Chapter 18

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her trembling body as William’s footsteps faded away down the hall. Her breath caught in her chest and she clenched her fists, stamping her foot as she let out a throaty cry.

Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes. No. I’m not going to cry. But damn him! Damn all of them! Why did he have to be like the others? Why did I have to think that maybe he was different? And when will I ever learn that opening my heart to a man—even a little bit—is a huge mistake?

“I love you,” he said. Liar! What would a man like William Darcy want with a penniless nobody like me? Well, now I know. A little flirtation followed by a farewell roll in the sack, and then back to his glamorous life, that’s what. And once he’d had his fun, he would have turned on me, just like Michael did—

No. I’m not going to cry.

Elizabeth began to pace the apartment rapidly but with no particular destination, her path soon leading her into the kitchen. The first thing she saw was the vase of yellow roses on the table. Roses that were part of his seduction plan. And to think that I couldn’t bear to throw them away!

She yanked the blooms from their vase, yelping in surprised pain when a thorn pierced her thumb. Just like William—attractive on the surface, but when you go deeper … She crushed the flowers in her hands and shoved them into the trash can.

Adrenalin pumping through her veins, Elizabeth flew through the apartment looking for other objects on which to vent her frustration. The case from William’s CD hit the wall with a crash. The delicate rosebud from Tuesday evening, which had been on the verge of opening, soon lay on the floor, its petals torn off and scattered around the stem. The creamy white roses that had graced the dining room table joined the yellow ones in the trash, and the vase adorning her dresser soon stood empty, its former occupants dumped unceremoniously into the bedroom trash can, a mass of broken stems and fragrant pink petals.

Then her gaze fixed on the orchid sitting on her night table, and her frenetic activity ceased abruptly. She cradled the pot in her trembling hands, silently perusing the beautiful bloom, her breaths quick and shallow. Biting her lip, she returned the orchid to the table and lifted the thick sheet of paper beside it. As she inspected William’s neat, precise handwriting, drops of water splashed onto the page, and she realized that they were her own tears. She flung herself onto the bed and buried her face in her pillow, sobbing, William’s note still clutched in her hand.

When William arrived outside the apartment building, he discovered that Allen was gone. William should have anticipated Allen’s absence, but he had been too upset to think about transportation home.

Allen and William had a long-standing arrangement designed to subtly communicate William’s plans for the night without embarrassing his date. If William wanted Allen to wait, he simply told him so. But on those occasions when he anticipated spending the night at his date’s apartment, William exited the car without giving Allen any instructions. This was Allen’s cue to wait 45 minutes in case of a change of plans, after which he was free to depart. This method had worked well in the past, sparing the two men the indignity of being compelled to discuss William’s sex life, albeit indirectly, in order to coordinate schedules.

In its first use in many months, though, the arrangement had backfired, leaving William stranded on the street in front of Elizabeth’s building. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone, belatedly recalling that it was at home. No cabs were in sight, hardly surprising on this quiet residential street in the middle of the night.

William sighed and massaged his forehead gingerly, trying to banish the headache gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. What do I do now? He remembered Elizabeth’s quip about the subway, and shuddered at the notion of waiting on the platform with the motley collection of New Yorkers who would be slinking around this seedy part of the city so late at night. Besides, he had no idea what train to take, and doubted that he could even find the nearest subway station.

I guess I could go back inside and ask to use Elizabeth’s phone, and hope she doesn’t spit on me. Certainly she’s not so angry that she’d want me walking home in the middle of the night—it must be at least 70 blocks. With my luck, I’m sure I’d get mugged.

Despite his heartfelt wish to avoid facing Elizabeth’s wrath again, William was desperate enough to consider taking the risk, until a sobering realization descended on him. If I go back up there, she’ll know that Allen didn’t wait, which will prove that I expected to spend the night, and that will infuriate her all the more. She’d probably be angry enough to mug me herself.

It was a mystery to William how something so right had gone wrong so quickly. One moment she had been warm and yielding in his arms, and the next he had found himself in an undignified heap on the floor, subjected to a barrage of insulting accusations. Elizabeth’s angry voice echoed in his aching head:

“I’m sure most women just fall at your feet, and if they don’t, you tell a few sugar-coated lies.”

Actually, quite a few women did fall at his feet, in a manner of speaking, whether he liked it or not. But what have I ever done to make her think I’m so dishonest that I’d lie to seduce a woman? Or so desperate that I’d need to?

William’s shoulders slumped and he stared unseeing at the sidewalk. Not only had he never lied about loving a woman, he had never said the words to a woman until tonight. And after this experience, I may never say them again. How could she just throw it back in my face and call me a liar? How is it that the woman I love, the first woman I’ve ever loved, finds me so despicable?

With a tremendous effort, William yanked his mind back to his more immediate problem. He decided to walk to a busier street in search of a pay phone or a cab. He was unfamiliar with this part of the city and had never paid attention to the route Allen took to get here, which left him little choice but to walk in a random direction and hope for the best. My second walking tour of the city this evening.

A car horn in the distance proposed a better strategy—his ears might lead him where he needed to go. William listened intently, trying to judge traffic noise. He chose a likely direction and began to walk, hoping to see indications soon that his choice had been a good one. Either that, or I’ll eventually come to the river. If I weren’t such a good swimmer I think I’d just fling myself into it. I bet I’m the only man in the world who has a heart that’s both diseased and broken.

As he trudged along, he tormented himself by replaying their argument.

“A girl in every port, so you never have to sleep alone.”

William sighed. To his chagrin, many people seemed to believe that stereotype, as though he were a bad-boy rock musician. In fact, he recalled his conversation with Charles over lunch the day of the wedding rehearsal. Charles had wondered aloud why William didn’t exploit his wide variety of sexual opportunities. Not as wide as some people think, but I could certainly be at least as active as Richard, and that’s a high level of activity.

Instead, William had chosen to conduct himself with taste and discretion. And as a reward I’m treated with contempt. Maybe I should just go ahead and behave like a Lothario—after all, if I’m going to be convicted of the crime, I might just as well be guilty.

He heard her voice again, inflicting fresh torture:

“I guess you’ll just have to open your little black book and find somebody else to scratch your itch. That shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

Too bad I haven’t been building a black book. I could have made quite a few new entries at the party tonight, with those women—friends of hers, isn’t that ironic—who kept coming on to me.

William felt the bile of bitter anger rising in his throat, and he welcomed it as an alternative to the despair threatening to overwhelm him. Who is she to treat me with so much derision, to make all these groundless accusations?

And how on earth could she deny that she was a willing partner in what we were doing? If she wasn’t, why did she keep moaning and touching me and kissing me? But then afterwards she acted as though I had pinned her down on the sofa and forced her to kiss me.

About a block ahead, William could see what appeared to be a well-lit intersection. Relieved, he increased his pace and soon reached the corner. He had found East Houston Street, one of the busier thoroughfares in this part of town, and not a moment too soon. His head throbbed, whether from emotion or from the scotch he was uncertain, and his stomach was queasy. He felt unsteady on his feet, and he heaved an angry sigh. Just what I need. A dizzy spell when I’m out here alone.

Then he saw it—an unoccupied cab exiting a car wash half a block away. He sprang into action, his physical ailments momentarily forgotten, and sprinted in the direction of the cab, waving his arm. In the first scrap of good luck the universe had granted William all evening, the cab driver spotted him and pulled up to the curb.

William gave the cab driver his address and sat back, exhaling slowly. Thank God. Now all I have to worry about is my doctor’s appointment later today, and the fact that the woman I adore loathes me to the depths of her soul.

“Jane? Are you there? It’s Lizzy. If you’re there, please pick up. I really, really need to talk to you.”

Elizabeth stood in the kitchen, the phone clamped to her ear. In a way, she felt foolish—she was an adult, and shouldn’t need to cry on her big sister’s shoulder. But she and Jane had always been there for one another, sharing their joys and their sorrows.

It was peculiar that Jane hadn’t answered the phone yet—it was past midnight in San Francisco, and Jane wasn’t in the habit of staying out late on weeknights. Maybe she’s asleep and she didn’t hear the phone …. Oh, wait—how could I have forgotten? Jane had called that morning to hear about the dinner date, and to let Elizabeth know that she would be in Sacramento overnight on business related to a court case.

Jane had a cell phone, but there was very little chance that it would be turned on at this hour. Jane used her cell phone primarily for outgoing calls and to stay in touch with the office, and usually turned her phone off at night. Elizabeth tried the number anyway, but as she had expected, Jane didn’t answer.

A tear slid down Elizabeth’s cheek as she hung up the phone. She briefly considered calling Charlotte, but now was not the time. Charlotte would offer pithy, helpful advice, and eventually Elizabeth would welcome it, but tonight she wanted comfort, not straight talk.

Elizabeth wandered into the bedroom and curled up on the bed, still fully dressed. She stared at the orchid on the night table as her thoughts drifted into the past.

William, clad in boxer shorts and a black silk robe, ambled into his sitting room. He hadn’t intended to end up there, but it was only the latest in a seemingly endless series of recent events that hadn’t coincided with his plans. On his arrival home, he had quietly prepared for bed, hoping that sleep would give him some respite from his physical and emotional travails. But he had found it unbearable to lie alone in his oversized bed, almost as if the piece of furniture were taunting him. He scanned the room, hoping to find some distraction from the emptiness inside of him.

He had one cause for gratitude: it appeared that he had slipped into the house undetected. The last thing William wanted was to have to make excuses for his unorthodox arrival in a cab at three in the morning. Allen would of course suspect that something was wrong, but years of experience had taught William that his driver’s discretion could be trusted, even in the face of Mrs. Reynolds’s unrelenting curiosity about William’s personal life. While he appreciated her motherly solicitude for his welfare, he wished fervently to conceal this entire humiliating episode from his loved ones.

The anger he had earlier summoned against Elizabeth had already flickered out, leaving desolation in its wake. He had begun to recognize with ever-increasing dismay how many of his actions had sent unintended signals suggesting a lack of interest in her—beyond physical gratification, at any rate.

Initially, when analyzing her behavior, he had chosen to dwell on the encouragement she had given him—her soft caresses and heated kisses, and her moans and sighs of pleasure. But since arriving home, he had begun to recall other signals. Signals that I disregarded—or even actively tried to counteract—because they didn’t suit my purposes.

Although she had at first eagerly responded to his kisses when they had reached her apartment, he now remembered the moment when she had pushed him away, and had seemed ready to ask him to leave. In the kitchen, she had escaped his embrace when he had pulled her body into close contact with his. And during their pleasurable activity on the sofa, he had seen her hesitate more than once, seeming to be on the verge of telling him to stop.

And every time I sensed her hesitation, did I back off? Did I ask her what was wrong? No. I turned up the heat, using her body’s responses against her to make it difficult to refuse me. No wonder she thought the only thing I wanted from her was sex.

Elizabeth’s voice, steeped in sarcasm, rang in his ears:

“You’re going to miss me so much that you didn’t even bother to show up at the party on our last night together until almost three hours after it started.”

William had to admit that, had their situations been reversed, he would have been deeply hurt by such a late arrival at the party. Despite his advance warning of the delay, it had communicated a disregard for her feelings and a lack of interest in spending time with her. But I couldn’t help it. Gran made me go to the Dalton party.

William frowned. That sounded like the refrain of a whiny child. Why didn’t I tell Gran no, and then stick to my guns? The Dalton event wasn’t that crucial, and even Mitzi would have understood that Gran needed to care for a bereaved friend and that I had a previous engagement.

At the time, William had told himself that it was a matter of family responsibility, but now he wondered. Maybe some small part of me really was trying to avoid spending much time at Elizabeth’s party—not because I didn’t want to be with her, but because I knew how awkward it would be to spend much time there, among all those strangers.

He prowled through the sitting room like a caged panther. By force of habit, he seated himself at the piano, but he couldn’t seem to find the energy to touch the keys. The music that usually played in his head was drowned out by her angry voice.

“You couldn’t possibly love me. You told me just a few weeks ago that you don’t believe that people can fall in love in a short time.”

William winced. He had indeed made that arrogant, uninformed pronouncement during their walk to City Hall Park almost a month ago. I was so stupid. I was already falling in love with her by then—I was just trying to convince myself that it wasn’t happening. And instead, I convinced her.

He wandered over to his audio system and absently scanned his massive CD collection. The first CD he noticed was his Jazz Encores recording—the same one he had selected to play at Elizabeth’s apartment. With a sigh that sounded suspiciously like a whimper to his ears, William snatched the CD from its slot and shoved it into the back of a storage cabinet at the bottom of his bookcase.

His action disturbed a group of LP records in the cabinet, causing them to lean at a 45 degree angle. He reached in to set them upright, and on a whim removed one from the cabinet. It was his mother’s favorite Frank Sinatra album. She had been a devoted Sinatra fan, and William’s childhood memories included the sound of Sinatra’s voice issuing from this room, which had been hers until her death. Seems like she was always playing his records—his or Maria Callas’s, that is.

The album in his hand was one of Sinatra’s most somber collections of ballads, In the Wee Small Hours.Even the album cover suggested late-night loneliness, displaying a stylized sketch of a pensive Sinatra on an empty street, a thin ribbon of smoke trailing from the cigarette in his hand.

William uncovered his turntable and placed the record on it. He carefully lowered the needle and settled into his leather chair, propping his bare feet on an ottoman. He switched off the light beside his chair, plunging the room into darkness.

Sinatra’s smooth voice caressed the title song, the words painfully appropriate:

In the wee small hours of the morning,
While the whole wide world is fast asleep,
You lie awake and think about the girl
And never, ever think of counting sheep.

When your lonely heart has learned its lesson,
You’d be hers if only she would call,
In the wee small hours of the morning,
That’s the time you miss her most of all.*

William sat back in his chair, staring into the darkness. Elizabeth. A single tear trickled from his eye, dampening his cheek as he settled in for a long, lonely night.

William scarcely recognized the man looking back at him in the bathroom mirror the following morning. His face was deathly pale, with deep shadows under his hollow, empty eyes. In fact, he looked even worse than he felt, and that was saying something.

I should call Richard and cancel. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.

He slipped off his robe and eyed the faint scar on his chest. As if he didn’t already have enough problems, he had to see Dr. Rosemont later today. She would deliver the bad news he had been dreading for weeks. It would have been such a comfort to spend the evening with Elizabeth tonight, to lose myself in her and forget my troubles for a while.

But Elizabeth was gone from his life, and there was nothing he could do about it. In the darkest, most despairing moments of his night, her cold dismissal had echoed repeatedly in his mind, further wounding his heart each time he heard it:

“I don’t ever want to see you again.”

His only hope, and it was a feeble one, was that she’d reconsider and call him. But as the night had worn on and he had mentally rerun the evening’s events in a never-ending loop, that hope had been extinguished. Her statement had been forthright, unambiguous, and, he admitted now, well-deserved. Why would she want to see me again, after the way I behaved? I deserved to lose her, and she deserves a better man.

William dragged himself into his dressing room to change into his running clothes. He was supposed to meet Richard in the park in half an hour, and to cancel was a weakling’s way out.

Elizabeth wasn’t naturally a morning person, but she was accustomed to getting up early—she had often taught early-morning classes, and on her days off from teaching there had always been plenty of work waiting to be done. This morning, though, she couldn’t seem to drag herself out of bed. Her head ached and her vision was blurred, probably because her eyes were swollen.

She had finally fallen asleep some time after 5:00, only to be awakened shortly before 8:00 when an ambulance streaked past her building. Since then she had been lying in bed staring at the orchid and trying to bribe herself to get up.

Wouldn’t you like to go to the kitchen and make a nice strong pot of coffee, Lizzy? Wouldn’t coffee taste delicious right now? This prospect finally galvanized her into action, and she sat up, grimacing at the throbbing at her temples.

Elizabeth stood up unsteadily and shuffled into the kitchen. The coffee pot was half-full of an unappetizing sludge that smelled like burned toast, and Elizabeth’s stomach executed a queasy flip-flop. She had forgotten to turn off the warmer last night after William left. Grimacing, she dumped out the remains from last night’s coffee, cleaned the pot, and scooped fresh grounds into the filter.

While the coffee was brewing she went into the bathroom, hoping that some cold water splashed on her face would help her to wake up. She shook her head at her reflection in the mirror—pale with red, puffy eyes and a wild tangle of frizz where her hair was supposed to be. I look like Medusa.

Elizabeth returned to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. She carried it into the bedroom and got back into bed, not yet prepared to face the new day. As she sipped her coffee, she reflected on last night. If he’d gotten his way, he’d be here right now, lying next to me.

In spite of herself, she felt a little frisson of desire at the thought, but she quickly stifled it. More likely he’d be long gone by now. After all, once he’d gotten what he wanted, why would he hang around the low-rent district when he could go home and sleep in plush surroundings instead?

The thought roused her anger again, but it died quickly. Since awakening this morning, she had felt a growing sense of shame over her behavior. She had been right to refuse William, and she still resented his manipulative deceit, but she had begun to regret allowing herself to lose control. I was screaming like a shrew. I’m sure I made a great impression. Too much wine, too much adrenalin … and too much of me overreacting. Some day I really should learn to control my temper—it’s always getting me into trouble.

The phone rang, startling her. What if it’s William? What should I say? Elizabeth considered letting the answering machine get it, but discarded that option as cowardly. She hopped out of bed and answered the phone on the dresser.

“Hello?” Her voice trembled slightly.

“Liz, it’s Char.”

Elizabeth felt a peculiar mixture of relief and regret. “Char! You’re up early.”

“Yeah. I have to go down to Palo Alto this morning, and I wanted to be sure to catch you at home.”

Elizabeth carried the phone back to the bed—fortunately the cord was long enough to reach—and slipped back under the covers. “So what’s up?”

“Jane called me last night—it was late and she didn’t want to disturb you. She’s going to have to stay an extra day in Sacramento, so I said I’d pick you up at the airport tomorrow. She should be back around dinnertime, and you and I can hang out till then—maybe go shopping, or take a drive up the coast if you’d rather do that.”

Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on seeing Jane. It was a delay of only a few hours, but it felt like a calamity.

“That’s fine,” she said, her voice shaking as she fought back tears.

“Liz, are you okay? You sound terrible.”

Elizabeth was humiliated to find herself crying. She tried to stifle the sounds, but Charlotte had obviously heard her.

“Liz, what’s the matter?”

In a tearful, halting voice, Elizabeth told Charlotte the story of the party and the aftermath. When Elizabeth finished, Charlotte was quiet for a moment, and then asked a question.

“First, I need to make sure that he didn’t force you to do anything. Because if he did—”

Elizabeth exhaled slowly, feeling strangely calm now that she had told her story. “No,” she said quietly. “No, I let him do everything he did, right up to the end, and he stopped as soon as I told him to. But he wanted a lot more.”

“But can you honestly say that you didn’t want more too?”

“That’s not important. The issue is that now I’ve got proof that he’s just like every other guy—all he wants is to get me into bed, and he was willing to lie to accomplish it.”

“I wish I were there right now so I could smack you upside the head. You wanted him almost as much as he wanted you, didn’t you?”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I told you, that’s beside the point.”

“No, it’s not. Please, be honest with me.”

“All right. When I’m with him I … I’ve never felt anything like this before. When he kisses me or … touches me, it’s almost impossible to resist him. I kept trying to make myself stop him, but then he … well, anyway, I just couldn’t find the strength to do it.” Elizabeth licked her lips, remembering his exquisite, passionate kisses and the sultry heat in his eyes.

“Okay, so in other words, he gets you all hot and bothered. And you told me before that you’ve learned to like him. This is a good thing, Liz, and you’re treating it like a tragedy.”

“But it’s too soon for … well, for … you know … for sex.”

“Too soon for you, but apparently not for William.”

Elizabeth was becoming annoyed. “Right. Because his main objective was to score with me before I left town.”

Charlotte sighed noisily. “You are maddening sometimes! My God, what does this poor guy have to do to convince that you he’s crazy about you?”

“I don’t know, but throwing me down on the couch sure isn’t on that list.”

“He didn’t actually do that, did he?”

“No,” Elizabeth said reluctantly. “But all the same—”

“Okay, so he got carried away in the heat of the moment. So did you. Plus, you’d just come from a party. How much had you had to drink?”

“We weren’t falling-down drunk, but we’d both probably had a little too much.”

“I figured. I know it loosens your inhibitions, and it probably had the same effect on him.”

“Oh, great—so you’re saying he wanted me because he was drunk.”

“You are impossible! I’m saying that it probably made the two of you more inclined to do something you’ve been wanting to do for a while. But that’s not the point I wanted to make.”

Elizabeth could hear a lecture coming on. “Okay, go ahead,” she grumbled.

“Set last night aside for a minute and think about some of the other things he’s done. He swallowed his pride and apologized to you. He’s been sending you flowers every day. He called you on the phone every night while he was out of town last week. He took you to his house and introduced you to his family. Do you think he does that with every woman he meets?”

“No, but—”

“And don’t say that he only did those things to get you into bed.”

“Why not? It’s probably true.”

“You’ve been saying all along that he can have almost any woman he wants, and I think you’re probably right. So why would he be investing all this effort in you, if all he wanted was sex? Doesn’t it seem like a waste of time, if he can just walk into any bar in New York and score all the female companionship he wants?”

Elizabeth sipped her coffee in silence. She had to admit that Charlotte was making sense.

“Liz, can’t you see that he’s doing these things because you’re important to him? You. All of you, not just your body. And I’m not saying he doesn’t like your body. Obviously he does, and what’s wrong with that? I mean, would you prefer that he be repulsed by the very sight of you?”

“Of course not,” Elizabeth retorted, rolling her eyes. “But—”

“And, besides, you like his body, don’t you? I mean, you have noticed at least once or twice that he’s very nicely put together, right?”

Elizabeth sighed loudly. She hated it when Charlotte was right. “Yes.”

“I’m also not saying that he doesn’t want to take you to bed. He’s made it very clear that he does. But you were tempted too, so why isn’t he permitted to want you?”

“It’s too soon.”

“So you said, and that’s a perfectly reasonable way for you to feel. But he apparently feels differently, and you can’t expect him to read your mind. Why didn’t you just tell him how you felt, instead of pitching a fit and kicking him out?”

Elizabeth bristled at this implied criticism, though she had been asking herself the same question for the past hour. “I’m so tired of you and Jane taking his side all the time! You weren’t here last night. You don’t know what really happened, how persuasive he was, how scared I was!” Tears spilled down her cheeks as she clutched the phone, trying to regain control of her emotions.

“Liz, we’re on your side, and you know it,” Charlotte said in a quiet voice full of authority. “But I think William really cares about you, and it seems like you’re starting to care about him. I hate to see you throw that away because you’re afraid to open up to him.”

“Don’t you think I have good reasons to be wary?”

“I know, you’ve been used by a real bastard. But—”

“Even the flowers and all the attention—it’s not the first time a guy has gone to a lot of trouble, when all he really wanted was to get me into bed. Michael was like that. He was so charming—he made it seem like I was the most important thing in his world. I believed him that night when he said he loved me. And then—”

“I know. What a first-class creep. But you shouldn’t automatically assume that William is like that.”

“I think what made it worse last night was that … well, you never met Michael, but he looks a little bit like William.”

“Really? There are two men in the world who look like that, and you’ve met both of them? Life is so unfair sometimes.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile. “Take it easy. You’d never mistake them for one another, and although Michael was good-looking, he wasn’t … okay, I’ll say it, he wasn’t completely gorgeous like William. But they’re both tall, slender, dark wavy hair, brown eyes. It’s probably one of the things that attracted me to Michael in the first place—he looked like my idol.”

“That makes sense.”

“So last night when William said ‘I love you,’ just like Michael did, something snapped and I started yelling.”

“You poor thing. Poor William, too. I bet he didn’t know what hit him.”

“I know, but he shouldn’t have lied about loving me.”

Charlotte groaned in disgust. “Why do you refuse to accept that he could have been telling the truth? Haven’t you been listening to me?”

“I’m willing to admit that maybe he likes me. You’re right—he probably wouldn’t have gone to all that effort otherwise. But love? No way. Think about who he is, and who I am.”

“Oh, are we doing the whole ‘I’m not worthy’ thing again?”

“Come on, Char. I’m not putting myself down—I’m just being realistic. He’s charming, intelligent, immensely talented, handsome, rich, and famous. He could date movie stars, models, whatever he wants. And he’s going to settle for an ordinary music teacher?”

“You’re not ordinary. You said he’s intelligent—maybe he’s smart enough to see how special you are. Besides, he doesn’t strike me as the superficial type who’d be looking for a brainless bimbo to decorate his arm.”

Elizabeth sternly quashed the faint ray of hope that had begun to shine in her heart. “Even if that’s true, there’s another issue—the whole fan thing.”

“The fan thing?”

“Back when you used to idolize Chris Isaak, what would you have done if he’d called and asked you out?”

“I’d have said yes, and he’d have ended up flat on his back in my bed—or his, it wouldn’t have mattered—before the end of the first date. Next question.”

Elizabeth smiled in spite of herself. “True. You’re not a good example.”

“But I think I see what you’re saying. You’re not sure if you really want to bear William Darcy’s children or if you’re just starstruck.”

“That’s a little extreme, but, yeah.”

“And you don’t want to get in too deep until you know for sure. Fair enough. So why not talk to him? Tell him you’re interested, but you want to take it slowly.”

“Jane said the same thing yesterday morning. Things got a little intense during the dinner date, and I was nervous about what might happen last night. But I just didn’t know how to broach the subject.”

“Well, clearly you need to start listening to us. We’re older and wiser, you know.”

Elizabeth snorted. “You’re not even two months older than I am.”

“I’m talking experience, not calendar years. And on that basis, I’m old enough to be your grandmother.”

“Okay, grandma. Don’t forget your cane when you go out today.”

Charlotte laughed. “Speaking of going out, I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to run. I’m presenting a paper at a conference at Stanford this morning, and traffic is going to be a nightmare. I could call you back once I’m in the car if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m feeling a lot better now. Thanks for listening, and for the good advice.”

“Thank me by calling William,” Charlotte replied. “I really don’t think you’ll regret it.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and made her decision. “Okay, I will.”

“You promise? No talking yourself out of it once we’re off the phone?”

“I promise I’ll call him. And I’ll see you tomorrow at the airport. You have my flight number and arrival time?”

“Yes, I’m all set. I’m really looking forward to seeing you.”

“Me too.”

Charlotte paused for a moment but then spoke. “Just one more thing, Liz, and then I really do have to go. Your past—it’s just that, the past. Don’t you think it’s time to start living in the present?”

“Char—”

“William is not Michael, and he’s also not … anyone else who has hurt you. But you’re punishing William for those other guys’ sins. That’s not fair to him. Plus, you’re making yourself miserable.”

Elizabeth’s eyes stung with sudden tears, and she didn’t reply.

“Just think about it, okay?” Charlotte said.

“Okay. I will,” Elizabeth answered in a voice barely above a whisper. “Bye.”

Elizabeth hung up the phone and dabbed her eyes with a tissue, her mind a jumble of contradictory thoughts. She stared at the phone in silence for several seconds, biting her lip, and then shook her head. No, I need to think things through a little bit before I call him.

It was time to get moving, that much was certain. Elizabeth had a busy day ahead, and she had hidden under the covers sniffling for long enough. As the saying goes, when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping. She snickered at her little joke as she went into the bathroom to take her shower, finally prepared to face the day and whatever new challenges it might bring.

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*—“In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning,” (D. Mann/B. Hilliard). Sung by Frank Sinatra on “In the Wee Small Hours,” © Capitol Records, 1998, originally released 1955.

Copyright © 2006 by the author Last updated August 30, 2006