Optimus Prime would be so disappointed

I'd like to think that I'm the kind of person who could pull a really smug expression and say 'judge not, lest ye be judged' and, you know, not need a good slapping for it. I certainly imagined, when I was nine and adored Optimus Prime, that one day people would point me out as that girl who did something (the details were always kind of hazy) which showed her great kindness and open heart, how she never judged anyone else, how she would not just look at someone and feel nauseous, just because of the way they smiled. I guess some small part of that fantasy continued right up to now, because only a few seconds after my first glimpse at Bill Collins in about ten years, my first thought was Optimus Prime would be so disappointed.

"Elizabeth Bennet? Are you…you are aren't you?"

I turn round on my bar stool and manage to flash exactly none of Al's patrons, no mean feat when dressed in an obscenely short skirt that Charley has pressed upon me. Before me stands an amazing marvel which all film make-up artists and CGI experts would do well to study: the face of a seventeen year old plastered onto the very-much-let-go body of one ten years older. I manage to stop myself from swearing. Just.

"Yes," I say slowly, and think about holding out my hand. I restrain myself until it is entirely necessary.

"It's me!" he says, in a revelatory tone. It appears that I should be pleased. "Bill! Bill Collins! I emailed you, remember?"

"Oh," I say, rather weakly. "Of course. Now I remember." I turn and gesture to Charley. "You remember Charlotte Lu?"

He turns a sickly smile on her. "Yes. Little Charlotte Lu. I'm not sure I would have recognised you!"

"I've let myself go, have I?"

His smile flashes through panic and right on to saccharine. "No! Not at all. I merely meant that you are so much more sophisticated, elegant, suave…" His grasp of synonyms is shaky. He trails off.

"It's fine," she says, and holds out a hand, voluntarily I might add. "You don't look any different," she says, somewhat charitably.

He smiles. "Why thank you! Now," he says, glancing at the relatively full bottles in our hands. "Can I get you ladies anything?"

I am about to decline, waving my full beer in his face, when Charlotte cuts in. "Thank you. That's very kind. A Martini, Liz?"

"Sure?" I say, slowly. This night is getting weird. I suspect it's going to get weirder.

"Great. Two Martinis please, Bill."

He smiles and saunters, actually saunters, down the bar to attract Al's attention. I notice that Al resolutely continues chatting to someone else. It makes me smile before I turn and manage to stop myself from shaking Charley. "What the hell are you doing?" I ask in what may be termed 'a furious whisper'. It certainly feels furious.

"Free Martinis Lizzie! Plus, he seems quite nice."

Seriously. She turns down sweet, shy, lovely Don, and yet accepts the drinks of Bill, who may possibly be related to some amphibian.

"Nice!" I say. "Nice? The guy is weird."

She shrugs. "Yeah, but he's friendly. He seems to like you!" She grins, elbowing me in the ribs and I shudder.

"No idea why," I say. "I'm not exactly encouraging him."

"I'll say," says Charley, and shakes her head at me, as if she's disappointed. "You could be a bit nicer."

I stare at her for a second, feel the prod of Optimus on my conscience, and sigh. "Fine," I say. "I'll be nicer."

"All the way to nice?"

I grimace. "I'm promising nothing."

Bill Collins reappears, and smiles a sickly smile. "So," he says, "what were we discussing?"

Fighting the urge to say 'male pattern baldness' I am momentarily grounded to silence. Thankfully, Charley sweeps in.

"Oh, I was congratulating Lizzie on her new job!"

He flings his arms out, having a near miss with Charley's Martini.

"Congratulations Elizabeth," he crows. "And what is this job? I hope not far away?"

"Speech writing for the Charles Bingley campaign?" I say, not really caring if he has heard of Charlie. "I'll be on the campaign trail, largely."

His face falls. "Oh, well, it sounds marvellous."

"Yeah." This job, the one that I am secretly thrilled about, has been reduced to a 'yeah'. This dude is sucking the life out of my last night at home.

"And what do you do, Bill?" asks Charley, ever the diplomat.

His smile becomes smug. "Ah, well," he begins, and I take a long sip of my Martini. It can only help. "I am soon to be a partner in DBD Advertising." He says it like we should know it.

"Oh great!" says Charley, faking it. "Congratulations. Where is that based again?"

"Nashville." He nods, smiling to himself. "It's a wonderful family firm. I'm so lucky…"

"Yeah." I'm going mad. Slowly, but surely.

He smiles. "It will be quite a commute now, though."

A chill passes through the air. Something is coming. Something bad. "Oh?" says Charley. "You don't live in Nashville?"

"I did. I had a wonderful apartment, but now my poor aunt has died, she left me Three Hills."

Charley turns to look at me, yet still answers him. "Really?" she asks, her eyes wide. "Three Hills?"

"Yes," he says, smiling all to broadly for a man who has just lost his aunt. "I believe the land joins onto your father's doesn't it Elizabeth?"

"Yes." I don't trust myself to say anything else. It is all slotting into place, like some massive logic puzzle. I can feel him watching me. "So," he says, "I have a big house, and lots of land, and nothing to do with it."

Charley is clearly trying to control herself, but her mouth is twitching. I'm not sure I can keep this up any longer. In fact, "maybe you should raise llamas," I say, and stand up. "Excuse me."

Don Zamzow is standing at the other end of the bar, and I walk towards him.

"Don!" I say cheerily, and lean in. "Please, for the love of my sanity, please," I say, in an undertone, "can I stay here and talk to you for a bit?"

He smiles, slowly. Geez, Charley's an idiot not to ask him out. "Sure," he says, and starts polishing glasses. "Giving that guy and Charlotte some time alone?"

"Yes," I say, "and when she yells at me later, you tell her that it was for my own good."

He smiles again. "It probably was," he says. "The way you were gripping that glass, you were about to have a nasty accident."

"I know!" I say. "Why can't he notice that?" I sigh. "I'm pretty sure he was about to ask me out."

"Why?"

"Why was I sure or why, oh why, would he think I'd go out with him?"

He pushes the dish of peanuts across the bar towards me, and then continues polishing. "The latter."

I grimace, and spare a glance for them at the other end, where they don't exactly appear to be missing me. I fight down a brief flicker of annoyance. I was, after all, about to jam a fork in the guy's neck. "He thinks he's doing me a favour, giving me a shot at the rich stud who lives next door."

"A stud, eh?"

"Well he clearly thinks so."

He puts down the glass and cloth, and leans on the bar. "But why would he think that you'd want to have a shot at him?"

"With a rifle, I would." I shrug and sigh. "His land borders ours. Presumably he's thinking that if we got married…" I grimace, "then my father's farm would be saved by having extra land for free, or maybe low rent? I don't know…" I glance back at them. "Charley seems to like him though."

Don smiles, and spots a regular ambling up to the bar. "He should be so lucky. For either of you" he adds, and then walks off down the bar.

I sigh. Stupid job taking me away. Stupid Charley not falling for lovely Don. Stupid Bill for…well, everything. I finish my Martini and wonder how early it would be lame to go home.

So. That was a bit short too. Sorry about that. I think that they'll get longer from now on. Thanks again.