The Luxury Gap

Prologue

As the setting sun made its descent behind the peaks of the Olympics, casting a fiery glow off the glass towers of the Seattle skyline, an immense sea of people gathered under the famed Space Needle, that ever stoic landmark, standing tall in the heart of the Seattle Center, the city's playground and hub of its thriving theatre district. The people of Seattle loved to celebrate the nation's birthday and had turned out in droves to observe the magnificent double display of fireworks, set off simultaneously; one by sea, from a barge anchored out in Elliot Bay, west of the Center, beyond the Port of Seattle and the other by land, to the north from the shores of Lake Union at Gas Works Park, named for the fossilized machinery at one time the power source for the growing city. The light show was a generous gift to the people from two of the city's commercial icons and the gratitude of the populace was more than audible. A heavy brume had crept over the Olympics, capping the night in a dense mist and as each bomb burst, their shimmering light set the low misty clouds afire, the collective 'oohs' and 'aahs' could be heard from every hill and rooftop within view of the wondrous sight.

It was during this revelry that the young woman first noticed the girl sitting alone on a small park bench, oddly out of place among the melee of party-goers and thrill seekers of the Forth of July festivities. As the air exploded above, the woman could not help her eyes from being drawn to the lonely figure, curiously anxious not to lose sight of her. She saw the girl's thinly clad body shivering in the breeze that swept the nightly chill in from nearby Puget Sound and the cool mist from the International Fountain, displacing the balmy heat of the summer's day. And as the brilliant display drew to a close, the serried host dissipated and families gathered their own, making their way to their respective homes, but the girl remained still, seemingly unaware or uncaring, as if anchored to where she sat.

Excusing herself from her own party, the young woman casually strode over to the bench and sat down on the far end, inhaling deeply the salt air. The gentle lapping of the flags flying overhead brought her attention skyward and she closed her eyes, still seeing the stars in her mind and wondered how she could approach this girl, without causing her to flee.

"It's cold tonight, they say a storm is coming. I think it's going to rain, what do you think?" she said. The girl just ignored her. "But, then, I don't remember a Forth in Seattle when it didn't rain. Kind of goes with the territory, right?" And all the while, as she tried to keep her comments light, she studied the girl intently.

Fair-haired with soft, delicate features, there was an innocence about her that was more than evident. Her attire was mussed and rumpled, but one could tell that they were a better cut, not something an average street urchin would have the means to acquire. On glancing at the girl's hands, the long slender fingers tightly clenched in her lap, she saw they were clean, and well cared for. Then it dawn on her this girl was not what she seemed to be. She couldn't be more than eighteen or nineteen, she wondered. What's she doing out here alone.

Then the girl looked at her and she knew. The Seattle Center's street lamps were bright enough that the woman could see the desperation in the girl's dark eyes. Something awful had happened to this girl, something that had left her miserable and brokenhearted. And if the woman didn't know better, the girl was just a touch inebriated. In fact... a lot inebriated. And no matter how safe Seattle may seem compared to other towns, a young pretty woman, whom was not entirely in control of her faculties was asking to be introduced to the darker side of the Emerald city.

"Hey, have you had anything to eat tonight?" she asked carefully. The girl slowly shook her head. "Would you like something?" the woman added, softly, indicating a bag next to her, "I have some take out, you're more than welcome--" She faltered when she saw the tear fall from the girl's bowed head. Then without thinking twice the woman dared to ask, "Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

"No," was the weak reply as the girl wiped away another tear.

At least she's lucid, the woman thought, but I can't leave her here. She'll end up dead in an alley...or worse. "You...you can't stay out here," she said as gently as she could, slowly moving closer to the girl. "Is there some place I can take you, someone I can call? You're family?" the look of anguish on the girl's face caused her to pause, "If you want, you can come home with me. No questions asked."

"With you?" the girl said warily, her words slightly slurred, "You...don't know me..."

"I know, but I don't think you should be out here alone. It's not safe."

The girl, through her own muddled haze, could see that the woman was sincere. So, with a nod of her head in exhausted resignation she handed herself over to the care of a stranger.

When they arrived at the small flat it was just in time and the girl became acquainted with the john in the rudest possible way, to her utter humiliation. But her hostess took it all in stride; she'd been there herself, so it was with a sympathetic smile and a kind hand that she tidied her guest and provided her with warm, clean clothes. Limbs shaking from fatigue, the girl settled on the divan and collapsed to let the healing powers of sleep to work its magic. It wasn't until she finally awoke late into the following afternoon and became fully cognizant of the fact that she was warm and safe did she allow herself to break down and weep in a gentle welcoming embrace.

It was then that the woman's assumption had been proven correct. This was no ordinary urchin camped out on her divan, but the daughter of one of the highest houses in the state. But misfortune knows no rank, and this girl had had been dished up her fair share. She was in love, but the man whom she'd naively given her heart, who had proclaimed himself as in love as she; it turned out was a cad supreme. But this unhappy disclosure was not gleaned before her brother and guardian, a man fifteen years her senior, had discovered the couple's plan to jump a jet to Vegas. Seemed the brother did not exactly care for the girl's secret intended - not one iota. His response was to give his young sister an ultimatum. Either leave the man in question, or leave her family's house. And in a fit of angry rebellion, she chose the latter. She chose wrong.

All this she tearfully divulged to her patient hostess, who sat and listened silently. Then, with a gentle urging, tried to convince the girl it would be best if she'd return home, for surely her brother would understand the folly of his sister's infatuation. No, he would not, was the answer. He had been furious, and inciting the indignant resentment of a man who was entirely too used to his word never being questioned had guaranteed that she would not be welcomed home anytime soon. This thought caused a new flood of tears, but they were not for her own broken heart, but for her brother's for she knew that her parting words to him before she'd slammed the door in his face had cut him to the quick.

She had hurt him, had marred herself in his eyes, and this she could not face.

Then abruptly, the woman rose, told the girl to stop being so dramatic, took her by the arm and dragged her to the phone booth down the street and forced her to call home, the girl protesting all the way, but she was not about to allowed to her shirk her responsibility to at least inform her brow beating brother she was alright.

"For heaven's sake, what's he going to do, disown you?" the woman asked with exasperation.

"Yes..." *sniff*

"Good Lord, what's the number, I'll call him," and she did. Then, at the sound of a surprisingly pleasant deep voice, the phone was foisted upon on an unwilling recipient, and meekly spoke into, and a new rush of tears overflowed. Yet in the moment of reconciliation, there was a reluctance to return home, a refusal to disclose her location, or the name of her generous benefactor. For the first time in her privileged life, she was on her own, unfettered by watchful eyes, and she was loath to give it up. So she didn't. And for a fortnight, she stayed, never once questioning whether she was welcome, her hostess's playful easy manners assurance enough. And through it all, they talked - for hours - she giving her new friend a glimpse of a life most could only dream of, and she receiving a heavy dose of reality from the streets. Their honest exchanges were a purging of sorts, but when questioned exactly whom the deviant cad was that had broken her heart came up, the answer was not so easily revealed, though the circumstances of their parting was. And once this was gleaned, it became apparent how much the girl had yet to learn of the world and was kindly, but unduly informed so. Then the matter was dropped, never spoken of again, for rehashing it only caused pain, and it was time for healing, not for opening wounds. What was also dropped was a heavy-handed hint that caused the woman to laugh out right. Seemed her guest had always wanted a sister, wouldn't it be nice...you know…if she really were? And despite his obvious bent towards bouts of intransigency, never had a brother's virtues been praised to the sky as occurred during those two weeks.

As the days went by, they became quite close, and they both knew that soon a difficult decision would have to be made. Left to her own thoughts as the woman's cat snuggled in her lap, the girl contemplated on where her life was heading. After long reflection, and even longer discussions with her abettor, she decided to get on with it. She knew she had to go home. Slowly, she reached for the phone...

They knew they would not meet again for a long time, their paths leading in very different directions, so with the childish need to cling to that which was comforting, the girl timidly asked for the first thing she saw when she initially woke in her safe haven, as a token of friendship. It was a small picture that sat on the fireplace mantel of the woman as a teenager, nearly the same age as she, fresh faced and smiling, her arm around another girl, their countenance bearing a striking resemblance to each other, both standing in the sunshine. A poor substitute, its new owner proclaimed, for the girl knew she would miss her friend terribly.

They stood together in the morning sun, waiting for the cab that had finally been summoned, a summer breeze rustling the towering trees that shaded the sunny street. As the cab pulled up to the house, it was a suddenly anxious girl that reached out and gave her new friend a fierce hug before she climbed inside, and to her surprise, into her hand a key was slipped with the assurance that if ever she needed a place to hang her hat, she was more than welcome. And tears filled those dark doe eyes that were no longer lost, but strangely grown up.

"Thank you, Elizabeth."

"Don't mention it, Georgiana..."

As if you didn't already know...

Chapter One

Seattle is a beautiful city. Virtually surrounded by water at all points of the compass, the graceful structures of the Seattle skyline rise above the hilly terrain, reflecting the dense greenery of a lush landscape and the silvery shimmer of Puget Sound. Nestled between the snow capped Olympics to the west and the awe-inspiring volcanoes of the Cascades to the east, it is a glittering jewel in a bed of forest velvet and glass. It is a city known for its extraordinary rainfall, but on the rare occasions during the chilly autumn and winter months that the sun deigns to allow a few precious rays to drip down from the heavens, the pale and light starved residents look to the skies in wonder. These days are miraculous, indeed. Unfortunately, this was not one of those days.

"Why do I pay good money to read this crap?" The newspaper hit the table with an annoyed swap, startling the surrounding patrons of the sidewalk café, the flocks of pigeons innocently foraging for crumbs and the two companions of the owner of the unworthy rag. She tugged irritably at her woolen scarf and instantly felt the moist autumn air cool the delicate skin of her slender throat. Pulling her heavy wool coat close against the encroaching dampness, she slumped back into her chair and hoped, as she looked above her, the rain laden awning protecting the small bistro table would not suddenly give way allowing a tide of cold water to course down her back. But if it did, she wouldn't be surprised, not one damn bit. "You know, I remember when the P-I. was a decent newspaper, now all they write about in the Scene section is who was at the symphony fundraiser, instead of reviewing it. It'd be nice to know actually what was performed or whether it sucked and not who was sucking on Liza Elliot's face all night long."

"Really? Good God, who'd want to suck her face? It'd be like licking a ferret. I saw her the other day anchoring the news on KING, I swear she was orange, the girl spends way too much time in a tanning bed," Charlotte Lucas piped up with an arched brow and reached for the paper but was fended off by Jane Gardiner, who calmly removed the offending paper from the center of the small table placing it on the seat next to her as Charlotte added, "You just don't like her because of Anne. Must suck to have the same name."

"Yeah, whatever, Charlotte. No, I don't like her. I only met her once before Anne left town, and that's when I realized there was a reason why she jet for Chicago."

"I thought it was because you got the job at the Opera House and not her?" Jane asked quietly.

"That was only part of it. But that's besides the point, Anne and I were friends. No what bugs me, is that all those years she was a principal dancer for the ballet, not once did you see her in a write up, but just because Elizabeth Elliot's smarmy mug is on the boob-tube every night, she gets a full page spread. Makes me sick."

"Lizzy, I'm sure she had nothing to do with it, she just happened to be at the symphony and had her picture taken, that's all." Jane, never one to have a feather ruffled, quietly chided her cousin, yet her soft voice merely exacerbated the woman's ire, but Elizabeth bit her tongue, holding back her retort. It wouldn't due to hurt Jane's feelings and she was the one person on the planet for whom Elizabeth Bennet actually made a conscience effort to hold her temper in check. She loved her cousin too much to be snippy with her. Now, Charlotte Lucas on the other hand...

"Here Lizzy, have another cup of coffee, you're not quite up to your ol' irritable self," Charlotte sniffed sarcastically, shoving a coffee carafe in Elizabeth's direction, though mindful to keep her fingers free of harm's way, "Why would Liza Elliot's state of facial suckage bother you? Oh, wait a sec! When was the last time...? Oh, see, that's the problem - it's about that time isn't it. Lizzy's feelin' the urge to merge," Charlotte smirked meanly, and picking up the paper from it's hiding place, she tossed it back at Elizabeth's chest, "Honey, you're reading the wrong section, you should be hitting the personals, I'm sure there's a SWM out there who's a swanky sociopath, just perfect for you. Go for it!"

"That's fine advice from the world's oldest virgin."

"Virgin? Now, Lizzy, there's no reason to get nasty. I'm discerning, not repressed."

Jane, eyed the two women of whom she sat between, right in the line of fire, "You know, you two, people can hear us..." she whispered furtively as she looked about quickly.

"Are you saying I'm not particular, Charlotte?" Elizabeth leaned forward, eyeing Charlotte and completely ignoring Jane's statement as she flashed the P-I. under Charlotte's nose.

"Are you kidding? You're particular, all right. Um... let's see, musicians, actors, cops - I'm seeing a pattern here, so I repeat, swanky sociopaths."

"I've never dated an actor in my life," Elizabeth denied haughtily, then paused with a guilty smile, "Well... ok, once. But he was just too delicious to pass up - though I wouldn't technically call that a date."

Charlotte let out a chuckle, "That detective you were seeing a while back was pretty tasty. Too bad he--"

"Don't even go there," suddenly Elizabeth cut her off sharply, silencing Charlotte with a dark glare.

"Lizzy," Jane piped in, "Haven't you or Marianne heard a thing from that foundation? Not a peep?"

Both Charlotte and Elizabeth looked at Jane, so swiftly she'd shifted gears in the conversation that the two were just a little taken aback. Slowly, Elizabeth took a deep breath, "No and I am beginning to suspect that I won't." Gently rubbing her temples, Elizabeth couldn't help the disappointed sigh.

"You know Lizzy, you knew what you were getting into when you applied for that grant. When it comes to money, don't ever expect the process to be expedient. Some men hate to part with their cash." Charlotte Lucas always level-headed and straight-forward, couldn't help feeling sympathetic towards her friend. But Charlotte also knew, for her own well-being and the preservation of peace, it was better to keep that sympathy to herself.

"Yes, but I didn't think it would be so frustrating. We need that money," Elizabeth said under her breath. Leaning forward she rested her elbows on the edge of the small table and gave her companions an apologetic look, "I'm sorry you two, this isn't your problem, I don't mean to be so grouchy."

"No, it's not our problem, so keep it to yourself, you're ruining my lunch," Charlotte teased and Elizabeth smiled wanly at her. If Charlotte or Jane could have eased Elizabeth's mind, they would but both knew only a substantial check from a certain foundation would do that.

When the waiter brought the three women their orders, Elizabeth again sat back in her chair, pushing her long hair behind her ears. There was no need for the dark sunglasses adorning her lovely visage due to Seattle's ever present dark October skies, but the lack of sleep and the bruised smudges under her eyes made it necessary. Behind those glasses, though, she was able to observe and take in her surroundings undetected, a habit she'd developed through years of working in the theatre where assessing the shades of human behavior was mandatory. She had sat at this same café a hundred times, had watched scores of pedestrians scurry across the same bustling intersection of 4th and Pine, yet right then as the heavy raindrops sounded in their rhythmic pattern, she was looking straight through them, her mind far and gone from the hear and now.

Elizabeth Bennet was a woman on the verge. She was about to take her career into a new direction and she was less than a year shy of thirty. She was an intelligent, vivacious brunette with a quick temper and a sharp wit, both of which were readily forgiven when accompanied with her slow smile that rarely failed to shine in her dark blue eyes. The oldest of four girls, she was gifted, reading at an unusually early age and was possessed of an affinity for the arts that was evident as soon as she was old enough to hold a crayon in her little hand. Both her parents recognized their daughter's talents, her father a steadfast admirer, her mother a steadfast critic, but both were very proud of there eldest, for she was a shining reflection on themselves. But the problem with such children was that they were easily bored. And Elizabeth had been no different. This was unfortunate for Elizabeth truly did enjoy learning, she loved it in fact and read every book in her father's study veraciously, but there was little that the public school system could offer her. In the mean time, she'd developed a nasty little habit of waiting till the beginning of class on the day a paper was due, to actually do it. It was an adrenalin rush, racing against the clock, to hammer out a paper that was to be turned in within minutes and it never failed she'd get a top grade. It was addictive.

Oh, yes, Elizabeth was bored, but she never allowed it to overwhelm her, like so many teenagers did, for that little adrenalin rush that got her heart racing could have easily been channeled into something far more sinister and far less healthy. Yet then, instead of heading off to college as was expected by her father, a staunch believer in higher learning, but not enough to enforce it, Elizabeth sold everything she owned, and at the tender age of eighteen, hit the road. She meandered from one job to another, up and down the West Coast, till her maternal grandmother, a wry and pragmatic Scot, explained one day whilst her granddaughter crashed on her couch, if Elizabeth didn't get her life and her shit together, she would promptly be disowned. And taking the girl in hand, Maddy Gardiner marched her granddaughter down to the register's office at the University of Washington, and signed her up. But still, Elizabeth truly did not know what she wanted out of life. Another problem with talented children; she had knowledge of many things, but was master of none.

Fortunately, it was a chance encounter at a college production of King Lear that allowed her artistic energy an outlet. Not on the stage, though, Elizabeth never had that desire for that kind of adulation, she'd tried it once, and the experience had left a foul taste in her mouth. Her preference was behind the scenes, from hammering nails, to sewing on buttons, Elizabeth learned everything there was about stage production, but it was the costumes that captured her heart, it was the softer side of the theatre and over a period of time she had earned the well-deserved reputation around town as a hard working, reliable costumer, finally obtaining a permanent position with the Opera House as an assistant shop mistress whenever their annual season went into full swing. But as is the case in the theatre, remunerativeness is not always in the cards, and layoffs commonplace. So in the interim, she had to support herself someway, and it was by traveling from company to company from state to state. Her days of a happy wanderer were not at an end and after years of living like a gypsy, it finally had begun to take its toll. It wasn't the mileage she'd clocked, she'd honestly say that was the best part; on the road, making new friends, meeting old ones. No, it was her love life that suffered. Big Time.

Well, Lizzy... on pleasure bent again. What will your poor boyfriend do in your absence...? Oh... I don't know... sleep with my best friend... and anyone else that came along... Sometimes, absence does not make the heart grow fonder...

Elizabeth wasn't sorry she'd chosen the path of an independent bohemian but most men would not put up it, and didn't. Frankly, it did weigh on her, coming home to an empty house after working late into the evening, with only her cat to comfort her. And as she faced the numerical milestone of thirty, Elizabeth was digging in her heals. Husband hunting was never a priority, and she certainly wasn't going to start now, to her mother, Fanny's aggravation. But as she looked ahead, the life of a vagabond spinster, living alone with her cat, wasn't exactly appealing either.

Elizabeth had made some pretty heady sacrifices to remain freewheeling, but in her heart she wanted more. And the slow realization that life was bearing down hard was more than evident every time she wrapped up a show. She still prided herself on her work, Elizabeth was good at what she did, but the praise she received on a job well done had lost its meaning. It was the wonder of another kind of patron that moved her now, and it was this discovery that gave shape to an idea, and at last, gave Elizabeth the direction she'd always longed for, a real purpose and she threw herself into it head first. For the past two years, she and a handful of fellow theatre technicians had strove for a common goal. That of a small children's theatre, a place where inner city kids could come and lend their own fantastic dreams and inspirations, to express themselves without the fear of ridicule and see it all come to life.

The small troop was already well known about town, traveling from high school to high school, performing abridged versions of great works, but always with a compelling twist. A psychedelic A Midsummer Night's Dream in mini skirts and go-go boots, a dark and thundering Macbeth in Samurai armor or a rollicking Much Ado about Nothing in flamboyant cavalier. Anything to capture the imagination of a demographic group that was notoriously inattentive. And unlike the actors, who came and went as the wind blew, Elizabeth was a permanent fixture in the troop and was a favorite among the youngsters, not for her own charms, but for the mystique of what she did for a living. After each production, the students would shyly skirt around the players as they pealed off their makeup and would clamor to Elizabeth to let them see the weaponry, the props and the beautiful costumes. They were real and tangible, something they could touch - the gist of the performance would come later.

But to realize the dream of becoming a teaching theatrical company, the troop would need a home. They had survived thus far on their scholarly earnings and the generous donations of some local businesses, but it wasn't enough. The price of real estate in the Seattle metropolitan area was far beyond their meager reach. So, already having attained their non-profit status, a fight with the theatrical unions and the IRS that Elizabeth was still recovering from, she and her partner in crime, Marianne Dashwood, took it upon themselves to apply for a grant in the name of their company from a monstrous monolith of a foundation known as The Annebe Trust, a faceless fount of funds with an obscene amount of cash to throw around. If only they'd throw some of that dough their way. They needed it, and soon, for the pressure was on from parents all over the region, "When can you start teaching full time?" And the two knew they could not put them off for very much longer, or those very same students would lose interest.

And that was the crux. Tuition was their bread and butter, it allowed them the ability to offer scholarships to those children whom could not afford it, but one cannot teach, if there is no class room, yet, no class room, no place to teach, therefore, no students. It truly was a vicious circle. And so Elizabeth and Marianne, with their heads held high and shaking all over, made their presentation to a room of men with faces as cold and foreboding as the chamber in which they sat, holding out their hands and panhandled for their supper.

Afterwards, they plopped down on a bench outside the main entrance of the Colombia Tower, Elizabeth's uneasy legs not allowing her to stand any longer and looked up at the soaring structure, shrouded in black glass, punching a hole in the dark, low clouds. If it had been for her own gain, she would have walked away with out looking back, but there were other lives that hung in the balance and she hoped they had not left the boardroom without moving at least one heart. As her eyes followed the vertical seams of glass, she wondered where the windows were to the offices they had just vacated. To Elizabeth, they all looked the same, tall, dark and imposing. At that moment she felt very small, indeed.

That had been two months hence and the two had not heard a word. And it was this waiting, this limbo that had Elizabeth on her latest verge: a thermo nuclear meltdown.

By that morning, Jane and Charlotte, infinitely patient and indulgent with the fiery temperament of their friend were finally fed up with Elizabeth and her nail biting. She'd been a snippy little cow for a month, it was time to take action. Battering down her door, they dragged her out of her apartment and away from her phone, to an open-air bistro outside Westlake Center in the core of the downtown Seattle merchant district, plying her with lattes and scones. Get her wired and fattened up - that'll make her feel better, just like her shortbread pushing grandmother. Another thing Elizabeth had to contend with; sitting at a table with two thin leggy women, while she pushed away the chocolate croissant (no matter how much she wanted scarf it down) because her belt felt a bit too tight. Or maybe she was just retaining water. She hoped.

Charlotte, ever observant, watched as the men passing by craned their heads around to get a second look at the three ladies lunching on this drizzly afternoon. She didn't include herself in the attraction, but Charlotte had her own charms and knew how to use them. As a child, she was considered plain and introspective, but now at the age of thirty-one she was elegantly chic with a look that was all her own and a mind that was as smart as a whip. Her father, a retired Seattle merchant, had taught Charlotte the ropes of running a highly successful business at an early age and Charlotte used this knowledge to its best advantage. An assistant to the owner of Seattle's most prestigious department store, Charlotte had worked her way up from a counter girl to her present position in less than six years. She was tall and graceful, elegantly dressed, with thick honey colored hair, cut short in a flattering pixie, which framed an open friendly face, a friendly face that was infamously deceptive. She was smart, with a biting wit, and was as cynical as the day was long. A cynicism that grew as each year passed. If Elizabeth was mindful of her lack of male companionship, Charlotte was tenfold. And it was becoming ever more difficult to hide it, especially now as she faced yet another birthday in a few days. She couldn't help but smirk at the irony of both hers and Elizabeth's plight. They lived in one of the most densely populated cities of young, eligible males in the nation, yet for the life of them, Mr. Right was infuriatingly elusive.

Hmmm...maybe they should pick up and move to Alaska. I wouldn't mind a nice fuzzy lumberjack to cuddle with under the Northern Lights; it'd be like snuggling with a big bear. Just as long as he didn't smell like one...

Charlotte would do it, too, but for one thing holding her back. Charlotte was in love. A burning, unrequited passion, which had been brewing for years. And it was for Elizabeth's cousin. Not Jane! Jeez, Char doesn't butter her bun bottom side down for goodness sake! No, the object of Charlotte's affections was Jane's brother. Unfortunately, for a woman who was so self-assured, when it came to Robert Gardiner, poor Charlotte's brain was rendered as abysmal as deep space. And she'd kept her pining a guarded secret for years. That was until, one night in a wine sodden stupor, whilst wallowing on her couch, she let Elizabeth in on her little heart's desire - and then never lived it down. Oh, Elizabeth kept her mouth shut, even from Jane, but on those special occasions when Charlotte was feeling particularly bitter, Elizabeth would toss it in her face. A fine piece of ammo for two close friends who loved to pick each other apart.

But it wasn't the day for her to flounder in self pity, it was Elizabeth's and so trying to take the woman's mind off her troubles, Charlotte made a wise decision and changed the subject to something a bit more pleasant. "Jane, are you and Charles coming with us Saturday night?" she casually asked, whilst fiddling with her coffee cup.

"Charles wouldn't miss it for the world. I think he's been obdurately corrupted," Jane laughed, as she looked deliberately from Charlotte to Elizabeth, in a silent reproach that was none to subtle.

"Don't be blaming me for you boyfriend's second childhood. It's not my fault he led such a sheltered life that he completely missed out on the local club scene. He should have sown his oats while in college," Elizabeth exclaimed, eyes wide with innocence and raising her hands in defense as both Charlotte and Jane rolled their eyes.

"Yes but you don't have to encourage him." Jane laughed at the suddenly guilty smile that broke out on Elizabeth's lips.

"I can't help it, it's just too funny - it's like watching Troy Donahue buddy-up with the Sex Pistols." Elizabeth said with a wicked grin, "You know, he's lucky those kids don't know who he is, he'd never get out alive. Maybe I should let the cat out of the bag. I can see the headlines now, 'Seattle business icon, Charles Bingley, flees from downtown club after patrons trounce him with same Doc Martens he formerly sold to them at exorbitant prices.' It would be too ironic."

"Elizabeth, you're awful!" Jane exclaimed, swatted Elizabeth's arm, "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Elizabeth had the devil in her, that was for sure and Jane couldn't help but laugh.

Jane Gardiner loved her cousin Elizabeth like a sister and the feeling was mutual. The two were born in the same year, had gone to the same school, they even occasionally had dated the same men, but that was as far as the similarities went. Jane was a lovely willowy blonde, with cornflower blue eyes and a soft serene disposition. She had graduated from college with honors in psychology, then went on to earn a PhD and now was a research assistant at the University of Washington. She came from a happy home, had a happy childhood and now was leading a happy life. By comparison Elizabeth's was much different, but no less loving. Jane, her brother Robert and their parents were, for Elizabeth, a refuge from her own slightly odd family, giving Elizabeth the stable role model that her childhood sometimes lacked.

Charlotte knew both their histories having grown up next door to the Bennets. Even though Charlotte was slightly older than Jane and Elizabeth, they had bonded at an early age and the three had remained good friends ever since.

And it was this friendship that had brought Charles Bingley into Jane Gardiner's life.

In was a fortuitous afternoon that witnessed Elizabeth and Jane's unannounced arrival at Charlotte's office, inviting her out to lunch, when in walked Charles Bingley, the man Charlotte was assistant to and said owner of the afore mentioned department store. Elizabeth and Jane had warmed to Charles instantly, his warm easy going manner infectious, but the minute he laid eyes on Jane everyone else ceased to exist, but Elizabeth wasn't offended. She saw him as the lovable boy next door. A boy with way too much money. But with that money, Charles had always been very generous with those in need. Elizabeth couldn't help but admire him. As a mental picture of Charles came to her mind, Elizabeth also had to admit that Mr. Bingley was as easy on the eyes as his easy laugh was on the heart.

He was tall, but not too tall, with thick wavy sandy hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and deep laugh lines due to the almost permanent smile plastered on his face. To say Charles was handsome would be pushing it. Charles was cute, adorably cute. And it was this 'cuteness' that belayed his years. Charles was man of thirty-four, but he looked as if he just graduated from high school. Elizabeth accounted this phenomenon due to the fact that Charles probably never had a worry in his life. In fact this was true. Partly.

Charles's great tragedy was when his father had passed away two years prior and even then Charles didn't have to worry. His life had been mapped out for him from day one and the minute his father knew of his illness he made every provision necessary to make sure the handing over of the company and Charles' future life went as smoothly as possible.

Mr. Bingley had seen Charlotte's potential early on; the light rapport in which his son and the tall young woman possessed impressed him with the fact that Charlotte was a master of subtle manipulation. She knew how to use just the right word or phrase, could judge a situation with surgical accuracy and make decisions with deft swiftness, while still allowing others the illusion that they were in control. For this ability she was chosen above the scores of potential mid-management suck ups to be Charles's personal assistant. Which, in the end, meant making executive decisions herself and allowing Charles to reap all the credit. Mr. Bingley knew that he was leaving his son in good hands.

Charles wasn't oblivious to Charlotte's value, however. He paid her handsomely and she was worth every penny. She made sure Charles' day went off with out a hitch, trouble shooting any tiresome dispute that might erupt during office hours, which usually meant acting as a physical barrier between the door to his office and the thundering complaints of Charles's sisters, Caroline and Louisa, a pair of class conscience vainglories if ever there were.

On the surface Charles had seemed happy in his blanketed idleness, but he knew there was something missing. Seems Mr. Bingley the Younger was a bit of a homebody, and as homebodies are prone to do, he wanted someone to share in his elegant, well-to-do nest. Then he met Jane, little Miss Domestic and suddenly he found his soul mate and the chase was on. He was damned and determined to make this woman fall in love with him. So, with a newborn purpose, Charles Bingley pursued Jane Gardiner with a feverish intent. He courted her, he wooed her and finally he broke down that reserved barrier and made his way into her heart. It was difficult to tell what Jane thought about all this, she always remained so composed and cool on the surface, but Elizabeth knew Jane had fallen for this goofy guy like a load of bricks. She just hoped Charles knew it, too. He deserved to know, he was too sweet not to.

And for Charles, Jane having Elizabeth as a cousin was a blessing. She was fun and playful and when no one else could draw Jane out of her usual demure shell, Elizabeth would almost always succeed and through observation, learned to how to do it himself. There was something else that Charles had learned to appreciate from his friendship with these two women and Charlotte, a curious taste for the local nightlife. And so this brings us back to whence it all began - the advent of the approaching weekend.

John Lucas, Charlotte's younger brother, would be performing at a very popular lounge and had personally invited Jane and Charles to attend. Charles was always up for a bit of fun and Jane was more than happy to humor him. And it was at that moment she conveniently remembered a discussion she and Charles had had on this very subject earlier that morning.

"Oh, by the way, Charles is bringing a friend along."

"Charles has friends? I thought he just had siblings." At her cousin's sarcastic comment, Jane finally refuted Elizabeth's assumed baffled expression to the latter's delight.

"Yes, he has friends unlike someone I know if she doesn't keep that razor tongue sheathed," Jane said mildly, causing Elizabeth to arch her brow, impressed by her cousin's sudden spunk. Jane knew that Elizabeth's frustration over her uncertain future could very well play itself out with a barrage of bitter sniping and was about to ask her to please behave when Charlotte suddenly cut in.

"Do we know who it is?" she asked, hoping that the answer would not be one of Charles's siblings.

"You might. William Darcy." This was met strangely with stunned silence, and then slowly Charlotte whistled.

"Ooh...whoa, whoa...William Darcy? Jesus, just bring out the big guns, why don't you. When the hell did he blow into town?" Charlotte's interest was piqued by Jane's information to say the least.

"He's been here for a few days. He just finished a fellowship at MIT and needed some down time. I guess he's back permanently now. Charles has been helping him get resettled."

"Hmmmm..." Charlotte mewled like a giant cat, "Permanently, huh? Do I hear the splash of one monster fish getting thrown back into Seattle's gene pool?"

Elizabeth snorted, "You would think that. Jeez, Charlotte, let the poor guy come up for air before you club him."

Jane was grinning as Charlotte shrugged her shoulders, "Hey, what's the saying? A single man with a large fortune--"

"Must be in want of a wife - yeah, I think I've heard it." Elizabeth rejoined sarcastically, then eyed her friend knowingly, "How about a single woman over the age of thirty must be in want of a good shag."

"I think there's a symbiosis there," Charlotte said dryly, retrieving a cigarette from her bag and lighting up, "I'm willing to find out."

"I'm sure you are, but you know as well as I, that saying is a load of shit, except for Charles, but he's a freak of nature," there was an impatience in Elizabeth's voice that caused both Jane and Charlotte to peer at her strangely as she aired cynically, "It's more like, 'An eligible man courts no one.' And if he does, it's just so he can get laid."

"Right now, Lizzy, I'd be happy with just that," Charlotte drawled with a long drag off her cigarette, "I'm surprised we haven't heard anything in the media, though" she paused for a moment, and then continued as if speaking to herself. "The crown prince of King County coming home. The gossip mongers are sleeping on the job, usually he's pretty big news."

"Yes, well, Charles said he just wants to lay low for awhile. He'll be assuming a new position at DAC in the new year, so he'll probably use this time to get his affairs in order."

Elizabeth sat curiously silent for a moment, and then pulling herself up in her chair, she brushed a small raindrop from her sleeve and nonchalantly asked, "Have you met him?" At Jane's slight nod she continued, "What's he like?"

If Elizabeth had not known her cousin so well, she would have sworn she saw a mischievous gleam in Jane's eyes, but Jane was never mischievous, she was too prosaic for that. Casually sipping her coffee, Jane shrugged her shoulders slightly and with supple flick of her wrist, flipped a long blond lock over her shoulder. "I thought he was very nice, but you know me, I think everyone's nice. A bit reserved, I guess." Then she smiled mysteriously with a slight laugh, all the while looking Elizabeth straight in the eye, "But, since we're onto sayings, how does that one go? 'Still waters run deep...'"

"I've always heard he was just another rich recluse, you know, like Howard Hughes, but I just figured he was more like the Bill-Ville geeks that buy their condoms over the internet, then are clueless as to what to do with them," Elizabeth quipped with a chuckle, "So they just make water balloons out of them and drop them on people's heads from an upper window, and since he builds jetliners, I bet he's carpet bombed half the Pacific Northwest."

"No," Jane said grinning, "You haven't met him. I'm sure he's had plenty of experience - he's a very handsome man, so I think William knows what a condom is for, Lizzy."

"Christ, I'm glad somebody does 'cause I can't even remember what one even looks like...condoms, I mean..." Charlotte muttered under her breath, suddenly depressed.

Elizabeth chortled then mused aloud, "So... you think Mr. Darcy's got plenty of experience, huh, Jane? Yeah, well, I'm sure the size of his wallet might have something to do with that." She and Charlotte gave one another a brazenly knowing look, and then turned to Jane, "You…you say he's handsome, though?"

"And he'll be there tomorrow night?" Charlotte asked brightly and to Jane's nod she nudged Elizabeth, "Flip ya for 'im?"

"Let's check out the goods first before we start scratching each others eyes out."

Jane was appalled, "God you guys, he's not a piece of meat!"

"Oh Jane," Elizabeth sighed, "He's a wealthy single man in the prime of life and when the papers catch on he's back in town, he's going to have an entire city of single women gunning for him. Believe me, Charlotte and I are amateurs. We've got to get it while the gettin's good."

And as Charlotte and her cousin laughed at their own mercenary ways, Jane silently sipped her coffee whilst hiding an amused little simper, an expression so uncharacteristic that it would shock her closest friends - but her countenance had nothing on what was running though her mind at just that precise moment...

Chapter Two

Bohemia

Authors and actors and artists and such
Never know nothing, and never know much.
Sculptors and singers and those of their kidney
Tell their affairs from Seattle to Sydney.
Playwrights and poets and such horses' necks
Start off from anywhere, end up at sex.
Diarists, critics, and similar roe
Never say nothing, and never say no.
People Who Do Things exceed my endurance
God, for a man that solicits insurance!

Dorothy Parker, 1928

No one really knows when it began. But one thing is for sure…Seattle has a reputation. Flannel, coffee, microchips, aircraft, rain, loud music…money…more coffee. It's all there. In the wake of the new age icons that made Seattle their own, an influx of pilgrims from every walk of life invaded its limits, those with true talent, those with no talent, and those who were just plain greedy, all aspiring to claim that brass ring. It was the latest gold rush for a town that amassed its first fortune on just that, gold rush…you have read Jack London, right? And in the midst of this foray were the bohemians… artists of every ilk; poets, musicians, painters, sculptors, and the dramaturges. They were the lifeblood to Seattle's cachet of nonconformity. Some were fortunate enough to reap a fortune from being at the right place at the right time…and others…were not so fortunate. And for those not blinded by the luster of that holy grail, they could see the blackened tarnish that encroached over the shining surface for what it really was; a loss of innocence, unable to ignore it, and unable to stop it. But it was the price to pay to live in the spotlight, and Seattle's sub-culture was notorious. Which meant so was the sparkling city that thrived on that notoriety. The easygoing natives took the hullabaloo in stride, the younger generation embraced the sortie of the multi-media pop hordes with abandon…and others turned up their noses at the vulgarity of it all, but everyone was affected. You would have to have been living in a cave not to be…or you could just be…above it entirely…with your head in the clouds…literally.

Like Fitzwilliam Darcy.

More than just a figurehead, he was the tanist to the largest commercial and military aircraft manufacturer in the world. With revenues well over sixty billion a year, Darcy Aerospace, DAC for those who find rapid articulation a hindrance, was the leading exporter in the United States and employed over a quarter million people globally. A miraculous achievement for a company whose beginnings within a run down old red barn in the middle of a hay field during that first Seattle gold rush nearly one hundred years prior was less than auspicious, but you'd never know it. Nothing about the Darcys was less than auspicious. At least to the public…in private, it was an entirely different matter.

At the turn of the century, his great grandfather, James W. Darcy, the youngest son of a prosperous and austere clan, had started the company as a young man after journeying from Boston to the wilds of the Pacific Northwest, with an inheritance his great-grandfather had bestowed upon him along with the profits gleaned from a lucrative timber venture. A hobbyist pilot, he had realized early on the inherent value of air travel over the highest mountains in the lower forty-eight as opposed to the treacherous clambering over the mighty peaks by foot. But, as brilliant ideas usually are, the initial venture was met with skepticism and disappointment…the design of the first plane was a failure…and when James Darcy finally achieved success, there were few buyers. But that tenacious Darcy perseverance prevailed and as time went on, through trial and error, war and peace, the Darcy Airplane Company grew. And far beyond what even James's visionary mind could have imagined. Eventually the name changed to Darcy Aerospace, to denote the company's crucial roll in space exploration, but the name of the family at the helm did not and the burden of maintaining that control over the years had became a heavy one.

Eleven years ago, fresh out of Harvard grad school and on his way to a brilliant career, our protagonist began the ritual grooming for his inevitable succession to the throne and the time his father would step down. But, tragically, six years into his internship, his father, Gregory Darcy suffered a massive stroke and died, leaving the seat of CEO vacant, and the son still too inexperienced to fill it. In the meantime, an interim president had been appointed, Henry Stewart, a pragmatic and loyal friend to the family, who did his best to undertake the massive responsibility of governing an empire that by rights belonged to another, while keeping a watchful and fatherly eye on his departed mentor's beloved boy. And as he and his sister buried their father next to their long dead mother, Fitzwilliam Darcy made a silent vow the interim would be exactly that…temporary. It wasn't that Stewart was not worthy of the position, on the contrary, he was a good, honorable man and the family admired him greatly, but it was not a matter of character…it was a matter of pride.

However, the family name did not guarantee any promises and the last five years had been an uphill battle. Just because his name was on the company's header, didn't mean the seat of CEO would be handed to him on a silver platter. He would have to earn it. And working tirelessly, he traveled the world to further the company's interests and had just returned to Seattle after a year away, completing his fellowship at MIT and was about to assume a new appointment as president of project development, at thirty-five, the youngest to ever hold that position. Drive…it was essential, and it was what gave him the advantage over most. That and a dark, glowering, brooding countenance gracing a personage whose impressive stature towered over most men who prided themselves on their length of leg. Age and experience had taken Greg Darcy's son from a serious, introverted young man and made him a thundering force to reckon with when his mind was set, and to oppose him had caused more than one to shake in their shoes as if Mount Rainier was about to blow. Drive…nobility and pride and Fitzwilliam Darcy had it in spades.

Oh…but, don't call him Fitzwilliam…especially on a any given Sunday when he had nothing to do and bored out of his mind. He'll already be in a pissy mood, but hearing his name in its fullest makes the big guy down right surly. It was one of those little ironies that such a taciturn personage would be saddled with such an ostentatious forename and the life lessons of bearing the taunts of tactless classmates had been never ending…even his younger sister, who as a toddler, found it impossible to wrap her little tongue around the ponderous moniker, dubbing her brother `Fizzywizzy', and the joke would be with him till the day he was six feet under.

So…if you know what's good for you, call him William, he insists upon it. Charles Bingley does, but then…William calls Charles `Chuckles', so maybe he deserves his given name thrown in his face every so often, or something equally as mortifying…

9:30, Saturday night, downtown Seattle. Rainy…what a shock.

How in the hell do I get talked into these harebrain…? One of these days, I swear to God, Charles you're going take this friendship too far…and then I'm going to have to kill you… Run down? Paid hit? No, do it the easy way…drop the squirrelly s.o.b. out of a plane…

William gripped the leather bound stirring wheel, unaware he was white knuckling it, as the sound of rain soaked streets hissing under the car's tires intruded on his annoyed cogitation. Taking his eyes off the darkened road ahead, he quickly gave the man next to him a fleeting glance.

“Charles, I cannot believe you talked me into this,” he said with a shake of his head and an exasperated sigh.

“Oh, come on, Will, loosen up a bit,” Charles Bingley said with a chuckle. “You won't catch anything if that's what you're worried about.”

William exhaled with a contemptuous “Great,” while deftly maneuvering the luxury car through the late night traffic, squinting at the glare of each streetlamp they passed while Charles just smiled to himself. He'd missed William, missed his aloofness, missed that dark glower that put the fear of God into the faithless. He missed it because he was incapable of inspiring that same awe, so he enjoyed living vicariously through his old friend of fifteen years. A year was a long time to be gone from home in Charles's opinion, having only seen William once during his return for the Independence Day weekend, and for a man like Charles Bingley, who loved friends and family to surround him unending, it was too long to be absent. But, then, no matter what, William would always come home, and still the same; laconic, imposing and saturnine. Like an enigmatic manitou who looked down his long nose on the rabble from the lofty height of Mt. Olympus, (Washington State's that is) to Charles, William Darcy was damn near omnipotent. But, when Charles had laid eyes on his old college roommate for the first time in a long while, something about William's appearance disturbed him, something he'd never seen before…the telltale signs of silver at William's temple. Fitzwilliam Darcy was mortal after all…even if he didn't think so.

He needs to unwind. He's going to end up like his old man if he didn't slow down, Charles thought with concern and then considered the man's position and sighed, shaking his head as he peered out his window into the darkness and knew William never would. His family name or the `old man's' memory would not allow it. But thinking it over, Charles realized his friend would not be the man he was if he did. Charles leaned back and mused to himself. To the casual observer, the average billionaire would probably not stand out of a crowd… but not this man. William Darcy wore the cognomen of his ancestors like royal regalia. And it was just as ponderous. He had a great responsibility as the heir apparent of one of the most prestigious names in the land…in the world, in fact, though, unfortunately when people heard the name Darcy, a man of flesh and blood did not come to mind.

But the Gross National Product did.

“So, Will, tell me, how was Boston? Not everyday I get to buy an MIT grad a beer…”

“Boston is Boston. Brahmins and academics, and not necessarily one and the same,” God, he was in a foul mood. And lately it had been an almost indelible condition, yet this evening his annoyance was mainly at himself for allowing Charles to coerce him into an evening out on the town. Though, William had to admit, a beer did sound good and he couldn't wait to down a cold one from one of the local breweries… Pyramid Winter Wheat, now that sounded wonderful… Wrap his hands around a long neck and maybe for an hour or two, not ponder on union strikes, timetables and technical troubleshooting…or things that were too close to home to mention.

“So, you enjoyed it, is that what you're saying?” Charles grinned like a goofy kid, egging William on, just asking for it, “Tea parties and cotillions and dropping your `R's'? What is it they say? `They grow cawn in Tacomer'.”

William cringed slightly, yet could not stop the corner of his mouth from twitching, “I'm glad to be home, Charles, if that's what you're trying to get me to say,” he admitted, flipping the window wipers for a moment to clear the spray from a passing car. Home, where the streets were clean and the city sparkled, where it smelled of the sea and smoked alder wood… and to a true son of this land, a man born and raised in the Pacific Northwest, weary of a life of wayfaring, longing for the sight of glacier capped mountains, the sound of the rhythmic rain is as much part of him as his own heartbeat. And it was merely a matter of time before his path brought him home.

Charles, a native son himself, sat silent in introspection, then queried, “Was it different from when you were at Harvard?”

William mused on his question thoughtfully, then slowly answered, “In a way…this time there was no need to convince the ancien régime I wasn't a troglodyte from the wilds of the Oregon Territory, just a parvenu with too much brass.”

Sighing, Charles nodded in understanding, “Keeps you humble, doesn't it? Though, I'm surprised you caught some of that flack. Your family's lived in Boston for generations.”

“Right, but I don't. Besides, money is one thing, too much is vulgar,” William offered with a drawl, “As if we had any control over it.”

Charles chuckled in agreement, “The sins of the father, right? It must have been nice visiting with your relations, though. They're what? Third…fourth cousins?”

“Third, forth and onward, they are obscenely prolific.” William aired sardonically, “But I didn't have much time for socializing.”

“Any mothers trying to get you married off?” Charles inquired curiously.

The look that crossed William's handsome face was one of dismay to say the least, “To one of my cousins?” he nearly choked, “Good Lord, Charles don't be absurd. They're anglophiles, but that would be taking it a bit far.”

“No,” Charles laughed, “Not your cousins,” he then paused with a sly smile, “but your parents were…weren't they?”

“Yes, seven generations removed, relation could hardly be considered a factor,” William concluded a bit defensively and Charles bit back his question on exactly how many toes William actually had.

“So no broken hearts?” Charles put forth instead, rather too brightly.

William smiled wanly, “No broken hearts. No bloody time.” No romance, no time, no life…and no end in sight, just the signpost indicating he'd just passed Madison Street heading north.

Charles knew what was running through William's mind, he'd known the man too long not to know and as he studied William's ever-reticent expression, the realization that his friend had earned every silver strand that tainted his sable curls was more than evident. “Will…? When was the last time you had a vacation…and I don't count MIT, it's been about four years, hasn't it? Aren't you breaking your own work policy that DAC employees' holidays be compulsory? I bet you have about half a year's worth of leave stacked up. Why are you going back after New Years?”

“And do what?” William rejoined dryly, “The world doesn't stop just because it's time for the kid's trip to Disneyland. I have too much to do; I shouldn't even be waiting till January, but the rest of project development team has taken leave. We'll meet after the holidays.”

“Well, good for them, it was probably the only way they could get you to take a break. Enforced leave by conspiracy,” Charles nodded with a smile, “I like that maneuver, very clever. Not like having to put a gun to your head to get you out the door…”

Getting William from immuring himself his first weekend home took quite a bit of convincing…brutal arm twisting, was more like it and it was only the threat of a boisterous welcome home party instead of a night out with a select few that finally swayed William to give in a little to Charles's friendly persuasions. William knew Charles meant well, so for his friend's sake he yielded and eventually found himself, to his own sense of irony, the chauffeur for the evening. Not that he minded…Charles was the worst driver on the face of the planet, and for a man used to piloting his own jet before he had a driver's license, being in the driver's seat was more than habitual for William, it was mandatory.

“By the way, Will, that's a nice sweater…” Charles complimented, “Is it merino or vicuna?” William stated he'd no idea, and then quickly glancing over at Charles lounging back in the passenger seat, he noted that Charles's chinos and denim button down shirt were a tad more casual than his own attire. It would be typical of Charles to overlook the fact that maybe William might be a bit overdressed for the evening, but Charles never felt out of place anywhere, no matter what and expected others to be just as easy and unassuming as he. To William, this was the one truly maddening element of his old friend's personality, while he, on the other hand, never felt quite at home in his own skin. He was too aware of who he was for that to ever happen. To forget could lead to imprudence, and this he avoided at all times. How? Silence, reserve, and iron control. Oh, yes, William was a joy at a party, truly the best of company.

Jane, who happened to be ensconced in the back seat, had attentively listened to their conversation with an analytical ear, watching William's expressions in the rearview mirror and could not help the gentle smile on her face. They were an odd pair, these two men…old friends…and as different as night and day. And both silently envying those differences that made the other unique. In the few days she had gotten to know William, Jane concluded that under his brooding countenance was a boy dying to get out and play. Therefore, though as placid as a winter lake outwardly, Jane Gardiner was biting her nails mentally and she could not wait to see if a certain hypothesis she and Charles had cooked up would pan out. The happy couple were conspirators this night, and were tapping their toes in gleeful anticipation.

Of course, William was completely ignorant of this, for if he was, it would have taken Charles more than deadly force to drag William out the door…it would taken the entire Pacific Fleet…. “Whom are we meeting again?” William asked as he changed lanes, again narrowing his eyes against the glare of oncoming headlights.

“Elizabeth, she's Jane's cousin and Charlotte Lucas. Charlotte's younger brother John is performing tonight. We're his moral support.”

“Charlotte Lucas?” William asked somewhat alarmed, “Your personal assistant?”

“Yes and I know what your thinking and in the office it's one thing, but after business hours, it's another. She's a good friend of Elizabeth's, in fact that's how Jane and I met.” Turning around in his seat he glanced at Jane who happened to be directly behind, “Love at first sight.” Charles finished with a satisfied sigh. She smiled demurely back with a tilt of her head and William caught her image in the rearview mirror. She smiles a lot, he thought, mildly critical. But he wouldn't begrudge her of it, what he'd learned of Jane Gardiner, he actually liked. She was a very nice, intelligent woman…and what she saw in Charles, William would never know.

“Charles where is this place?” came a sharp bleating from Jane's left and slowly Charles fixed his eyes on his sister, Caroline, and wondered not for the first time just why she insisted on tagging along this evening. You could not have dragged Caroline Bingley to a downtown Seattle bar by the roots of her overly coiffed and obviously dyed black hair, but the minute she heard who the guest of honor was, she was the first one out the door in pursuit of their seedy little adventure. So the answer was pretty much apparent, to all, including William, who gave Caroline Bingley as much thought as an old one-cent piece. Nice to have around just in case, but he wouldn't bother picking it up if he dropped it on the ground. There was no need…William had plenty of pretty pennies in his piggy bank to take its place.

“It's just up the block on 2nd, but we still need to find parking,” Charles answered his sister as he turned forward again and scanned the street. They were fortunate enough to find a spot directly across from their intended place of amusement, which was a mean feat in itself. William paused and eyed the surrounding neighborhood; Belltown, the waterfront district of downtown Seattle, home of the Pike Place Market, a multitude of nightclubs and coffee houses, youth hostiles and homeless missions and even at this late hour, the streets were seething. With a slow intake of breath he shook his head, not sure he knew what they were getting into, but he resigned himself to his fate, not an easy task for a man of his habits and pulled up next to the space and effortlessly paralleled. Unfolding his six-four frame out of the drivers side, he stepped out of the car onto a glistening street washed clean by the recent rain, and opened the rear door to help Caroline out of the back seat. And as he shut the door behind her, William took his first good look at the popular establishment they were to spend the next couple of hours, and hoped that what he saw was a trick of the moonlight as his jaw hit the asphalt.

I had heard this place was a dive…but…for God's sake…!

The Assembly Room was a very popular watering hole for the not so mainstream denizens of the beautiful city of Seattle. And what a lovely place it was, too. An old and dilapidated brick hotel from the previous century, it was once used as a saloon, gambling hall and even a brothel, by the multitudes of lumbermen and miners as they made their way to gold fields of Alaska. Now, its many patrons, no less on the edge of society, wondered it and out of the front entrance allowing the only view of the mysterious interior, since the blackened front windows would not.

“Charles…are you out of your mind?” Caroline asked scornfully, in the same state of dismay as the gentleman next to her, yet not without a tremor of fear, “We could get killed in there…if the building doesn't collapse first.”

Charles turned to Caroline and laughed. “I wouldn't worry Caroline, everyone checks in their weaponry at the door, besides, Lizzy's here. She'll protect you.”

“Charles, stop teasing your sister,” Jane whispered, nudging his arm, “You forget how you reacted when you first came here…so be nice.”

“Alright, Jane, I'll stop,” but, the twinkle in his eye belied his remorseful tone.

Jane turned to his sister with a reassuring smile, “Caroline, no one will bother you. It's no different than any other place, just a little more…colorful.”

“I don't know…I think I agree Caroline,” William trailed off somewhat skeptical of Jane's confidence when Charles turned to him with a impish grin and a jocular chuckle…hence William's nickname for his old friend.

“Come on, Will…you never know…you might just be meeting your destiny through those doors.” To this, William merely eyed him doubtfully as they crossed the busy street. His destiny? Through those doors? What in the hell was Charles talking about? William was sure he'd be meeting something but whether it was his fate or a fatal disease was up for debate.

As they approached the entrance, music drifting out onto the street, they passed a long row of Harleys with the usual string of admirers, along with a multitude of regulars leaning against the decaying brick wall, scoping-out the newcomers like a motley honor guard, passing judgment before allowing entrance. Ghostly specters under the street lights, they were a sea of black leather, a kaleidoscope of hair colors, and enough body piercing among the lot to up the market value for the silver trade. They certainly were helping the tobacco industry, so why not? Don't these people know cigarettes are bad for you? William sniffed disdainfully as he walked through a cloud of smoke, more than painfully aware, due to his more polished attire, he probably looked like a cop about to make a bust…at least that's how he thought he looked…but, obviously, considering the expressions on the van guard's faces, they thought he was something else entirely. But if it was menace William was expecting, he was mistaken, and as he set his teeth on edge he realized what it was that was making him uneasy…it was amusement. The fun ride straight to Perdition awaits you, Darcy…step right up…and be mortified…

“Charles,” he growled, as his friend turned to him, “I'm going home, have a nice evening…”

“Oh, no you don't,” Charles caught him by the arm, “Will, lighten up, none of these people give a damn who you are. What do you care anyway, you look as dismal as they do, you'll blend right in.” William looked down at himself. Serge slacks and a matching light wool turtleneck, all black. He always wore black… for a busy man it made wardrobe choices that much easier. Plus…William had to admit with an air of vanity, he looked good in black…another aspect that made his life easier. Well, Charles did have a point, he allowed with some mirth. Then, tearing his gaze from the colorful human array before him, he slowly looked across the street at his nice and shiny black BMW.

“Well, it was fun while it lasted,” he said under his breath with an ironic smirk, wondering if his insurance was up to date as he speculated on the going rate of a new Seven series. Jumping to conclusions again, he knew, but it could not be helped. He realized the music scene in Seattle was a lucrative one, and some of that same motley crew he quickly passed judgment on could be contemporaries of himself, and some were highly successful. One probably owned the same BMW. But that was them… William allowed himself some prejudices and this was one. That 750i was his baby, custom built, one of a kind and he was glad, at least, its windows were bullet proof. Well, he thought with resignation, if by some miracle it was still there when they came out of this hellhole, he'd reassess his whole value system. Yeah, right.

As the small group passed, a young man, with more rings through his nose than on his fingers, caught William's eye and gave him an approving nod, pointing a lit cigarette at William's `baby'. “Hey, man…nice Beemer, I've got a 325iS. That's a 750 right? Damn, that's one wicked lookin' car. Thing looks like Darth Vader… *puff* You got that V-12, 490 power plant…that throttle governor's a real pisser, don't you think?”

“Excuse-- Throttle governor? Actually, no, it was custom built, there's no acceleration limit… ” William, at first shocked that any of these vampires spoke coherent English, quickly pressed Charles to make their way through the front entrance. However, to William's chagrin, the young man wasn't finished.

“Custom built? *puff* Fuckin' sweet! What'd ya top out at? 150, 155?” William studied the young man for a moment, at first reluctant to continue conversing, but German engineering and pure adolescent conceit won out.

“Off the meter…I've pushed it to 210. But, it will go higher.”

The young man shook his head in envy, and whistled, “210 miles an hour… Christ, what a hard on! Man…strap some wings on and you'd fly. I swear, speed's better than mescaline, any day. How much did that beast run you?” *Puff* Reluctantly, William offered a vague number close to the ludicrous amount of how much the luxury sedan cost, which was well over six digits, to which the man nodded, not surprised in the least, then strangely his eyes narrowed and gave William a good hard look, “You know, dude, I swear I know you…*puff*.” There was a suspicious edge to his tone now that made William very uncomfortable.

“No, I'm afraid we've never met…”

“Your face looks real familiar…are you sure?” Then it dawned on him, “Oh, yeah…you were on the cover Time…right? Or was it People?”

“People,” drawled a girl who had been listening the entire time standing next to the young man with blue hair, black lips and fishnets that had seen better days, “He was on the cover of People,” she mocked as she draped her arm over the young man's shoulder, raking William with a heavily kohled gaze that was screaming with humor, “He's William Darcy, you know, one of the sexiest men alive…”

And there went William's conceit, right down the drain. He knew he'd rue the day he agreed to that photo exposé…persuaded in a moment of weak, idle egotism. Now he was choking on it as he made a mental note to sack his entire PR staff…

“One of the sexiest men alive, huh, no shit? *puff*…” the young man nodded, as if approving People's well made choice of horse flesh, then grinned with a laugh and slugged William in the arm, “Well, fuckin'-A…it's nice to meet ya, Sexy! ”

“Like wise,” with that William took a howling Charles by the shoulder, who was not alone in his resounding mirth at William's expense, and propelled him through the door without looking back. Oh, it just couldn't get any better than that, he groaned. No…but it certainly could get worse and when they entered, William was nearly knocked over by the pungent air that assailed his senses. They could smell the Assembly before they could see it; the aroma of years of spilt beer and smoke permeated the building as a testimony to its history. It was dimly lit making visibility nearly impossible, but slowly as his eyes adjusted, William realized with a sinking feeling the inside wasn't much of an improvement over the exterior. Old paneled walls showing their age with the damp Seattle climate leaving its mark, and the old oak floor, gray and smooth with a century's worth of wear, it was as shabby on the inside as the outside…just like the patrons.

They stopped just inside the foyer, while a man, obliviously the bar's bouncer and doorman, waited for Charles to pay the cover. William had been taught that it was rude to stare, but eyeing the gentleman, that polite consideration was completely beyond his control. The man was huge…not portly…but a giant, thick limbed and barrel chested, with more gold hoops in his ears than Carmen Miranda and a smooth pate that reflected the dim light, but that hardly mattered since there wasn't an inch of skin that wasn't covered with tattoos. The man was a walking mural, it was amazing, all that was missing was a WWF championship belt. Then, even more to William's astonishment, this same fierce looking man, with a cheerful sparkle in his eye, nodded at Jane with a friendly smile.

“Hi, Jane, you're looking mighty lovely tonight.” He sounded like he should have a hat in his hand, toeing the ground, with an `ah, shucks ma'am' for good measure.

“Hi, Carl and thank you,” she said as she smoothed the skirt of her sapphire sari, the intense blue silk setting off her brilliant cornflower eyes. It was a gift from her parents from one of their many journeys to the Orient and she loved showing it off. “How's your mom doing?” she asked sweetly, “How's the kids?”

“Fine, mom's fine. Just got plumbing in the studio, so she's happy.” Carl replied with a smile. “Are you here to see John?”

Jane nodded an affirmative, “You haven't seen Lizzy have you?”

“Yeah! I think she's waiting for you. She's got a table over by the dance floor,” then added with a wink, “I'd hurry. She's probably started some wicked fights to keep the chairs from being absconded.”

“I bet!” Jane laughed as they continued to the lounge's dance floor.

“Jane, you know that man?” Caroline asked with undisguised horror.

“Carl? We went to graduate school together. He's working on his doctorial thesis right now. You know, Caroline, you patronize local artists…maybe you've heard of his mother? She's a glass artisan… Lucretia Musgrove? My cousin named her cat after her.” A fact that Jane found amusing, since the jolly plump woman was so warm and friendly, just like Elizabeth's Lukey, which had been a gift from the woman.

“Oh, really?” Caroline said mollified. She had heard of the famous artist and admired her work, but her pieces were so coveted that once purchased they rarely came up at auction and when they did the price was astronomical. Not even Caroline was frivolous enough to lay out a hundred grand on a bud vase, even if it was a hand blown original. “But he said she just got plumbing…? I don't understand, doesn't she have money? Where on earth does she live that she wouldn't have plumbing? Isn't that illegal or something?”

Charles, never afraid of opening his sister's eyes to the greater scope of the world answered patiently, “Actually, the Musgroves have a cabin not far from mine in the Cascades that's over a hundred years old…some people prefer to live simply, Caroline. Even those with money.”

A sudden gust of laughter caught their attention and William peered down the long length of the bar, his tall frame allowing him a view over most of the patron's heads to where the narrow passage opened into a cavernous room filled to capacity with a jovial melee. Charles was looking just as intently, then spying Charlotte with a triumphant “Ah ha!” he grabbed Jane's hand and wove their way through the dense crowd siding up against the long length of the bar, pushing past punks, rastas and goths; dread locks, mohawks and shaved heads. Collective individualism…one had to respect it, for if you didn't, your face would be meeting the pavement…post haste.

“Did someone bring Hendrix back from the dead?” William retorted sarcastically on what they'd just waded through.

“What, Will, not into the tie-dye?” Charles replied as they halted at the one empty table in the entire bar, “Blame it on Paul Allen and the Experience Music Project.”

“Charles, please don't tell me Allen actually talked you into investing in that thing…” William eyed his old friend with mild exasperation, “Safeco Field is one thing, that's a sound investment…but a shrine to Jimi Hendrix?”

Charles was unconcerned with William's ridiculing attitude, “A museum dedicated to the contribution of music to the quality of life…” Charles corrected, then cracked a grin, “And a shine to Hendrix. Come on, Will, where's your pride in your hometown? Of course, I invested in it,” he admitted, then turned away as Charlotte noticed the group and smiled with relief at their arrival.

“About time you guys showed up, John's about to go on,” she laughingly rebuked her employer for their tardiness, “I was beginning to feel guilty whenever someone asked for a chair…”

“Where's Lizzy?” Charles asked looking around the room, trying to peer through the dense haze.

“She's in the back giving John a pep talk. He's a little nervous. She'll be back in a minute. Hey, don't tell Lizzy, but John and Edward are going to try to shanghais her onto the stage…for old times sake.” Charlotte said as she smiled a greeting at the newcomers. “It's good of you to come, Caroline.” Charlotte, containing the surprise of Caroline's presence, coolly greeted the woman and was given an indifferent response for her efforts and assessing Caroline's attire, nearly lost her countenance at the sight of skin tight chartreuse mini dress all teetering on four inch stilettos, the shade of green so bright it glowed in the dark. Charlotte shook her head reprovingly, deciding to have a talk with Charles about letting his sister out in public after she's hit the juniors' department…or put an age limit on whose allowed in. Maybe post a sign at the entrance: You must be this young to shop on the junior's floor…if you can remember where you were when Kennedy was assassinated, please move on, you're embarrassing…

Charles's voice brought her around as he took it upon himself to introduce his old friend to his faithful assistant, “Charlotte Lucas, this is William Darcy.”

“It's very nice to finally meet you Mr. Darcy. I hope Charles didn't drag you here against your will.” Charlotte greeted him warmly, “He can be quite pushy at times, can't he?”

“Please call me William, Ms. Lucas. And no he didn't drag me; I am a willing victim, but yes…he can be very pushy,” William smiled at this elegant woman, a pleasant surprise among the rambunctious patrons. Letting his gaze sweep the crowded bar he said, “I remember hearing about this place when I was in college, though I never thought I'd actually come here. I'm surprised it's still standing.”

Charlotte, crossing her legs, carefully adjusted the hem of her ankle length black dress; the snug fit flattering her figure and smiled. “The Assembly is a historical landmark. People have been coming here for a hundred years. I don't think they'll be tearing it down any time soon. They would displace way too many misfits if they did that. Myself, included. Do you…enjoy alternative music, Mr. Dar-- William?”

William pondered for a moment, “It depends.”

Charlotte waited for William to elaborate, then realized that was all the answer she was to receive, “Well…” she began hesitantly, “You'll be relieved to know it's just acoustics tonight, nothing too heavy. Personally, I think I'm getting too old for that kind of nonsense.” She laughed lightly at her confession while William generously offered her a smile. This wasn't so bad; he thought and began to relax as the rest of the party took their seats.

“No heavy stuff?” Charles asked with a grin after placing their order with the waitress, “Does Lizzy know about this? I thought you said they were going to try to get her up there?”

“John's playing unplugged tonight, Charles…you can tease Lizzy about how tough it was getting her to leave the leather and black lipstick at home, the girl enjoys wearing dog collars far too much,” Charlotte quipped, then spying William's wary expression, added a warning jest, “She's harmless, William, but just make sure you avoid eye contact with her…her species sees this as a sign of aggression…or a desire to mate, yet, in either case, it's almost always proves fatal…” Charlotte smiled wickedly as she reached in her bag and withdrew a cigarette, lighting up with a knowingly amused gleam in her eye.

William studied Charlotte with an incredulously furled brow, and then realizing his leg was being pulled, he chuckled silently at himself for being so incredibly gullible, though he was willing to allow himself the leeway of falling for the bizarre in a place like this. “Fatal? And how does she vanquish her victims?” William asked, and even before he had spoke, he had noticed in the air a pleasantly faint scent of lavender, but when he thought it was just his imagination a slow chill ran down his spine as low sultry female voice drawled in amusement from behind.

“Well, handsome, that's a secret, but I can promise you a most blissful demise…” At the sound of her voice William had turned to see who was speaking and the habitual gentleman that he was, immediately stood up, causing the latecomer to step back with a start as she gave him a momentary look, but not quite making eye contact, “Oh, honey, you're a keeper,” she said with an amused lilt, “Do you open doors, too?” With the noisy din no one had noticed Elizabeth approaching and though unable to see his face, she'd enjoyed the brief moment she'd taken to examine the crown of dark thick wavy curls of the mysterious man sitting next to Charlotte before letting herself be known.

“And were have you been?” Charles, with a bright smile, greeted her happily with Jane mirroring his sentiments. And unknown to all, save themselves, Jane clasped Charles's hand under the table in silent anticipation…waiting…and watching.

“Oh, you know…just working the room,” Elizabeth gave him a lazy grin, leaning against the back of Charlotte's chair, “Rent's due, have to earn my keep somehow. Though I would have shown up sooner if I'd known I would be in the company of such a gentleman…” she said humorously, bestowing on William a fleeting glance.

William had dropped his eyes to the floor, hiding behind thick black lashes, wondering if he looked as foolish as he felt. When did it become a crime for a man to show a woman respect? Well, his mother had taught him the proper way to behave; he wasn't about to change now. Yet, for some odd reason, William found it almost impossible to look up, Charlotte's farcical comment about her friend ringing in his ears, so instead he kept his eyes on Elizabeth's boots… thick soled, heavy and black…then gradually, trying to seem discrete, William let his eyes travel up the rest of her, all the while she was conversing with Charlotte and Charles. Though visibility was limited due to dim light and a persistent smoky haze, what William saw he thought was pleasant; shapely legs clad in snug, faded jeans, their wear apparent due to the frayed knees, in fact the whole front of her levis were so frayed, it was a wonder they weren't falling off, a heavy black belt emphasizing a slim waist, then unintentionally he stopped short at her surprisingly ample bust… Dieu, elle a de beaux seins... William whispered to himself, much more elegant than just blurting `great knockers', but that was exactly what he was thinking, unable tear his eyes away, they just…hovered there, drinking in her well worn, almost onion skin paint splattered T-shirt, the shadow of a black lace brassiere so apparent underneath, she might as well not have bothered with the shirt at all, and was utterly caught off guard by the catchy phrase splashed boldly across her chest.

Girls…Kick… Ass…? The question mark was his.

“They do…you know,” came that low soft voice again. Suddenly, William realized she was more than aware he'd been staring, surprised he had not received a stinging slap across the face, and abruptly looked up and was struck instead by the halo of long dark ringlets that cascaded down to her waist as she tossed her hair over her shoulder, effectively shrouding the focus of his admiration from his line of sight. “Made you look,” she aired dryly with a light chuckle and William could not help the quick sweep down her person once more, when Jane quickly rescued him.

“Will, this is my cousin Elizabeth Bennet,” she volunteered, “Lizzy this is William Darcy, he and Charles went to the U-dub together.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Darcy.”

“Miss Bennet…”

Due to years of costuming handsome actors, Elizabeth was used to assessing the male form in an instant, and quickly she appraised this…this…very, very…Good God…how tall is this guy? Her eye level barely passed his clavicle even with the aid of the same boots William had just inspected, and then slowly Elizabeth peered up. Her vision, more adjusted to the dark room than his, could take in almost every detail without seeming indiscreet. So…this is William Darcy, Elizabeth mused as she admired the way the fine knit of his dark sweater clung to his broad shoulders and chest, accenting William's well cared for physique. Is that marino or vicuna? She wondered if he'd mind her touching it, then she looked up into his face and Elizabeth Bennet, jaded surveyor of men with deadly looks…nearly passed out due to lack of breath.

Bedroom eyes, this man has bedroom eyes. Beautiful and Byronic… Mad, bad and dangerous to know, got that right, ooooh, yeah baby! Oh, jeez…she thought with a silent groan, straight guys never look that good in turtlenecks, I swear to God, if you're gay, I'm joining a nunnery! In a flash she had William's face memorized, and Elizabeth was certain, his was a visage she'd never forget. Dark and tragic, her fingers itched to smooth the lock straying across his forehead unchecked, itched so badly she balled her fists to reign them in. A long nose and firm jaw, she saw the signs of the dimples that lingered just below the surface of his lean cheeks. She loved men with dimples, it made her want to take them home, feed them, tuck them into bed, tickle their toes, read them Dr. Sues…and discover if they'd any more pinchable dimples. Boxers or briefs? Hmmmm… Wouldn't mind touching those either… Her mind was working a million miles a minute, then suddenly, Elizabeth caught herself, glad her long trained professionalism veiled what she was thinking, the air of indifference and the low visibility disguising her quickening pulse. And it worked, for although William had caught Elizabeth's quick perusal of his person, her expression never changed and William was just a bit perplexed. He'd had women openly admire him before. Actually, to be honest, he expected it. But this was entirely different. She had drunk him in, every inch, with one swift sweep of her eyes, but there was no hint of admiration in her regard. Not even a glimmer. Oh…how wrong he was.

Sudden impact has a way of knocking people off their feet and Elizabeth had for all intents and purposes, been thrown onto her back with the velocity of a wrecking ball. So wrong in fact, was William, that that very same impact had sent a tremor into Elizabeth's usually steady hand, the same hand she now held out in greeting.

And at that very moment, as William hesitantly reached out, the split second when these two touched for the first time, the static electricity that arced between them was like a bolt of lightening running up their arms. Both jumped in shock, but before she could pull away, William's hand completely engulfed Elizabeth's, instinctively holding fast. Their eyes locked, and Elizabeth searched his dark fathomless gaze as she returned William's grip and he was amazed at how such a delicate, small boned grasp could be so firm and he found himself matching the pressure as if it were a contest of wills. Neither one making a move as though that spark had fused them together in an instant - and neither willing to break their hold.

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