Love and Loathing

by Gigi Blume

  “Miss Bennet, I’m not done talking to you.”

  Not done talking to me? What if I did have to go to the restroom?

  I could hear her protests fade as I left the room, following me out the door until they were only echoes into the ether. I felt bad for abandoning Charlotte to the aftermath, but I needed to distance myself from Will. His movie star charm was too much, and the last thing I wanted was to be his fangirl. His eyes, though. They held an underlying magnetism that reached too far inside my core. It made my heart drum so rapidly, it was almost painful.

  I decided after all that, a splash of cold water to my face would do me good. The ladies room was bigger than my whole apartment and had a separate sitting area for friends to wait. If there’s any mystery why girls go to the restroom in groups, that sitting area would be the answer. The sofas were so posh, I wouldn’t have been surprised if tea service suddenly appeared, accompanied by a recording of God Save the Queen. I was running my hands over the upholstery when Charlotte found me.

  “I’m sorry I embarrassed you in front of your boyfriend’s boss.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said with a soft smile. “You should have seen the look on her face, though. I’m sure nobody has ever walked out on her like that.”

  We shared a laugh. I wanted to tell her the reason I bolted out of there wasn’t because of Catherine de Bourgh, but it was suffocating to be in the same room as Will. Everything about him caused a hot lava reaction in my veins. Whenever he was near me, I felt sick to my stomach, and my blood would boil, causing my pulse to race. If he didn’t repel me so much, I’d think I had a crush on the guy. Ridiculous. But I couldn’t tell Charlotte these things because she’d read too much into it. I decided to keep the conversation light.

  “Well, when ya gotta go, ya gotta go.”

  She laughed. “She’ll get over it. Colin’s in there doing damage control. Like Men in Black.”

  “Or Men in Pink.” I couldn’t resist. Only a guy like Colin could pull off that outfit. It actually suited him well.

  “So…” She wound up for the pitch. I could see it coming. She wanted to talk about the elephant in the room. “I was surprised to see Will.”

  There it was. I knew she was jonesing to bring it up. I shrugged, trying to pretend it didn’t affect me.

  “It’s not a huge stretch,” I said. “Catherine de Bourgh is a shareholder of Will’s production company.” I remembered what Jorge had told me about Will’s connection to Rosings. “And he’s got something going on with the granddaughter. Engaged, I think.”

  “Anne?” she snorted. “Not even. I know Anne. There’s no way.”

  “Whatever.” I feigned a nonchalant eye roll. What did I care who Will was or wasn’t dating? It was none of my business. Charlotte eyed me speculatively, but thankfully kept her thoughts on the subject to herself. The downside to her silence, however, was the empty space I had to fill with my own thoughts. They were probably more annoying than anything she could have said.

  At length, I stood up, once again ready to triumph over my killer heels, and led Charlotte out the door.

  “Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure Colin is looking for his heiress girlfriend.” I gave her a conspiring wink.

  “Oh, that.” Her face flushed. “Catherine kind of assumed I was an heiress when she found out my father owned a restaurant. I guess she just thought it’s a big conglomerate restaurant chain.”

  “And you didn’t bother to correct her,” I nodded.

  She grinned. “It’s not like she’ll ever step foot inside Lucas Lodge.”

  “That’s what I thought about Darcy.”

  We parted with a promise to find each other later. She didn’t want to leave me alone, feeling guilty she had to get back to Colin when she was the reason I came in the first place. I let her know I was fine on my own for a while and that I was hoping to try my chances on the roulette table. I usually played red and black. I didn’t mind risking the fifty-fifty odds. I was exchanging some cash into chips when I ran into Fitz.

  “You clean up well.” He cat-whistled with an appreciative once-over. “They should let you out more often.”

  “Thanks.” I blushed. “But I have to return the glass slippers by midnight.” My thoughts raced to the earlier Cinderella reference I exchanged with Will. Why did I sabotage my own thoughts like that? I blinked them away.

  He grinned with his devastatingly swoony dimples. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I must say, it’s a welcome surprise.”

  “Ditto.”

  “I’m bored out of my mind.” He scanned the crowd with a disappointed air. “Will keeps taking off, and I don’t know a soul here.”

  So they were there together? Great.

  “I’m sorry, did you say Will?”

  He nodded. “I regret ever agreeing to carpool. I’m not entirely sure which one of us is the designated driver but if I meet Mr. Right, I’m out.”

  “Well, I know I’m a poor substitute, but I’ll be your date until you find what you’re looking for.”

  “Girl, you’re anything but a poor substitute.” He took my arm in his. “You are absolutely delicious. Let’s go gamble.”

  Next to crawling into my pajamas with my subscription to the Broadway Channel, I considered it the next best thing to spend the evening with Fitz. I couldn’t think of a better person to laugh with while watching the modern dance performances on the small stages scattered throughout the property. The costumes were interesting to put it nicely (bubble wrap anyone?), and the choreography was certainly something we’d never seen before. I learned I didn’t know much about the Avant Garde, and I was perfectly fine with that. Give me Fosse any day of the week. Fitz held my hand and pulled me from one thing to another like children in an amusement park. He taught me a few roulette tricks, cleaning out everyone at the table before we were kicked out. We downed a few drinks (hooray for the open bar) and danced like fools. At last, we found an unoccupied room with a ping pong table and challenged each other to a duel, finally giving me a chance for a rematch. But we were both so tipsy, the ball hardly touched the table. The effects of the alcohol also broke down our inhibitions, and I felt emboldened to ask, “Tell me about this Mr. Right you’re waiting for. I could be your wingman.”

  He grinned, allowing the thought to burrow deep in his fantasies. Dang, this man was cute. He hit the ping pong ball with his paddle, sending it to bounce off the table.

  “My standards are too high,” he said. “I’m convinced he doesn’t exist.”

  I retrieved the ball and clobbered it into the net.

  “There’s nothing wrong with high standards.”

  “What about you?” he asked. “What’s your idea of the perfect guy?”

  I broke out into a show tune. “I’ll know when my love comes along.”

  He threw down his paddle and ran to the upright piano against the wall (because naturally all the rooms had pianos), gracing the keys with his skilled fingers. “Ah, good ol’ Frank Loesser.” He ran into an ascending arpeggio. “One of my favorites.”

  He was an astounding pianist. He was playing the song by heart, most likely in the correct key, probably not missing any notes even in his half-inebriated state.

  “You sing Sarah Brown, and I’ll do Sky Masterson’s part,” he said, playing the tonic.

  I fudged through the song, making stuff up as I went along. I didn’t care. It was fun. Fitz, on the other hand, was born in the wrong decade. He was so classy, I’m sure he would have given Frank Sinatra a run for his money. And boy, the man could croon.

  “You never answered my question. About Mr. Right,” I pressed.

  “Did I say Mr. Right?” he said with a grin. “I meant Mr. Right Now.”

  I craned my head to take a peek at the party guests through the door. So many men and women dressed to the nines. Beautiful people any day of the week, but tonight, the magic of a new year paired with extremely expensive designer clothes made them look like they stepped out of T
he Great Gatsby.

  “How about that guy?” I said, pointing to a stylish man who favored a red bowtie over the traditional black. He followed my gaze.

  “Straight.”

  I crinkled by brows. “How can you tell?”

  “Honey, you learn to have a sixth sense about these things after too many rejections.”

  I frowned. “Oh.”

  He tinkled a few notes on the piano, something romantic and lamentful.

  “That’s pretty.”

  “Thanks. I wrote it.”

  He continued to play, the melody taking shape. “It’s a musical I’m working on, but it’s far from finished.”

  “You’re writing a musical? That’s amazing! What’s it about?”

  “Oh, it’s a love story about a man who searches the world for his destiny. Sounds kind of sappy saying aloud, but—”

  “No! It doesn’t sound sappy at all. Imagine the guys that had to pitch South Pacific. A man who falls in love with a woman across a crowded room? Pah-lease.”

  He gave me a blank look. Oh.

  “You have one of those scenes in your play, don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Too cliché?”

  “I’m sure yours is awesome.” I suddenly felt like a jerk.

  He continued to play and smiled proudly. “It is, actually.”

  Knowing Fitz, I didn’t doubt it.

  He sighed, and I could see a shadow come over his expression. Something that ran deep.

  “Funny how art imitates life, huh?” I nudged him with my elbow. It was probably a little more accurate than I realized. He stopped noodling his finger over the keys and placed his hands on his lap, turning to face me.

  “Have you ever heard the song Somebody by Depeche Mode?” he asked.

  “Uh… no.”

  Wasn’t that some emo eighties band?

  “It’s all about how he wants somebody to share the rest of his life with, someone to confide his innermost thoughts, that knows him so well—all of his faults—and loves him anyway. Somebody who will even convince him to see things differently, and although they might disagree, they understand each other… because…love!” He gently stroked the ivories. “I want that.”

  He looked into my eyes, searching, wondering if he was the only silly romantic in the room. It was a moment. It was heart bleeding share time. Also we were tipsy.

  “Aaaaanyway.” He shrugged it off and started playing a ragtime riff. “Who needs that kind of salmagundi?” He smiled, losing himself in the upbeat tempo. “Especially after what Will told me.”

  Hold the phone.

  “Will? What did Will tell you?”

  “Oh, just something about a friend who almost threw his career down the toilet over a girl.”

  What the actual Tevye?

  It couldn’t be he was talking about Bing? “What…what do you mean? What friend?”

  “I don’t know. He’s got lots of friends. Could be anyone.”

  I didn’t want to come off as desperate, but I really needed this information. I figured he would be more apt to tell me the details if I didn’t act like some psycho beating answers about of him. Plus we’d had a moment.

  “Well,” I said, trying to remain calm, “what exactly did he say?”

  He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  I looked into his eyes. Those blue beautiful icicle eyes. “Fitz. Hey. It’s me, here.”

  He stopped playing his ragtime tune and twisted his body slightly on the bench to conspire with me. “All he said was that he persuaded his friend to think twice about this woman.” He held up his palms. “I don’t know what was wrong with her. Probably some kind of harpy. But he did say it was a close call and he was glad he could talk some sense into this guy.”

  It was Bing. I knew it was Bing. Who else could it be? My blood was beginning to boil again. It was so fierce my eyes started to water. It was really feeling hot in there.

  “What gave him the right to interfere like that?” I was on the verge of tears. I had to blink them back because, for some stupid reason, I didn’t want Fitz to see me cry. “I mean, can’t his friend think for himself?”

  “Wouldn’t you do the same for a girlfriend if she was making a major mistake with a guy?”

  My thoughts shot to my confrontation with Charlotte. How I tried to keep her from Colin. It almost destroyed our friendship. And I was so very wrong about them.

  “If I did,” I said after a pause, “she wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”

  He laughed. “People rarely do.”

  An announcement by the DJ came from the main ballroom. Ten minutes until midnight. Get your champagne for the countdown. Fitz grinned at me and nodded his head toward the bar.

  “Should I get us two glasses each? I say we double fist it into the new year.”

  Double fisting sounded great if it meant throwing said fists into Will’s smug face. I nodded in acquiescence and Fitz hurried off to get the champagne. My head was spinning, everything was suddenly unraveling out of control. Everything, all Jane’s suffering, the heartbreak the telenovelas! All of it was because of Will Darcy. Wasn’t the man miserable enough without dragging his friend down his sick misogynistic path? How dare he ruin the happiness of two of the nicest people ever. I knew Bing couldn’t be so evil as to hurt Jane the way he did. He was just too easily influenced—which admittedly wasn’t a very charming character trait. Still, who knows what kinds of threats there might have been? In the end, it was his arrogant and famous friend that was to blame for inflicting them both with extreme sorrow. Okay, I was being melodramatic, but who does that kind of thing? What did Will have to gain by influencing Bing to break up with Jane? Jane! The most affectionate, generous person anyone could ever hope to love. I wanted to scratch his eyeballs out. That horrid man! And to have the gall to boast about how he tore them apart as if he was bragging about his golf score. Anger washed over me with every perusal of it. I had to get out of there.

  Tall elegant forms in glitzy finery crushed against me as I bounded my way against the tide in a sea of party guests. I could barely make it to the nearest door into the courtyard before I imagined myself running out of oxygen. I took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp air. It hit me with a frigid blast, cleansing me from the fire burning between my ears. If there was snow on the ground, I’d stick my head in it and watch steam rise like in cartoons. The best I could do was lose myself in the gardens until I could calm myself down enough to drive home. It was almost midnight and the pumpkin was crashing down.

  20

  Cold Civility

  Will

  Let’s be honest, here. If I had known Elizabeth was going to be at Rosings, I still would have gone. But if I had known, I could have been better prepared. It was serendipity. Just like in the cheesy romantic comedy movies my sister made me watch with her, the crowd parted and there was Beth. When our eyes met, a jolt of electricity shot through me, temporarily stunning me in place. I couldn’t read her face. Was it surprise? Elation? Indigestion? It’s hard to say. It took me almost a full minute to recover from the stun-gun to my cortex—whichever cortex is responsible for gross motor skills. If my mouth wasn’t suddenly dry, a dribbling of drool might have formed on my chin. The way she looked in that dress. The word stunning does not do it justice. Ethereal. Sublime. Me want. My IQ plummeted into single digits.

  As I drummed up the courage to approach her, Colin and Beth’s little bartender friend blocked my path. What in the world was that man wearing? I give him points for individuality.

  I wasn’t interested in joining a group chat. That would entail being sociable when clearly my motor functions were barely working. Beth did that to me. The dress didn’t make it any easier. It was simply cut, straight and flowy. No frills. And it was held in place by two thin straps over her elegant shoulders. It was driving me loony. But then the trio disappeared through the crowd, shrouded by faceless blobs obstructing my view. Where were they going?

  A few of the f
aceless blobs tried to strike up a conversation with me as I pursued Beth and her friends. I honestly couldn’t tell you what I said to brush them off or how rude I might have been. I didn’t want to lose sight of Beth.

  A streak of pink swept around a corner. Colin’s powder puff tuxedo. I swear, he looked like bubble gum and cotton candy had a love child and well-meaning friends would visit to congratulate them on their new baby bliss but then snicker, saying, “It is unfortunate your baby is so ugly. Have you tried hiding it in a tower?” My eyes were in actual physical pain. But that didn’t matter because…Beth. The pink ruffles and top hat were like a beacon that led me to her—like a very strange light house on a foggy night when the captain of a ship at sea might be all “WTH?” As for myself, I was only interested in hollering “Land ho!” To my chagrin, the land came in the form of one Catherine de Bourgh. I should have known that clown was on his way to seek her approval for whatever nonsense he was currently into. Once he actually wasted a half hour of precious rehearsal time describing his new closet organizer. Shelves! What a concept. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t really saving any space. Maybe if he wasn’t trying to channel 1970s Elton John, his closets would have more room.

  I followed the trail to learn where they were going, keeping my distance like a stealthy love-sick James Bond. What was I doing? I was supposed to get this girl out of my thoughts. She assaulted my dreams, stole my peace. Kept me up at night. My trips to her workplace were supposed to fix that. Newsflash: It didn’t help.

  She’d deliver me tasteless beer and charge my credit card for the most expensive items on the menu just to spite me. It was strangely alluring. Her moxie. Then I got that phone call and had to leave the restaurant. My sister wasn’t in any danger, but I couldn’t take the chance. It wasn’t the kind of distraction I would have welcomed. But it took my thoughts away from Beth—for a while. A quiet Christmas with my sister was perfectly adequate, thank you. Over the course of a week, I only thought of Beth three times: when I looked at the tree, when I looked at Christmas lights, and when I heard Christmas music play. Only three times. Totally not obsessed with her.