid?” I asked. “What are you afraid of?”
He stared deeply into my eyes, suddenly grave. “Obscurity.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that.” I laughed.
“I do,” he replied. “The Darcys will make sure of it.”
I was a little troubled as to why he would choose that moment to bring it up. The Darcys. Plural. Not just Will, but his little sister, too. What were these people up to now? I patted his hand and wiggled my wrist from his grip.
“I won’t let that happen,” I said. “I promise.”
I was happy to send him off that night so I could be alone with my thoughts.
What was the deal with Will Darcy that kept him constantly in my life? I couldn’t very well avoid him at the theatre for obvious reasons, but then he showed up at my work and now was making an appearance on Christmas, even if it was only in conversing about him. It was like that show Man in the High Castle where every film reel, every scenario in the parallel universe involved the same woman. Will was that woman. He was everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere.
I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him at the Rosings New Year’s Eve Ball, but when I saw him, I wanted to run. His eyes met mine from across the room, searing into me like a sniper’s target. I wondered if I had one of those red laser dots on my forehead. He was at the bar, and without letting his eyes lose focus on me, drained his drink, set the lowball glass on the bar, and made the trek through the crowd towards where I stood. You’ve heard the term deer in headlights? That was me, because although I knew danger was approaching, I was unable to move. The T-Rex had his sights set on his prey, and I had nowhere to turn.
“There you are.” Charlotte stepped in front of me, right within Will’s path, and he halted. Thank goodness! “We were beginning to worry you wouldn’t show.”
She looked absolutely radiant in a black sequin halter dress. Her hair was in a loose French knot with tendrils of her auburn hair cascading down onto her fair skin. I don’t think I’d ever seen her so dressed up. But her smile was the most beautiful accessory she wore. Her arm looped around Colin’s, and she absolutely beamed. She was truly and deeply happy.
Colin wore that same goofy smile on his face, happy as a clam to have a woman on his arm as gorgeous as Charlotte. He looked so different. Handsome. I tried to put my finger on the change I saw in him when I realized he wasn’t wearing any makeup. He no longer looked like a confused drag queen. Without layers of foundation and mascara caked on his face, he appeared younger, with a boyish charm. He and Charlotte were adorable together. She was good for him. I couldn’t say the same for his choice of dress wear, though. He wore a light-pink tux with a r
uffled shirt and a matching pink top hat. Wisps of hair curled from under the brim and framed his face, the fringe of his bangs almost covering his eyes. He had his own style, that was for certain.
“How long have you been standing around all by yourself?” Charlotte pulled me in with her other arm. What a trio we were. The egret, the swan, and the flamingo. (I was the egret).
“Not long,” I lied.
In truth, I’d been looking for her for what seemed like forty-five minutes. That place was huge. There was a main ballroom, where we were currently conversing. Then there were several smaller rooms with gaming tables and other interesting entertainment. And outside was an enormous garden with a hedge labyrinth and secluded sitting areas surrounded by conifer trees. I’d made a full circle around the property before ending back at the ballroom.
“Beth.” Colin took my hand in his, so we were standing in a lopsided circle. I would have protested had he began to dance the Horah. “I hope there are no hard feelings between us. I actually want to thank you because…”
He let go of my hand to rest his palm on Charlotte’s and gazed in her eyes with a sappy expression. “…Charlotte has made me the happiest of men.”
I didn't know how much of their sugary sweet exchanges I could handle, but I didn’t know anyone else at the ball, unless you counted Will, which I preferred not to. I’d put on a smile, support my friend, and make it home before the ball dropped. Technically, the ball had already dropped on the East Coast. Happy New Year! My idea of the perfect New Year’s celebration included cozy pajamas, pizza, and Netflix.
I plastered on a thrilled expression which contained too many teeth and respectfully slunk out of Charlotte’s vice grip. I think she was a little nervous around all the industry big wigs and supermodels.
“No hard feelings here,” I said. “I’m happy for you both.”
“Excellent,” he said with a huge smile. “Because I want to introduce you to the great Catherine de Bourgh, founder of Rosings Institute and international ballet legend.”
With an introduction like that, no wonder the pressure was on for Charlotte. She’d met her briefly once before and told me the woman was a force to be reckoned with. I get that she wanted to make a good impression on her boyfriend’s boss, but if the woman was so fierce, I didn’t see why she couldn’t just avoid her company. It’s not like she was a dancer or anything.
Colin led the way though the serpentine path beyond the crowded ballroom, down a paved walkway and into an elaborate private room. There was a password to enter, like a speakeasy. It was kind of cool. Catherine de Bourgh sat on a wingback chair with her hands folded on her lap. Lots of people mulled about, drinking and conversing in small groups, but there were a few fortunate (or unfortunate however way you look at it) people sitting in her circle holding court. When we approached her, I had to fight the urge to bow or curtsy.
“And who is this you have here, Mr. Hunsford?” she said with a regal air.
Colin removed his hat and introduced me, half prideful, and half groveling. “May I introduce a member of my company at the Gardiner, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
He crowned the introduction with a flourish of his arm. His hat, a pink beacon in my direction. I smiled, not entirely sure of the correct protocol. After all, she was an international ballet legend. She narrowed her wrinkled eyes on me and puckered her lips into a frown.
“Well?” she said after a short pause. “Do you talk?”
“What?” I was fought off guard by her sour disposition. Of course I could talk.
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll forgive your unintentional incivility. You must be quite overcome by the grandeur of Rosings.”
“She is,” exclaimed Colin. “Quite overcome.”
“I wasn’t speaking to you, Mr. Hunsford. You must let the lady answer for herself.”
Alrighty then.
Now I had an idea why Charlotte clung so tightly to me earlier.
“Mr. Hunsford gets a little ahead of himself sometimes.” Catherine shook her head. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”
“Yes,” I said with a nod. “I mean, yes to your earlier question. This place is ginormous.”
She glanced over me in open assessment, starting from my not so fancy footwear to the top of my hastily coiffed up-do. She shrugged her brows in a she’ll do sort of expression.
“You may sit.” She nodded in the direction of three recently vacant chairs. Colin and Charlotte swiftly took her up on the invitation, which I followed with more trepidation. I felt like I was on an interview for a job I didn’t want.
“I see you’ve brought the heiress.” Her eyes cast briefly onto Charlotte.
Heiress?
Charlotte shot me don’t you dare glance. What exactly was that about?
“Yes,” said Colin. “My girlfriend Charlotte.”
“Thank you for the invitation.” Charlotte offered a genuine smile to the imposing woman, which won her a glance of approval.
Then the woman’s eyes rested on me. “I hear you’re an actress.”
I laughed under my breath and said, “If you can call it that.”
That little quip earned me another sour frown. “Do you dance?” she questioned.
“Does flossing count?”
Her frown became more pronounced. Apparently, they didn’t consider flossing a serious dance move at Rosings.
“I’m more of a singer that moves well,” I amended.
“She's being modest,” said Charlotte. “She’s actually a triple threat.”
I was sure Charlotte was biased when it came to my talent. Plus, she was about as proficient a judge of theatre as I was of impressionism. I knew Monet was good, but I couldn’t tell you why.
Catherine de Bourgh disregarded Charlotte entirely and plowed through my interrogation.
“If you practiced more, you’d improve. My granddaughter Anne was such a frail little thing, but she grew stronger the more she practiced. You’d hardly recognize her if you knew her before she took classes.”
Colin interjected, “Anne is one of the principal dancers in the company. She was Clara in the Nutcracker.”
“You must be so proud,” I said with sincerity.
“I am,” she beamed. “But there’s always room for improvement. That’s why I invite friends of Colin to use my small barre room to practice. If you’d like to take advantage of my offer, I’m sure you won’t be in the way.”
“Um, thank you?”
“I would be able to find your deficiencies right away. There are very few people with my eye for talent. And if I had taken up singing as well as dancing, I would have excelled at it.”
“I only wish I would have started dancing earlier,” I admitted.
“How old are you?”
“Old enough to know what to do with my young face.”
It amused me to find the astonishment on her face at not receiving a direct answer. Also, I loved quoting Gene Kelly movies whenever opportunity arose.
“You are a spunky one, aren't you? Well, you’ll never be a ballerina at your age, but you could pick up a few moves that will help you in the theatre.”
A fourth chair landed in place in our strange little pow wow, and Will plopped down, straddling it, resting his arms on the back.
“What are you doing here?” cried the old woman.
“You invited me.” Will glanced briefly at us, his attention landing on Colin’s pink suit for a few extra seconds.
“Well, I didn’t think you’d show up.” She was a little salty, but something hinted to me that was the nature of their relationship. It certainly didn’t seem to faze him. He just shrugged.
“If you’re looking for Anne,” she said, “you just missed her. You might want to check the VIP room.”
Wasn’t this the VIP room?
Will shifted in his seat like he was trying to get comfortable but couldn’t. “No,” he said. “I’m fine right here.”
A smirk overcame her face, and she flushed a li
ttle when she turned to me and said, “These young people are so attached to me.”
Will stole a glance in my direction. Was I judging? Not at all.
“Why don’t you find Anne and ask her to dance?” Catherine was trying to shoo Will away. Probably to drill me with more probing questions. She winked at him. “You don’t want some other man to claim her for a New Year’s kiss.”
Practically engaged to Catherine de Bourgh’s granddaughter. That’s what Jorge told me. I didn’t know the girl, but I already felt sorry for her.
Will remained silent, casting his eyes towards me to gauge my reaction. I was finding the exchange rather amusing and so, I made a joke.
“It’s bad luck if you don’t kiss someone at midnight.” I laughed. “You might remain a frog forever.”
His eyes flickered to mine, alight as blue flames, and the corner of his lips hitched into a crooked grin.
“And what happens to the princess?” he said softly, almost coaxing.
My heart sputtered to a halt, dropping to my navel. There it was, ladies. That devastating smile that earned him millions on the silver screen. I was incredibly annoyed with myself for not having a stronger immunity to his movie star charms. I swallowed unevenly and lifted my chin to regain some semblance of control.
“Her carriage turns into a pumpkin,” I replied, practically croaking the words. “So she bakes a pie.”
His eyes unapologetically dipped to my mouth. “It Only Takes a Taste,” he said, deepening his wicked grin.
A warm flush washed over me. Way to quote a musical theatre song. Bravo. His intense stares and double innuendos made the walls close in. I had to get away from him. And now I had that song from Waitress stuck in my head. Ugh! It was a good song, too.
“Are we talking about pies here?” Charlotte chimed in.
I abruptly stood, causing the chair to scrape on the floor.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
Catherine de Bourgh shot me an expression as if I offended her by leaving. I didn't have to use the restroom, but she didn’t know that.