Chapter 13: Darcy
The week following my first excursion with Elizabeth Bennet comes and goes in a flurry of dotted line paperwork and firm handshakes. Before long, I once again find myself parked on the corner of Baker Street, impatiently awaiting Elizabeth Bennet to appear. I am hoping we can finish up early today so that I can check in on the film production of Sophia's project. I have no idea if they have replaced the lead actress or if Evelyn is still dredging through her lines opposite an unenthused Charles Bingley.
My documentary takes up most of my free time, and I am unable to monitor the progress of the movie much to Sophia's delight. Even though I insisted on being kept in the loop, she has not updated me on the proposed actress switch or script change. The few times I have seen her in the hallway she has breezed past me with a rushed, "In a hurry, can't talk now." It is pretty evident that she is avoiding me, but I did appoint her as creative director and promised that I would not helicopter her. This project is the only thing keeping her mind off of her reprobate husband and her impending divorce, and I would rather marry Caroline Bingley than take that distraction away from her. Still, this is my company and I deserve to be kept abreast of all the going ons even if I do not agree with them.
"Hi, how are you?"
I look up to see a slightly breathless Elizabeth Bennet standing in front of me sporting an unbuttoned gray pea coat. The weather is a lot chillier now that we are entering winter, but it is still warm enough to forgo the winter boots and scarves.
"Well. And you?" I reply politely as I open the passenger door for her before walking over to the driver's side.
"I'm good. I'm so happy it's starting to get cold. Winter is my absolute favorite season…"
I listen quietly as she poetically describes the landscape of winter and why it is far superior to the other three seasons. The drive to the abandoned tracks is a long one, but Elizabeth manages to fill the entire car ride with conversation. Her voice has an enticing quality to it that almost makes up for the annoying amount of times that she demands a response from me.
"You must have a favorite though."
"Why must I?" I ask not understanding her insistence that I choose a favorite season.
"During what part of the year are you happiest?"
"I am equally happy during all parts of the year," I reply honestly.
"A time that fills your heart with exceptional amounts of joy. The time you most look forward to and miss dreadfully when it passes."
"I have already told you that no time of the year holds a particularity for me."
"You're no fun," she huffs as she pushes open the door and steps out of the car.
Despite being of age, Elizabeth Bennet strikes me as a youth on the brink of adulthood. A wispy wood nymph floating through the world bathe in sunshine and laughter. Everything that comes out of her mouth is tinged with humor. I watch as she stretches her limbs out like a cat and takes in that we are completely alone in this deserted area of the town.
I push open my door and pull my camera and equipment from the car.
"Okay, you are the boss. Where should we start?"
She ponders for a moment looking around at the overturned mass of chipping paint and bent metal. "Let's start with why the train stopped running. Where do you want me to be?"
"You don't have a mic so it will be easier to capture the audio if you are stationary. Maybe we can find a place in the train for you to sit."
We both walk through the field, stepping over chunks of debris to make our way to the giant fixture. We traverse the length of the train until finally spotting an empty boxcar that looks clean enough. We check for any unwelcome residents before Elizabeth swats away my helping hand and struggles on to the platform herself. Once up and situated, she crosses her legs and leans back slightly. Her dress lifts slightly as a breeze passes by, and she quickly smooths it down again.
"Okay, ready when you are!" She yells.
"You don't need to yell, just speak a little louder than normal. Like this," I say raising my voice slightly to demonstrate.
She gives me a thumbs-up sign as I prep my camera and frame the shot. I catch her eye and then give her a slight nod.
"We are currently at the sight of the most famous train in all of Virginia. This monstrosity might not seem like much but about a century ago, it was the main vehicle for transporting runaway slaves from the North back to the South…. In a show of revolt, freed slaves burned the train as it passed through the dock…"
The camera loves Elizabeth. Every angle frames her in a soft glow that makes her appear youthful. I keep the camera mostly stationary as she speaks, only tilting it slightly to keep her as the main focus of the frame. She animatedly expresses her tale interspersing her dialogue with dramatic pauses and perfunctory hand gestures. Because I am so intent on keeping her in focus, I go in and out of listening to her story. No matter, I will hear it plenty of times when I go back through the film for editing.
"And that my dear friends is the story of the defunct train of Healdsburg, Virginia!"
I let the film roll for a few more seconds to give myself some leeway when it comes time to edit. I shut off the camera and then signal to Elizabeth that we are done filming.
"Got it in one take!" She smiles down at me from her perch. She looks down at the ground.
"Wait a minute. I'll help you down." I announce as I ensure that the camera will remain upright without my holding it.
Despite my offer, I watch as she shimmies her way to the edge and dangles her feet. "I got up here on my own, I can get down on my own as well."
"Just wait," I reply as I make my way towards her, intent on helping her down. She sees me coming over and hurriedly jumps off the platform. Her feet heavily hit the ground, and the force knocks her forward. I rush over to catch her before she hits the ground.
I gather her in my arms and pull her close.
Wait.
What?
No.
I did not mean that. I meant to say that I help her regain her footing so that she is upright, and then I quickly remove my hands and take several steps back.
"If you had waited this would not have happened," I exclaim sternly unable to make eye contact.
She huffs and walks around me. "You should have just let me fall."
I look up at this headstrong, belligerent girl. "Why is it so hard for you to simply say thank you?"
"I didn't ask for your help so why should I give you thanks?"
"You did not ask for it, but you needed it." The way she is looking at me right now makes me want to give her a snarky set down but also pull her closer to me. No. No. I want to keep my hands completely to myself.
She crosses her hands in front of her and looks into my eyes. The fire behind her dark brown irises is so vibrant, I can feel it in my fingers. My heart beats faster waiting for her next response.
After many moments of silence, she replies, "There are so many things I want to say to you right now, but I don't think you could handle them, and I would like to keep this job, so… I have nothing further to say on the matter."
She turns away from me and continues walking to the car leaving me disappointed and a little cold. Before I can bring it up again, she changes the topic.
"I still need to tell you about the fire at Mama June's." She does not look at me as she tells her story. I have to strain in order to catch everything. "Mama June has a son who worked with Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and helped organize marches and sit-ins down south. He was a real freedom fighter. He had such an amazing gift of speech. Of course, there were a lot of folks that didn't like how persuasive he was and wanted him to shut up. He got threatened while he was down south, but as a young, single man who's ready to die for the cause, jailing and beating will only do so much to break the spirit."
She turns to me slowly and leans against the car. I stand in front of her waiting to hear the rest of her tale. "They found out about his mom, Mama June, and her famous, little diner. One night they set fire to the place. Burned the whole place to ashes. Thankfully, nobody was inside. Mama June had saved up all her earnings to create this place and it was a real travesty watching all that hard work reduced to ashes."
"That is awful."
"Yeah, she lost everything that night. That's why she doesn't like talking about fires… or her oldest son for that matter. After that, he quieted down and last I heard, he moved up north. No one has heard from him since. The racists found his weak spot," she looks away for a moment before continuing, "Everybody was real sad when they saw Mama June's place burned to the ground, so we came together as a community and helped raise the funds to buy her a new diner. The one that stands today. She also got herself a few smoke detectors and better security."
"How do you know all of this? It has to have been before you were born."
She smiles up at me, "Unlike you, I listen even to the things people don't overtly say."
"I do listen," I reply back.
"Of course you do. Also, none of this can go into your film. It honestly shouldn't leave this space.
Mama June is still worried about her son and those thugs burning her place down again. The official story goes that somebody left an oven on overnight and that's what started the fire."
"Why did she not go to the authorities?"
"Who do you think started the fire? Maybe up there on the hill, the authorities are your friend, but down here they're not. We have to look out for ourselves." Lizzie shakes her head before pulling open the passenger door and getting in. "We have a long drive back, and I have to be somewhere in a few hours. I think you got enough footage for today. I'll take you around some of the shops next week."
I stow my camera and equipment in the truck of the car before getting into the driver's seat. The car ride is once again filled with Lizzie's endless commentary, but this time she refrains from asking any questions.
After dropping Elizabeth off, I drove up to Pemberley to look through the footage I collected today. I go through the reel and make edits on scenes that I want to splice out or overlay with music. I methodically go through each scene, making notes and edits, until one shot arrests my attention. Elizabeth is talking about her grandfather who used to work for the train as a cargo loader and how he was torn when the train was blown up and put out of commission. Her eyes portray so much emotion and depth. I can see her grappling with the two sides of the narrative. God, her eyes I could lose myself in them. I want to lose myself in them…
"Darce! What are you doing in the dark all by yourself?"
I quickly shut down the reel and turn towards the boisterous voice coming from the top floor door as the lights are abruptly turned on. "Charlie, can you not see that I am busy."
"What? You weren't even watching it. It was paused." He walks down the steps to the row I am currently occupying. "Say, why was the reel paused on the shot of that girl? Did I interrupt something?"
"Don't be ridiculous. The more important question, is where were you last Friday night? We had plans to go over your new movie." I stand up and make my way back to my office. Now that Charlie is here, I might as well take the opportunity to discuss the new movie with him.
A dreamy look appears on Charlie's face as he gazes off into the distance. "I was with an angel… Janet."
"Who?"
"Janet. The girl I brought to the studio two weeks ago. The one who blew everybody, even you, away with her portrayal of my love interest."
"Oh…her," I reply in an uninterested tone. Just like all of the rest, Charlie will sing this girl's praise for a month maybe two, and then completely forget about her in search of an even more perfect angel. Unbothered by my lack of enthusiasm, Charlie continues to list her many virtues.
"She's so innocent and sweet. So unassuming.
"Isn't she a really good actress?"
"What does that have to do with what I just said?"
"Maybe she is pretending to be innocent so that she can get close to you."
"Darce, you're always assuming the worst in people. I'm surprised you managed to find someone who meets your standards."
Air catches in my throat as I choke out, "You cannot be talking about your sister? It was one date, that I went on at your behest."
"Of course not," Charlie scoffs, "I'm talking about your mystery girl. The one you refuse to let me meet."
"What mystery girl, Charles?" I turn to him in confusion.
"The one you've been meeting up with every Friday. The one you refuse to let me meet or even see."
"You'll never meet this girl because she's not my girl." I try my best to ignore Charlie's prodding and return to my work, but my mind insists on conjuring images of Elizabeth twirling through a meadow beckoning me to dance with her. I try to hide my rapidly reddening ears from Charlie.
A slow grin spreads across Charlie's face. "Oh, but I can tell by that look that you want her to be." Charlie places his elbows on my desk and leans in. "What does she look like? You've spent at least two whole days with her, I'm sure you've taken her picture by now. Let me see. Where is it?"
"There's no picture."
"Darce we both know that you're a terrible liar. Your ears are redder than a pepper right now. I tell you about all of my romantic interludes. Don't I deserve to know about at least one of yours?"
In a fit of agitation, I slam my papers down and look straight at Charlie. "For the last time, I do not have a girl. Elizabeth is simply someone I am paying to assist me with my new documentary. I would appreciate if you actually did something productive like learning your lines instead of annoying me with your inane questions." I return to my papers, haphazardly stacking and shuffling them to give myself time to cool off. I am very meticulous about my work, and I refuse to allow this silly conversation with Charlie cause my workmanship to decline.
Charlie smirks. "Doesn't matter, I already know who she is anyway. I was just trying to see if you would open up. Apparently best friend status means nothing to you."
"What?"
"Elizabeth. I already know who she is. We've met before."
"How?"
"While I was out with Janet Bennet last Friday night, she happened to mention that she has a sister who has been helping a tall, easily agitated CEO with a documentary. She also informed me that said sister's name is Elizabeth Bennet. Coincidence? I think not."
…No. No way.
"They are sisters?" I state slowly letting the gravity of the situation sink in. Not even a second later, Charlie burst into joyous tears, doubling over and holding his stomach.
"What are the odds, Darce? And to think that you once called her a whore and now you're dating her."
"We are not dating!" The last thing I need is Elizabeth thinking that I have feelings for her. I do not want her thinking that there is any chance of romance between the two of us. "Also, when did I call her a whore? I have never said any such thing."
"That night. In the club. When her sister bumped into you. You said, and I quote, 'I don't know why you hang around these disgusting people. They're all just a bunch of whores.'"
"I didn't… I mean. That sounds a lot harsher out of context."
"What context, Darce. It's harsh no matter when or why you say it. Anyway, I'm sure she's forgiven you if she agreed to spend so much time with you."
"Because I am paying her. We are spending so much time together because I am paying her."
"So, you have absolutely no feelings whatsoever for her?"
"Absolutely none," I resolutely respond.
"Noted," Charlie gives me a side grin and a shrug before making his exit whistling the tune to some vaguely familiar love song.
"Charles, come back here. We never discussed the movie," I call after him.
Without looking back, he responds "We'll meet tomorrow morning. I promise. I'm meeting Janet for dinner."
The door shuts and I am left with nothing but my disorganized papers and my even more jumbled up thoughts.
A little after midnight, I lay in bed musing over the activities of the day. Despite all of the activity at Pemberley and my chat with Charlie earlier this evening, my mind only wishes to dwell on my morning meeting with Elizabeth Bennet specifically the moment when I wished to embrace her. Do I have feelings for her? No that cannot be possible. She is woefully beneath me.
I smile as I think back to our earlier argument. Even though her tone was harsh, her eyes were… inviting. I am positive that she was flirting with me as she regaled me with her never-ending stories and threw me thinly veiled looks of passion. This realization made me less embarrassed by my earlier desires to hold her in my arms. I was simply under the spell of her fine eyes.
How could I resist thinking such thoughts and imagining more intimate situations when she was dancing in front of me in that thin blue dress, wisps of her curly hair dancing along with her? But then why did she make such a huge show of not wanting my help.
Maybe she was angry at herself for being drawn to me, so she aimed to distance herself from her desires by arguing with me. With an apparent attempt to affront me, she refused my assistance in getting down from the platform and then refused to acknowledge the benefit of my help in her avoiding a fall. How does she manage to disappoint and intrigue simultaneously?"*
No matter. This is a business deal. Simple as that. She is providing a service, for which I am paying for. Once this documentary is filmed, we can go about our separate ways and never speak to each other again. I turn over in my bed and will myself to think of anything besides the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow*.
*Quotes from the original work written by the great Jane Austen herself.