Chapter 3
May 18th
Rock heals all wounds. The boys play The Shed tonight, and I cannot wait. Biggest gig we've had yet.
May
18th
A full day ahead looking over my investment prospectus with
Charles. It is Friday and I am not sure what he has in mind for the
evening. Whatever it is, I hope it is quiet.
Close of business passed unnoticed as Darcy, with the help of his life long friend and newly hired financial advisor, Charles Bingley, poured over his stock portfolio. Having established a sizable interest in the London market, Darcy was keen on taking a bite out of the Big Apple. And as Bingley had just secured a prime position at J.P. Morgan Chase, he was well suited to help Darcy do just that. Together they sorted out a firm course of action, but it wasn't until after seven that they felt they had enough finalized to walk away for the evening.
The route from Bingley's well appointed new digs to the impressive bank of elevators led them directly past the work area of one Elizabeth Bennet, saucy brunette. Darcy cast a glance of remembrance in that general direction, just in time to see the knockout blonde from yesterday morning's fiasco. From the low whistle next to him, Darcy could tell he wasn't the only one who had seen her.
"Good Lord, how did I miss that?" Bingley muttered half to himself.
"Mr. Darcy. Nice to see you again. I thought I was the last to leave this evening," Jane said politely while glancing casually at his companion.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name earlier," Darcy replied, taking her extended hand- ever the gentleman.
"Jane Bennet," she responded. "Elizabeth's sister," she added in answer to the question that sprang up in Darcy's look.
"Pleasure to meet you, Jane. This is Charles Bingley."
Jane offered Bingley her hand, which he took gladly. Darcy would have been hard pressed to get a word in edge-wise after that point, which suited him just fine.
"Jane, have you eaten? We were just on our way to find somewhere to eat," Bingley asked, her hand still firmly ensconced in his own and neither making a move to rectify the situation.
"Why, no, I haven't yet. I was going to grab a quick bite on the way home," she answered demurely.
"Well, then join us. Or, better yet, let us join you. I'm sure you know the best places to go, and well… I'm new around here." Bingley gave her the 'awe-shucks grin', complete with batted eyes and self-effacing chuckle. She was hooked, instantly.
"If its no trouble," Jane looked to Darcy for confirmation that her added presence would not be a nuisance. He nodded affably and opened his mouth to answer.
"Trouble? Never!" Charles cut in, tucking her hand away into the crook of his arm. They fell into comfortable step together, with Darcy picking up the rear. He shook his head in amusement. No one could withstand the Bingley charm.
Dinner was a quaint affair in a casual bistro on a quiet block not far from the office. Bingley seemed to enjoy himself immensely, and though Darcy found Jane to be nothing short of sweet, he couldn't find anything about her that he hadn't seen in any other 'sweet' girl Bingley had chatted up. So, with a serial-dater for a best friend, and having found himself an unexpected third wheel on more than one occasion, one could imagine Darcy's irritation at what happened next.
"You know, Jane, this has been fun. We should do this again, very soon," Bingley hinted warmly.
"I would love that. Maybe we could… Oh my! I'm late," she cried abruptly, having noted the time on her wristwatch just as she had dipped her eyes demurely at Bingley's words.
"Seems to be genetic," Darcy muttered into his glass of wine.
"Its been lovely, and I do hope to do this again, soon," Jane said hastily as she rose and grabbed her coat and purse.
Bingley was on his feet in a flash, taking her coat from her and holding it out for her to slip into.
"Here," he said firmly as he threw several large bills onto the table, "we'll take you were you need to go."
"Bingley!" Darcy barked, not keen on being roped into another leg of this misadventure.
"Its alright," Jane cut in. "I can manage."
"Its late, and
I insist."
"Bingley," Darcy reiterated, with
severity.
"Your friend wants to go home, Charles. But thank you so much for the offer."
"My friend is a stick in the mud. Which way are you headed?" Bingley said jovially, leaning into her ear conspiratorially.
"A few blocks to the left. I have a concert to be at," she answered.
"Concert? Really?" Bingley asked, his interest piqued. With a whistle and a wave he hailed a cab.
"Bingley, I'm going back to the apartment. You two have a lovely evening. Jane, it was a pleasure," Darcy interjected brusquely as he stepped away from the group to hail a cab of his own. He knew the look in Bingley's eye, and he was in no mood for an extended evening of playing wing man.
"Caroline is home alone this evening. I'm sure she will enjoy some quality time, just the two of you," Bingley called out to him. With something very akin to a growl, Darcy turned and trudged back. Playing second fiddle would always be more preferable than an evening with Medusa. Damn Bingley's inability to go on a first date alone. Chicken.
"A concert sounds like fun, Jane. Is it too late to get tickets? Who is playing?" Darcy said blandly.
"Well, it's a local band. I'm not sure if it will be your thing, really. Kind of loud," she said hesitantly.
"The louder the better," Bingley laughed as he pushed Darcy unceremoniously toward the cab. Then helping Jane in and settling next to her, he leaned over to whisper in her ear once again. "The evening has flown by, Jane, and I'm not ready for it to end. Would you be offended if we tag along just a little bit more?"
"Of course not," she said softly, averting her eyes as a delicate blush tinged her cheek.
"Wonderful," Darcy muttered.
The cab pulled up shortly before the well-lit exterior of a nightclub sporting the name The Shed on an old fashioned marquee. Apparently The Shed was proud to present The Apostles of Rock as this evening's entertainment. Darcy couldn't decided what thrilled him more, the promise of blown ear drums or the interminable wait that the endless line of bodies queued outside the doors ensured. Jane grabbed both men by an arm and hauled them past the waiting throng and hulking bouncers with nothing more than a wink and a smile. The doors opened for her without a single hitch.
Jane's route circumvented the more public areas of the club, and the trio soon found themselves in what appeared to be a backstage area. Neither man had time to think, before they were approached by a whirling dervish covered in a large black rubber apron and gloves and sporting this seasons hottest style in goggles beneath a Von Dutch trucker hat.
"Jane, about damn time. Matt is ready, Luke has everything in place but the wig. But Mark and John are hopeless. Will you please help John with his make-up? Charlotte is trying to get Mark together. Oh! Hello." Elizabeth pulled herself up short as she noted the tall blonde man next to her sister.
"Sure, Lizzy. Oh, this is Charles Bingley. We met at the office. He's friends with Mr. Darcy. You remember Mr…" Jane trailed off as she saw that she had lost her audience to urgent business. She looked apologetically at Bingley, who told her not to worry as he knew things were hectic.
Darcy noted, however, what had pulled Elizabeth away so rudely, and the sight of it made him want to turn tail and run. A man, encased in metal, adorned with spikes, face kabuki white with greasepaint and streaked with red and black markings which was strangely at odds with his clean cut blond hair, stood before Elizabeth the Mad Scientist. Stretching up higher than her thinly heeled boots should have allowed, she arranged a false mohawk of jet black hair upon his normal Wally Cleaver do. Once she was satisfied with his new coiffure, she reached behind a monstrous stack of sub-bass woofers and brought out a bass guitar bearing a striking resemblance to a battle-axe. Upon its silver surface were scrawled the words "Hammer of Valhalla" in blood red paint. Giving the man two thumbs up Elizabeth pushed him out toward the curtained stage, where he was soon followed by three other men in similar attire. This was not going to be a concert, it was going to be torture. Literally.
"Sorry about that. Last minute adjustments. This is Lizzy's band. She's been managing them for four years," Jane explained as she rejoined the men. "We could go out front and watch if you like. But I suggest we stay here. Things get kind of rowdy out there."
"Back here is fine," Bingley had to raise his voice as the band began to tune their instruments. A loud roar and the rhythmic shouts of "Rock, Rock, Rock" could be heard from the other side of the closed curtain. Darcy shifted nervously on his feet. His eyes strayed again toward Elizabeth, and he saw that she was now before some strange, square machine with a nozzled hose held firmly in both hands. After a few more moments, the man who appeared to be the lead singer nodded to Elizabeth, who in turn nodded toward Charlotte, who used her whole body to pull on the stubborn chords of the curtains. Jerkily they pulled apart, revealing the freak show that was the Apostles of Rock to their rowdy and adoring fans.
A deafening roar went up amongst the crowd as Luke pulled his microphone toward his lips and sneered. In the absolute worst impression of a British national Darcy had ever had the misfortune to hear, he yelled "Ahh you ready to rawck?" The response was a 10 on the Richter scale.
"Wow," Bingley shouted to Jane. "They must be great."
"No," Jane laughed. "They are wretched. Worst band in the history of man."
"Really? This place is packed. How is that possible?" Bingley asked incredulously.
"I'm not sure. Its scary really, almost like a cult. William Hung wishes he had this kind of popularity," Jane yelled over the discordant strains of the Apostles' opening number. The screams of several women could be heard over Luke's plaintive wailing, and Darcy was sure he saw a bra sail over the drummer's head.
Torture had been the correct descriptive for this evening, Darcy concluded. It was almost comical in its wretchedness. The only upshot to the whole glass-half-empty scenario was that he could admire Elizabeth without the benefit of her acerbic wit. She was very animated as she watched her band, armed with her odd weapon and bedecked in her HASMAT gear. She was quite cute, actually.
Elizabeth was unaware of anything but the band, until they started their fourth number "Bath of Blood". She nodded her head for an eight-count, then reached down and flipped a switch on the machine. Aiming the hose she had been holding so dearly, she sprayed a fine mist of red dyed corn syrup at the men on stage, solidifying the whole freak show image.
Once she had established a good rhythm, Elizabeth turned her head to give her sister a "Are we rockin' or what?" look. It was then she noticed Jane had not brought one man with her, but two. Her face fell as she recognized the second man.
And then the machine broke.
The fine mist of red became a gushing current of sticky red ooze. The hose jerked spasmodically in Elizabeth's hands, coating the band in crimson streams. Matt was the first to fall. Loosing his footing he slid head long into Luke, who performed a near flawless double axle before falling backward over Matt's prone form. His momentum slowed but not stopped by his fall, Luke toppled Mark over backward into the drum kit mid-chord. It was the purest note he had ever played.
With nothing left to drum, John flipped his sticks up into the air and caught them with a flourish. "Thank you!" he yelled as Charlotte pulled the curtains closed as fast as their rickety workings would allow.
Chaos had not left the backstage area untouched. Elizabeth yelled for someone to unplug the machine while she struggled to maintain a slippery grip on the squirming hose. Jane had rushed to the aid of the band members who were currently dog-piled stage right, and Charles was hot on her heels. Charlotte was struggling with the curtain, leaving Darcy to save the day. Which he did with much aplomb, following the power cord to its outlet and pulling it out in one swift motion. Feeling pretty good about things, glad to have been of assistance, and gladder yet to have escaped contact with the sticky ooze, Darcy approached Elizabeth with all the confidence of the truly naïve.
His first sign should have been the snapping off of the gloves, he definitely should have gotten it with the furious chucking of the goggles. But that he hadn't caught on when she barely missed his head with the flying Von Dutch trucker hat was pure self-delusion. Elizabeth was pissed and he was her target.
"In the name of all things holy, will you get your cursed being away from me before you end my life!" She yelled as she tore off the black rubber apron.
Her hair, now freed from the hat, bounced about her shoulders even as her eyes danced with anger. She had said something, but he couldn't hear due to the g-force spin his stomach was taking. Aphrodite-full blown and furious. Her gauzy, filmy shirt caught and clung and bore cleavage while the denim of her jeans hugged her sweetly from the hips down. Mad as hell she stamped her foot… and down she went.
Her foot going right out from underneath her, losing purchase in the slimy fake blood, Elizabeth found herself flat on her tush before she knew what hit her. That was the limit, and all she could do at that point was laugh.
"Here, let me help you," Darcy was right there, offering his hand. Elizabeth grabbed on and allowed him to help pull her up, but gravity said no and brought her back down with another slip and slide of her precarious heels. She couldn't help but laugh again, because the pretty boy came down with her.
From his precarious perch atop her shapely body, Darcy laughed as well. And for a brief moment the world stopped.
"Well, some help you are," she quipped.
"Are you always so graceful, Miss Bennet, or is it your ridiculous taste in shoes ," he tossed back.
"Ridiculous! These are Jimmy Choos," she gasped, much offended by his lack of fashion sense. Ridiculous indeed.
"Well, I think he will be wanting them back, then. You are obviously complete rubbish in them," he smiled at how easy it was to get her dander up.
Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow, catching on to his game. The corner of her mouth twitched up in recognition of a kindred wit. He was quick, she had to give him that.
The proximity, the adrenaline, the complete abandon he felt right at that moment- a sensation so wholly unfamiliar to him- those were the elements upon which he would later cast the blame. For with such beauty before him, or under him as the case may be, how could he not be tempted?
In one hot-blooded impulsive act he kissed her.
In the deepest, darkest part of her subconscious, Elizabeth knew she should slap him. Or maybe even give him the knee. At the very least push him off. But a girl who had only recently expected to never date again would be a fool to pass up a kiss this good. After all, he owed her- again- and she felt quite content taking this as partial payment. So, she did what any good girl would do when faced with such a situation, she slipped him some tongue.
Much could have been made of this particular opportunity by both parties involved, had not the reality of the situation around them kicked in. Sticky red ooze was soaking most uncomfortably through Elizabeth's clothes, and the sounds from the stage had finally begun to penetrate their hormonal bubble. Pulling away, Elizabeth cocked a saucy eyebrow and smiled.
"Why, Mr. Darcy, and here I thought you were a gentleman," she quipped in her most unaffected voice. She'd be damned if she was going to let him know that the earth had moved. With her luck around him, it was probably a legitimate earthquake anyway.
Before he could respond, he found himself hauled up bodily by Bingley and one of the stagehands.
"Darcy, are you okay? You guys must have gone down hard in this muck. Lets get you out of this before that suit is completely ruined," Bingley prattled as Darcy regained his footing. Looking down at himself he saw the suit was a lost cause, and the shoes as well. His next thought came too late, as he watched Luke and Matt pull Elizabeth back to her feet. She, too, took a moment to lament the state of her attire before she was pulled away by Jane and the rest of the band. With worried faces they huddled together, every once in awhile casting a frightened glance at commotion coming from the other side of the curtain.
"Lets go, Darcy. Jane says we had better jump ship before the angry mob out there becomes active," Bingley pulled on his friend's sleeve.
"What about the women? Surely we should stay and help," Darcy worried.
"The manager is sending an escort of bouncers for them, but we won't be so lucky. Its now or never."
And with that, the men exited the scene- stage left.
The next few days progressed with virtually no interaction between Darcy and Elizabeth. Their paths didn't cross, they didn't meet socially, nor did they find time to tongue wrestle in a kiddie pool of fake blood. For Bingley and Jane, on the other hand, it was quite the opposite.
Things were progressing between the couple at an alarming rate, so much so that Bingley was either hard to find after work hours, or Jane was a permanent fixture at the evening meals. Caroline had not found Miss Jane Bennet as interesting as her older brother obviously did, which was an added benefit for Darcy as her shifted focus left him with rare unmolested free time. The down side of this new found romance was the lack of progress he and Bingley were making on his portfolio.
On Friday, one week after the "Bath of Blood" incident, Darcy put his foot down. He needed a few hours of Bingley's uninterrupted time, and by God he'd have it.
"You are a slave driver, Darcy," Bingley groused as they left his office. It was just past nine, and any chances of calling Jane for a late dinner where right out the window.
"Yes, well there will be no more late nights. We are finished, and I for one feel good about that. Now you can spend your evenings as you like, and I can make plans to go back to London," Darcy smiled as he gave Bingley a friendly thump on the back.
"I wish you would stay longer. There is much fun to be had here, now that you have some time to relax," Bingley offered encouragingly.
"Fun is relative, Bingley. I've had enough fun here to last a life time. I need to go back home."
Bingley's response was cut short by the ring of his cell phone. Darcy cringed as it became quickly apparent that Bingley's sister was the caller, and by the whipped puppy look in his friend's eyes he knew that she was taking her brother to task.
"Bingley," he interrupted, "you go ahead. I've left something in the office. I'll catch another cab."
Shaking his head furiously, Bingley tried to catch Darcy's attention but to no avail. With a wink and a chuckle he backtracked to Bingley's office where he planned to sit idly just long enough for Charles to catch a cab home. Turn about was fair play, and besides, the poor boy had Caroline's lovely voice to keep him company on the ride home.
As he strode down the hall, a faint light and the soft sounds of a radio up ahead drew his attention. He followed the music until it led him to the office of William Lucas. But peering through the door he saw that the person behind the desk was certainly no man named Lucas.
Elizabeth had some last minute figures to settle for her boss. Working late didn't bother her, really. It saved her from having to go home to an empty apartment, and she got more done in the still and quiet of the after hours workplace. After a trying morning on the stock exchange floor, she embraced the solitude. Around nine she put the finishing touches on her work and felt the call to stretch her cramped muscles. It was then that the sultry sounds of the desk radio caught her attention.
As if moving to some internal choreography, Elizabeth removed the pencil that had been holding her hair in a bun away from her face and shook her curls free. She reached over and turned up the radio just as Joe Cocker implored her to take off her coat real slow over the jazzy punch of a tenor sax. Not wanting to disappoint the man, she slid her suit jacket from her shoulders with a sassy shake and popped open a few shirt buttons for good measure. She then slipped her shoes off as Mr. Cocker commanded, and grabbing the spare chapeau Mr. Lucas always left upon his desk, she set it on her head and tugged it down over an eye. Letting the music wash away the stress of the day, she moved in time to the sexy beat.
Darcy watched from the shadows of the darkened office area, against any proper upbringing his mother had tried to instill in him, God rest her soul. His mouth became a desert as he enjoyed the privilege of watching a woman completely at ease with herself dance as if she were alone in the world. And as he watched, his imagination took over, inserting himself into the scene as a very hands-on participant. Her hair running through his fingers, her hips skimming softly against his, her lips open and inviting. She was wreaking havoc on his willpower.
The song pulsed on as Elizabeth danced with abandon. Darcy felt himself step forward, then forward again until finally the song ended and the spell was broken for both of them. Embarrassed, though unnoticed, he turned hastily away and retreated back toward the exit.
He had thought he would have time to catch a cab before Elizabeth emerged from the building, but five minutes of anxious waving had gotten him nothing. The soft click of heels upon the pavement behind him announced her presence, which felt as heavy to him as the lingering humidity of the night air.
"Hello, stranger. You are here awfully late," Elizabeth commented.
This was their first meeting since the kiss, add that to the intimate show Darcy had just witnessed and it was all he could do to keep his composure. Cornered, he bit the bullet and turned to face her. "Hello, Elizabeth. It seems I'm not the only one."
"Yes, well, last minute project," she said noncommittally.
"I see," was the best he could come up with. "It feels like rain. Would you like for me to hail a cab for you?" he added and then flinched.
"No, thank you," Elizabeth replied, suddenly cognizant of all the horrible things that could go wrong in an automobile driven by a middle-aged, balding taxi driver hopped up on No-Doz. Getting in a cab with or hired by the king of all jinxes would assure she would find out first hand.
"Have you eaten?" Darcy persisted against the screaming of his left brain.
"No."
"Neither have I, and it is late but I'm sure there is somewhere that will serve something palatable at this hour. Would you like to join me?" His right eye gave a small twitch.
As if on cue, fat droplets descended from the sky. Darcy turned again to hail a cab, hoping to get them out of the rain before they were drenched.
Peering up into the rain Elizabeth replied, "I don't think so."
Darcy wasn't listening, for he expected a positive response- he always received a positive response in these situations- so he carried on with job of catching a cab. At his wit's end and just short of jumping in front of a zooming yellow arrow of death, an older model cab with a broken lamp and a missing side mirror pulled to a halt before them. Quickly, Darcy opened the door and reached out to usher Elizabeth in.
"Nooooo," she said, punctuating it with a firm step backward.
"Its raining, Elizabeth, get in!"
"Nooooo," she repeated, certainty setting in…
"For heaven's sake, why not?" he growled, frustration level rising…
"That is a death trap, just look at it. You go ahead. I'm sure I'll read all about your little ride in print tomorrow," she scoffed.
"You are being ridiculous. And you will be soaked through in a moment. Just get in, where we can discuss this in relative warmth," he argued.
"I tell you what, you get in, I'll walk this way. Its been a pleasure- good night," she ended, turning on her heel as she turned up the collar of her coat.
Darcy grabbed her arm to stop her and spun her around into him and catching her about the waist to keep her in place.
"Elizabeth, get in the car before you catch your death of cold."
She didn't want to get in the car, he wasn't the boss of her. Who did he think he was, telling her what to do? She began to feel all the stubbornness of her inner two year old build up like a dam behind her bottom lip, forcing her to do something she hadn't done in some time- pout.
Darcy raised an eyebrow just as a plump raindrop landed on her neck and made its icy way down her back. It was then that Elizabeth decided that smart, sophisticated women of the world have to give in a little sometimes. She slipped from his grip and slid into the cab.
"Where to?" the husky voice of the Rastafarian cab driver flowed into the back seat like a fine cloud of ganja.
"What is open this late?" Darcy asked Elizabeth as the cab pulled away from the curb with a lurch.
"For what?" she asked.
"Dinner," he smiled.
"I agreed to a cab ride home, not dinner Mr. Darcy."
His brow creased. "I distinctly remember asking you to dinner."
"And my reply was 'I don't think so'." She smiled back at him primly and leaned forward on the creaking seat to give the driver an address.
"You said you haven't eaten," he persisted.
"Correct, and you said the same," she replied.
His frown deepened. "You must be hungry."
"I am," she admitted, though a timely growl of her stomach would have given away her lie if she had tried it.
"Then what is the problem?"
"I don't know the Heimlich maneuver," she quipped. So far the cab ride had been uneventful, but throwing dinner into the mix was surely just asking for something heinous to happen.
"Pardon me?"
"Forget it. I have a nice ham sandwich waiting for me in my refrigerator."
"You can't be serious. I'll take you wherever you would like to go, just name the place."
"Here's perfect," she answered as the cab pulled up before her apartment building. She looked at him expectantly and he returned her gaze with confusion.
"I would rather not have to climb over you to get out," she hinted heavily.
"Surely you don't…"
"Yes."
"But it would be no problem to…"
"No."
"Well, could you just…"
"Third and Vine has a lovely hamburger joint open at this hour. They should be able to whip you something up."
Darcy clenched his jaw as he slipped from the cab to let her out. Infuriating woman! He had never been turned down before, much less in such a brusque manner.
"Its not that I don't appreciate the offer. I just don't trust the response time of 911 at this hour. And you aren't exactly a breath of fresh karma," she said as she stepped out of the cab.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked, suddenly feeling very defensive.
"Oh, come on. You have to admit that anytime I am remotely near you something breaks," she laughed.
"So, that is what you think? I'm some form of bad luck for you?" he was incredulous.
"Do you blame me?"
Darcy reflected a moment on their short but infamous acquaintance. He mentally conceded she had some small point. But that she had taken it and run, he had no doubt. There was only one thing for it.
"Then you must let me make it up to you; start over fresh and prove to you otherwise," he rocked back on his heels and gave her a challenging look.
"You are incredibly persistent," she stated.
"And you are unbelievably stubborn," he replied.
"I'll think about it."
"You do that."
Elizabeth nodded at him thoughtfully then turned toward her apartment.
Darcy would later blame it on the rain, or low blood sugar. Either way, the second kiss was just as unexpected as the first, and for once Elizabeth was caught completely off guard.
Leaving her stunned on the sidewalk, he climbed back into the cab and sped off into the night.
