Beginning, Previous Section, Section III
Jump to new as of May 20, 2004
Posted on Monday, 21 July 2003
November 14, 2002
Falafel. A simple food. Chickpeas and bulgur wheat pressed together, warmed by spices and hot oil, and in a well-balanced contrast, served crunchy over the soft texture of heated flat bread. A long-standing dispute exists over the national claim to falafel, mimicking an explosive conflict in the political hotbed of the Middle East. Restaurants are opened, cookbooks published, and the issues rehashed. Yet while the legumatic debate rages on, there are small victories for peace - such as Palestinian women tutoring Israeli chefs in the finer nuances of an ever-changing, culturally significant food. And thus, there is hope. If the spicy zing of this crispy fritter could bring two long-standing enemies together, surely it could serve to unite two over-worked young women trying to find a moment together to foster their time tested friendship, while meeting the ever-changing demands placed on them in this allegedly post-feminist, modern society.
As Charlotte Lucas approached the glass storefront of Garbanzo's, a small eatery featuring fare of the leguminous variety in an upscale neighborhood on the north end of downtown Portland, she could see her friend completely engrossed in the laptop screen that sat perched on the table before her. Rapping on the window, she waved and then headed for the door.
Inviting aromas tempted her senses, and she paused briefly to identify them as the warmth of the room enveloped her and she began to unbutton her coat. The scents of cumin, coriander, and cayenne pepper drifted lightly over the more fundamental essence of cold-pressed virgin olive oil that maintained a permanent presence in the small establishment.
"How can you possibly focus on work in this environment?" Charlotte asked, plopping down in the seat across the intimately small table. "The smell of food would drive me to distraction."
"Hello to you, too." Elizabeth smiled, looking up from her computer. "And you don't know that I'm working. For all you know, this could be my new graphics program I'm using."
"And what exactly do you use this graphics program for?" Charlotte asked, unwrapping her long scarf from around her neck.
Gathering several papers that were scattered atop the narrow table, she replied, "Web design."
"Ummhmm." Meeting her friend's eye, Charlotte continued her prodding, "And what exactly are you designing for the web?"
The response she received was light and unabashed. "You know very well that I do the work on the Avalon site."
"I rest my case," Charlotte said simply, a laconic smile playing at the edges of her mouth. "You're working. You're always working, Lizzy. It's what you do."
"Not true. I've had several lunches recently that did not involve a hint of work." Closing her laptop, Elizabeth bent over, slipping the thin computer into her soft leather briefcase. Settling back in her chair, she yanked a long pencil out of the knot that bound her hair and jotted down a note to herself.
"So I hear," Charlotte noted enigmatically, looking over the menu. "Have you ordered yet? I'm starved."
Elizabeth tapped the pencil lightly on the edge of her glass. "Just the beer. They still haven't gotten any decent wines in stock - I was forced to order a microbrew."
Charlotte let out a little snort as she perused the menu. "That must have been horrible for you. I've got to be back at work in fifty minutes, so it's just water for me today. Is that Fat Tire?"
Taking a long, slow drink of the rich amber ale, Elizabeth nodded with an evil glint in her eye.
"I hate you," she mumbled, flipping the menu over.
The insouciant arrival of the restaurant's only waiter signaled that the time had come to make a culinary decision, and still undecided, the girls ordered a wide variety of items to share. Relaxing as her friend discussed several salads with the easy-going young man, Elizabeth thought about all the years she had known this woman and the multitude of life's experiences they had shared - riding bikes, learning to bake cookies, dying each other's hair, school dances, gossiping about boyfriends, crying over break-ups, gossiping about new boyfriends - small memories made powerful in combination.
And now, as life pulled at her from every direction, she could not help but feel comforted as she watched Charlotte, a woman whose realistic practicality and strength of character she had long admired.
Handing her menu to the waiter with a smile, Charlotte redirected her attention to her lunch companion and got straight to the point. "So, how's everything with William? Are you two a hot item now?"
The question really didn't surprise Elizabeth as Charlotte had never been one to dance around an issue that interested her. She'd already decided to keep her responses somewhat ambiguous at this juncture, for truthfully, she wasn't entirely sure how to define their relationship. They'd been seeing each other for some weeks now, and while William didn't seem like the type to do a lot of casual dating, they hadn't exactly discussed the matter either.
In the end, the simple truth just slipped out. "Everything's good."
"Just good, huh?" The modest response hadn't fooled Charlotte for a minute - she saw the lilt of blissful discomposure that flashed over her friend's eyes - a fact that told her far more than any verbal pronouncement. Elizabeth Bennet had been pushed off center by a man...now this was news.
A large plate heaped with kalamata olives and feta cheese arrived with its complement of pita bread, malleable in its warmth. Placing several hunks of cheese in the soft bread, Charlotte remarked casually, "I heard that you shared an intimate lunch at Pazzo's last week."
Elizabeth's brow raised in question. "How could you possibly have heard that?" She paused, thoughtfully, as she reached for an olive. "Did you talk to Jane?"
"Oh no, but I have my sources."
The coy response sent her mind spinning and suddenly Elizabeth's eyes widened in realization. "Bill Collins!"
Charlotte nodded, laughing at her friend's quick exasperation.
"Uhhh," she groaned lightly. "What did that...man...have to say about me? And furthermore, why were you talking to him anyway?"
"Oh, come on now, Lizzy. He's not that bad." She paused as the waiter arrived with their salads and sandwiches. "He called me a couple of days ago to ask me to a movie."
"The nerve of that man," Elizabeth laughed. Looking up as she lifted her falafel wrap, she was startled by the expression that overtook her friend's countenance. "Oh God, Char. You didn't say yes, did you?"
"Why do you look so shocked?" she challenged, reaching for her water glass. "So he's not your type. Fine. It doesn't necessarily follow that he's not mine."
Elizabeth heard the slight edge of irritation in Charlotte's voice, but try as she might, she could not reconcile this new development in her mind. How could Bill Collins, who had less than two weeks ago undisguisedly declared his romantic intentions towards her, suddenly be courting the attentions of her best friend? This had to be some type of joke - and still, as she looked across the table, she could not laugh.
"You can't honestly tell me that Bill Collins is your type. Look, there is someone out there for you - someone wonderful. Maybe you just haven't met him, yet." Elizabeth found it difficult to keep the pleading tone suppressed in her voice as she touched her friend's free hand lightly.
"That very well may be, but in the meantime I'm going to see a movie with Bill. And who knows what will happen? We're not all like you, you know." Taking a sip of her water, she met her friend's gaze with a smile. "We can't all date William Darcy."
As she picked up her fork, Elizabeth responded tartly, "Yes, but you of all people should at the very least demand an intelligent man."
Charlotte stopped, returning her water glass to the table with an abruptness that displayed her frustration. "That's not fair."
Letting out a sigh, Elizabeth pushed the tabooli around her plate, shaping small hills and valleys with the fork. "You're right - I'm sorry." As she unwrapped another slice of pita bread from the foil that kept it warm, a smile of apology graced her face. "Please just promise me that you'll keep your options open."
"Done." And with that one syllable the mood shifted, evolving into something familiar and comfortable - combining new thoughts and ideas with old conversations, reiterated over the years until the words, themselves, soothed away all worries.
Eventually their lunch fare was finished, and the girls stacked the plates and baskets in the center of the table for the waiter to clear. Charlotte looked towards the front counter, pondering the contents of the well-worn plexiglass dessert case with a slight smile. "I really don't need anything else to eat."
"Ah yes, but it's baklava, you've got to have some." Elizabeth had known, from experience, that the object of her friend's tempted gaze would be of a confectionary nature. "It would be wrong not to," she added with a wink.
"You make a very good point," Charlotte responded, ordering two servings from the waiter as he gathered their used dishes.
"So, are you planning on spending Thanksgiving with William?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "You're kidding, right? I don't think we're ready to share family holidays. Can you imagine my mother?"
"True, that would be difficult," Charlotte agreed, leaning back casually in her chair.
"To say the least." An emphatic edge marked Elizabeth's consensus. "William's sister is going to be in town for a couple days, anyway. I think they're planning to visit an aunt and uncle while she's home."
"They live in the area?" she asked as the waiter returned.
Accepting the small dessert plate that carried her baklava, Elizabeth was pleased to notice that it had been warmed slightly. "Seattle."
"That's not too far," Charlotte noted thoughtfully as she picked up her fork. "Do they see each other often?"
"I don't think so. Apparently William is fairly close to their son, Richard, but he's currently stationed in the Middle East with the army. "
"Oh." There was reflective pause while both women struggled inwardly to balance thoughts of family, patriotism, duty, and safety, holding up each idea for inspection and finding no easy answers. Finally, Charlotte continued, "They must be a bit worried about that."
"Yeah, William doesn't talk about it much, but I sense that he's apprehensive about the situation. I think Richard's due to return home before Christmas. So, that's good, at least. I wouldn't want someone close to me stationed in the Middle East right now."
Charlotte sighed in agreement. "No, I think most of us could agree about that. So, maybe you can keep yourself busy finishing that paper, that you supposedly weren't working on when I came in, while William's with his family."
"Actually," Elizabeth threw her friend a laughingly sardonic look, "that's not a bad idea. He's going to be gone for close to two weeks. There's a conference in Helsinki on post-genomic medicine that he'll be attending after the holiday weekend, which will give me plenty of time to write about all the ins and outs of genetically modified foods."
"Well, I suppose this does all work out for the best then," Charlotte decided with a chuckle. "Now that I think of it, you're going to be overwhelmed at the vineyard that weekend anyway."
"Very true, the Thanksgiving tasting can be hectic in the extreme," Elizabeth readily agreed. "Will you be joining us this year?"
With a roll of the eyes, Charlotte offered her noticeably insincere regrets. "Now, Lizzy, you know I'd love to hang out with you and several hundred other wine connoisseurs...exciting bunch that they are...but, it is the busiest shopping weekend of the year."
"Ah, come on now. They're not such a bad lot." Elizabeth was quick to defend the loyal patrons who made the faithful trek to Avalon each year for the traditional tasting, come rain or come shine. "After all, they do have excellent taste in wine."
"Well...there is that," Charlotte acquiesced, habitually tucking her hair behind her right ear as her smile eased its way into a light giggle.
Their shared laughter was followed by Elizabeth's rather matter-of-fact afterthought, "Besides, it's one of the only times during the year that we get any work out of Lydia. Given the opportunity to pour wine and flirt with the male patrons, she actually shows up at the vineyard willingly."
"Ahhh," Charlotte nodded, "I'm sure she does. Speaking of, where is Lydia, anyway? I thought she was going to join us."
"Oh, you know Lydia. She didn't want to sit around in this boring restaurant, so she walked up the street to do some shopping." Noting the time, the girls began to pack up their things as Elizabeth continued, "Quite frankly, that was fine by me. I can't get any work done when she's around. However, I do need to find her now so that I can head south."
"Are you still swamped at the vineyard then?" Charlotte inquired as she headed towards the front counter.
Placing a tip on the table, Elizabeth hefted her computer-laden briefcase and joined her friend. "It's not as bad as it was at harvest, but we've got to get all of the blending and bottling done for last year's Pinot Noir. One of the blends is still a little hot and I want to work on it a bit more before all of the cellar rats head back down under."
"Oh, that's right." Placing her change back in her wallet, she stepped aside. "When do they head down for Australia's harvest?"
"They don't have to be there until January, but most of them go down early to enjoy the holidays in the sun."
"Hmm," Charlotte pondered briefly, "It must be strange to celebrate Christmas in the summer."
Buttoning her coat, Elizabeth countered teasingly. "Come on, their water spins backwards when they flush - hot Christmases wouldn't bother them in the least, I'm sure."
Having settled their bill, the ladies stepped out into the brisk air that gusted gently down 21st Avenue and Elizabeth turned and embraced her friend quickly. "Thanks so much for meeting me for lunch. You'd best get back to healing the world."
"That's me, Charlotte Nightingale." Her mock sincerity was followed with wink and a sigh. "It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it."
"Yeah, yeah..." Elizabeth shook her head as she watched Charlotte cross the street and head back towards the hospital. Turning, she tugged her scarf tighter around her neck and started up the street in search of Lydia.
As November progressed the air was turning cooler, but many of the flowering cherry trees still held onto their leaves tenaciously, conspiring with a sporadic maple to add splashes of color around the neighborhood. The scent of food filled the air. Delicacies of varying ethnicities made themselves known as their wonderful smells mingled together between the multiple-floored buildings, and Elizabeth allowed herself the leisure to study the people she passed by on the street.
Winter's impending arrival had brought out an assortment of wool, gortex, and down in a wide spectrum of colors on the pedestrians and cyclists, from the subtle to the flagrant. They moved around her, patronizing the abundance of restaurants and shops the area had to offer. As she stepped onto the next block, Elizabeth smiled at the bright face of a young girl whose cheeks were reddened by the fresh air as she moved down the street hand in hand with her mother. There was a true feeling of luxury in an afternoon spent in relaxation with friends and family.
Noticing the natural foods store across the street, her thoughts immediately swirled back to a subject that had been in the forefront in her mind recently, surfacing to occupy much of her focus. The ongoing studies of the Genetic Foods Research group, and her subsequent participation in these experiments and discussions, was taking up more and more of her time and energy. She could feel the importance of the work - to her personally, to Avalon, and to society at large.
And although the manipulation of plants' genes, through selective breeding, was a crucial aspect of human history, the public's recently increasing knowledge of genetic engineering and their resulting concerns had thrust this issue into the limelight, calling out for understanding with a beseeching voice. The transgenic crops that had sprouted up around the country, boasting their carefully spliced genes, had brought out a curiosity laced with wonder and backed with the daunting apprehension that always accompanied the unknown. Americans, like the rest of the world, had real hopes and fears. Could this science help to stamp out hunger? Would it, inadvertently, lead to a new disease that could plague humankind?
Lost in thought, Elizabeth caught her toe along the edge of the curb. She had been unconsciously moving along an uncharted path, and her ascent from the intersection had been instinctive. Stumbling slightly, she reached out in an attempt to recenter her equilibrium; it was not an exaggeration to say that Elizabeth was quite surprised when, into this confusion, slipped the firm grip of two large hands as they slid around her upper arms in a quick attempt to steady her.
"Oh, excuse me." Looking up into a pair of blue eyes, a sense of the familiar struck Elizabeth as a feeling of deja vu snapped into place. The impression hit her strongly, and a hint of apprehension insinuated itself into her brain.
A warm smile readily greeted her. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, thank you. I'm really sorry," she apologized as she pulled back slightly to study his face. Yes - there it was. He recognized her, too.
"It's you," he exclaimed after his cursory examination of her. "From Powell's. Elizabeth, wasn't it? You were there with Will Darcy."
She hadn't realized that his hands were still grasping her arms until she felt him tug her forward and out of the way as the beating sound of fading footsteps indicated that a jogger had passed by.
"Yes, that was me. I know this might not seem like the case, especially at this moment," Elizabeth glanced down at his hand, which had slid up to her shoulder, before she continued with, "but I don't normally run into people."
With a slow trailing effect, the hand that had graced her shoulder dropped away, and his expression sought to put her at ease. "Don't worry yourself. I think the fault for this little run-in could easily lie with me. I came out of The Blue Moon without really looking where I was going."
Elizabeth glanced over his shoulder at the door that sliced off the corner of the building behind him and nodded as she pictured him leaving the restaurant. "Well, hopefully we won't meet like this again."
"Yes, perhaps our next meeting will be more intentional in nature," he said, agreeably. "Which direction were you headed?"
"Over to 23rd, actually." Elizabeth tossed a fleeting look over her right shoulder towards the next block.
"My car is parked over there, so I'm headed in that direction myself. Would you care for an escort?" The proposal was considerate and displayed his desire to continue their acquaintance.
With a brief hesitation, Elizabeth surmised that she really didn't have many options here that would not make her appear terribly rude. Yes, there was something about this man that had clearly set William off, but he had not been inclined to discuss the matter with her - which made it difficult to take into consideration now. In the end, Elizabeth could not define sufficient reason to justify a refusal, and she wasn't even sure that she truly wanted to. This man had been nothing but polite to her, always displaying a pleasing manner, and there was the distinct possibility that he might provide her with some of the answers that William had not.
She accepted his offer.
Together they crossed the intersection and began a casual stroll down the side street that would connect them to an eclectic variety of trendy shops, each providing its own ornamentation to 23rd avenue. Passing by an imported foods market, Elizabeth confessed, "I hate to admit this, but I don't remember your name."
"That's all right, you were rather distracted the last time we met." He had stopped walking while making the graceful concession and extended his hand in greeting. "I'm George Wickham."
"Well," she said, giving his hand an energetic shake that betrayed uncertainty, rather than the calm composure that had been her goal, "it's nice to meet you again."
Continuing along the sidewalk, Wickham commented blithely, "I hope everything worked out for you and Darcy."
"Excuse me?" Elizabeth responded, surprised by the ease with which he had brought the conversation to a personal level. So much for small talk.
"That day at Powell's," he said, tilting his head to look down at her. "Will seemed to be in a typically unhappy state and...well, I do feel bad about that. I was concerned that the incident might have ruined your afternoon."
Caught by a gust of wind as it slipped through the corridor created by the buildings lining the small side street, Elizabeth shuddered. With a peripheral glance at her companion she pondered his choice in outerwear; the soft drape of the tawny suede was both stylish and trendy, but certainly not practical for this city or this cold, wet season. It was not often that she met a man who valued appearance over function.
Tucking her hands into her pockets, she answered, "Actually, William and I never really discussed what happened at Powell's, but thanks for your concern. How do you know him, anyway?"
"Ahh...well, that's a bit of a story. In a way, we grew up together. My father worked with his for many years back when DGT opened the Seattle lab. When I got to high school, I took an after-school job there, doing lab prep and clean-up. Gradually, I learned the ropes and the lab techs began to give me a lot of hands on training. I worked my way through school and eventually became a part of the research team that headed up the breast cancer project. This was about the same time that Darcy returned from Harvard and took over the running of the company." Wickham paused, as they reached the corner and waited for the light to turn.
The smell of fresh New York bagels greeted them as they moved on to the next block in silence, Elizabeth considering his words. "So what happened? I take it you no longer work for DGT."
"No, I don't," he responded, his smooth voice almost covering the acidity of his feelings.
While the shift was subtle, Elizabeth could not help but feel it; their conversation had stepped up a level. There was a question in her eyes when they met his, and she unconsciously slowed their pace - waiting.
George Wickham gave every appearance of a man in deep thought as he glanced in the window of a jewelry shop that specialized in silver baubles. When he spoke, it was clear that he had chosen his words carefully. "In time, it became apparent that our research team was on the verge of a major discovery. Darcy and I had several heated meetings, where our opinions clashed."
Registering this story against the vibes that she had picked up from William, Elizabeth had no trouble imagining the discord that existed between these two. A deep curiosity battled inside her against a strong desire to respect William's privacy. They were learning to trust each other, and in time, he would explain this to her.
But alas, she did not have to wait.
"I'll never know if it was simple jealousy or his overwhelming desire to control everything, but Darcy decided to cut our funding - just when we needed it the most. We had often disagreed in the past when it came to research."
"How so?" she inquired with a growing sense of discomfort.
"Hmm..." he caught her eye while contemplating his answer. "It started with gene patenting. Working with The Human Genome Project, DGT discovered the identity of several genes that were likely to be related to breast cancer. Darcy wanted to patent these genes, so that any and all profits that resulted from our research would benefit the company. But that felt wrong to me...trying to own a human gene."
"There are many people who feel that patenting human genes is wrong. Surely you two were able to discuss the issue?" Elizabeth asked, stepping to the side to avoid a small coffee shop table filled with ubiquitous clove-smoking college students.
And they continued on.
"Not exactly. I can't really speak to his motivation, maybe it was money, maybe it was ego or a need for power. I suppose I'll never know, but needless to say, less than a month later, I was asked to leave the company. It's likely that he will now receive credit for much of the research that I led."
Completely startled by this proclamation, Elizabeth lost sight of her surroundings. Clothing boutiques blended together with Italian pottery stores and upscale children's toy shops into a blur of upper middle-class exorbitance, none of it touching her. No. William could not have acted with such selfish ego-driven motivations; his mother died from breast cancer. No. She knew him better than that.
Who was this man to be so revealing to her - a virtual stranger? An array of motivations lingered under the surface of this conversation, just out of reach.
Her turmoil was obvious, even to a man who barely knew her. "Don't worry about me," he comforted. "It took a while, but I've found another job. And while it doesn't fully utilize my skills, I'll survive."
George stopped and turned to face her. "In fact, my company has chosen me to represent them at a cancer research charity fundraiser in a couple weeks."
"Oh," Elizabeth sighed with confusion. "I don't suppose this fundraiser is at OMSI?"
"You've heard of it, then?" he asked.
When she didn't respond, he continued, realization dawning. "Of course you've heard of it. Are you attending with Darcy?"
Not knowing what to say, she nodded quietly. While this conversation had certainly given her much to consider, it was quickly becoming uncomfortable. Returning her concentration to their location, Elizabeth scanned the shops near them, attempting to avoid Wickham's scrutinizing inspection.
"I should have realized that he'd be attending this year, now that he's apparently relocated to Portland. No matter, I won't allow that to prevent my attendance. I do hope you'll join me for a drink, at least," he invited softly. "I'm embarrassed to realize that I've spoken solely of myself. I still know nothing of you."
"That is a very kind offer..." She was unusually relieved when she spotted Lydia's waving figure in the shop window of a French lingerie emporium. Within a minute her sister had climbed the stairs from the basement level to join them on the sidewalk, hair still disheveled from the countless clothing articles she had tried on.
"Lizzy! Guess what I just found? It's the most amazing black negligee that fits absolutely perfect. And the best part is that it's only seventy-five dollars."
"Lydia, you have no business spending that kind of money on a nightgown." The rebuke was pointless, as her sister had just noticed the handsome stranger in their presence.
"Good lord, you're always such a stuffed shirt," she complained, rolling her eyes. "Just because you couldn't fill this out, doesn't mean that I shouldn't enjoy it. Besides, I'm sure they have a nice peignoir or something you can cover up with. Let's go back in and look after you introduce me to this gorgeous man."
"Are you Elizabeth's sister, then?" His tone was affected as he stared, with clear delight, at the two women.
"Yes," she answered, slowly flipping her hair over her shoulder. "How did you two meet?"
George's gaze moved gingerly from one sister to another. "That's quite a story actually..."
"I hate to cut this short, but I've really got to get going." Elizabeth smiled, placing a hand on her sister's arm. "Come on, Lydia. It was nice to meet you."
"Yes," agreed Lydia as she smiled flirtatiously, "it was great meeting you. Stop by McMenamin's on Broadway sometime, I work there on the weekends."
"I'll remember that," he said with a wink. "Have a good afternoon, ladies."
"Lydia," Elizabeth admonished her sister as she pulled her in the direction of her car. "Control yourself. He's got to be at least ten years older than you, and I'm sure he's not interested in college girls."
Glancing over her shoulder, an appreciative eye raked the entire length of the slowly retreating figure, admiring his sinuous gait. Lydia's face brightened, her features animated as she anticipated the challenge. "I wouldn't be too sure of that, Lizzy."
Chapter 6
'We are young'
Lifting her eyes, Lizzy studied the reflection dancing off the silver-backed finish of the mirror in the bathroom she shared with her sisters. She turned to take in her profile once again, shifting from one foot to another to ease the already forming ache that her first pair of high heels was inflicting on her unsuspecting feet. With a disheartened sigh, Lizzy's gaze moved down to the somewhat noticeable looseness in the bodice of her gown. Thoughtfully, she glanced over at the tissue box. Would she ever catch up to Jane? Life was so unfair...
'Heartache to heartache we stand'
Her first dance. She had been almost positive that today would never actually arrive, and if her father had gotten his way, it wouldn't have. With a delicate touch, Lizzy dabbed a well-used Q-tip back into the pot of Burnt Orange eye shadow and stroked the rich hue across the arch of her already lightly colored lid. Tossing the small container back into her make-up drawer, she let out a sigh of release, the emotions of the last two weeks flowing out from her as her mind tumbled over them one last time. Would she get asked to the dance? It was only the single most important event of her life...
'No promises, no demands, love is a battlefield'
She squinted. Something was still not right with her eyes; their richness seemed muted and lost in all of the orange. Reaching for a charcoal black eyeliner pencil and the lighter that they kept stashed with their make-up, Lizzy carefully melted the tip of the pencil under the open flame before attempting to smudge it under her eyes. Would the 'right' boy ask her? And would he ask her before the 'wrong' boy did?
'We are strong, no one can tell us we're wrong'
After several attempts with the eyeliner she sighed in frustration, wiping most of the black off with a tissue - the three coats of mascara would just have to be enough. Lizzy shrugged; maybe the new lip-gloss she'd bought, Sunset Shimmer, would distract her date's attention from her slightly blotched eyes. Better put it on thick. Would her father let her go on a date? What did he mean she wasn't old enough?
'Searchin' our hearts for so long, both of us knowing'
Giving up on the make-up, Lizzy unhooked the strap on her clear Swatch watch and tossed it into her drawer in the cabinet under the sink. Reaching further into the long, narrow drawer she grabbed a barrette adorned with a huge black satin bow and clipped it at the base of her hairline where the French braid Jane had fashioned for her earlier ended, allowing the length of her hair to fall free from the clip. She tucked an errant curl back into her braid and leaning to the side, spritzed the spiral locks that hung down her back with Aqua Net. Jane might be better at braiding, but at least Lizzy's hair was naturally curly so that she didn't have to sit through those horrid perms every two months like her sister. Would she get her first kiss? Better bring the lip-gloss along...
'Love is a battlefield'
As the song blaring from her boom box surged into the next verse, Lizzy began to sing along in earnest. Grabbing several of her favorite bangle bracelets off the counter as her hips began to sway with the beat, she could only hope that the butterflies in her stomach would go away soon. One at a time, she worked the bracelets over her hand.
Her palms were sweating.
Lifting the mauve hand towel from its ringed hanger, Lizzy wiped her hands gently, wishing that she could eliminate the nerves that had caused this current affliction as easily as she was removing the irritating dampness. With only a couple of minutes left before her date arrived, chauffeured by his father, she grabbed another tissue from the box and took one more shot at fixing her eyeliner. It was finally happening...
And then, with an unexpected abruptness, the music was gone.
Elizabeth Bennet's eyes snapped up to meet her own startled gaze in the mirror, instinctively knowing that the sudden quiet could only mean one thing - the men had arrived.
Recovering quickly from her reverie, she laughed softly at her nostalgic musings. How do we ever make it out of middle school? The gentle flutter of her stomach served as a subtle reminder that not everything in life changed.
With a final once-over, Elizabeth smiled in satisfaction. At least I fill out my dress now. Deciding that her minimal cosmetic enhancements were more than sufficient, she flipped off the bathroom light as she quickly tucked an unbound curl behind her ear and stepped into her bedroom.
In the distance she could hear the muffled sounds of greetings as Jane welcomed the gentlemen inside. Grabbing her dress coat off the bed, she headed down the hall.
As Elizabeth neared the living room, she paused upon hearing Charles inquire about their unusually retro selection of music.
With more enthusiasm than Elizabeth thought was necessary, Jane explained how her sister's love for Pat Benatar had gone on for years past the ultimate popularity of the songs themselves. "I'm sure she actually wore out the greatest hits tape that our aunt had dubbed for her. Lizzy's like that once she decides she likes something. I think she owns every last Benatar CD there is to be had now."
Elizabeth strolled into the living room wearing a mysterious smirk that seemed to match the slight sashay of her hips. Throwing a quick wink at Darcy, she tossed her coat on the back of the couch as she chastised her sister, "Now, now Jane. You must stop giving away all of my secrets to these men, or I will be forced into revealing the sordid details of the two months you spent in sixth grade as the head of Oregon's official Michael Jackson junior fan club." Reaching Charles, she gave him a quick hug as she heard an exasperated 'Lizzy' fall from her sister's lips.
Unable to stop his laughter, he glanced from Jane to her younger sister. "You look great, Lizzy."
"You don't look so bad yourself," she replied, patting the lapel of his jacket as she caught her sister's eye. "Don't let her get away without telling you about her Thriller obsession."
Sensing William's gaze, Elizabeth turned to see him watching her. Slowly she crossed towards him, each movement deliberate in its origin, confident, yet restrained. She could not help but admire every inch of his tall, naturally muscular frame, handsomely covered in a black suit which set off each of his dark features.
"You, sir, look amazing," she declared softly, placing a light kiss on his cheek. "Welcome to my home."
While William had dropped her off at her apartment on a couple of occasions, he had never actually been inside, always wishing her goodnight on the front doorstep. As it was, the majority of their dates had been over lunch, when they could chisel out an hour or two for each other amidst their hectic schedules.
And now he was here, standing comfortably in the middle of her living room. Unspoken thoughts tugged at Elizabeth's mind - vague concerns that she had harbored about tonight. How could her apartment ever compare to Pemberley?
Looking up at him, she sensed that perhaps her fears had been for nothing. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long,"
Meeting her gaze, he smiled and his eyes dropped slowly, lashes nearly joining as he quietly enjoyed her elegant form. "It was worth the wait. You're breathtaking, Elizabeth."
"Thank you." Elizabeth felt a sense of comfort move over her as she returned his smile. And yet, the underlying excitement that this man always brought into a room was there as well. The two emotions mingled together just under the surface of her thoughts, causing Elizabeth to consider just how quickly he could overwhelm her senses.
"Besides," he continued after a moment, "I had no problem entertaining myself just studying your book collection." William gestured towards the wall behind him where an enormous bookcase displayed hundreds of books.
"Find anything you like?" Elizabeth inquired. "Because, I might be persuaded to let you borrow one or two of them."
"Your generosity continues to amaze me." William laughed, stepping closer to the shelves. "This sci-fi collection is quite extensive."
"Oh, I didn't realize it was the sci-fi books you were looking at," she quipped in response, running her hand down the side of a book. "I don't know if I can part with any of those. We might have to negotiate later."
William reached out, taking her hand in his. "In that case, I'll start taking inventory of what I might have to offer in return."
"Darcy," Charles's voice rang out before Elizabeth could add a response to her raised eyebrow, "Jane and I are going to take off. Shall we meet you there?"
Without turning, he answered, "That's great. We'll see you later."
Elizabeth could feel his grip on her hand increase as Charles and Jane made their way out the front door.
"So," she said, as the door latched shut. "Where were we? Shall we continue with the evaluation of your assets?"
Noting the teasing gleam in her eye, William gave her hand a gentle tug as he moved towards the overstuffed crimson leather chair that held his coat. "Actually, I was about to mention that I brought you something."
"You brought me something?" she asked with surprise as he lifted a large rectangular-shaped box from where it rested beneath his coat.
"Yes. Originally I had thought to bring flowers - maybe a wrist corsage, but then I decided that this was a much better option." Holding out the box, he silently encouraged her to take it.
As Elizabeth sat to open the package, she was definitely grateful that he had forgone the corsage - they always flopped around awkwardly, too heavy for those itchy elastic bands they were attached to.
Irksome botanical memories, long forgotten, came flooding back as she subconsciously scratched at her wrist. "I'm sure this will be much more interesting than a corsage."
Lifting the lid from the box, Elizabeth pushed back several layers of tissue paper and found herself staring at her own name embroidered boldly just above a crisp, white pocket.
It took her only a moment to recognize the garment as a lab coat. A very special lab coat.
"You had this made for me?"
"Oh yes," he replied with an amused smile. "Apparently my tailor will also work on women's clothes. He was extremely accommodating."
Pulling the coat out of its wrapping, Elizabeth set the box down. "I don't know what to say, I think this may be the most unique gift I've ever received."
Darcy took the coat from her and with a gentle shake, held it up. "Try it on."
As Elizabeth slipped into the neatly pressed scientific smock, she reached down, straightening a cuff. Her neck tingled when William's fingers brushed it lightly as he pulled her hair free. The quiet stillness of the room was suddenly overwhelming and she could hear the soft cadence of his breath as it moved closer to her ear. The feel of warm lips against her neck, pressing in a soft demand, sent a pleasing shiver down her spine.
Tilting her head back to meet his eyes, Elizabeth was surprised by the intensity of his gaze. "Thank you, this was very thoughtful."
"It was my pleasure," he replied, lowering his lips to hers in a kiss that left no doubt of the delights this evening might hold.
December 7, 2004
While industry may drive a city's financial prospects, the true nature of any metropolitan area is developed, nurtured and expressed within its culture. Dr. John Cyperian Stevens was a man of science who loved to spend his time inventing, but more than that - he was a man of vision. And when he tossed a small pebble into the smooth waters of a rapidly developing city, he surely could not have foreseen the ripples it would generate, the lives it would touch.
Change is one of life's few constants. The twentieth century was rife with change and brought about a transformation in Portland that culminated in the actualization of J.C. Steven's dream. His idea of a hands-on science museum had evolved gradually and, after years of hard work and dedication, finally come to fruition, surviving changes in staff, buildings, and even location.
As Elizabeth Bennet approached the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry, her thoughts were not of an engineer with an idea whose genesis originated more than a century ago - indeed they were much more pleasurably engaged. But even the warmth of her escort's hand as it pressed lightly on her back, the strength and security she felt as he moved carefully beside her, the beauty that mingled with knowledge when she glanced into his eyes; even the tingling excitement created by all of these elements as they intertwined, did not serve to distract her from the extraordinary site of OMSI lit up against the black of the night sky. It was enough to overwhelm a girl.
"Incredible, isn't it?" William said, his voice softly grazing her ear.
"Yes, I've been here dozens of times, but it never looked like this."
"It's the night atmosphere," he replied. And he was right.
Located on the Willamette River, the industrialized neighborhood that housed OMSI spoke of practicality, not beauty. But somehow all of that was softened by the night's shadows and glamorized by the sparkling lights of the city as they reflected off the water.
Elizabeth savored the sight...momentarily.
She suddenly found herself distracted by the distinctly abrupt tensing of the man next to her.
Placing a hand on her arm, William suggested, "Let's head inside now, Elizabeth." There was an unusual hint of urgency interlaced with his normally calm exterior.
Confused, she looked around to see what had disturbed him so quickly. It only took her a moment to follow his gaze towards a fashionable woman who was approaching them with a determined stride. "Who is that?"
"That depends on which one of us you ask."
Confounded by his vague response, Elizabeth probed, "Who do you think she is?
Darcy frowned. "Caroline Bingley, Charles's sister."
"Oh," Elizabeth stared at the woman rapidly approaching them. "Jane's mentioned her."
Looking back at him, her curiosity was aroused as his discomfort appeared to increase in direct proportion to Caroline's advancing form. "William, who does she think she is?"
"My future wife."