w00t, it's chapter 2! I won't bore you with commentary, so let's just keep rolling!
"Come on Adam, we're going out."
"How about no?" I was perfectly happy to accept lying on the sofa and staring at the television as a way to spend a Friday night. It had taken a few days to get settled in to the new house, but now Charlie and Caroline (with the "help" of Jennifer and Phil) were ready to revert back to their party animal lives. "I like where I am, thank you very much."
"No you don't," Caroline insisted, grabbing my arm and trying to pull me up. Fortunately, I weighed about fifty pounds more than she did, and she had no upper body strength, so I didn't move an inch. "We are not going clubbing without you. And if you don't go, I don't go, and Charlie doesn't go, and then we'll all be miserable and it'll be all your fault." I stared up at her and tilted my head to the side.
"And yet…I am unmoved." Caroline dropped my hand in a huff and placed her hands on her hips.
"Char-leeeeeeeeeeee!" she screamed, as my best friend came waltzing through the living room, wrestling with the buttons on the Versace shirt Caroline had bought him for his birthday last month. She immediately rushed over to him and grabbed his shoulders. "Adam doesn't want to go out!" she whined. "Do something!"
"Honestly, Adam," Charlie said nonchalantly, "it'll be fun." He paused. "You do know what fun is, right?"
"Yes, Charles, I know what fun is," I answered, sitting up slowly. "I just don't consider getting drunk with empty-headed Jersey Girls to be my idea of a good time." And it was true. Being here was awkward enough without having to socialize. Why had I agreed to come here with Charlie in the first place?
Because your sister's at camp and you have absolutely nothing better to do, and you have a massive guilt complex and can't say no to Charlie Bingley or his sister, no matter how much of a slut she is.
Yes, that was pretty much it.
"Why won't you go out with us? What have we done?" Caroline cried melodramatically; she knew just how to guilt-trip me. "Was it because of that time when I tried to fix you up with Andrea St-Dubois? I thought I was trying to help you!" She was swooning around the room the way Joan Crawford or Elizabeth Taylor could only dream of. And Charlie! The only thing he could do was stand by the fireplace and try not to laugh. "Or did I—"
"Okay, okay," I groaned, standing up from my spot on the sofa, "I'll go. Just please stop doing that…whatever it is you're doing."
Caroline wrapped her arms around me in a half-hug-half-tackle and jumped up and down. "Yay!" she squealed. For someone who thinks herself to be height of sophistication she certainly acts like a five-year old often enough, I mused.
"Alright, Adam," Charlie announced, whacking me on the back, "I knew you'd come around. It'll be great, I promise. And if you don't piss and moan too much, Caroline and I might try to find you a girl."
I shrugged Caroline off of me and straightened out my shirt. "That's nice of you two, but I'll pass on that offer." Charlie looked crestfallen, but Caroline only beamed eerily at me. I cleared my throat and scanned over my outfit: a snug-fitting Muse concert t-shirt, faded Diesel jeans my sister bought me for Christmas last year, and blue socks.
"Yes, your clothes are fine," Charlie announced preemptively, "but you might want to do something about that." He gestured towards my hair, which, admittedly, was a total mess. I ran a hand through it and shrugged, trying to convey the message that I really didn't care how my hair looked; it wasn't like I was going out to impress anyone. And besides, I figured if I were to meet a girl, she should accept me for how I am, bed head and all.
But even so, I heeded Charlie's advice and went to the bathroom. I splashed water on my face and ran my hands over my wet hair, smoothing it down. When I returned to the living room, Charlie still had a disapproving look on his face.
"Still no," he said, and glanced at his watch. "I'll give you fifteen minutes; I've gotta make a booze run for Phil."
"Ah, yes," I replied, thinking fondly of Charlie's alcoholic thirty-something brother-in-law who was passed out in the guest room upstairs, while his wife, Charlie's sister Jennifer, was having another episode of melodramatic depression, "Phil. Well, don't let me keep you waiting." I gave a small wave and dashed up the stairs, where I filled the bathroom sink up with cold water and dunked my head in. I could see the bubbles escaping from my mouth and rising up to the surface.
There has to be more to life than this, my mind screamed, as I pulled my face out of the water. I smoothed my wet hair back and stared at myself in the mirror. Holy shit, I look like a total bum. Maybe I should hurry up and get a girlfriend, so I'll at least have someone to tell me what to wear.
"Aaaaa-dam!" I heard Caroline call from the upstairs hallway.
"I'm not here," I whispered to myself, hoping that if I repeated it enough times I would disappear. In all honesty, Caroline Bingley frightened me. She was overly aggressive, sexual, catty, and had the worst fashion sense of any woman I had ever met. Unfortunately, since the day I was introduced to her (back in ninth grade when Charlie and I first became friends), she had been all over me, trying unsuccessfully to get me to have sex with her. As it was, I was probably the only virgin over the age of seventeen on the Upper East Side; I blamed it on my strict upbringing, but the truth was that when it came to women, I was as picky as they came. No matter how many models and heiresses Caroline and Charlie paraded in front of me, I always had an excuse: not smart enough, too skinny, didn't know who Muse was, too Xanax-addicted, too slutty…the list went on. Rich girls had too many problems, but they were the only kind of girls I had ever been around, so about a year ago I had resigned myself to the fact that I would probably end up as one of two things: a virgin, dead in a gutter at a young age; or, in a state of married mediocrity with my step-cousin Melanie DeBourgh, permanently attached to her asthmatic inhaler. Either way, misery was sure to be mine. I supposed that I deserved it, though.
"Adam, you son of a bitch! Are you ready or what? Charlie's in the driveway!"
I banged my head against the mirror and sighed heavily. This was turning out to be a very long summer.
I pulled hurriedly into the last space in the parking lot in front of the Assembly Room, Meryton's favorite nightclub. Gabby tossed her cigarette butt out the window as I put my maroon 1995 Toyota Corolla in park and turned off the ignition. I really didn't want to go out tonight, as I was coming down with summer flu. But somehow I had let my sisters shove some aspirin down my throat (which actually didn't help in the least) and talk me into going.
"Are you sure this is okay?" Kat whined, biting her thumbnail. "I mean, we don't even have fake IDs or anything." The Assembly Room was an 18-and-up club, but sometimes they had all ages nights (not that they ever bothered to announce them in the Meryton Star-Gazette; I was hoping tonight would be one of those nights, and that I wouldn't have to do anything illegal.)
"Don't worry," Gabby answered quickly, climbing out of the car. "If we're lucky, tonight'll be an all-ages night; if not, Lizzy and Jackie know a lot of the people who work here, so they'll get us in, right?"
Jackie smiled at Gabby warily. "Of course; you're our sisters."
"Yeah," I added, quickly checking my reflection in the rearview mirror, "just don't try to buy any alcohol or I'll kick your ass." Gabby laughed like a sick hyena (her natural state). "I'm serious. I will not hesitate to put you in a world of hurt."
"Whatever, Lizzy," Kat announced, slamming the door. Sharon and Gabby filed out of the other side and Sharon slammed the door. I locked the car up and we headed inside.
"This is so retarded," Sharon grumbled as we made our way across the parking lot. "I fail to see the appeal of a bunch of sweaty yuppies rubbing up against each other and hawking back overpriced booze."
"You wouldn't," Gabby snapped back. "You spend all of your time in hippie coffee shops reading crappy poetry to burn-outs who are so doped up they fail to see the appeal of anything!"
"Gabby, Sharon, shut up!" I quipped. "Just stop fighting and let's enjoy ourselves, okay?" We all put on our calm faces and approached the door to the club. I recognized the very tall bouncer at the door as none other than my old high school friend Denny.
"Denny Jones, you sexy beast, how are you?" I called dramatically. He turned around, and Gabby and Kat giggled. They had had the hugest crushes on him since before they knew what a crush was.
"Elizabeth Bennet! Oh god, you brought the whole clan!" He moved towards Gabby so that his face was about three inches from hers. "Well now, Gabby, you're about fifteen now, aren't you?" Gabby eyed him skeptically. "What're you trying to pull, Duckie?" he asked me. Busted.
"Damn," I mumbled, "I was hoping tonight was an all-ages night." He smiled at me and patted me on the back.
"Well, it's not, but, uh," he leaned in and whispered in my ear, "I won't tell if you won't. Just don't let them buy any alcohol or you'll all be really sorry."
"Thank you!" I shouted, wrapping him in a big bear hug. "We won't be any trouble, I promise!" He hurriedly peeled my arms from around his body and moved to the side to let us through the door.
Inside, the nightclub was a pulsating mass of coke-addicted strippers on their day off, scene whores, and bored teenagers like my sisters and me. The bass in the music was so heavy, I could hardly tell it was Le Tigre. Great, I thought, I haven't even been inside for ten seconds and already I have a headache. I need alcohol.
Being the horrible, awful person I was, I didn't even stick around to find out what my sisters were going to do: I made a beeline for the bar, where I promptly ordered my favorite drink, a Red Bull and vodka. I hardly ever drank, but when I did, it was either white wine or the aforementioned cocktail. Now, separately, they were two of the most disgusting substances ever consumed by humankind, but together they were just what I needed: increased energy and impaired judgment.
I slid a ten-dollar bill next to the bartender's hand, and gulped back my volatile cocktail. It burned as it went down, but that was okay. I immediately felt buzzed and ready to take on the whole world. I shook my head and finished off the last dregs of the drink as my best friend Charlotte Wong appeared behind me, totally smashed.
"Duckie dah-ling, it's so nice to see you! I had no idea you were going to be here!"
"Yes you did," I replied as she scrambled into a barstool next to me. "I invited you this morning. You're just too hammered to remember."
"Holy crap, Duckie," she snorted, motioning to the bartender, who shook his head and made a cutting gesture with his hands (he must have known that she'd already had too much), "lighten up. It's Friday night, you know. It's okay to get a liiiiiiiittle tipsy."
"Char, you're more than a little tipsy. You've flat-out lost it. And you know you do this every weekend; eventually you're just going to pickle your liver." But she wasn't listening to me at all. She had her head on the bar and was mumbling unimportant things.
"You know, I saw that new guy in town, Charles Bingley or whatever-his-name-is just a few minutes ago," she babbled, grabbing my hand. "He's hot—absolutely dynamite! I introduced myself, but…I seem to have lost him." She giggled loudly and sighed. "Duckie darling, I'm sorry if I throw up on you. I know I'm a vuuuuuury bad drunk." Even though Charlotte was my best friend, just listening to her drunken banter brought on a killer migraine: the C-clamp-around-the-head feeling, the nausea, the shaky arms and legs…maybe the Red Bull and vodka wasn't such a good idea.
"I'm sorry Char," I announced, patting her on the back and standing up abruptly, "I'm gonna leave you for a minute; I've gotta get some fresh air." She grunted at me in acknowledgement, and I rushed off toward the back patio, hands gripped to my temples.
Once outside, I took a deep, swallowing breath. The New Jersey summer air was hot and humid, and it only made me feel worse. All I wanted at that moment was to drive down to the ocean and jump in and get stung by jellyfish until it hurt so bad I forgot about my headache. But at the moment, that wasn't really an option.
I slumped over the railing that separated the patio from the rest of the street, trying unsuccessfully to take in some good air, and looked around: there weren't really many people on the patio besides the smokers and people gabbing on their cell phones. About three feet to my right stood a young man in a dark blue blazer staring off into space (or possibly at the Taco Bell across the street—not that I blamed him: under any other conditions, I would be staring wide-eyed and open mouthed at the ground beef Mecca too.) He was actually quite gorgeous: a bit on the lanky side, with shaggy brown hair. Honestly, I couldn't stop staring at him. I think he noticed after about ten seconds, because he suddenly fixed his eyes on me. I quickly snapped my gaze back forward, trying to be coy and flirtatious, and…
Rrrrretch Before I even knew what was happening, I threw up over the railing and into the bushes. I slumped down to my knees and sighed loudly. My head hurt so bad, even worse than before because now it felt like invisible concrete walls were closing in on my whole body.
Naturally, Mr. Gorgeous looked at me disgustedly and walked off.
Oh, perfect first impression, I thought, curling up in a ball on the ground. He probably thinks I'm some sloppy drunk…wait a minute—why do I care? I sat there for about ten minutes, lost in my own thoughts, until I heard my angel-of-a-sister Jacqueline's voice calling out to me like a beacon of hope and light (Cheesy? Most definitely. But I was dying; I had no time to be original.)
"Lizzy," she was chanting, her melodious voice bringing me back to full consciousness. "Oh, thank God you're okay. Did you throw up?" I nodded weakly as she picked me up in her arms. Through my blurred vision I saw a blonde-haired guy behind her looking quite alarmed.
"I rolfed everywhere," I replied faintly. "Take me to the doctor tomorrow?" It wasn't so much a request as a demand, but I think Jackie understood.
"Of course I will. Now," she said, helping me to my feet, "let's get you some water. No more vodka and Red Bull for you, Missy." She turned to the shocked-looking man behind her. "Charlie, I'm sorry, but can you help me get Lizzy into a chair?" She grabbed my right arm, he grabbed my left arm, and they pulled me into a plastic patio chair. "Now don't move, okay? I'll get you a bottle of water; Charlie, can you stay with her for a minute? I'll be right back!" Jackie dashed off inside the club, leaving me alone with this guy I had never met before in my life. He helped himself into a chair across from me and offered his hand for me to shake.
"Hi, I'm Charlie Bingley," he announced, trying on his best friendly grin. I stared weakly at his extended hand, and he retracted it. "Right. Sorry; guess you're not really feeling up to shaking hands." I nodded in agreement and he suddenly began looking really serious, as if he was thinking, What would be appropriate to say to a girl who could vomit all over you at any time?
"I'm, um, new in town," he finally said. "I just bought a house in Netherfield Grove."
"Oh, so you're the famous Charles Bingley," I answered absentmindedly, staring at my hand. I really needed to push back my cuticles. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Really? Like what?"
"Well, nothing about you personally, but, you know, about you being here. You're from the City, right?"
"Yeah. But I'm really taking a liking to New Jersey."
"For serious?" I asked, a little shocked. "That's pretty different. Most posh New Yorkers don't want anything to do with Jersey. And all the kids from here can't wait to get out. Kinda strange, huh?"
"How can you tell I'm 'posh'?" he queried, chuckling.
"Pretty easy. All the houses in Netherfield Grove are hella expensive, so you've gotta be pretty posh to buy one of them."
"Oh." He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I'm sorry you feel so lousy," he said, trying desperately to avoid the awkward silence that would have eventually overcome the conversation. "I was just sitting at the bar introducing myself to your sister, when a friend of mine came in talking about some girl with pink hair that just yakked over the railing. I guess Jackie knew it was you, because she immediately rushed out."
"Yeah, well…there aren't too many people here in Meryton with pink hair," I said. "But I'm glad Jackie found me. If I had left it up to my other sisters, they wouldn't have found me until tomorrow morning. That's what I love about Jackie." Charlie nodded.
"It's kinda funny: I mean, I've only known her for about five minutes, and I already really like her. It's like she draws you in. She's like nobody I've ever met." He stopped abruptly. "Sorry, you probably don't want to hear all my mushy romantic ramblings."
"Nah, it's alright." Suddenly, I noticed Mr. Gorgeous, the man who saw me throw up, run up to Charlie and grab him by the shoulders.
"Charlie, you've gotta help me," he said, out of breath. "Your damn sister's trying to stick her tongue down my throat again." He glanced quickly at me and then turned back to Charlie. "What should I do?"
"Well maybe if she saw you with another girl she'd back off." He said it like he honestly thought it was the best idea in the history of mankind.
"Are you shitting me?"
"No. Why would I do a thing like that?" He looked from the guy to me, and back to him, and then back to me. "How about her?" He gestured at me. "Adam, this is Elizabeth, Elizabeth, this is my friend Adam Darcy."
"Nice to meet you," Adam Darcy answered tartly, before turning to Charlie and lowering his voice. "Charlie, have you been eating paste? I saw her throw up just a few minutes ago; I bet she's piss-drunk!"
"Hello! I can hear you!" I shouted to him, seriously pissed off. "I'm right here!"
"Good," replied Adam flatly, completely unaffected. "Then I don't have to repeat myself." He sighed loudly and stormed off.
Fortunately, Charlie was nicer about it.
"Hey, don't mind him," he said, leaning back in his chair. "He's just in a bad mood. We had to drag him out of a vegetative state on the couch watching Animal Planet just to get him to come out here tonight." I laughed…mostly because I'd been doing the same thing all week.
Just as I was about to say something, Jackie returned with two bottles of water, smiling like a giddy schoolgirl.
"Here Duckie," she said cheerfully, opening one bottle and handing it to me, "drink this." She handed the other bottle to Charlie, who took it from her hand in one of those slow-mo romantic moments where the little hearts appear all over the place and they lock eyes and…anyway, it made me want to throw up all over again. But once he had finally taken the bottle of water from Jackie, she pulled up a chair and sat down, staring at the both of us.
"So," she began, "did you and Charlie find anything to talk about?"
"Absolutely," Charlie responded quickly. "We talked about…um…"
"Oh never mind," Jackie said. "Duckie, did you find Charlotte? I have a feeling she's lying in a gutter somewhere, and it makes me really nervous."
"No, haven't seen Charlotte," I answered, and gulped down my entire bottle of water in about fifteen seconds. "But Charlie's friend Adam came by."
"Yeah," Charlie added, "but I think he pissed off Elizabeth here."
"You bet your ass he did," I snapped, clenching my hands into fists. "He called me a drunk—right to my face!" Jackie looked at me with a horrified expression. I knew she was thinking the same thing as me: What an awful person! How can someone like that be friends with Charlie?
Okay, so I wasn't thinking so much about Charlie, but whatever.
Fortunately, Charlie seized the opportunity to try and defend his friend.
"I'm sorry he's being like this," he said, fiddling with the cap on his bottle of water. "He's really not so bad. I think he's just in a bad mood." But he didn't even know what he was talking about; he was too busy making googly-woogly-eyes at Jackie.
"Yeah, whatever," I announced. "I'm going to the car."
I hopped over the railing and out into the parking lot. I pulled my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the car. Once inside, I laid across the front seat and sighed. For about five minutes, I just stayed in that position, listening to my breathing and feeling my heart pound in my ears. Suddenly, though, I heard a door slam. It was coming from the Nissan parked next to me on the left. I bolted upright and scrambled to the driver's seat, rolling down the window silently with my ninja skills.
"What is your malfunction, Darcy?"
"What are you talking about?"
Oh my god, I thought. It's Charlie and that Adam Darcy guy! I ducked down so that they couldn't see me, and listened in on the conversation.
"You know what I'm talking about! Anywhere we go, you have to make a total idiot of yourself! You don't even try to have fun!"
Darcy looked up at Charlie indignantly. "What if I don't consider this fun? I know I've told you that before. I don't see why I should bother pretending to enjoy myself in a place like this."
"A place like this? This is some of the most fun I've had in years! I've never seen so many gorgeous girls; and so natural and unaffected, too."
"The one you were hanging out with is decent-looking, I'll give you that, but on the whole…I don't like Jersey girls."
"Christ, Adam! Just give these poor girls a chance!"
"I did." He was just making me angrier by the minute. If I hadn't felt so nauseous, I would have jumped out of my car and wrung his throat in two seconds.
"Liar! What about Elizabeth Bennet? Did you give her a chance? No!"
"She was drunk, that's not my thing; besides, she wasn't even that good looking."
Not very good looking! Being the vain creature I was, I couldn't stay silent any longer. I bolted upright and opened the door. Charlie and Adam both stared at me in disbelief.
"You asshole!" I shouted, slamming the car door and storming off.
As I trudged back into the club, I heard Charlie announce, "And that, Adam Darcy, is precisely why you are still a virgin."
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