Jump to new as of February 22, 2004
Jump to new as of April 20, 2004
Jump to new as of April 28, 2004
Part 1: The Introductions
A truth must be acknowledged that all writers have to have a vivid imagination, thus causing them both great satisfaction and problems. Writers are like children with their works. They squabble and are irritated with those that criticize their work. No matter how pleased they try to act when someone dares to remark critically, they actually want genuine praise for their work. But, most of all a greater fact must be stated. A woman and a man, no matter their spheres, will always be prevented in their pride in taking their own advice.
"Elizabeth Eleanor Evan Bennet!" Her mother screeched into her ear, practically unharnessing whatever hearing the said woman might have had. Elizabeth quickly grasped the phone away from her ear, while grinning at her fellow co-workers and waiting a full five minutes before replacing it by her ear.
"Yes, mum?" She sighed. She twirled the hair inside of her fingers and then played around on her keyboard. She never could keep her fingers still for the life of her. "I don't think the people in the next building quite heard you. Come again?"
"Lizzy," her mother reprimanded her. "You know very well you heard me. You need a husband--"
"For you are almost twenty-five years old, and lord knows what I'll do without one," Elizabeth finished for her, groaning silently to herself. "I might actually, gasp! Be single! For the rest of my life! For my prime years are passing me by, you know."
Dear Lizzy,
My mother is an overprotective wretch who cannot believe that I'm happy that I'm single. Is there anything I can do to convince her?
-Signed,
I'm-Single-And-Darn-Happy-About-ItDear Single,
First off: good for you. If you are happy single, stay happy. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I know the feeling, but as long you live the way you want to, don't worry. A warning to you though: don't let your proclamation that you are happy being single be a block to other sorts of happiness. Don't let love pass you by because you feel you don't need it because you are content being single.
From,
Lizzy.
Elizabeth Eleanor Evan Bennet, the eldest of three children all whom where girls, was an advice columnist. What is more, she was an advice columnist for the respectful and prominent Longbourn Times.
While her mother loved to brag that her daughter was indeed in the papers, the shame that she was becoming the most reputable spinster was more than she could possibly bear. According to her mother, all she needed was a decent snog to ruin this 'newspaper' foolishness. Although, she undeniably enjoyed sneaking through her daughter's apartment to read the hidden advice letters for her work.
Luckily, Elizabeth knew her mother's tricks. What she did in defense to her job and integrity was to make up advice letters every so often that were more gushier than the truth. Then locked up the real ones, and both sides were left satisfied. Family, love them. But, just can't trust them.
"Kat, after all," her mother spoke again. "Is already settled down at twenty! To a nice, respectable young man."
Meow, meow. Kat. Her little sister. A Mrs. Amelia Bennet incarnate. That reminded Elizabeth, she needed to get food for her cat at the store. Of course, she loved her little sister, it just bugged her to be compared to her all the time. For once, she'd like her mother to be happy because Elizabeth was happy. Oh, well. It's too much to expect the impossible.
Elizabeth tried to focus herself back onto the conversation. Why did it always seem that her mother spoke in exclamation points? Elizabeth remarked to herself it would be most frustrating to put her dialog into context because of the exclamation points.
A bemused look went over her face, " Well, it is a terrible shame we all can't be like Kat. Will you give her a cat-call for me next time you see her?"
"ELIZABETH!"
"Yes, mum?"
"How many times do I have to tell you, your sister is not a cat!"
Elizabeth grinned, "Well, at least you can say she's a well-groomed Kat, can't you? Dresses well, purrs well..."
"ELIZABETH!"
"Naughty, naughty, Lizzy," a blond woman came up behind her said as she tried to stifle her laugh.
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows as if to say, "Who me?" Then hastily said, "Mum, we are going to have to cut this short today. Got to go, business, you know. Take care." Then she promptly hung up. "Sorry. Mum."
"How is Mrs. B?" the blond woman silkily made her way into a chair. "Still trying to help you see your 'bad ways'?"
""Course," Elizabeth started thumbing through her mail. "So, how are you, Jane?"
"What you are really asking is: who's the conquest? Am I right?" Jane grinned as she started spinning in the chair.
Elizabeth stopped thumbing through her mail and looked at Jane carefully. "You are being careful, right?"
Jane Anastasia Gardiner reminded Elizabeth of a Billy Joel song, "She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes." Jane had that kind of beauty. Killer blonde looks, that made her look like ice. She had these innocent blue eyes which made guys fall over in their chairs, and promise her the moon. Sometimes it irritated Elizabeth, but Jane's company more than made up for it.
Jane raised her blonde eyebrows and smirked, "Aren't I always?" She sighed and smoothed her hair down. "This one's actually quite special, really."
"Anyone I know?"
"I don't think so," Jane's forehead furrowed as she thought. "Nope." Then she picked up the Pemberley Gazette, and a naughty grin formed. "So, have you see the new columnist on top?"
"What?" Elizabeth said. "Don't know what you are talking about."
"Fitzwilliam Darcy," Jane stated as she pointed to the paper. "He's a floor above now. Apparently, the new advice columnist."
"Oh, yes," Elizabeth laughed sardonically. "Fitzy Darcy. My g-d. What a name."
"What bod," Jane corrected. "What I wouldn't like to do to him."
"Be careful, you might leave the man without words. Then when would he be against the likes of me?"
Jane grinned, "Have you met him?"
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "A better question would be: do I wish to? And no."
"My, my. What got your panties in a wad about him?"
Elizabeth looked down and mumbled, "Nothing."
"Nothing?" Jane leaned in. "C'mon. I sense you are holding out."
Elizabeth flashed her a sweet, innocent smile, "Who me? I think not."
"Gardiner!" The editor's voice called. "Are you actually going to do some work or do you plan on getting paid for just looking pretty?"
"Yeah, yeah," Jane grumbled underneath of her breath. As she picked her body up out of her chair, she retorted to Elizabeth. "Don't even think you are getting out of this one."
"I would be disappointed if you allowed me to."
Daddy's belt, mamas drapes
Standin' tall on the backyard shed
Lookin' cool in my superman cape
I told the neighbourhood girls
Said hey y'all, watch this
My fate was a broken arm
And my reward a one day kiss
When daddy asked me why I did it
I made him laugh out loud when I told him
Cause the chicks dig it.
-Chicks Dig It by Chris Cagle
When Fitzwilliam George Darcy had first had the privilege of meeting Charles Ian Bingley he thought he was nothing more than a showboat.
The first day that he transferred to the same high school as Charles, the lad was clad wearing a cheerleading uniform properly filled out in female-fashion. What is more, the boy winked at him with his cornflower blue eyes before proceeding to kiss him on both cheeks. Taken aback, Darcy promptly slammed his fist into his face. Winking at the girls who stood watching at the lockers, Charles blew them a kiss. Muttering a note of gratitude underneath of his breath, he went to the girls for sympathy. The boy, since his sophomore year in high school, Fitzwilliam thought, had changed little since then.
"Sweet William!" called Charles, while sweeping his hand through his long mane. "I must tell you this 'silent, brooding' look isn't working for you anymore." He rolled his eyes at Will's sigh of exasperation. "Look..." He was about to point out the girls in the bar, but cut himself off as he looked closely into William's face. "What's up with you?"
"I don't know," William chewed some ice in his cup. "Charlie, have you ever done anything you didn't want to do?"
"Intentionally?" Charles grinned, but when he saw William was serious he stopped. He furrowed his brow, and motioned outside. "Do you want to take this outside? I can't hear really well here."
William nodded and they exited the bar. As they did, Charles threw away his cup and leaned upon a wall. He was silent for a moment then spoke, "You don't want to work for your father, do you?"
William gave him a wry grin and said, "Is it that obvious?"
"Aw, well, hell, Will," Charles shrugged. "You are a good writer, and I understand, but..." His voice trailed off. He looked directly at William and said, "Look, you cooked your turkey. Now, you have to eat it."
William folded his arms and spat on the ground bitterly as he thought to himself. He ran his fingers through is messy brown hair that is impossible to tame. He sighed, "Can you imagine it? Dear Fitzy? Seriously. Me?! An advice column. And, have you seen my competitor? Lizzy Bennet."
"Now, don't dog Lizzy," Charles reprimanded him. "She's a good gal."
"You know her," Will rolled his eyes. "Why, oh, why does that not surprise me?"
Charles clenched his teeth, "Look, I think you better stop while you are ahead. No, I don't know Lizzy Bennet. I know her by reputation, though. And, if you had bothered to really read her columns you would notice it does take some thought."
William gave him a look.
"Oh, come on," Charles protested. "Look, if someone came to me with a problem I'd be the last person I would want them to talk to. I wouldn't know what to tell them." Charles shrugged and grinned. "Besides, she's not bad-looking, and she's got talent."
William looked at him skeptically and raised his eyebrows.
"Plus, she's better than that Jane Gardiner," Charles reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture. William whistled softly. "Yeah, I know. Blonde, angelic looks, right? Don't let that fool you. She's an ice princess."
William looked at him carefully, "Are you speaking from experience?"
Charles shook his head slowly, "I might like chicks, but I don't have a death wish."
"She can't be all that bad, can she?" William grinned. "Besides, I like blondes. And she sounds like a good challenge."
Blue eyes met brown and for once Charles Bingley looked deadly serious.
"Look Darcy, it's not what you think. Gardiner likes to break hearts. She treats guys like clothes and discards them when she feels like they're running out of style." He stopped and looked at William carefully. "They are a floor below us, the Longbourn Times. Just be careful."
Charles took a few steps away from William and looked at the picture again before replacing it in his wallet. William could have sworn he heard him whisper, "It's such a shame."
Dear Fitzy,
My boyfriend doesn't want to talk. I ask him what's wrong: he says nothing is wrong. But, I know he's lying. I can just tell. How do I get him to tell me what's up?Signed,
Desperate for AnswersDear Desperate,
Sometimes these things take time. As a guy, I must say sometimes we need time to think things over before we talk about it. We don't want to mess up and get into trouble with the womenfolk. Sometimes though, it may not be you and it may be something he needs to work out for himself. Just be patient, and he'll come around. If not, a sledgehammer is always helpful.
Signed,
Fitzy.
A woman rushed to the elevator with a frustrated look upon her face. Biting her lip she yelled, "Please don't leave me!" She ran fast and almost tripped over herself and managed to catch herself just in time.
The man in the elevator tried desperately not to laugh at the picture she was making. Smilingly the dark-haired man held the elevator door open for her while she stepped inside. She adjusted her brown leather knapsack, and ran her hand through her wavy brown hair.
"Thanks for that," she turned around and met his eyes.
The man for a moment was mesmerized by her sparkling brown eyes and tilted his head slightly before answering, "No problem."
She kicked off shoes in frustration and picked them off the ground, "These shoes are impossible." She gritted her teeth. "And it doesn't help that I'm an absolute klutz. I hate heels."
The man looked at her amused.
"Seriously, first thing when I get home: they are gone," she stated determinedly. "I'm burning them."
"Aw, give them a chance," the man said. "After all, you were running in them."
"I suppose so," she bit her lip. "But, they are not very practical, are they?"
"I suppose not," the man answered. She looked at him closely without trying to be obvious about it.
"First day here?" She asked him while watching the floor numbers go up.
"Actually, I've been here for a week," the man answered her.
"Really," she grinned at him. "Well, you must be a good boy, then."
"What makes you think that?" He tried not to look like he was checking her out.
"Well, the naughty boys tend to develop a reputation on the first week," she grinned. "And since I haven't heard of anyone that fits your description, I'd say your hand has not been in the cookie jar."
"What?" He looked at her shocked.
"Haven't you heard the song, 'Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar'?" She asked innocently.
"Who me?" He looked innocently at her and shook his head. "Couldn't be."
"Then who?" They both laughed together. "Sounds childish, I know. But, that's what my friend and I say when someone's been in trouble."
"I see," he grinned. "And has your hand been in the cookie jar?"
The elevator door opened. "You'll never know." And with that, she winked at him and left.
William Darcy smiled and laughed to himself. "Damn, why didn't I ask her name?" He got off on the next floor with a vision of a brilliant brown-eyed woman.
Part 1, Section B: The Production Staff
Dear Lizzy,
I have a huge problem committing to anyone. I mean, how do you know what love is? Every time I feel that this guy is The One, I lose nerve and ditch him to the side. Am I making a mistake or are my instincts serving me well?
-Running with the Horses.Dear Running,
If you don't stick around for the next act, you'll never find out if any of the guys are the one that you should be with. Yet, I think love is someone that compels you to stay no matter what.
-Lizzy.
Richard Michaelmas Maximillian Lion Fitzwilliam sighed. While twirling his pen around, he further stretched out his legs that lay on a chair across the table from him. The honest truth was: he was bored. And, boy-like, he wanted to start trouble.
"Lion," a woman with auburn hair moaned, while attempting to push his feet off the chair. "How many times do I have to tell you that when you stretch out your legs they hit me?"
Lion winked at her, while pulling his legs up somewhat and then turned to his sports editor. Although, Lion was the editor-in-chief of the Longbourn Times, and as such wasn't supposed to have favorites, he did. The truth be told, he loved to deliberately antagonize his editorial editor Charlotte Lucas.
"Lion," she muttered under her breath. The sports editor stopped in mid-sentence as the whole production staff of the Longbourn Times looked at the with knowing grins. Unfortunately, Charlotte wasn't the type that missed anything and she caught these looks. "What?" She asked sharply. "Wipe those smug looks off your faces because there is nothing going on."
"There isn't?" Lion asked with an amused grin.
"Yes!" She exclaimed starting to pick up papers, and a notebook she had laid out on the table and stuffing them into her bag. She looked at each person around the room in disgust. "Instead of beating around the bush as we have done for the past couple of years, let's get this out. Do y'all think I'm sleeping with this worthless piece of baggage?"
The production staff smirked silently to themselves, as they were like Lion and amused.
"Fitzwilliam," she looked at Lion directly. "Could you make it clear to my colleagues" She said this with venom, like the very word was a disease. "That you haven't bedded me, couldn't bed me, and wouldn't know what to do with yourself given the position?"
"Look, Lucas-" He started, and stood up abruptly.
"Save it," She shot back. When she saw the hurt look on his face, her voice softened. "Lion, I'm just tired of feeling like a schoolgirl being gossiped about for something that isn't true."
"I see."
"Now," Her voice sounded more composed. "Is there any reason I should stick around further?"
"No, I believe we are finished."
With that, Charlotte Lucas walked out the door.
Dear Fitzy,
There is this person that's been annoying me for a while. I try avoiding them and not speaking to them, but they aren't getting the point. What should I do?
-Being SubtleDear Subtle,
Stop being a chicken and man-handle the situation. Tell the person they are bugging you and go away.
From,
Fitzy.Attention: To Running With The Horses in the Longbourn Times:
Ignore Lizzy Bennet's advice. Look, you will know. Her advice is wrong. Usually your first instinct is right. If you cannot commit, it must mean they are not special enough so don't.
From,
Fitzy.
"What in the hell is the boy doing?" George Henry Patrick Darcy inside of the editor-in-chief's office of the Pemberley Times. "Is he purposely trying to start trouble?"
Catherine Anne Beatrice de Bourgh held a grin upon her face. "He would seem so."
"Oh, of course you love this," George Darcy sighed. "You've been having it out for the Fitzwilliams."
De Bourgh smirked, "What can I say? This is a family newspaper and it does cause me great pleasure to have a war with the words with them."
Darcy rolled his eyes, "Fitzwilliam is a good kid, and boy is he going to be upset."
"Must he have polluted the name of Fitzwilliam by joining a filthy rag like the Longbourn Times?" She inquired for what must have been the millionth time.
Darcy chuckled. "You've been saying that for years."
"But to the Bennet-Darcy problem. Bennet's been too popular for them for way too long," de Bourgh pointed out. As the publisher of the Pemberley Gazette, she really didn't need to be as involved as she was in the newspaper business, but she was smart and plus she liked it. "It will be good for us for her to be marked down a peg or two. Besides, it would look really tacky for us to post a advertisement: 'Look, we have an advice columnist now too, so read us now."
"Not any tackier than lashing out at a columnist for her advice when it wasn't too off the mark," Darcy mused. "Face it, Cat. It was for no reason."
"So, are you going to call Darcy in here and reprimand him?"
"Hell, no," Darcy scoffed. "He's a Darcy. We are going to stand by him."
"But?"
"Between you and me, it was a childish mistake."
A silence stood between them for a while and then Catherine finally spoke, "George?"
"Yes?" He had already started fumbling through some of the papers which lay upon his desk.
"Why did you send William back here?"
George closed his eyes for a minute and considered his words. "Catherine, you said this was a family newspaper, right?"
"Of course," Catherine answered.
"It's between William and me."
"What do you mean?"
George bit his lip, "Let's just say this isn't the first mistake he has made."
Dear Lizzy,
All my friends are telling me that I'm fat and there is something wrong with me? One person said I should start becoming a bulimic or whatever that means because I'm such a tub. Do you think I am? What should I do?
-NOT a Tub.Dear Not,
First off, they don't sound like they are your friends if they are calling you names and telling you to become a bulimic. Being a bulimic means that after eating a whole lot of food someone makes them throw up after eating. I would recommend talking to someone seriously about this because I don't think a advice columnist is the one to answer all your questions. But, remember that you are beautiful on the inside and out if you believe yourself to be. Don't pay attention to those people, and make new friends that will appreciate you for who you are.
-Lizzy.
When Lion Fitzwilliam entered primary school while he was only three, his teacher tried to call him Richard.
The boy was, to say the least, upset. Then, she suggested Max or Michael. They were good, strong and proper names. He protested and shouted that his name was Lion. To demonstrate he even roared.
His teacher refused. She stated that Lion wasn't a good name for a sturdy boy like him, especially a Fitzwilliam.
He always hated that. You cannot do that because you are a Fitzwilliam. Be respectable because you are a Fitzwilliam. Live up to your name. So, he did the exact opposite. He made people cringe when they heard the name Fitzwilliam.
So when Nicholas Fitzwilliam, found his younger brother singing, "What Would You Do With A Drunken Sailor?" sitting on the top shelf with his head almost hitting the ceiling, he was not surprised. Nicholas, much to the fifth-grader's embarrassment, had to convince his kindergartner brother to come down from the shelves he had climbed upon in protest. His brother yelled back that he wouldn't come down. His brother rolled his eyes.
"He's Lion," he explained to the teacher. "I don't know why or how, but he's Lion. My parents, they didn't plan on calling him Lion until he was born. He just was."
And as Lion Fitzwilliam he always got what he wanted. Lion was always called Lion from that day on. But, the one thing that he really wanted had auburn hair and a wicked temper that just came barreling into his office.
She slammed down the Pemberley Times and said slowly and deliberately, "Can you believe this?" She pointed down to Fitzwilliam Darcy's column. "He attacked her without any reason."
"I saw that."
"Well, what are you going to do?" She put her hand on her hips and tapped her foot furiously. "Evan is beside herself with this. She wants to jump him."
A slow smile curved upon Lion's face. "Really? He's going to be rewarded for this?"
Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Of course not."
"By the by, Charlotte," Lion stated. "What did I tell you about calling Liz, Evan?"
"It gets too confusing," Charlotte huffed. "But Fitzwilliam, I've known her for years, and we had too many Elizabeth's in the classroom so I called her Evan. She likes when I call her that."
"But in my presence, you do not."
"Back to the real issue at hand," Charlotte gestured to the paper. "I can't believe you are arguing with me about a silly little name when the issue at hand is here. What you going to do?"
Looking just a tad irritated with her, Lion asked, "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to show him what for."
"What for?" A bemused smile fell upon his face.
"You know, defend her honor as a writer," Charlotte's hand flew madly as she demonstrated. "Take him out back and have a discussion and all that jazz."
"You are really violent," this was stated simply as an observation.
But, Charlotte wasn't listening and kept rambling on about the things she wanted to do with Darcy, "And show your collection of knives and swords."
"I don't have a collection of knives and swords," Lion finally annoyed with her snapped.
"Make it up," Charlotte snapped back. "You are the editor-in-chief so act the editor-in-chief."
"My, my," Lion drawled while standing up. "Someone definitely woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. But, I'm going to tell you what we are going to do."
"Good," Charlotte said eagerly. "Where?"
"What?"
"The fight."
"There isn't going to be a fight."
Charlotte looked crestfallen, "But, I thought you said you were going to do something."
"Fights are dirty," Lion pointed out. "I don't do dirty."
"Oh," Charlotte pouted.
"Don't pout, it doesn't become you."
Lion walked close to the door and grabbed the handle with his fingers lingering upon it. "We are going to wait."
"What?"
"Lizzy can write whatever she wants," Lion grinned and he said thoughtfully. "A lot of things happen around here without us knowing about it. So we are just going to observe."
"And?"
"And, I promise you," Lion sighed. "If Lizzy can't fight her own fights, I will step in. But, I think she can handle herself."
Part 1, Section 3: Revelations
Dear Lizzy,
My boyfriend loves to sing in the shower, but the problem is: he's horrid. What should I do?
-Signed Hearing-lost Girlfriend.Dear Hearing-lost,
Well, if your hearing is really lost by his singing; congratulations. You do not need my help. But, I would try talking to him about either toning down his voice while singing. Or if you are afraid to approach him, try earplugs.
From,
Lizzy.
As Elizabeth Bennet eased her way in the editor-in-chief's office, she found Lion Fitzwilliam looking at her uncertainly. She responded with a grin and comfortably took a position to sit. As she saw Lion look at her as he were going to speak, she began laughing.
"Lion," she started. "Why are you looking at me as if I were a bomb?"
"Well," he hesitated and then sighed. "Look, I know I told Lucas I wasn't going to do anything and I'm not. I just thought it wouldn't hurt to talk to you about the situation."
"What situation?" She looked at him cheerfully, knowing exactly what he was talking about, but making it undeniably uncomfortable for him.
"Aw, Bennet," he rolled his eyes as he reclined back in his chair. "Don't play games with me. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Fitzwilliam Darcy."
"Fitzwilliam Darcy is an idiot," Elizabeth stated matter-of-factly. She calmly held her hands together. "Look, everyone is a critic. I know that. I have to know that to make it in this business. Now, it's not my fault that Darcy is an egotistical jerk. But, it's my position not to be a jerk as well."
"I'm delighted to hear that," Lion breathed in relief.
Elizabeth's face furrowed and her eyes twinkled, "What did you expect me to do? Mark upstairs and clobber the guy? Although immediately satisfying, it wouldn't solve a thing."
"Well, that is nice to know," Lion stated then hesitated. "I apologize for even thinking that you might take violent measures into your hands, but Lucas was telling me about your temper."
"Charlie's worse," Elizabeth guffawed.
Lion rolled his eyes, "Don't I know that."
"From experience, sir?"
Lion gave her a sly smile, "I suppose you might think that." Lion gave her a calculated and measuring look, "By the by, what is your position?"
Elizabeth raised her right eyebrow at him as a slow smile crept over her face, "My position is as it always has been."
"And, may I ask, what is that?"
Elizabeth stood up and exhaled deeply, "If I am judging Darcy's writing correctly, he is the type that would take measured attacks like this without evaluating the consequences. He lacks wit, and the studied sharpness in his words also insinuates that he also has ill consideration of others."
"And you perceived this all from his writing?"
"Lion, you should know you can read people like a glove through their writing," Elizabeth stated and then she ran her hand through her hair. "There is also something else that troubles me greatly as a columnist and a writer."
"And what is that?"
"He's writing for pride and status; not the consideration of others."
Lion looked at her seriously, "Bennet, I hate to disappoint your idealistic nature, but a lot of writers do that."
Elizabeth nodded slowly, "But not the great ones." With that, she made her way out of the door leaving Lion at loss.
As she left the room he whispered to himself, "Don't I wish that were true, Bennet. All things in life are not that crystal-clear. It's not black and white, but grey, Bennet. It's always grey."
Dear Fitzy,
My roommate and her boyfriend like to make animal noises. And it is not like they do it when they are in the bedroom, but in normal everyday situations. It just seems odd to tell them stop doing animals noises because they seem like they are happy, and I'm not the type to disturb happiness, but it gets really annoying. What should I do?
-Gone Barking Mad.Dear Gone Barking,
Either you confront them or call animal control about sending them to the kennel.
-Fitzy.
When Fitzwilliam Darcy first was brought over to the Bingley residence for introduction or to play basketball, he little expected to be fawned upon Bingley's elder sister visiting from the university. At the time, he was more than flattered to be even looked at by a woman two years his senior, and from a university no less. But, as the friendship grew, so did his annoyance. Before he met Caroline Bingley, he even thought the name Caroline was pretty. Ever since then he associated the name with ducks, orange, and a woman. Ducks, being her favorite animal, orange her university colors, and the woman was tiring.
At first, she was extremely shy to talk to him. This he understood being naturally shy himself, and felt a sort of kinship with her. But, then she started to talk and it all began. One of the most depressing turns in accepting the job as an advice columnist for him, was knowing that she was on staff as their gossip columnist. As they were both columnists, she considered it more than a coincidence; it was fate stating that they utterly and undeniably belonged together.
She had a syrupy-sweet voice, flaming and detestable orange hair, and a passionate love for all things which involved the life of Fitzwilliam Darcy.
"Fitzy!" she squeaked as she scooted her way to his desk. "Oh, honey, I almost thought I missed you before you left. I made some banana-nut muffins last night just for you because I really know how much they are truly your favorites and I know what a tragedy it would be if I didn't bring them to you. I just had this silly meeting to go to and I just couldn't get of and your poor sweet heart had to go without them. But, lucky I'm here now because I know how they are your favorites and I wouldn't want you to go without them. Fitzy!" She sat down beside him happily. "Isn't it great that we are here working together in the same building? When you went away I was so sad that I didn't eat for a day! But, now you are back and I couldn't be happier. Couldn't you? And while you were gone Charles had to make friends with that silly Lizzy Bennet. Can you imagine? I don't know what he was thinking. She's an ugly snot-nose writer from that Longbourn paper. Lucky for you that you are here not at some Fitzwilliam rag."
When she had to take a breath, Darcy looked at her in confusion. "Charles is friends with Elizabeth Bennet? He told me that he hardly knew her."
Caroline nodded and seemed ecstatic that she was giving her Darcy news that he didn't know. "Of course they are? You didn't know that?" She rolled her eyes. "He calls her Libby and everything. Why I don't know. It's a stupid nickname if you asked me. But, if wants to play in the mud pit that's his business. Speaking of mud pits, I got this great mud massage the other day-"
"Caroline," Darcy interrupted her. "Wait a second. How long have they been friends? Why hasn't he mentioned anything to me?"
She looked slightly put out for having been interrupted, but replied easily. "Well, I would say a couple of months after you left. Then he tried to date that ghastly Jane Gardiner, but that witch wouldn't have a thing to do with him. She doesn't know a good thing if it hit her in the face. Lucky for me, I have a good man and I know it."
Darcy looked ill and green at that statement, "Wait a second, Caroline. We aren't going out."
Caroline chose to ignore him. "Sure we are, silly. But anyways, they got to talking and everything and know it's like their best buds or something. I think Elizabeth got jealous of Jane or something and wanted Charles herself. But, Charles has got wise to those Bennet tricks and said that he never wants to date a Bennet and that he and Libby are just friends. His words, seriously, Fitzy. But, just friends, Fitzy, don't stay over each other's apartments all night unless they are doing something, don't they? I know because one night I was bored and was playing detective and all. Aren't I smart? And he didn't leave until really late."
"I see," Darcy said thoughtfully. "Why didn't work between Jane and Charles?"
"Haven't you heard, Fitzy," Caroline grinned. "You've been here for weeks. Jane Gardiner is an ice queen. She uses, abuses, then throws the trash away. She breaks hearts like ----- State wins football. It's always done and predictable. And I have it under great authority that she told Charles that she was never interested in dating him. Why not? Nobody knows."
"You would have thought if she was such an ice princess she would love to have another heart to break," Darcy mused. "Yet, she refused to date him. How interesting." Darcy stood up and grabbed his coat. "Thank you for this information, Caroline." He hesitated and added, "And the muffins."
She beamed at him and asked, "Are we on for Saturday night?"
"I think not," Darcy said shortly. "How about a raincheck for some other time?"
"Of course," she glowed. "I'll be waiting."
"Good evening."
"Bye, my Fitzy!"
Charles Bingley left work that night carrying his notepad in his back pocket and a troubled look upon his face. Instead of taking the elevator like many of his colleagues did, he decided to take the stairs. Almost against his will, his conscience pushed him to open the door which led to the floor down. As he uneasily made his way into the unfamiliar newsroom, he threw their shaggy-haired editor-in-chief a hesitant smile. Slowly he made his way to a bleary-eyed, and raven curled woman who was typing intently. He watched her as she continued typing, and was almost in a trance looking at her.
"Libby," he said softly, ruining the stillness. Almost everyone had gone. Everyone except workaholics Lucas and Fitzwilliam, who treated the newspaper as if it were their child. Charles didn't agree to that. In his mind, and in his heart there was more than this. More than the typing, shuffling and fumbling around. The bitter sting of coffee and late nights were losing the brilliance for him. The only reason he did what he did was because he liked what he did. Reporting the sports may be a mediocre job to some, but he knew he was meant for it. But, all things have a price. "Are you all right?"
Her fingers stopped on the keyboard and she sighed. "I have too many nicknames."
This statement was definitely not what he expected. "Come again?"
Elizabeth grinned wryly to herself as she explained, "My column calls me Lizzy, Charlie calls me Evan, Jane calls me Liz sometimes, and you call me Libby."
"Does it bother you?" Charles looked at her uncertainly.
Elizabeth shook her head. "That's just it. It really doesn't. Sometimes, though..." Her voice trailed off as she remained deep in thought. When she caught Charles looking at her questioningly, she continued. "Sometimes though, I'd like to be Elizabeth. Not by you, not by anyone else except the person who just says it. You know, they don't even think about it, but still it's special and you know it is. But, I like my nicknames so I don't know what I'm talking about."
"You are tired," Charles stated. He gave her a friendly smile. "Look, let me walk you out."
"Thanks, Charles," she said as she gave him her hand. "Pull me up." As he did, she laughed as she almost hit her head into his chest.
"Careful there, Libby," he grinned at her. He looked down at her and laughed, "Man, I forget sometimes how short you are."
"Oh, sod off," she laughed as she playfully punched him. It was true that she was small as she stood next to him. Charles was six-foot to her five-foot-one. She always laughed that good things come in small packages. As they walked to the elevator, she almost tripped over her stilettos. "Not again," she grimaced.
"Why don't you stop wearing those?" Charles suggested. "You are going to kill yourself one day wearing those."
"You know who'd I really like to kill?" She said out of nowhere as the elevator door shut behind them. "Your friend: Fitzy Darcy. I cannot believe him."
He looked at her with a concerned look in his eyes, "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," She took a deep breath and after a long moment; laughed aloud.
"What's so funny?"
"Oh, nothing," she waved her hand. "It's just Lion. He thought I was going to march upstairs to pound Darcy's lights out."
Charles joined her in her laughter, "I am almost sorry that didn't happen."
She shot him a mischievous look, "What would you have done?"
He bit his lip and considered, "I would sling you over my shoulder and carry you back downstairs."
"Just like an ornery child, eh?" Elizabeth chuckled. "Would you have whipped me?"
When Charles took a moment took longer to consider the question, she playfully hit him in the arm and protested, "Charles Bingley!"
He dissolved in laughter and said, "I'd be much to frightened to punish a woman like you. You might kick my butt. Seriously, I heard that story about how you kicked all the guys' butt in third grade because they were giving you a hard time. After that, who wouldn't be frightened?"
"Those were the good ole days," Elizabeth said cheerfully. "I miss them so much."
"Besides," Charles added. "You hit hard."
"Oh, Bingley," she grinned. "You are such a wimp."
"Only around you, Libby."
As they made their way into the parking garage, Charles looked at her seriously. "Libby," he started, moving closer towards her.
Elizabeth put a wad of hair behind her ear and looked at him confused. "What? Charles, are you all right?"
Charles looked at her nervously, "Libby, you are like no other woman I know."
"I sure hope not," she joked. "Can you imagine one two many me's flying about?"
"Libby, be serious," Charles protested.
"Charles, let's not," she said skittishly, taking a step back.
"There is no one else I feel as comfortable with or happier with," Charles stated. "At least that's a female."
"I know," she said softly. Then she bit her lip and sighed.
"How about we try to give it a go?" Charles whispered. "One night, dinner with me, as more than friends. No complications, no worries, and if it doesn't work out, no hurt feelings. We can still be friends afterwards."
She looked at him sadly. "Charles, I like you and I like being friends with you. I also care very much about you, but as a friend."
"How do you know?" Charles protested. "You haven't even tried."
She walked over to her car and sat on it and he joined her. Elizabeth looked at him slowly, "I have tried in my mind. I'm sorry."
"Libby," he whispered. "How about this: one kiss. Try it on for size." He put her face in his hands and slowly and deliberately kissed her. Yet, as he pulled back: he knew. He gave her a good-natured grin and sighed. "Well, it was worth a try. Wasn't it, Libby?"
She smiled ruefully, "Life would be so much easier if we were made for each other. Wouldn't it, Bingley?"
He nodded and hopped onto his motorcycle.
"If it's any consolation, I'm really sorry," she said.
"Me too," he whispered. "It appears my heart belongs to one woman, and it isn't you." With that he drove off.
Part 2: With Dreams
Jane Gardiner slowly brushed her hair behind her ear and took a step back. She sighed with a catch in her throat and slowly licked her lips before biting her tongue. Closing her eyes she tried to dissolve the image that flashed through her eyes. She slowly and softly climbed back up the stairs and stared into the distance for a while. Charles Bingley kissing her good friend Liz Bennet. A tear slowly made its way down her chin and she hastily rubbed it off as she recalled him huskily whispering, Libby. Of course he was allowed to attach himself to whomever he pleased, but no matter how she tried or pushed the thoughts and intentions of Charles Bingley aside she just couldn't.
She was still sitting in the lobe of the building staring vaguely into the distance when a blonde-haired man made his way toward her with an easy smile.
"Hey, beautiful," he said smoothly, making his way towards her.
Jane raised her eyebrows at him and some part of her mind desperately wanted to roll her eyes. Instead, she gracefully inclined her blonde head in acknowledgement.
He cleared his throat and asked, "Do you mind?" When she shook her head that she didn't, he took the seat next to hers. He looked uncomfortably at her and gave her a wry grin. "I'm honestly at loss what to do past this point. Either girls buy the beautiful line or they hate it."
"I see." She remarked desperately trying to hide the notion to smirk aloud. She didn't know what kind of women reduced themselves for him, but his game certainly did not work for her.
He leaned over and looked at her closely and allowed himself an amused grin, "Well, it's apparent you hate it."
She shot him a surprised look in his ability to be able to read her emotions so easily and tried to disguise her snort into a cough at his next comment.
"I am not even sure why I use it. Honestly, I am the type of guy who will do anything for a glimpse from the girl," He shot her a sad grin and a look which fully covered the comment of, 'Pity me, as you can see I'm a sad man and helpless in controlling my charms.'
She rolled her eyes and he chuckled silently as he caught her laughter.
"You see," he moved on to explain, "Even negative attention is still attention, and I like catching the ladies' eyes either way. Either they think it's sweet and crazy or obnoxious and annoying."
He watched her carefully. If there was one thing that Charles Bingley was becoming good at; it was a reading women. The woman was desperately biting her tongue. He sent her a dazzling, teasing smile and edged to the end of his chair before speaking again.
"For example, one time I tried even putting on a cheerleading uniform. Poor girls, I think I scared them by my gorgeousness."
She raised her eyebrows and tried to conceal and amused grin. What she really wanted to do was to break out laughing hysterically at the thought of him in a skimpily tight and bright yellow cheerleading uniform trying to put on his make-up and touching up his mascara. But of course, she didn't let him know that.
He leaned back easily and casually as he ran a hand through his hair, "But, there I go rambling again. I swear it's a gift only those in my family have. Liny and Louie, my sisters, tend to prattle on too. Although since they are older they tend to keep me on a ball and chain about how much I talk."
Jane desperately bit her tongue once again and tried to hide the first remark that came to her mind. She wanted to know if had a collar, a leash and if they were used very often. However, no modest and intellectual woman asks a man a question of that nature.
"A thing to know about a Bingley is that we can almost converse with ourselves, but we prefer the company of others," He further said innocently, unaware of the picture she was painting in her mind.
By the by, that's my name: Bingley. Charles Bingley to be exact," he added as a side note. "From Pemberley." A pause occurred in the conversation as she vaguely nodded, lost in her own thoughts.
When he sensed she wasn't going to answer he inquired, "What about you?"
When she looked at him alarmed and startled, he laughed. "What's your name? Don't worry, I'm not a stalker or anything, you just looked a little lost."
She hesitantly answered and hoped he couldn't read minds, "Jane Gardiner. Of Longbourn." She cleared her throat and moved a hand through her hair nervously. "Honestly, I'm not sure if I am of Longbourn really, just yet."
"How so?" He raised his eyebrows at her.
"Well, I'm going through a trial period as a reporter," She sighed heavily. "And I don't think it's coming out too well." She started fidgeting in her chair at the very thought of the ghastly interview and twirled a lock of blonde hair that that was stuck behind her ear.
Charles observed her closely and looked concerned and licked his lips and hesitated before finally stating, "You are scared, aren't you?"
Her brow furrowed and she looked at him in surprise. After a noticeable pause, she defensively retorted, "Of what?"
He cleared his throat and leaned back a little uncomfortably, "Why do you want to be a journalist?"
He looked at her carefully as she struggled to formulate a quick answer.
Charles cleared his throat and folded his arms and said somewhat sharply as if reading her expression. "Seriously ask yourself that. Is it because of the money? 'Cause I can guarantee you there's none. For the prestige?"
Her mouth and eyes both deepened into a harsh scowl as she carefully considered him while he continued.
He rolled his eyes as he considered this naive, good-looking blonde her was just placing herself in the middle of the railroad for heartbreak. He just wanted to protect her from all of that as he sharply stated, "Hardly anywhere you are looking from. Oh, you might get it today, but I'll promise you the next they they'll be hating you for being part of the press. You are scared you aren't good enough, aren't you?"
"How can you?" She looked at him furiously, her nose flaring. "How can you presume to know me or know what I'm thinking after a full five minutes of first meeting me? Because I promise you, you don't. Nor will you ever. Do you really want to know what's wrong?"
Jane leaned in closer to him and said softly and silkily. She was furious, angry and extremely hot. She didn't know what bothered her more that he had her down to a peg or she was afraid that he might be right about her. The she really couldn't make it. Thus, she lashed out at him in icy white fire and spilled out all of her insecurity and angry upon him. Thus she started.
"What if I told you I just found out all my possessions and things that matter to me was stolen from me just yesterday? What if I told you that I know I had to work myself through the university by myself because my whole family had died by a tragic fire that happened while I was off, as usual, doing one of my extremely important activities? What if I told you that I am actually am frightened I might lose this position because I busted up on this story and I don't think I could have written nearly as well as I could? Would you just tell me that I'm frightened because I'm not good enough or I'm a emotional mess?"
Charles looked at her stunned and sighed. "I've made a mess out of this, haven't I?" He bit his lip and looked down. "I'm sorry. I am usually kinder. I don't know why I acted like this. I am deeply apologetic." As he started to get up, she put her hand on his to stop him.
She shook her head. "It's not just you. It's me as well. I shouldn't have gone off the rail like that."
He gave a slow and cautious smile, "How about we try again? I'm Charles Bingley, son of Natasha Louise Ratcliffe Bingley and Robert Charles Bingley. I am a sportswriter for Pemberley. I have two sisters: Louisa and Caroline; whom are both pains. I am a proud owner of a Harley-Davidson and my golden retriever Daisy. And you?"
She bit her lip and gave a timid smile, "Jane Anastasia Gardiner. My family did die in a fire, that was no melodramatics. I had a loving mother and father and two sisters. My mom was Beatrice Frances Exclir Gardiner and my father was Stephen Raymond Gardiner. My sisters were five and seven years younger than me, respectively." She stopped and added softly. "Mary Elizabeth and Patrice Nicole. Patrice was born on Saint Patrick's Day; that's why she was named that."
He looked at her carefully and suddenly was horribly ashamed of himself. "I'm so sorry," he huskily whispered.
When she looked up she met him with a watery smile as a tear rolled down her cheek, "That's the first time I told anyone about that, other than my family." And as the two met eyes, Jane was scared for the first time. That is when Jane thought she knew. She had fallen in love and not even expected it.
She looked up and around and the flashback was over as she sighed. As she walked over to the elevator she ran into a dark-haired man who smiled at her quietly.
"You must be Jane Bennet," he said huskily.
"Who are you?" She asked in bewilderment.
"Fitzwilliam Darcy, at your service." He smiled more than friendly as they both entered the elevator to the basement.
My dear cousin Lion,As it has been awhile since I have derived the pleasure of writing to you, I am now spending a quiet hour of my time between classes in order to write this discourse.
Lately, I have been presented the knowledge that my application to graduate has been accepted. Although such knowledge was not especially surprising, the letter was a wonderful fresh of air in knowing that I am indeed going to partake on a journey. While this future's journey is greatly uncertain, I believe the beauty of life is in it's complex uncertainty. For life is much like the forbidden fruit: the apple.
While one has formed expectations of how the tastebuds should react to the substance or how it should be savored; it never quite turns out the way one expects it to. The apple could be rotten, bitter, crisp, sweet, sour, or strangely satisfactory. However, all of these factors are just as vital to experience life as they are to the apple.
The walk of life is uncertain, and through this year I have had many a question to answer; especially to myself. The truth of it is, Lion, I really have not answered a lot of them; however, I have learned I cannot be something I am not. Through questioning both myself and others, at my brief stay at the university, I think a certain and important element, which indicates the person I strive to be, has endured. I have learned although you may change by your experiences, this essential element does not change and it is important to retain it.
In this journey called life we meet many people who enhance it by making us question ourselves, challenges and motivates us to become better people. I have been lucky enough to have met more than a handful of people who have done thus for me, and you are one of them.
While you may not feel that you have done much, you are a motivation that with enough courage one can do anything they put their mind to. With your stories and e-mails you have made me laugh and smile, and I believe that is one of the greatest gifts you can give a person. As strangely sentimental this statement; it is true. Whenever you may have a bad day, hopefully you will return to this and have the knowledge that I believe you were born to be a storyteller of human life.
Thus, I will conclude this letter to you. I salute you for wading your way through; from beginning to the conclusion. I know it drags a lot, but I felt it really important to write this to someone and put my ideas out into the great void. I apologize if it feels like I am lecturing you, however, I that was not my intention whatsoever. I suppose I am writing this to you because you not only my cousin, but also are my friend. Moreover, I was compelled to write this. God bless you and you are, as ever, in my prayers.
Most Sincerely,
Georgiana Catherine Darcy.
It comes to a pass in some families that certain members will most assuredly never get along. The Fitzwilliams were always decidedly odd in character, and their notoriety stemmed farther than their youngest son. When the said youngest son retained not only cousin, but godparent status with the Darcys youngest child and daughter, more than a few eyebrows were raised. The Fitzwilliams themselves were surprised, but understood that it was a small attempt of reconciliation within the ranks of the family. This failed attempt was not without small victories. Much to both families' dismay, the young aggressive, playful and lion-like Lion was greatly pleased, bewildered and enamoured with his godchild from the first time he saw her and loved her very much. Much to the dissatisfaction of his elder cousin, however, Lion took great discretion in corrupting his little cousin and educating her in things that the other prudish Darcys would not dare to talk about. Thus, the child was a reconciliation in some points.
The Fitzwilliams admitted that the Darcy and de Bourghs were prudish nitwits too settled in their social stigmas, but there always remained a little spark of love for the young, swan-like Georgiana Darcy. Of course, one did not tell Georgiana Darcy that she was swan-like. Georgiana, or Rain, took after her mother in looks, but not in character. Anne Darcy, however, knew that her daughter would be different from the moment that she was born. Before she died giving birth to the blond-haired creature, she smiled at her child wistfully and said, "She'll be my angelic devil."
Thus, Georgiana had no memory of her mother, but she was constantly compared to her. Determined to become her own person, she was as her mother predicted she'd be an angelic devil of the type of a Lion Fitzwilliam protégé. This gave Fitzwilliam Darcy even more reason to despise and ill-wish his cousin. As Georgiana was graduating and receiving her bachelor of arts in May, the fact contested is which newspaper she would work for. Both families were greatly vying for the young and talented designer; not just because she was talented, but because it was a matter of family pride. Lion didn't really care for as matters came with his little cousin, all mattered as if she were happy. No matter how busy he was he still tried to keep in contact with her and rein her in a bit.
One thing he always agreed and silently nodded to Fitzwilliam Darcy whenever he saw him was trying to make sure her happiness and her safety. The two felt like not brother or cousin to her, but miniature fathers. A fact which she found more than slightly disconcerting and irritating. There were other reasons why both of the men seemed too precarious about the young woman, but they never mentioned it in her presence and in their own.
Hey kid,
How nice of you to grace my presence with your written word. We've had such gorgeous snow here the past week. It's such a sight when you leave the office and the stars and moon and snow mingle above the cement world out here.I've just finished reading one of the most challenging, amusing stories yet. It is so rewarding as an editor to watch your writers grow, however, one cannot be too patient with them in this business no matter how you would like to. One of the young ones came up to me recently and asked me how someone became a great reporter. It was funny to watch the look on his face when I told him that all he had to really do was to show up. Writing talent and other things help, but being lucky and being at the right place at the right time is what really matters. As always it is really good to hear from you, Rain. I will and would like to respond to your e-mail in detail, but I am afraid I do not have the time as of now. Maybe if it is accessible in your too busy schedule, you could visit with your old godfather. I am glad that all is going well for you. Take care and you are, as always, in my heart.
Your cousin,
Lion.
Part 3: The Trouble With Friends
Dear Lizzy,
My husband desperately wants to become a fish. The problem is other than the obvious is: how could I have missed this when I was dating him? What should I do to solve his fish problem and have return to the man I married?
Signed,
Lost at Sea.Dear Lost,
Here is my recommendation: Stick him in a lake and see how fast his fins go before he sinks. Better yet, stuff his mouth full of fish food. I guess the best answer is to hope that this is a temporary phase, and there is probably something else that is bothering him and he is replacing it with his fish fetish.
From,
Lizzy.
Every day he spent his hours looking out the window with his leash in his mouth awaiting his daily constitutional. And, every day she wondered what it was about her that attracted types of Collins' stature. Elizabeth Bennet locked her apartment and gave her door a hearty slam as she stepped into it. Men. Why did it seem as though she always attracted the worst of their lot? First, entering her floor, she had the pleasure of encountering the resident dogwatcher: Whiny Gutter-head Collie. Or as he was known officially to those whom he paid his taxes, if he ever did that much, William Gill-Hill Collins. A most wonderful balding man whose man ambition in life was apparently to be a dog.
If they didn't drool and bark, they wanted to slobber all over you. She sincerely doubted whether men of Collins's ilk could combine their brains and, even then, know what it takes to treat a lady like a lady. It wasn't as if she were obsessive about the choice of man. Elizabeth understood that men were naturally imperfect, but she just wanted to meet a decent guy, not a bloodhound. What she really wanted to do even before she considered going out with a guy, was to employ an innocent and effective method of interrogation. She would gently tie the guy up to a chair and make him fill out a survey containing ten questions. Of course, to make sure the desired effect was achieved, he would be plugged up onto a lie detector with extra high voltage. However, this was all about protecting her health, and not his.
1) Have you recently been termed "clinically insane?"
2) Do you have any wish to become a particular animal at any time or would feel the need to at any point of this journey with me?
3) How many times a night do you brush your teeth?
4) Do you flirt with women while you are on a date?
5) How many times a week do you shower?
6) Have you ever cheated on a girlfriend?
7) Do you tell your mother everything?
8) Is your mother likely to drop by at inappropriate moments?
9) Is it all about you or is it about me?
10) Boxers or briefs?
As no sane human male would degrade himself to such a spectacle, it was unlikely she would receive any compensation for her troubles. She threw her keys on her coffee table and pulled out a pop from the fridge and plumped herself on the couch and sighed contentedly. As if sensing her contentment, her phone rang with its screeching cry and she groaned aloud. "Jane?" She called aloud, hoping her roommate was home, and as usual, when she did not want to answer the phone she had to drag her carcass over to get it. She harshly grabbed it off the hook and closed her eyes unhappily from the first syllable of nags that enter from the receiver.
"Lizzy, darling," her mother drawled. Darling Lizzy took a moment to calm herself and prepare herself for the call. She gritted her teeth, rolled her eyes, groaned silently, moved her neck in one quick circle to pop out the cricks, braced herself and responded.
"Yes, mum?" She tried to say nonchalantly, like she was really happy to hear from her. But, after a long day at work and dealing with dog-boy, she just couldn't help but allow some irritation creep into her voice.
"Don't get all snippy with me, dear," said the mother who evidently could read minds as all mothers can. She knew her daughter wanted a nice, long bubble bath to soothe her long day, but like a mother did she knew when to catch them. Catch the child when they are weak and the defenses are down. That is the only way to do it. And when they least expect it: hit them hard and fast. "I haven't heard from you what it seems like ages. Would it be too much to ask to give your mother who carried you through labor for thirteen hours a little smidgen of your time?"
Elizabeth gritted her teeth and sighed deeply, "Okay, what do you want?" She just could hear the smug smile on the other line. "Or more the question to ask: who is it this time?"
"Oh, darling!" Elizabeth's mother squealed. "He's the sweetest boy."
"They all are," Elizabeth muttered. "That's the problem. They're all boys."
"And he is the bank manager," her mother continued, "And you'll never guess how much he makes a year!"
"Surprise me," Elizabeth said wryly.
"Sixty thousand a year!" Her mother proclaimed happily and proudly. A stunned silence turned on the other line and Elizabeth stood there in shock and wanted to laugh or cry loudly. At this point, both. "Lizzy?" Her mother asked somewhat worriedly. "Are you in shock? I know it's a lot of money, dear. But, in addition to all of that, he's a good boy."
"Mum," Elizabeth said slowly, hesitantly. "First off, what a guy makes isn't important to me. So if I liked a guy, it wouldn't really matter. Second of all, do you know how much I make?"
Her mother considered for a moment, "Well, I know newspaper people aren't paid that much, dear. So, it's okay if you don't make that much as long as you settle down someday."
"But, Mum," Elizabeth protested, playing with a pen. "I'm a columnist. So, I make more than the average newspaper person."
"Oh, but it can't be that much, dear," Her mother insisted. "So, no worries. You'll settle down and have a decent home like Kitty and it all won't really matter."
"Mum," Elizabeth protested, interrupting what she had to say next. "I make more than sixty thousand a year. By a lot."
"That's nonsense, dear," Mrs. Bennet, scoffed. "Now, listen to me. You need a nice young man that will take you out of the newspaper business and you can settle down and raise children of your own and be happy. Just like Kitty."
Just like Kitty. Her three most despised words. When would her mother ever realize that she wasn't her sister? Everyday when she picked up the phone she dreaded it would be her mother reminding her that she wasn't her younger sister. She heard Jane enter the apartment and sighed with relief.
"Look, Mum," She said hurriedly. "I'm going to have to let you go because Jane just popped in and she really needs to use the phone, but I'll call you sometime real soon. Bye!" And without a regard to what her mother might have had to say, she hung up.
"Broken promises, broken dreams," Jane commented wryly as she plopped onto the couch, much like Elizabeth's former position. "How's Mum today?"
"The usual," Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I need a man, two-point-five children, including the dog. And of course..." Her voice drawled as she winked and gave Jane a knowing smile as they both said together, "Why can't you be more like Kitty?"
Elizabeth sighed wearily as she plopped herself on the couch next to Jane. She then scooted herself near the end and set her legs on Jane's lap. She groaned and stretched. "Oh, I need a vacation!"
Jane laughed as she looked at her friend fondly, "From what?"
"From my mother!" Elizabeth groaned. "Please take her, she's mine!"
"Oh, kiddo," Jane grabbed her foot to tickle and grinned wickedly. "If only I could then I could tell her to stuff her Kitty for you."
Elizabeth grinned tiredly, "I'd really love that, you know."
Jane paused for a moment and silently tried to tickle Elizabeth's toes as she commented nonchalantly, "Guess who I met today?"
Her friend rolled her eyes, "Your latest conquest?"
"No," Jane tickled her. "Your rival."
Between giggles, Elizabeth looked up at her curiously, "My rival?"
"You don't mean to tell me," Jane asked slowly. "You have already forgotten Fitzwilliam Darcy?"
"Oh, he's of no consequence to me," Elizabeth said with a wave of her hand.
Jane looked down at the ground and took Elizabeth's feet off her lap and sat stiffly. She looked at her friend directly, "What if he was to me?"
"You don't mean--" Elizabeth started.
"I don't mean what?" Jane retorted back. She crossed her arms and stood up. "I like him, Liz."
"Do you know him?" Elizabeth asked as she took a deep breath.
"We've met," Jane said shortly.
"And?"
"I'd like to know him better," Jane answered sweetly. Elizabeth rolled her eyes as she stood up. "What was that look, Lizzy?"
"Nothing," Elizabeth stated in a tone that insinuated everything as she went into the towel closet and pulled out a towel.
"That look was not nothing," Jane marched in her direction. "What is up?"
"You never change, do you?" Elizabeth retorted.
"What do you mean by that?" Jane countered and looked at her stonily. Jane was always a stone whenever the two disagreed and Elizabeth was always the sun; add in the flint to start the storm, it was always a catastrophe.
"You love him, don't you?" Elizabeth asked and there was no doubt in the two ladies' minds who they were talking about. "Why do you punish him by going out with other people? What has he done to you?"
"Nothing!" Jane flashed back and then she recovered herself and stated harshly. "It isn't any of your business, you know."
"It is mine!" Elizabeth protested and the towel flapped away along with her hands at her energy. "I love you both. I don't see why you are allowing Fitzwilliam bloody Darcy, much less anyone else, separate you two."
"Take your shower," Jane commanded.
"Jane, if you would just listen to me," Elizabeth pleaded and sighed. "Take my advice. He cares about you, if you would just go and talk to him."
"Save your advice for the columns," Jane said heatedly. "That is what you are paid to do. This is my life!"
"And I am your friend!" Elizabeth retorted. When she saw her friend sag and sigh, she added softly, "I just want you both to be happy."
Jane swallowed and it caught at the base of her throat and she tried to struggle the sadness down into the pits of her stomach, " Me too."
Dear Fitzy,
There is this girl that I can't get off my mind, but I only run into her when we buy coffee in the morning. How do I make her stop from her java break and notice my coffee beans?
-Decaffeinated ManDear Decaffeinated,
I guess your best bet to actually to say hello and introduce yourself. That always seems to at least get the woman to turn around and take notice. From there, you are on your own.
-Fitzy.
She had become known as the Elevator Woman to him, and she was driving him mad. He would actually wake up hoping to see her and when he didn't, it was a huge disappointment. It almost made his whole day disoriented, but not quite. Fitzwilliam Darcy was a man that always had his emotions under control and he didn't want to seem desperate around the woman with the raven locks and the laughing brown eyes. He was dying to know her name and number, and of course, for a date. But, every time they were on the elevator together he always got so lost in the friendly banter of the conversation and he forgot to the last moment. And every time after she left, he was always banging his head on the elevator wall in utter frustration.
Personally, he was becoming quite disgusted with himself. Even a date with the 'ice princess' Jane Gardiner did nothing to soothe his nerves. But today, it was going to happen. He was going to ask. To remind himself about asking, he actually wrote on the back of his hand, "ASK HER!" Hopefully, this would work and there was no way she could say no to him. After all, she did seem very interested in him during their conversations.
Frantically, he tried to recall if she had a band on or not. He closed his eyes.
Yes, she is holding the stilettos.
Yes, she is throwing him an amused smile.
Yes, those eyes twinkled on him with that beautiful and very sexy gaze. He could just hear that smile purr to him. No, Darcy. Don't focus on that.
Did she have a band on? Focus.
Did she or didn't she?
Wait, hold it. I've got it!
No!
No?
Yes. It's a no!
He sighs relieved and does silent happy dance. She is unavailable, unattached, and up for the taking...from him. Even if she was dating someone, he would soon change that with his charm. Of course, when a woman flirts with you like she has with him, the guy had no chance anyways. Sorry, pal-i-o. She is going to be mine. Suddenly, Darcy has a vision of him as a caveman; slinging sexy Elevator Woman over shoulder to have fun in cave. Tries to calm his fantasies when the usual routine of the day occurs.
"Please wait!" She runs in with stilettos in tow. She flashes him a grin as she enters the elevator, and to his utter disappointment, a auburn-haired woman follows.
"Thanks," they both exclaim at the same time.
The Elevator Woman flashed Carrot-Top a grin and commented, "Hey, Lucas, this is the guy I was telling you about."
He threw them both a sexy and assured smile, "Hi. This is a regular routine between us two. I'm..." He was about to say his name and was most disappointed when the Fire Hydrant interrupted him because he wanted to introduce himself to the Elevator Woman.
"I know who you are," Devil Woman said with a huff and scowl at his person. "Evan, if you know what is good for you, you'll ignore him."
The Elevator Woman waved her off, "Oh, Luc, he's harmless." She gave him a mischievous once-over and grinned, "Unless you have been into some cookie jars since I have last saw you?"
"Who me?" He flashed his dimples and looked properly puzzled when he heard the Devil Woman mutter, "He's been in plenty of cookie jars, believe me. Stirs enough trouble as it is."
Elevator Woman looked at him curiously and her eyebrows furrowed and he shrugged in response. A silence alluded the three when Darcy finally spoke, "So, it's Evan, is it? That is an interesting name."
"Yeah," Evan smiled and twirled nervously with a ringlet. "It's actually one of my aunts. Or great aunts. Something like that."
When he nodded for her to continue on she took a deep breath and continued.
She shrugged and nervously chuckled, "I actually have an abnormally long name and sometimes it's hard to remember who exactly I was named for because my family all share mutual names. Sometimes it exactly causes family squabbles." She rolled her eyes.
"I know how families are," Darcy said wryly. "My family is also really particular about my name." He rolled his eyes extravagantly. "It's really old-fashioned."
"And pretentious like you," Red Devil muttered underneath her breath. Evan threw a nasty scowl at her and Red Devil glared at him.
Evan and Darcy met eyes and locked for what seemed like a long moment and she sighed deeply. She looked down and seemed to falter with her voice as she regained her composure. Then she turned her mind back onto the conversation once again.
"Yeah," Evan grinned and laughed. She stopped and really looked at him for a moment. Then she gave him an companionable smile, "I think you might actually understand."
The Red Devil rolled her eyes in disgust and scoffed.
"What is your full name?" He asked huskily and she looked at him in surprise.
"You know, no one has ever asked me that," She thoughtfully and then grinned. "Nix that, they asked when I needed my drivers license for all of my middle names."
"Could you trouble me?" He asked her amiably flashing his dimples once again. She shrugged and smiled and allowed her eyes to sparkle back at him.
"My full name is Elizabeth Eleanor," she started out and the Red Devil looked at them both in alarm, "Evan."
"Come on, Evan!" The Red Devil yanked her out of the elevator as it opened and she pushed her out rapidly. There was something almost frantic about her that was frightening.
Darcy was very considered about her well-being as he watched her being dragged out of the elevator, and not concerned in the least in her last name.
Thus, unfortunately for him, he was unable to hear her last name as the elevator door closed. Thus, he cursed the devils that invented creatures with red hair.
"Elizabeth," he whispered to himself. "Where have I heard that name before?"
Fortunately, the empty elevator did not see the need to remind him.