“Really? Well, he did dress nicely. The money was obvious, but are you sure about the sleazy part?” Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “What do you know?”
Elizabeth finished her wine. “I know Charles is an honest guy who has better taste in girlfriends than he does in friends”
“Whoa. That’s harsh. Why do you care so much?”
Stabbing her fork into her potpie, Elizabeth focused on trying to find a piece of chicken or a potato or a carrot—anything but another chunk of celery or onion. The best bits were always buried deep, under the gravy and flakes of crust.
“We had a near miss. A close encounter of the horizontal kind. An almost one-night stand.” There was silence on the other side of thetable, and she looked up. “Oh, for God’s sake, close your mouth and chew.”
Charlotte put one finger in the air and rapidly chewed and swallowed her mouthful of salad. She sipped her beer and slowly lowered her hand.
“Shut the back door! I knew you liked him!”
“Oh God, no. I was spun out on wine and Vicodin.”
“Not when I saw you with him at the game. You guys sparked.”
“Ugh, that was before. The close encounter was a couple of weeks later.”
“A couple of weeks?” Charlotte shook her head. “Elizabeth Bennet, I don’t know where to begin. First off, why the hell were you taking Vicodin? Second, where the hell did you get it? From some skeeve down on Bleecker? And lastly, I need details! You made out with that smoldering mass of man?”
D for Duh…why do I tell her anything?“Okay, here are your answers: because my leg hurt, I had one pill left over from last year, and he is not smoldery. He just wears a lot of black.”
“And orange stripes on his socks. Supposedly.” Charlotte arched an eyebrow. “You covered for him at that game, a total stranger. Why? I’ll tell you why. Because you liked him.” She observed Elizabeth’s defiant stare. “Or, at the very least, you thought he was hot.”
“Look, we were at Netherfield, and Jane and Charles deserted us. He helped me after I hurt my leg, and I was woozy. The room was dark, the couch was comfy, the night stretched out before us in all its inky splendor…”
“Who made the first move?”
Elizabeth took a sip of wine and cleared her throat.“Me. But before things got too hot and heavy, he stopped.”
“He what…? Be specific, please. Stopped as in pulled out or zipped up…?”
“There was no pulling or zipping! We made out like a couple of teenagers. It was stupid. I was stupid. Darcy is apparently some kind of playboy, ‘sex on a stick’ to busty blondes, and sleeps with everyone.”
“Except you.”
“Yup. Except me.” Elizabeth wanted to stop remembering his cold words and his solemn expression when he’d said them.“This is wrong. We can’t do this.”
“I don’t get it. And that’s why you hate him? Because he respectedyou too much? You said you were in pain and on prescription meds, and you’d had a drink. Maybe he was just being a gentleman.”
“No. His mother was a party girl, and he’s following suit.” Briefly, she wondered about his sister. Did such behavior run in the family?
“You have this on good authority?”
“I’ve heard it from one who knows. And I have eyes and ears.” Elizabeth kept the former focused on her plate.
“Perhaps you’re listening to the wrong people. He’s Charles’s best friend, isn’t he? Would Sweetie Pie Charles tolerate that behavior? Would he want to be friends with a jerk?”
“Argh, you’re like Jane, always looking for the shining heroic bits in people.”
“You know that’s not true.” Charlotte shook her fork at her friend. “But maybe in this case, that’s what’s called for.”
“Hey, even Charles jokes about Darcy’s playboy habits. And I’ve spent time with him. The man is a walking, talking commercial for the Social Register. You saw how he reacted to UM fans. He doesn’t sleep with women like me. He clearly didn’t want me and whatever plebeian STDs I might bring to the party.”
“But…”
Elizabeth pushed away her food and folded up her napkin. “No buts. You should’ve seen him Thursday night with this perfectly polished, high-gloss, Upper East Side blonde. That’s his type.”
