"I heard that that Bingley guy, John, is going to stay here in Beardsley for the winter" said Charlotte handing me my mug of coffee. "Yeah I know" I replied mechanically.
"Does your mother know anything about him? I heard she is trying to set up Jane with him", Charlotte said while stamping some new books.
"I don't attend any of my mother's parties Charlotte." I replied rather irritated.
Charlotte sensed my discomfort as she continued pushing the stack aside, "I think Jane and John would make that perfect couple you see only on instagram. Even their jobs are picture perfect"
"In what world is an international human rights lawyer getting married to a Los Angeles producer 'picture-perfect'?" I asked rather confused.
"Do you live under a rock Lizzie? What do you call Amal and George Clooney?" Charlotte retaliated.
"I'm sure they are very happy and successful people, Char. But I don't think that should really be the deal maker. If Jane actually like the 'John' part more than the 'Bingley' one; that is when I think she would be making a good decision" I said as I noticed a pimpled teenager picking his nose absent-mindedly as he was staring out the window besides his desk.
"Says the daughter of Emma Bennet of all people" taunted Charlotte as she scoffed over her mug of herbal tea.
It was very difficult to escape the brutal irony of my life even for me; I don't think it would be fair to blame Charlotte for being rude. Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of the successful lawyer Gerald Bennet and Beardsley socialite Emma Bennet, sister of Jane Bennet, Yale-graduate, 5'10, blonde with blue eyes and the life of every party. Elizabeth Bennet, a nominal bachelor's degree in English literature, started working as a librarian for the town library while she worked on her first novel. Calling me even a "black sheep" would be an understatement. But it would be at least partly right, for I'm the only 5'2 brunette in a family of tall blondes.
"Jane and John would actually be better than the Clooneys" Charlotte continued, "The age difference isn't too much among them as it is between Amal and George". I felt like someone was pulling at my stomach.
"John invited me to this Halloween party he's throwing at his estate uptown" I said as I tried to change the topic.
"Really?" said Charlotte sitting up straight in her chair. "Yeah" I replied with a smile as a couple of girls came up to the counter to return some books.
"Are you going?" Charlotte asked with a grin on her face as she glanced sideways at me. "Yeah I have to. Jane is coming a day before" I replied looking at the library cards I was handed. "This one is overdue, Miss" I said to one of the girls at the counter holding "Lady Chatterley's Lover" towards them.
"I don't remember issuing it", said the red-haired confused teen. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah hon it was your mother", interrupted Charlotte maintaining that coy grin of hers which was now directed at the ginger. "I'm sure she forgot to tell you about it"
There was a few seconds of an awkward pause between the four of us until ginger's raven haired friend blurted out laughing with a ridiculous snort. Charlotte smiled gently towards the embarrassed ginger as she said, "it's okay Katie, we'll let it pass. But tell your mother that she shouldn't issue books on your card like this. If she wants to read books she can ask you to issue it so that she can return it on time".
"So Jane is coming on the 30th?" asked Charlotte turning towards me with her good-natured smile. "Yes I think she'll stay here till Thanksgiving" I replied. "I'm sure it was your mother who called her" said Charlotte returning to her computer screen, "Mrs. Bennet is not going to let any opportunity to acquire a Bingley go to waste".
I scoffed cynically as I quietly agreed with her. My mother's biggest obsession has always been the maintenance of her image as "the most fabulous woman of Beardsley". Forgoing a career in modeling, she made the "ultimate sacrifice" by marrying a wealthy Lawyer and settling down in this lovely idyllic town nestled in the hills. I kind of feel sorry for her sometime, her ambition never allowed her to see how good the town and the people were. Her obsession with how "things should be" never appreciated Jane's intellect and kindness. When people look at her they see the squeaky clean record of Yale and travelling around the world helping with causes that people only read about, but it was me and dad who saw how hard Jane's image was to her own self as she tried to do something more than just pose for Calvin Klien underwears. I still remember the time she told me about that professor in her freshman year who legitimately thought that Jane has slept her way into Yale because he just couldn't believe how genuinely smart she was.
"Will that Darcy guy be there too?" asked Charlotte rather nonchalantly. I felt like I was caught off guard, I actually found myself struggling for words. Does she know about that?
"I... don't know…I …." I stammered like an idiot as I was scanning a library card into the system.
"I heard he is going to take care of the businesses here for the few months to come" said charlotte emptying her cup of tea. "He lives in one of those condos downtown, right in the middle of the city" she continued oblivious to my discomfort, thankfully.
"I never really knew much about the Darcy's you know" I said braving myself a bit.
"They've always been low profile. Except for the mother, the one who died last year", said Charlotte. "Mrs. Darcy was really charming lady. Your mother knew her a bit, but her husband and sons all spent most of their time in London, which is why you might not know much about them".
"And what about the one who moved here this fall?" I asked nervously.
"Frank?" said Charlotte raising an eyebrow. "He's okay I guess. People say that he is the one who is going to manage almost everything, now that his elder brother is settled in London. He'll inherit almost everything".
Charlotte gave me a side glance before looking around to see if anyone was listening. Then she leaned towards me and said in a low voice, "I have also heard that he had a fling with Yolanda, you know, that classmate of yours from your school".
"Yolanda?" I said, shocked. "Yeah the one with the really long hair", said Charlotte with a mischievous smile and glittering eyes.
"I know who she is. I ran into her the other day" I said louder than I ought to thinking about the day I saw her outside the bathroom of the bar where I was having drinks two weeks ago.
"I didn't knew she was in town", Charlotte said, seemingly disappointed as her piece of gossip didn't illicit the response that she wanted from me.
"Yeah her sister got married last month" I replied as my mind was raging.
"I don't really know much about Darcy" Charlotte said rather defeated, "he's impossibly secretive and all, you know, Keeps a rather low profile."
"Yeah, or I would have known about him before" I said, "the only time I knew about him was when he comes here with some hollywood producer."
"I doubt if you need to show-off if you're a billionaire" Charlotte chuckled.
"Billionaire?" I asked, failing at controlling my surprise. Charlotte looked at me for a few seconds and then retained that calm comforting expression of hers saying, "Why do you think a Hollywood producer would hang out with a guy like Frank Darcy, Lizzie? The guy is one of the most prominent financiers of the entire East Coast! They had him in Forbes for like, 6 times now" she said like a wise sage. "And his personal life isn't too inconsistent with that image. He has a history with women. He might not be very public about his life but his exploits are still very famous. ", Charlotte said while scoffing a bit.
I sat staring at my own hands, wondering just how stupid I was by going into bed with a man about whom I knew absolutely nothing. It was in the course of a casual workplace conversation with a nosey colleague of mine that the most important facets of his life were being told to me. After spending an entire weekend holed into that downtown condo of his, the only thing I knew about him was that he takes his morning coffee without any sugar.
Why these things didn't come up? Or they did but he conveniently avoided answering them? I don't exactly remember asking him these things. I did not really want to. Maybe I don't care.
I started to think about the sex, all three days of it, the hazy light in his bedroom and his smell. In that moment I wanted him, but thinking about everything I was told in the past few minutes, I wondered if it was the right thing to do.
Should I talk to someone about it? I wondered if I could trust loud mouth charlotte with this information, especially after seeing her talk about Yolanda.
Before I could do anything, my phone buzzed. It was a text: "Meet me at the Italian place near my condo at 7:30 sharp. I have reservations. I'll drop you at your apartment tomorrow morning"
What should I reply with? No? "No you lying son of a bitch!" I had the urge to scream to the library hall instead of screaming that to the man behind the text. Even if I didn't ask for it, why didn't he tell me that he used to date Yolanda? Does he think that I'm stupid? That it doesn't matter if I do or do not know?
But I wanted him so much. I can't believe how good he was, how great and mind-clearing the 3 orgasms that I had in one trip were. A part of me said to throw Charlotte and her vapid gossip out of the window and be there at 7:15 (in case he arrives early). It doesn't matter even if he has screwed all the women of Beardsley. As long as he wants YOU every weekend, Enjoy his powerful thrusts and broad chests for as long as it lasts. It's a lot less painful to feel shitty than it is to feel shitty and horny.
But the bigger question was: what was I even doing? Me, a boring librarian, barely out of college who only fucked hammer-faced college classmates till now, is on the beck-and-call of a literal billionaire? I didn't knew if I was supposed to be proud of it or scared of it. It is quite obvious that it isn't love. Seeing his face in the bar was enough for me (or the unnumbered shots of tequila in me) to approach him, you see, I saw him for the first time in this wretched city. When you're drunk and you're craving just anything, god please, just anything other than the same plastic faces, same walls closing in on you, the tall dark and mysterious guy who came out of nowhere in your boring small town is like a blessing.
I went to the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water. I looked into the mirror and saw what I was wearing: A brown woolen skirt till my knees, a checkered shirt that doesn't really fit me, a peach cardigan. Look at me, what a joke I have become. What should I do? End this here and now? Maybe. But what other options do I have? Isn't this experience enough for you? I don't want to become a choosing beggar now, do I?
I picked up the phone and typed: "how about your place in an hour for a quickie?"
I felt the first pangs of panic after hitting the send button. But I wasn't afraid of the response. The panic was just me worrying if I won't be screwed within the next hour.
I waited for 10 minutes in the bathroom when I decided that I had made a fool of myself. I tried to laugh at myself and started to leave for my desk when my phone buzzed.
"I will pick you up from the library in 10 minutes, be ready
Love, Frank"
