Fitzwilliam swore under his breath as he maneuvered the rental through a crowd of kids heading towards the club's entrance. Lizzie's eyes glowed with amusement when she turned to face him.
"I'm kinda sad you don't have a cane to shake," she said as they finally pulled into the only empty spot down a sketchy looking back alley. "You're like twenty-eight going on eighty right now."
He huffed. "I'm not one for crowds, clubs are crowded."
Lizzie gave a contemplative tilt of her head. "That's like a fly in my chardonnay," she said.
Fitzwilliam sat still and looked at her blankly and promptly got out of the car without another word.
Lizzie followed him. "Is an 'awkward vaguely hostile silence' exit the private school way of ending conversation?"
Stopping suddenly he turned to face her. "I don't expect you to understand the obligations Georgie and I are under. If my father were here…"
"Playing piano is an obligation?" Lizzie countered.
"Harvard is an obligation," he said smartly.
"And what did you do at Harvard?"
Fitzwilliam paused, taken aback and self-aware. "It's about connections," he said.
"A year's delay in getting wasted and joining the Skulls won't hurt Georgie's future."
Silently he took her hand and kept his eyes straight ahead on the line at the entrance.
Lizzie snickered. "Thus concludes our conversation."
Upon reaching the door they were immediately ushered towards the backstage by a gangly boy in tight jeans.
"...you're Georgie's brother, right?"
The secret Lizzie swore to keep was Georgiana had grown a deep boredom for concert piano. The trouble with remembering what the rush of placing her fingers on the keys felt like started around the spring of her sophomore year; she found no inspiration in playing to a room of gowns and tuxes, while giving a lesson she hurled a metronome through a window and blamed it on finals stress as she handed over her AMEX. So she decided to quit piano and take up guitar.
The 'rectial' they were in town for was a headlining show for Georgie's band before they headed out as support on a national tour, and Georgie picked last minute text message as the means of letting her big brother know.
The car ride here was Lizzie's first time witnessing a soundless fit.
Backstage was organized chaos with loads of teenagers and even more loads of equipment crawling over every inch of its surface. The pair stopped in front of a kid with a lip ring unpacking guitar cases.
"Where's my sister?" Fitzwilliam didn't bother with pleasantries.
The kid scrunched his nose up. "Bathroom," he said. "She always gets nervous. We're on in fifteen, I was just about to go pull Georgie's head out of the toilet."
Lizzie smiled taking a step back from Fitzwilliam. "Do you mind if I go instead?"
And she abruptly turned on her heels and walked away not bothering to wait for Fitzwilliam to respond.
**
Georgie gripped the sink for support and stared blindly into the mirror. She closed her eyes and quietly counted to ten, and when she felt as if she had successfully squashed the need to heave, she turned to face the doorway and a sympathetic Lizzie.
"Is he angry?" Georgie asked.
"He'll get over it," Lizzie told her softly.
"He's such a hypocrite." Georgie sniffed. "For a year and a half I've watched him act like a total fucking idiot. I just want to play guitar."
"So play it," Lizzie said coming closer.
"And I want to go on tour," Georgie said.
"So go," Lizzie said, putting an arm around her.
"You don't know what it's like- having a bunch of guys named Thad sending you clips from the Soup, and I'm the one who's off the path." Her hands balled at her sides, and Lizzie squeezed her close.
"As someone who has made a life out of unsteady leaps on behalf of my dreams- and without even a hint of the foundation you've got under your feet- screw Fitzie and go be brilliant."
Stepping back out of the embrace, Georgie breathed in deeply and exhaled into a grateful smile. "I'm really glad you're here, Lizzie."
**
"Penny for your thoughts?"
In the back of a blacked out SUV, Lizzie sat slumped with her head against the window. A horn blast and a swear from the driver as he pulled away from the airport pickup curb broke the tension in the car.
Her thoughts were the same set of thoughts that had been revolving ad nauseum since Fitzwilliam's lawyer placed that (ten million dollars) folder in front of her. They were about the near permanent negative state of her bank account and the piddly check to cover it, and the unpaid weekend she took to mediate the rich ass Darcy siblings, and she thought about the struggle of bringing a baby on mass transport which lead to her thinking about her metrocard fees (and then the deeper expenses of childcare tried to emerge out of the subconscious ooze and she didn't sleep at all their last night in New Hampshire), and how she would have to move back to Simi Valley and live with her mother all over again.
She thought about how before she boarded first class she ignored a call from Sallie Mae.
And Lizzie turned to Fitzwilliam (who'd been disturbed into starting a conversation by her pensive silence) and she thought about how she really liked Georgie and how fast a year and some change would go by.
"I want you to meet my family," she said. "And if you survive, I'll sign."
**
"...Hello, Bennet residence…"
Before Lizzie could make a sound, the violent unmistakable scream of a teenage girl pierced her ears.
"...I've got it! Gawd Mary, how many times do I have to tell you to quit answering the phone...!"
"...I live here! I can answer...!"
"...nobody is calling for you…"
"...screw you, Lydia…!"
"How's everyone doing?" Lizzie asked sarcastically. "Getting along better than better than ever?"
"Hey Lizzie!"
"Mama! Lizzie's on the phone!"
"Hey what was it like eating at the Ivy?"
"Expensive," Lizzie said.
"Have you been to their ranch? I heard their library is massive."
"Do you think that you and your boyfriend could show up at our school on Friday? I have a bet to settle."
"Somebody put mom on the phone." Lizzie sighed.
The shrill scream of her name over yet another phone line prevented them from answering. "Where have you been? I've left message after message- Lydia and Mary you can hang up now." She paused. "Lydia, I can still hear you breathing."
Lizzie waited for the click and she said, "I've just been you know- working."
"And dating billionaires and not even bothering to give a lousy phone call to your poor suffering mother with the good news, and with the week I've had," Fran Bennet whined. "I had a horrible tanning bed accident- my poor legs- I doubt they'll be ready by summer."
"Hopefully it won't come to that," Lizzie said and a tiny snicker echoed on the line.
Fran loudly sighed. "Mary hang up."
Lizzie waited for the click. "I meant to call, but it's kind of a whirlwind and we're trying to be lowkey."
"Oh you should've seen April Foster when I showed her the magazine. She thought she was so great because her horse faced daughter had two dates with some kid on Laguna Beach."
"Mom," Lizzie interrupted, "Darcy and I are getting really serious and I was wondering if we could maybe come by this weekend…"
Lizzie took the phone away from her ear before her mother's scream could blow out her ear drum.
"Your father's barbequing on Saturday," Fran said excitedly. "Dinner's at seven."
**
Once upon a time when roller disco and hot pants were the rage, a lanky and pale Irish American named Robert Bennet met a slender and well tanned native Californian named Francesca Mateo.
Robert had traveled all of the way from the wastelands of central Ohio to make his parents proud by being the first in his family to attend college; while Frannie whose volleyball skills prevailed over her lack of academic skills- rode the wave of a full scholarship. With the size and massive social divide of the UCLA campus the chances that the two would make eye contact let alone speak to one another were slim at best, and yet these terrible odds were overcome thanks to a crowded bar and a drunken frat boy.
On this particular night, Robert sat alone at the bar with the intention of drinking the stress of a term paper when a commotion to his left piqued his interest.
There stood a red-faced oaf with his dopey bastard hands wrapped around the wrist of a woman who looked none too pleased.
Robert waited patiently. He munched at his beer nuts and rose to his feet at the cry of, "I said 'let me go!'"
The polo shirt puffed out his chest and made a fist, and was promptly knocked flat by Robert (who had a healthy right hook developed from fending off cornfed bullies.)
From that night on Robert and Frannie were inseparable. He was not the good looking NFL draft pick she'd hoped for, but he made her laugh and was sweet in his own way. She was not a scholar and often she was a little bit ridiculous, but she was beautiful and quite smart when no one was watching.
They married two years later in the bar where they met.
The Bennets had five daughters: Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Lydia and Kit.
Charlie rounded the corner and the sight of the Bennet home at the end of the cul-de-sac came into view, and Lizzie audibly sighed at the amount of cars parked on the side of the road and in the yard.
"Lizzie, you wanna help me grab those bags out of the trunk?" Jane asked and didn't give Lizzie time to protest and dragged her to the back of the car.
"Darcy and I can get those, Janie" Charlie tried but Jane waved him off.
"No, you guys go ahead. We'll be right behind you."
"Come on Charles," Caroline groaned, clutching her contribution to the cookout- a bottle of Grey Goose- in her hand.
Giving Jane a smile, Charlie reluctantly turned away, and headed for the Bennets backyard along with Caroline and Fitzwilliam.
Lizzie raised an eyebrow as Jane plopped a cheesecake into her waiting arms. "Something on your mind?"
"I just wanted to tell you to find your center," Jane said, slipping plastic bags onto her wrist. "And to go easy on mom..."
"...tell mom not to start it."
"And…" Jane gave Lizzie the sternest look she was capable of while stopping to reach into her jacket pocket. "I met with Mr. Collins while you were away." She placed a business card on top of the cheesecake. "He's willing to look over it for free…"
"He's a personal injury attorney, Jane."
"He's an attorney, Lizzie. And he'll do you a favor. In an hour we'll sneak out of here and I'll take you…"
Lizzie grimaced, slamming the trunk shut. "Okay, but please tell me- Billy's not in town, is he?"
**
"...I just love that tracksuit, Frannie. It's suuper cute…"
A hush fell over the backyard when the privacy gate swung open and the Bingleys plus Fitzwilliam Darcy appeared. The amount of fame and infamy possessed between the three combined into a singular mass that stunned silence right out of the Bennets and their guests (no small feet since seconds prior, Fran was busy recalling her tanning bed accident for April Foster with impressive volume by outdoor standards); for even though they had seen the Us Weekly issue (and even though some had that issue stuffed next to their paper plates on the chance asking for autographs was ok) none of them truly expected Fitzwilliam Darcy to turn up to eat barbeque in Simi Valley with a movie star (and a movie star's sister) in tow and found themselves caught in the pull of celebrity.
Fitzwilliam felt naked, he absolutely hated being stared at. Out of the corner of his right eye he spotted a point-and-shoot camera, and on his left he watched a glob of ketchup slide from between the hamburger bun and directly onto the shirt of the little boy gawking at him open mouthed.
Charlie broke the spell with a megawatt smile and an apology for their lateness, and upon entering the backyard, Lizzie and Jane found Fitzwilliam and the Bingleys surrounded on all sides by their mother and younger sisters.
Fran was in the middle of showing off her velour pants with 'juicy' written across the ass of them when Lizzie and Jane approached the group.
"...aren't they? I got three sets at Ross last Christmas…Oh! Lizzie! Ohh, there's my baby girl!"
"Hey mama." Lizzie skillfully held the cake above her head while her mother pulled her into a crushing hug.
Not in twenty-six years of dealing with Francesca Bennet was Lizzie showered with so much attention; not that Fran was neglectful, she was more of an 'unwilling' type when it came to subjects she deemed too difficult to understand and Fran was profoundly confused by her second born. Lizzie lacked the dotable angelic beauty of Jane, and she wasn't the hardline snitch Mary could be to make a perfect spy. And Lizzie wasn't a cut-up like Lydia and Kit- Lizzie was too much like her father, and Frannie quite honestly didn't understand Robert Bennet either. But today, Fran had never been so proud of that dark horse and she practically vibrated with the thought of the attention she was sure to get in her spin class on Sunday.
Frannie pulled back from the tight embrace startled. "I hope that's water weight, missy. Save the chubs until there's a ring on that finger."
The sound of Caroline snorting made Lizzie pray for the earth to open up and swallow her whole. "It's good to see you, too."
"Your father went to the store to get more supplies," Frannie said with a weary look. "The Fosters have been here for thirty minutes and we're already low on booze- light a match near April and she'll go up in flames she's so soaked in 151." Frannie gestured toward the bottle in Caroline's hands. "Guard that with your life, dear. Oh! Janie! There you are looking as beautiful as ever!"
**
Frannie Bennet was a force to be reckoned with- a loud and obnoxious gossiping force who felt the need to stick herself to Fitzwilliam's side and tell him the deep, dark secrets of every friend and neighbor in attendance. In addition to April Foster's love of Bacardi, Fitzwilliam learned that Mr. Foster is impotent, that the Baxters from the next block over had a grow operation fronting as 'hot house tomatoes', and that Mrs. Anderson three houses down was having a torrid affair with their mail carrier.
He watched the Bennet twins sneak Smirnoff Ices when they thought no one was looking, and got cornered into discussing the library at his family ranch by Mary Bennet for ten minutes ("I personally didn't add any copies of Twilight but I'm sure my sister has"), and he autographed several paper plates.
All in all he found the Bennets to be kind of exhausting, and by the time the amount of guests had dwindled, Fitzwilliam's reserve of social energy had gone with them.
"...Fitzie! Get over here!"
Robert Bennet (who Fitzwilliam liked the best out of the spare Bennets he'd met that evening) emerged from the house with an ominous bottle of whiskey at the same time Lizzie and Jane were sneaking their way towards the gate.
Whipping in Lizzie's direction he shouted. "Where are you going?"
"To the store with me," Jane answered quickly. "I hate riding alone."
"...hey! If you guys are going to the store, I wanna go too… I'm out of cigs…"
"Mary, no…" Jane began.
"Fitzie! Get that pampered butt over here!"
"You're going to leave me here alone?" Fitzwilliam's eyes widened in horror.
"...wait for me! I gotta go get my purse!"
"No, Mary we'll bring them to you…" Jane tried.
"C'mon Fitzie…"
Lizzie shrugged at him rather unsympathetically and pulled on the gate. "We'll be right back."
**
"...aand that's the third gas station we've passed. Anybody wanna tell me what's going on?"
Bill Collins Sr. was a Simi Valley staple whose likeness oversaw an intersection from the side of a Ralph's like a patron saint of fender benders and red light runners. The eyes of Bill Collins (800-GETPAID) had watched from that billboard generating his bread-and-butter through pothole induced whiplash since 1984.
The Collins' and the Bennet clan had a long, storied history. Before Bill's practice took off, they were neighbors not only next door, but in the maternity ward as well. It seemed for every Bennet girl a Collins boy would appear; Bill and his wife, Anna, had five of their own:
Billy II, Willard, Wiley, Walter, and Wade
and the running joke between Frannie Bennet and Anna Collins was an agreement to marry their kids off to one another. Billy II was the only one to take this as gospel, declaring passionate love for Elizabeth first outside of a cafeteria in 1995 and more recently last thanksgiving when Lizzie ran into him at a Hollywood Video.
From the backseat Mary looked up at the sign for Collins & Assoc. with increasing confusion.
"Mary," Jane began uncharacteristically low in tone, "if you say a single word to anybody about this I will personally hurt you."
Mary's eyes widened- a threat from Lizzie was business as usual, but a threat from Janie was terrifying. "I can chill here, I don't have to go inside," she said, putting her hands up in peace.
Just as quickly as it had been turned off, Jane was back to her normal state as she unbuckled her seat belt and faced Mary with a smile so sweet it bordered on sinister. "Thanks for understanding," she said. "Can you hand me that folder?"