For Ellie, the first indicator of a terrible day was a loud buzzing of her cell phone, on vibrate, skittering its way across the nightstand. It was truly the eighth sign of the apocalypse. It meant that sometime before eight a.m. she would be speaking to a person not currently residing in her subconscious.
"Fuuuuuck," she whined as she reach out to grab it. Answering the phone quickly, without checking the caller ID, was her first mistake but as previously stated, early mornings equal bad things for Elizabeth Bennett.
"Speak!" she growled.
"We are going out tonight! There is a new club opening called Boots," declared an emphatic voice through the phone. Before she could come up with a coherent response, the voice continued, "The girls from my Zumba class say it is going to be the hottest spot in town!"
"Really, Mom?" Ellie mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and sarcasm. Who wouldn't take the word of 40-something soccer moms who spend two nights a week shaking their butts like they're in some bad rap video? She thought.
"Totally! Sarah said Michael Phelps is set to make an appearance. Maybe we will get lucky and see someone famous or at least find some nice rich men for all my sad lonely daughters!" Fran Bennett giggled.
People this perky in the morning should be systematically eliminated, Ellie thought.
"I don't know…" Ellie tried to find a way out. She settled on her do-no-wrong twin sister, "Let me check with Jane and get back to you."
"No need, I called her first. Of course, I insisted she bring that new boyfriend of hers I have heard so much about and not once met because all my daughters are far too busy and…" her mother began laying on the guilt.
"Ok, ok, I'll be there. What time?" Ellie sighed in defeat.
"We are all meeting out in front of the club at eleven," Ellie could hear the triumph in her mother's voice, but she knew there was more, so she waited. True to form Fran added one last biting comment. "And dear, try to dress up a little. If you need, I could send Katie and Lydia to help you?"
Of course, send her trophy- wife-in-training sisters. They could help her hook a man in no time.
"No, Mom. I'll ask Jane if I can borrow something to wear. We can get ready together like we always do," Ellie offered, trying anything to avoid further conversation.
"Don't be silly, Elizabeth! Jane so much taller and thinner than you. No, its best if I send the girls. Besides you need all the help you can get. You are very nearly an old maid," her mother reminded her for what felt like the hundredth since her birthday.
Ellie hit the end button on her phone, before she said anything that might get her in trouble. She looked at the time, 7:59 am. Figuring that she might as start the day, she hit the power button to stop any nasty follow up calls from mommy dearest and rolled off the bed. Ice cold floors greeted her crisply.
There truly is no god in this world, she thought, as she flipped on the light and trudge to the bathroom. The next thing she knew there is a cup of hot coffee sitting on the sink. She looked around to find Jane sitting in her armchair, her own cup of coffee in one hand, inspecting a pile of books on Ellie's night stand. Ellie took a long pull from her mug before finding a comb to throw at her well-meaning sister.
"What. The. Fuck?" She griped.
"What?" Jane blinked innocently. "I thought you might like some coffee."
"You thought the coffee would distract me from the fact that you agreed to go out with mom tonight, therein trapping me into going with you or looking like a jerk."
"Have you read this one yet? I really like that Richard Fitzwilliam," Jane commented, taking a sip from her mug to avoid her sister's intense glare.
"Don't try to change the subject, missy. By the way, of course you would, but I mean it! What were you thinking?" Ellie grumbled. She wasn't really angry, though just annoyed. Jane, knowing this, chose to totally ignore most of Ellie's last comment.
"What do you mean, of course I would?" she asked, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
"I mean, what was the last book you read without the Oprah seal of approval? That author, my dear sister, is a no talent hack who has sold 8 trillion copies of the same book with different titles and names on the main characters," Ellie sighed in exasperation.
"That may be," her sister smiled mischievously. "But he has sold 8 trillion copies"
"Kiss my grits! Don't you have someone else to annoy?" Ellie snarled, before looking over for something else to throw at her sister. After her sister was out the door, she added a half-hearted, "Thanks for the coffee!"
"Anytime," Jane replied from the hall. "By the way, train's leaving in 5 minutes."
Shit! Ellie dug through her closet for something clean to wear. Note to self, must do laundry tomorrow, she frowned. The only clean shirt she could find was a tank top that had a Dachshund and My wiener rocks! on it, but it would have to work. She threw on a flannel, put her hair in a bun, and grabbed her purse and coffee.
"I'll be in the car," Jane called from across the apartment.
"Right behind you," Ellie returned, heading for the door.
Once in the car she got out her phone, returned it to life and selected Hate my life. As Theory of a Dead Man floated through her ears, she tried to once again block out the stress filling her chaotic mind. She was freaking out a little, because her editor never called unless there was a problem. Yesterday, she had missed five calls from him before she realized that her phone was hidden in the bottom of closet to avoid a night of drunk dialing.
The car pulled to the curb all too soon. Jane gave Ellie a kiss on the cheek as she chugged the dregs at the bottom of her mug. Now or never, Ellie sighed. She could see her editor in the window of the diner.
"Just get it over with," Jane smiled supportively. "What's the worst thing that could happen?"
"Oh, I don't know I lose my job. You marry Charlie and kick me out. I can't afford an apartment on my own, so I have to move back in with Mom and the girls," Ellie mumbled nervously.
"And that, dear, is why you are a writer. Who else would come up with such a story? Everything is going to be fine. Now scoot, I have a shoot to get to," Jane replied, shaking her head.
"Everything's going to be fine," Ellie whispered to herself as she ran a nervous hand through her hair, and opened the door to Deb's. "Hi!"
"Don't 'hi' me young lady. Just have a seat. I've already ordered some pie and a hot chocolate," Mr. Gardener was never good at being tough, so he moved right along. "Ellie, how am I supposed to print this?" he asked, holding a copy of her review of The Black Swan.
"Are the printers on strike?" she asked innocently.
"I'm serious! This is one of the most highly publicized and critically acclaimed books to come out in the last 5 years and you equate it to a bad college creative writing attempt," he tried to make her understand his predicament.
"We can't all love it…" she answered with a shrug.
"I know that," he sighed, "and that's why it went to print but think about your career. You can't go around making every major writer of the 21st century hate you."
"Darn and I'm already half way through the alphabet!" she snapped her fingers in mock disappointment.
"You know what I mean," he groaned, trying again to impress upon her the seriousness of her situation, but she was distracted by the arrival of her breakfast. Ellie munched on cherry pie as he continued on in the same vain for a while. As she finished her hot chocolate, she looked down at her phone.
Jane: Lunch? Charlie has a friend in town, and he wants to get introduce you.
Ellie: Is this a setup?
Jane: Of course not, just free lunch at Deb's Diner.
Ellie: Fine, but I'm ordering strawberry shortcake…
Jane: Fine, but I am making a salad for dinner.
Ellie: I hate you
Jane: Love you! See you at 12!
"… and that's why we want to keep the book reviews a bit more kind to the writers," Mr. Gardener finished, though he knew Ellie wasn't listening.
"I know, I know, I promise to write a shining review of The Black Swan 23, I mean Mr. Fitzwilliam's next brilliant work of fiction. By the way, what kind of name is Fitzwilliam anyway?" she wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"A very rich one, who you don't want as an enemy," he warned one last time.
"Thanks for standing by me," she hugged her editor/ uncle.
"You know I'll always be here for you. Now scat, I think you have cousins to meet at the park," Mr. Gardener excused her.
With a skip in her step and a weight off her mind, she was off to meet Aunt Nonie and the kids at the park. She spent the rest of her morning chasing screaming kids through a sprinkler and playing hide and seek. She had just enough time to run home and change before lunch when the phone rang.
"Yep, I'm on my way home to change and I will be there," she answered, already knowing what her twin would ask.
"What are you talking about we have been waiting for 15 minutes?" Jane whispered. She was feeling very awkward, because the hostess kept glaring at her.
"We are meeting at one, though?" Ellie said, trying to convince herself that she was correct. She tried to remember what exactly the text said and it hit her that it said twelve as she begin to jog down the street to the restaurant a few blocks away. "I'm sorry I will be there in five, meet me out front and bring the backup shirt."
If there was one thing Elizabeth Bennett could count on, it was that Jane always has a spare top in her bag just in case. She started unbuttoning her flannel as she rounded the corner, almost bumping into some guy power walking down the street. He sneered at her as he walked into the restaurant, nearly plowing into Jane, who was exiting. Jane ducked under his arm and gave her sister a quick hug. Ellie stuffed her flannel into her hobo bag and pulled the chopstick out of her partially wet hair, now curling into its natural wave. Jane wrapped her trench around Ellie as she pull off her tank top and slithered into the faux silk floral print Jane handed her. They were a well oiled machine when it came to impromptu street changes, having five sisters meant you learned how to change almost anywhere. She shoved the tank top in her bag as they headed into the building.
