Beginning, Section II, Next Section
Part 11
"A B?" Char asked.
"Yep," Liz said proudly. "Good solid B, on the hardest test I personally have ever taken."
"Cool. Can I see?"
Liz passed over the test paper, and Char studied it for a moment. "Grades tough, doesn't she? It looks like an axe-murderer's drop cloth."
"Yeah, I know," Liz said, taking it back. "That's why I feel so lucky to have gotten a B."
"Did everyone get theirs back?"
"Yeah. I was impressed. She must have worked like a mule to grade fifty-seven tests this thoroughly in less then two weeks."
"So how did--"
The door opened and they both looked up. "MJ?" Liz said. "That was short." It was only eight o'clock--usually her friend wasn't back from a date with Chaz until nearly midnight.
Then Liz saw MJ's face, and sprang up. "What happened? What is it?"
MJ sat down slowly on the couch. Her face was white and expressionless. "He broke up with me."
"What?" The exclamation came from both throats at once.
MJ was sitting perfectly straight, with her feet tight together and her hands folded neatly in her lap. She stared straight ahead as she told them in a wooden voice, "He just said--that it had been fun--and he really liked me--but--that we should start--seeing other people."
"But--but why?" Liz burst out. "What happened?"
"I don't know. I suppose he got bored with me."
"No--no, MJ, that can't be it."
She looked up at Liz then, and her eyes were dry and devastated. "I can't think of any other reason. He's used to people that are so much livelier and--and more sociable then me. He must have gotten bored. He must have. He's been so quiet the past two weeks--"
Char tried to hug her, but MJ gently pushed her arms away, rose, and went to her room. Her two friends looked at each other helplessly as the door closed with a quiet click.
Liz was the first to speak. "I can't believe this," she whispered in a low, furious voice. She was almost trembling with rage. "I can't believe this."
Char was looking at the door of Liz and MJ's room. "Should we go to her?"
"No. She won't let herself grieve when people are around. She just won't. She'll pull into herself like a turtle." Liz slammed her fist into the couch back. "Dammit! I could kill Chaz Delmonico!"
Char was shaking her head. "I never would have thought--"
"That he'd just dump her like this?"
"Yeah! I mean, he's crazy about her."
"Not anymore, I guess." Liz was pacing now, short furious circuits of the room. "At least he wasn't cruel about it," she said bitterly, and added in a harsh whisper, "Start seeing other people!"
"What can we do for her?"
"I told you. She won't allow anyone to see her hurting. It's the way those parents of hers taught her to handle things like that." She hit the back of the couch again. "I don't know what to do."
The only thing she could do, in the end, was to try and work off some of this mad. MJ didn't need her fuming and raging, she needed her there, calm and steady, to lean on. When she finally did lean on someone.
Liz opened the door quietly. She needed to change clothes--she couldn't very well run in a t-shirt and jeans. MJ was lying on her side on the bed, facing the wall and curled into a tight little ball. She made no sound, but Liz could almost hear the echo of weeping in the air.
She paused by the bed, then slowly sat. MJ still didn't move.
"MJ?"
No response.
Liz sighed and rubbed her friend's shoulder. The muscle there was as tight as an overwound spring. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
MJ shifted slightly, but only to turn her face into the pillow.
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When Chaz walked in the door, Will gave up all pretense of paying attention to the Shakespeare movie that Rick had put on, and stood. "Well?"
Chaz just shook his head, slowly. "You were right, man," he said. "She didn't say a word. Nothing. No reaction. You were right," he said again.
Rick hit a button and left Claudio to repudiate Hero in silence on the screen. "What do you mean, he was right? What the hell happened? I thought you were going out on a date with MJ."
"I broke up with her," Chaz snapped. "And she acted like it was nothing."
"You dumped her?" Rick sputtered.
Chaz looked at Will. "You know, I was hoping you were wrong. I was hoping that she really did feel something for me like I thought she did--but I guess not. She didn't cry--she didn't ask why--she didn't say a word. I guess you were right." He went to their room and slammed the door behind him.
Rick's eyes narrowed. "You told him to do this," he accused.
"Hey, wait a minute," Will protested. "I didn't tell him to do anything, I just pointed out some things--"
"Bullcrap," Rick snapped. "You know how he listens to you, and you've never liked her. Go to hell, man. Go to hell."
He turned the TV off and stormed out of the room.
Will stood alone and miserable in the middle of the room. After a long moment, he went to the running shoes sitting by the couch and, almost violently, shoved his feet into them.
Maybe if he went running, he'd work some of this sick, greasy remorse out of his system. And there was a hell of a lot of it.
Fact was, he'd never felt worse about being right in his whole life.
Part 12
Will's breath sawed in and out of his lungs as he pushed himself to greater and greater speeds. Unfortunately, his thoughts kept up.
I was right. I was. She didn't care about him--he said it himself.
But he was so miserable. Maybe I was wrong. If she makes him happy, who am I to interfere?
He was happy believing her lies. I was right to do what I did. I was right.
I was.
His left shoe was starting to loosen, and he glanced down. Crap--the lace had come undone. He slowed and stopped, kneeling to re-tie the lace. His hair was hanging, sweaty, in his eyes, and he had to blink a few times and finally shove the damp mass back with one hand
to see straight in the lowering dusk.
Finally, the lace tied, he started to get up when--
"Uh!"
"Ow!"
Something had hit him hard in the middle of his back and hurled him to the pavement, hard-won breath stolen in an instant.
Groaning a little, he managed to sit up and look around. Sprawling a few feet away, glaring at him, was the one person he could have very well gone without seeing tonight of all nights.
"I might have known it would be you," Liz said in disgust.
"Jeezus!" Will hissed, flexing his hands and wincing at the sting of scrapes and cuts on his palms. "Why weren't you watching where you were going?"
"I wasn't expecting you to be in my way. What are you, crazy, wearing black clothing at dusk and running along the side of the road? Some idiot could have hit you!"
"Some idiot did," he pointed out. Then, unable to stop himself, he added, "And the shirt's navy blue, not black."
"Oh, well, forgive me. Navy blue. That changes everything."
"Shut up." Will got painfully to his feet. Besides his palms, there were scrapes and gravel ground into his forearms and knees, and even his chin was stinging a little. And his back was killing him.
"I love how I can always depend on you for an intelligent reply."
He looked down at her, still sitting on the pavement. "What, are you waiting for me to pick you up or something? Some car's gonna come along and splatter you halfway to Canada if you don't get up."
"What a pleasent little scenario," she snapped, manuvering herself up off the road. "Tell me, have you thought of doing poetry instead of--ow!" She collapsed back to the concrete with a stunned look on her face.
Instantly, he was kneeling at her side. "Where are you hurt? Your knee? Your ankle?"
"I'm fine, Dr. Feelgood."
"You're lying."
"Go away."
"No." He pressed gently on her left ankle. "Does that hurt?"
His answer was a swift fist to his cheekbone.
He blinked and shook his head, then brushed his fingers across the rapidly reddening area. Liz was opening her mouth to apologize when he said calmly, "A little higher and that would have blackened my eye."
"I wish it had," she muttered, all thoughts of apology gone. She could add a throbbing hand to the various scrapes and bruises, as well as the definately-injured ankle, and that was all she needed, thank you very much. "Would you go away?"
"No," he said coolly, and, hooking his hands under her armpits, hauled her to her feet.
She wanted to hit him again, but she'd probably break her hand this time. So she settled for putting her nose in the air and saying, "You can let go of me now."
"So you can hobble the mile or so to the nurse's office on your own and make that ankle worse? Right." He put his arm around her waist and shifted so his shoulder was under her arm.
"Get away from me!"
"Look," he snapped, "either we do it like this, or I flip you over my shoulder and carry you, butt in the air and screaming, to the nurse's office. Now which is it gonna be?"
"You couldn't carry me the entire way," she said foolishly.
"Wanna bet? You haven't got much more meat on you then the average rabbit."
"Rabbits are really fat."
"Yeah, but not many of them are five-nine. Stop stalling, princess, and make up your mind. I'm about to pick you up whether you like it or not."
Her teeth snapped together, but she put her arm around his neck and began hobbling.
"You wanna sit down?" he asked several minutes later. They were about halfway to the nurse's office, and her entire body was twanging with pain. Nothing sounded better then to sit down for just a few minutes.
But she shook her head. "No, we'd better keep going."
"Look, if you need to stop for a minute, that's cool."
"I said, let's keep going."
"You are unbelievably stubborn, you know that? Just because I suggested it--"
"If you want to know the truth, it's because I'm afraid I'll never get up again, okay?Let's keep going."
There was silence for a moment, and then he said, his voice soft and almost gentle, "Whyn't you say that in the beginning?"
She snorted. "Because I'm unbelievably stubborn."
He laughed at that--actually laughed, a sound she'd never heard from him and never expected to, either.
She liked it.
Except for a few mini-spats and one stumble that wrenched a yelp of pain from her throat and a muttered "Sorry" from his, they achieved the nurse's office with no further incident. The nurse, a motherly woman who lived somewhere on campus and doubled as the pianist at some of the dancing classes, looked up from her paperwork and exclaimed aloud as they made their way in.
They were sweaty, panting, and bedraggled, so it was no wonder that the nurse cried, "Goodness! You two really banged yourselves up, didn't you? What happened?"
"I was running--"
"We ran into each other--"
"You ran into me, let's not fudge anything here--"
"Hah!--if you hadn't--"
"Hold it!"
The nurse's shout silenced them as effectively as a gunshot.
She pointed to the examining room and said to Liz, "You--in there." She pointed at the chair in the corner of the office, and said to Will, "You--sit."
"She's not hobbling in there on her own," he began, "she'll--"
"She's not," the nurse said calmly, going around to Liz's other side and giving her support. "Now, let go of her, dear, and I'll be back in just a minute to see how you're doing."
As the nurse examined her ankle, Liz thought about the strange events of the past half-hour. Chaz and MJ's breakup had retreated to the back of her mind for the moment. Instead, she was puzzling over Will's actions.
He'd run true to form for the first few minutes of their encounter, but then he'd suddenly turned almost--kind.
Will Fitzroy pissed she could handle. Will Fitzroy arrogant and snotty, she was used to.
But Will Fitzroy kind?
Quite frankly, it made her jittery--like a rabid dog had curled up around her feet for some petting.
Part 13
Liz manuvered around for a glance at her watch and moaned. She was late already, and she still wasn't even in the building where Theory class was held. She'd seen people stroll in late before, and she wasn't looking forward to Dr. Salvatore's reaction.
Darn these crutches, darn her sprained ankle, and darn Will Fitzroy!
Kind or not.
Out of breath and sweating, she finally pushed open the door to the lecture hall. Dr. Salvatore stopped in the middle of her lecture and turned towards her, one eyebrow lifting. "Ms. Fiennes. So glad you decided to join us today."
"Sorry, Dr. Salvatore," Liz gasped, dropping into her seat with a sigh of relief and propping the detested crutches against the side of the seat. "I'm still getting used to these things. Some idiot," she shot a darkling glance at Will, sitting next to her, "decided to tie his shoe in the middle of the road without regard for anyone else who might be coming along." There was, Liz noted with satisfaction, a large, livid bruise on his cheekbone where she'd hit him on Friday night.
Under the bruise, his upper lip curled in a sneer. "Yeah, well, at least I'm not the idiot who wasn't looking where she was going."
"You know what? Screw you, Fitzroy."
"Yeah, same to you, Fiennes."
"This is all quite fascinating," Dr. Salvatore said coolly. "Do tell us when you're ready for class to continue."
Identical flushes washed over their faces.
"Sorry--"
"I didn't mean to--"
"No further insults?"
"No, ma'am."
"No, Dr. Salvatore."
"Very well. As I was saying before Ms. Fiennes made her entrance, it is time to assign partners for the composition project. This, as I'm sure you all well know, is the project that serves as your final examination grade. It is thirty percent of your final mark in this class. The assignment is: to compose a five- to eight-minute piece of music, using the theories we have covered in this class. It may be performed by any method--voice, piano, cello, flute--anything short of a kazoo. You will have a partner, and you must work together. None of this one person writing two and a half minutes, and the other person writing two and a half minutes, completely independant of each other. The composition must be a comprehensive whole, with a discernable theme. It can be a vocal duet, a vocal solo with piano accompaniment, an instrumental solo with piano accompaniment--any combination you choose. But both partners will perform on the prearranged day. If one of the partners is absent, both fail. The only acceptable exception is a death in the family or serious illness, in which situation I will work out an alternate perfomance time. The perfomances will begin the last week of regular class. Our final exam time will be, if I do not miss my guess, entirely taken up by performances. You may sign up for performance times beginning Wednesday, and your performance time may changed right up until the Friday before performances start. Partners are as follows--"
Dr. Salvatore began reading out sets of names, and Liz lost interest. Her injuries, especially her ankle, were all throbbing like a sore tooth and she shifted in her chair. Her elbow caught one of the crutches and sent it clattering to the floor.
"Mina Bradey and Maria Torres," Dr. Salvatore read over the noise.
Under her apology, she heard a muffled snicker from Will's direction.
"Faith Schofield and David Ebersole."
With delicate precision, she kicked him in the shin with the heel of the sturdy army boot she wore on her uninjured foot.
"Bridget Carney and Benjamin Rushmount."
She grinned at his strangled curse and reached for the fallen crutch.
"William Fitzroy and Elizabeth Fiennes."
Liz fumbled and sent both crutches to the floor at once.
When Dr. Salvatore glanced up at the clock and said, "That will be all for today," Liz almost leaped out of her chair and onto her crutches. By dint of ruthlessness and several muttered "excuse me"s, she managed to get to the front of the classroom before the professor was done gathering up her papers and books. "Dr. Salvatore? Dr. Salvatore, I have to talk to you--"
"Dr. Salvatore, I really need to--"
Liz and Will broke off at the same time, glaring narrow-eyed at each other.
Dr. Salvator glanced back and forth at them and raised a brow. "Let me guess," she said. "You both want to talk to me about the same thing--your partner."
The objections came tumbling out of both of them like twin avalanches.
"We just--"
"We'd--"
"--can't work together--"
"--kill each other--"
"--I'd be beating him to death with--"
"--I'd be garrotting her with--"
"--the piano stool inside of a week--"
"--piano wire before the first day is out--"
"I think you're mistaken about something." The professor's cool voice stopped them both dead. "I didn't, as you seem to think, assign the partners randomly. Nor did I do it with the consideration of what would most torture my students. There is absolutely no chance of trading partners. You two have been paired up because you're two of the best students in the class, and I happen to think that something you put together might be quite out of the common way."
Liz stared at her. "But--but--I got a B on the test," she said. "I'm not a best student--I--"
"Grades have nothing to do with it. Talent, intelligence, and the willingness to go out on a limb do. Now, if you two could just stop squabbling for as long as it takes for you to create this composition, you might surprise yourselves." Dr. Salvatore picked up her papers. "I'll see you Wednesday, Mr. Fitzroy, Ms. Fiennes. If you're still alive."
Part Fourteen
Will stared at the sheet of staff paper in front of him. He and Liz had agreed to each bring a few ideas to the working period scheduled for the next night at her place.
He grimaced. Why now? Why now, when there was somebody who would never let him forget it, was there a block on the notes in his head?
He flung down the pencil and leaned back in his chair. Without conscious volition, his eyes wandered to the folder that held the piece he'd composed that first night here--the night he'd met Liz. He'd barely touched it--had fiddled with it once or twice, then put it away until later, only to keep picking it up again like a nasty habit. He didn't know why he was so resistant to working with it. The piece was good. It was really good. But somehow just playing made him jittery, as if . . . as if something was happening, something that he didn't have control over.
Will hated relinquishing control.
Should he just take that? It was way longer then the single sheet of ideas that he'd had in mind, and somehow the thought of playing that for Liz Fiennes made him even more uncomfortable.
Will picked up the folder and drew the piece out, studying it again. The music surged into his mental ear, playing the familiar theme.
He didn't want this. He didn't want it.
He didn't want this piece. He didn't want this project. He didn't want to have to work with Liz Fiennes, day after day, on a thing that would surely reveal far more of himself then he was comfortable with.
He flung the sheets away from him, and they fluttered like oversize snow to the floor of his bedroom.
He should throw it away. He really should.
But Will stood up and gathered the sheets of paper gently back into the folder. Then he took the folder and shoved it in the bottom drawer of his desk and turned his back on it.
He would doodle on the keyboard until something started to make sense.
***********************************************************************
"Stop laughing," Liz said sulkily.
Char howled, falling over onto her back on the bed and from there rolling to the floor with a thud. "I--can't--" she gasped. "It's just so--ridiculous!"
Liz sniffed. "It's so nice," she said pointedly, to the lamp, "to know I can depend on my friends for sympathy in my time of need."
"The only thing you need," Char said from the floor, "is earplugs. And maybe a gag."
Liz leaned over to look at her. "For which one of us?"
"Whoever doesn't get the earplugs gets the gag," Char said, sitting up. "That's the only way this project is
ever going to get done. You know what your whole problem is with Will Fitzroy?"
"Do tell, oh swami wise one who does everything her Rice Krispies tell her to."
Char grinned at the reference to her shirt. "Hey, Snap, Crackle, and Pop are very savvy dudes. But seriously, you guys can't stop arguing long enough to like each other. Either that, or you won't."
"Exsqueeze me? Like each other? Ha!"
"I mean it," Char insisted. "You guys would be a great pair if you'd just stop squabbling."
"Pair? I do not want to be any kind of pair with Will Fitzroy." If her ankle hadn't been killing her, Liz would have been up and pacing by now. "Where's the soap? I need to wash your mouth out with it. Pair! Ugh! The idea revolts me! Disgusting!"
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."
"Okay, that's it. Out!"
But Char had the last word, just as she was leaving Liz's bedroom. "I'm going shopping tomorrow night. You want me to buy a mop?"
Liz stared at her. "What for?"
Char smirked. "To get up all the blood, what else?"
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Liz worked on the project all afternoon, ignoring her other homework in favor of fighting with the notes and sounds that refused to come out the way she envisioned. It was so much harder when you actually had to think it up yourself, she thought ruefully, and went into the main room for more fuel. Maybe sugar would jump-start the compositional area of her brain. Gawd knew it was worth a try.
Finally, around midnight, she set down her pencil and studied the marked-up, erasure-grimy, and wrinkled piece of staff paper. Well, all right, it wasn't Beethoven, she thought, swigging the last of her Dr. Pepper, but it was at least something. They could expand on it, chop it up, whatever, but at least it was a starting point.
She wondered what Will would think.
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"Elevator music."
"What?"
They were in the main room of Liz's suite, she having lugged her keyboard out there so they could work. Liddie and Katy were out on dates, MJ was sleeping, and Char was out somewhere. Maria was, of course, practicing.
"You heard me," Will repeated. "Elevator music."
Liz's eyes narrowed. So it wasn't the best. She admitted that, to herself if not to him. So what? That didn't give him the right to shoot it down like that. "I'll have you know I worked all afternoon and part of the night on this."
"Well, that says something, doesn't it?"
To keep herself from ripping out his tongue, she crossed her arms. "Fine, Mr. Big-shot Composer Boy. Let's hear what you have."
"Fine." He capped his soda and set it on the floor, and pulled a many-folded piece of paper out of his back pocket.
She listened with her arms still crossed. She had to admit it was a little better then what she'd produced, but-- "It sounds so mean."
He shot her a glare. "News flash, Ms. Partridge. Rock 'n' roll doesn't have to be sweet and pretty."
"Wait a minute. Wait a minute.Who said we were doing rock 'n' roll?"
"Me."
"You are such an arrogant control freak," she accused, reaching for an Oreo and taking a ferocious bite out of it.
"Said the pot."
"What are you, eighteen or eight?"
"Neither," he snapped. They were facing each other and snarling now, completely oblivious of anything else that went on in the room. "Twenty."
"What'd they do, hold you back two years because of immaturity?"
"They don't do that anymore. They do social advances. Which is obviously the only way you ever got to high school."
A camera flash went off, and they both whipped around to see Char standing there. "That'll be a cute shot," she said sarcastically. "I think I'll call it Teamwork."
Part Fifteen
Author's Note: For those who need it, a crash course in musical terms.
Adagio: verrrrrrrrrrry slow and thoughtful
Allegro: extremely fast and bright
"It's flat."
"It is not."
"Is so. Listen."
"It's not flat. It just sounds that way because it's too slow."
"Look, I told you, for this section, adagio is the only way to go."
"No way. Allegro would improve that by about a hundred percent."
"Well, if you want to present a piece that sounds like one of the Chipmunks on speed--"
"The Chipmunks sang. This is a piano duet."
"It could be a vocal solo with accompaniment if someone would just stop being stubborn and sing."
Liz rolled her eyes. She had made enough concessions for this project--gone with his tune instead of hers, for one thing. Refraining from ripping his arms off and beating him senseless with them, for another. And the singing, she was not budging on. "Look, I do not sing, okay? Make a memo of it: Liz does not sing. Liz would not sing if you staked her naked and soaked in maple syrup to a red anthill. Liz would not sing if you shoved bamboo shoots, not only under her fingernails, but up--"
"All right, all right, I get it. Jeez, would you shut up already?"
"Well, you've been bugging me to sing for a week, and for a week I've told you no way. I just thought it might not have penetrated. I play piano. That's what I do. Now, if you want to sing--"
"I wouldn't advise it," Rick said from the couch. "He sounds like a bullfrog with a head cold."
Will turned around to glare at him. "Go bug someone else, moron. Go stuff your face. Whatever."
"The cupboard's totally bare, Mother Hubbard," the other guy smirked.
"Fine. Go to McDonald's. And while you're there, get me some chow, would you?"
"Excuse me? Is that the dulcet voice of the guy who still owes me ten bucks from the last two Mickey D's runs?"
Will said something short, to the point, and fairly profane. Then he dug in his back pocket and threw a crumpled twenty at his suitemate.
Rick snagged it with the skill of the veteran left-fielder. "Liz? You want something?"
Liz was digging in her purse. "Wait a minute--I have to see how much cash I got."
"Rick can use my twenty," Will told her, scowling at the section under debate and playing it softly. Dammit. It was too slow.
"No way," she said stubbornly, and dumped her purse out on the floor. She plucked a fistful of coins and one or two crumpled singles from the pile of junk, then studied her liquid assets. "Here," she said, passing the bills over to Rick and dropping the coins back into her purse. "Get me a Happy Meal. The cheeseburger one, if there's enough. I don't think they put onions on those, but say no onions anyway. And Dr. Pepper, no ice."
"A Happy Meal?" Rick repeated, grinning.
Liz shrugged and said, "Truth be told, I'd rather have a Quarter-Pounder with cheese combo, super-sized, but that's all the money I have for the week."
"Get her that and use my twenty," Will said absently, still playing.
"Thanks but no thanks. I'll buy my own food." Liz put her hands on the keyboard and settled into step with her part of the duet.
Rick held up the twenty and raised his brows at Will, who nodded surreptitiously and said to Liz, "Hear that? Your part is flat. Even you can't deny it."
She took immediate umbrage, as Rick slipped out the door. "Maybe the problem is with the lower part, did you ever think of that?"
The problem of pitch had been settled and they were on to fighting about the time signature by the time Rick walked back in the door and yelled, "Cease fire! Time for rations!"
"Ha, ha," Will snorted.
"I think you've been watching Saving Private Ryan too often," Liz told him, rising from the piano bench.
Rick put a hand to his heart. "Matt and I share a very special bond," he said soulfully. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."
"Of course I understand," Liz grinned. "I just happen to prefer his friend Ben." She looked around. "Where's my Happy Meal, Rick? You leave it in the car?"
Rick opened his mouth to tell her the truth, but he saw Will swipe a finger across his throat in the universal you're dead if you do sign. So he shrugged. "They got the order wrong, and I didn't feel like going through the drive-through again. The line was unbelievable. I can go back, though. If you want."
The smell of burgers and fries had gotten to her by this time. The heck with it. It was Friday, anyway--she could get the twenty she allotted herself for each week out a little early if she really needed it. "No, that's okay." She picked up a burger and opened it up to pick out the onions that weren't there, although the cheese was. Her brows rose. "Wow--today's my lucky day. They somehow got the order wrong just the way I like it."
Rick said, "Uh--"
She smiled up at him, automatically assuming that he was at the bottom of the switch. "Thanks--but let me pay you back."
"Naw--what's a couple of bucks between friends?"
"I'll buy you food some other time," she said, and set down her burger long enough to kiss him on the cheek. "You're a sweetie, you know that?"
Will was starting to look very dark, and Rick was not at all above teasing his friends, even friends he'd just barely started speaking to again. Which was why he grabbed her and swept her into a classic romance-novel pose, bent back over his arm until the tips of her hair brushed the carpeting. "Can't you see what I'm saying," he said dramatically, "I love you, you ravishing thing."
She laughed aloud, making no attempt to free herself. "I thought Matt Damon was the love of your life."
"Yes, well, I don't feel like living in Vermont, and I do want to marry one of you. What d'you say, sexy, we can be in Vegas by sunset."
She considered it. "I would, baby, but I'm saving myself for Ben," she told him, with another kiss to the cheek.
"But think of it," he wheedled. "A classy wedding at the Igloo of Love, the elegant purple polyester accomodations of the No-Tell Motel . . ."
"Tempting, but Ben is more so."
Rick let her up and collapsed onto the couch. "She's broken my heart," he sobbed to Will. "Passed over for that pretty boy, Ben Affleck! Do you know any good monastaries I could join?"
Will snorted and took his food out of the sack, then dropped it on Rick's stomach. "Yeah, the Sacred Brothers of Up-Yours." It wasn't what he wanted to say--he wanted to say, Hands off. This one's mine. Go find your own. Which was crazy, of course.
Wasn't it?
"That's gratitude for you," Rick said to Liz. "If I'd swept you away to Vegas, you'd be out of his way and he could do the project all by himself, with no more battles."
"And then we'd both flunk, and have to take the class over again, and then we'd definitely kill each other," Liz said, biting a fry in half. "Is there any ketchup?"
Part Sixteen
Will was standing with his back to Liz as she came out of the bathroom. He was talking on his cell phone, which had rung while she'd been in the bathroom.
"No, sweetie, I'm really proud of you. Honest. Yeah. It takes a lot of guts to make that kind of decision. Yeah, I know it's hard, but it's what's best for all of you. Yeah, even them."
He turned around and saw Liz standing there. His eyes narrowed. "Baby, I have to go, okay? Take care of yourself, you hear me? And take your vitamins."
He broke the connection and shoved the phone into his back pocket. "I don't like the sound of that third page," he said abruptly.
"Who was that?" Liz asked before she thought.
"It kinda drags, you know?"
"It was a simple question."
"I thought maybe we could speed it up a little--"
"Your girlfriend?"
"That's if you can keep up."
Liz gave in to the inevitable. Will wasn't talking. Fine, she hadn't wanted to know anyway. "The third page is absolutely fine."
They were nearly done--the composition only needed a little bit of tinkering and polishing before it was ready to present in a week. Which was a good thing--Liz needed the practice time. She'd managed to nab the very last slot on final exam day for their performance, which was both good and bad. Good, because they had that much more time to practice, but bad, because they'd be following up every single performance in the class. If it sucked, it would stand out that much more to Dr. Salvatore.
"I still think it drags," Will muttered when they'd played it through.
Liz snorted. "Look, do you have a tape recorder? We can listen to it over again."
Rick's roommate, Matt, lent them one, and came out to listen to it himself. He was a voice major, and he remembered, vividly, doing the same project when he'd had the class two years ago. "It doesn't drag at all, man," he insisted. "It's fine. You'll, like, screw it up if you increase the tempo even more. Too like frenetic, you know? Let it--" he waggled his hands, "--like, flow."
"See," said Liz triumphantly.
"Jeez, fine."
"What do you think of the rest of it?" Liz asked Matt.
"Like, totally fun."
Will grunted.
"Don't mind him," Matt told Liz. "He like totally has attitude about fun. I bet he's not like even going to the Christmas Ball."
The Christmas Ball, a Longbourn tradition, was always held on the Friday night of finals week. It was a last fling of fun before everyone left for the holidays, and also a working-off of all the stress of final exams. Some people went home if their exams were done early, but most people stayed for the Ball.
"So, Mr. Antisocial, are you going to the Ball?" Liz needled. "Or are you just going to stay in your hut and growl at people?"
"I do not growl at people," Will growled.
Liz snorted and turned around to talk to Matt about Dr. Salvatore's grading on the projects.
Will started playing scales, absently. He hadn't given a thought to the ball one way or the other, but now that it had been mentioned, an idea was starting to form in his head.
He snuck a sideways glance at Liz. She was talking animatedly, a smile sparkling in her eyes. His heart gave an unsettling lurch.
It did that a little too often lately.
He scowled thoughtfully at the keyboard. Well--all right. She was snotty. And she liked picking fights with him all the time. And she was just way too smart.
But she was a really good piano player--he had to admit that. She loved her music.
She was always ready to laugh, but she wasn't some sort of air head. She could work when she needed to. He'd learned that much from this project.
Okay, maybe that brain in her head just improved the whole package--which, admittedly, was nothing to sneer at.
Fighting with her, working with her, playing piano with her doing the same just a few feet away, listening to the music they made together--all of it was stuff he actually, now that he thought about it, looked forward to every day.
Who'd'a thunk it?
Everyone looked up as Chaz walked into the room. "Hey, man," Will said. "Going to class?"
"Yeah," Chaz said. His eyes rested on Liz, and he said in a muffled tone, "Hey."
She looked right through him as if he weren't there, and said to Matt, "So has she ever actually failed anybody on this project alone?"
Will shot her a narrow-eyed look, but she didn't notice it. He looked up at Chaz and shrugged slightly. Chaz shrugged back and, shoulders drooping a little, walked out.
"What the hell were you so rude to him for?" Will asked sharply.
She turned to him, her eyes wide with fake shock. "Oh, sorry. I didn't know I was supposed to be nice to the jerk who up and totally broke my best friend's heart. I'll do better next time."
"Broke her heart?" Will snorted. "What a load of crap."
Her eyes flamed with temper. "Oh, what do you know?" She grabbed her crutches, her purse, and her copy of the composition, and said over her shoulder, "I just remembered an urgent appointment--I have to go loofah my butt."
"Fine, whatever," he snapped. "Tomorrow at three."
The door thudded heavily shut behind her.
"Like, dude, man," Matt said incomprehensibly. "That was one steamed chick. Is she taken?"
Steamed, Will realized, meant hot, rather then mad. Although at the moment both could apply. "Why?"
"Cuz I'm gonna ask her to the Christmas Ball."
"No, you aren't," Will said absently, starting to gather up the debris of the composing session. "I am."
Matt gave him a weird look. "Dude, you are dumb. What makes you think she's gonna go with you?"
It was Will's turn to give Matt an are-you-nuts look. "Why would she refuse?"
Part Seventeen
Musical Term: Dissonance--two notes that clash rather then harmonize. Creates a very neat sound, especially within an otherwise harmonic chord. Vocal jazz uses them a lot. :)
The class burst into applause, and Liz simply sat for a moment, drained. She looked across the two keyboards, set up back-to-back, at Will, who looked as depleted as she felt. The composition had been more demanding to perform then either of them, perhaps, had bargained for, but she was only now noticing.
Was it her imagination, or did the applause sound louder and go on longer then it had for anyone else?
As it died away and they took their seats again, Dr. Salvatore finished writing on their adjudication sheet. She folded it, set it on top of the pile, and rose. "Very well done, Mr. Fitzroy, Ms Fiennes. And of course, all performers today. I don't think I need to remind you to make copies of your adjudication sheets to insert into your individual portfolios for review at the end of the year. Conditional students, see me for the required tapes of your performances. In a moment, I will let you go, but first I wish to say a few words. It has been some time since I have had such a wholly talented class, and it has been an honor and a privilage to educate you this semester." The faint ghost of a smile flitted across her features. "I expect to see every one of you in a class of mine before your time at Longbourn is up. However, if this does not come to pass, I wish you good luck in all future musical endeavors. All of you, have a fine holiday, and a successful second semester."
Chattering like magpies, the class rose in a unit, and the ones who had performed that day swarmed toward the front of the class. Will beat Liz to the table and found their sheet, and promptly walked out the door. She emitted a squawk of rage and raced after him, catching up halfway down the hall.
"What'd we get--what'd we get?"
In a leisurely enough fashion to make her vibrate with impatience, he unfolded the paper. They were surrounded by their fellow students, all reacting in various ways to their grades.
"Well?" she wailed.
" 'A fine start,'" he drawled.
She nearly screamed. "The grade, doofus, the grade!"
He paid no attention. " 'Interesting use of dissonances . . .'"
"Ha! I told you those dissonances were a good idea." She flipped her hair out of her eyes as her hairpins finally gave up the ghost.
"I never said I didn't like them," he defended himself. "I just said they sounded weird. Which is the point. 'Tempo a little fast'--ha!"
She rose up on her toes to peer over his shoulder, and he swiveled around so she couldn't see it and continued reading. " '--but not unsuited to the overall theme.'"
"Ha-ha! The grade?"
"Wait, there's more. 'Fine playing--it is apparent that you have practiced together, as the two parts mesh and blend extraordinarily well. Most of all, the sense of fun that seems to be the integral theme is prominent, and pulls the listener in. All in all, a lively, intriguing composition, deftly performed.' Hey, look, we performed deftly."
Liz grabbed the paper away and flicked her eyes to the bottom. What she saw there made her scream aloud. "287! She gave us 287!!"
"Wait--287 out of 300 is . . ."
"It's a A!" She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him hard.
He was so stunned that she was out of his arms and dancing around before he had a chance to react. It would have been the perfect time to ask her to the Ball, but she exclaimed, "Wait, there's more!"
"What is it?" He peered over her shoulder as she read off the back of the paper.
" 'I think I told you two, when this project was assigned, that if you would set aside your differences and worked together towards a common goal, you might find yourself with something very special. I am very pleased to find this prediction coming true, and give you the further advice that it would behoove you to work together more often in the future. I hope to see both of you in a class of mine again. J.A.S.' J.A.S?"
"It's her initials. J for Jane. I saw it on her office door once."
"Hmm--I wonder what the A stands for?"
He gave half a shrug. "Who knows. Liz--"
She looked up. "Yeah?"
"Um--" Um? Classy, Fitzroy. "Uh--you left your mittens at my place yesterday."
She blinked down at her mittenless hands. "Oh, god, I did."
Will was busy cursing himself out for his sudden chickening-out. "So--you, uh, wanna walk back with me and pick 'em up?"
She looked at her watch and sighed. "You know what, I can't. I promised to meet Char and MJ for lunch in twenty minutes, and it's going to take me that long to walk to the Eaterie in these shoes." She indicated her chunky three-inch heels.
He snorted. "Your fault for wearing 'em. What are you trying to do, re-sprain that ankle two days after you got off crutches?"
She shook her finger under his nose. "Hey, you do not show up for a performance in army boots."
"I didn't do that!"
He hadn't, she had to admit. In fact, he looked almost presentable in khakis--wrinkle-free, yet!--and a sport coat. No tie though. Almost presentable, she grinned inwardly, and definately hot. "You know what," she said, "I'll come by later for my mittens, okay?"
"Yeah. Sure. That'll be cool."
She knocked on the door three hours later, and Rick answered. "Hey, sexy momma," he said, surveying her outfit. "Is this for me?"
She laughed at him. "No, I just haven't changed out of my performance clothes yet. You like?" She did a little twirl, showing off the short, flippy black skirt and dark blue silk blouse that went with the heels. He gave her a double thumbs up and pretended to drool.
"So is Will here?"
"He went out somewhere. He's gonna be back soon, if you wanna hang out. How was the performance?"
"Didn't Will tell you?"
Rick shrugged. "He grunted and went into his room. You know, the way he chatters totally gets on my nerves sometimes--I think a muzzle is in order."
She laughed again. "Mind if I take off my shoes?"
"No, go ahead."
Liz gave a sigh of relief as she wiggled her newly-liberated toes. "I love these shoes," she confided, "but they kill my feet after about two hours."
"I know what you mean," Rick said solemnly. "I have this pair of wooden clogs that I just like cannot wear for more then four hours at a stretch."
She stretched out on the couch as they talked about exams, those past and those upcoming. She told him about Char's latest shirt ("Gone crazy, be back shortly") and he said thoughtfully, "I wonder if I could borrow that for tomorrow. I'm doing Hamlet's 'Alas poor Yorick' soliloquy for Shakespeare class, and the only rule is that we can't do a traditional Shakespearean costume."
"If you fit into any clothing of Char's, she'll kill herself," Liz laughed.
"Why? She's totally hot the way she is."
"Tell her that. She eats salads all the time, and today I don't think she got down more then half. Of course, we spent most of the meal talking MJ out of a blue funk, so that might have had something to do with it."
"Oh? What's wrong with her?"
"Same thing that's been wrong with her for the past month," Liz sighed. "Broken heart."
"Yeah, Chaz has been kinda down too."
Her eyes flashed. "I hope so. It's no more then he deserves."
"You know, I told Will that he was all wrong about MJ, but he--" Rick broke off.
Liz sat up abruptly, her eyes boring into his like green lasers. "Will?" she said in a deadly quiet voice.
"Uh--Liz--you know, you don't know the whole story--"
"Just answer me. Did Will have anything to do with Chaz dumping MJ?"
Rick gulped. "He had a lot to do with it," he said in a muffled voice. "But Liz, maybe you should--"
She was already on her feet. "I have to go."
"Liz--"
"No--I seriously have to go, before he comes back or else I'm going to break both his legs, all his fingers, his arms, and his neck, and then throw him out into oncoming traffic. And then I'll get nasty." She picked up her shoes and stalked towards the door, almost trembling with the force of her anger.
The door opened just as she was reaching for it. Will was standing on the other side of it.
"Liz!"
She just looked at him, then pushed past and continued on down the hall.
He stared after her, wondering what was wrong, and then pursued her. With his longer stride, and with her cramping feet, he caught up to her within a few strides. "Liz," he blurted, "would you go with me to the Christmas Ball?"
She stopped dead, then slowly pivoted on one heel. He retreated a step when he met her eyes, sizzling hot. "The Christmas Ball," she said flatly.
"Yeah. You know, social event, being held Friday night . . ."
"You know something," she said in a low, vicious voice, "if it were the difference between a long, happy life and a slow, painful death, I wouldn't go with you, Will Fitzroy, to the nearest garbage can!." Her voice had steadily risen until she was shouting the last few words. She spun again and nearly ran down the hall, away from him.
He stood there, in the middle of the hallway, his mouth hanging at half-mast.
She'd rejected him.
He couldn't believe it.
She had rejected him!
And she'd left her mittens behind again, too.
Part 18
"Liz?"
"What?"
"Sit down."
"Why?"
"Because I'm getting seasick just watching you pace."
Liz let out a huff of breath and dropped into Char's desk chair. "Happy now?"
"Just stop pouting," Char said blandly, "and I will be." She held up two pairs of earrings. "Which one?"
Liz glanced at them. "The gold."
Char turned to MJ. "The gold?"
"That would be pretty."
Char studied the piece of jewelry in question. "You know, I think you're right." She dropped the copper hoops onto the lamp table and hooked the gold dangles into her ears. "What's up with you, anyway, Liz?"
"Nothing," Liz muttered.
"Are you sure about that?"
"Char--"
"Ok, fine." Char found the strappy high heels she was wearing and sat down on the bed to put them on. "Sooo...absolutely nothing to do with one particular guy?"
Liz shot to her feet. "I am not like this because of Will Fitzroy!" she almost screamed.
MJ jumped, but Char merely looked up, her expression mild. "I was talking about the fact that Miss Staple-Through-Her-Navel dumped Jason yesterday." She leaned down for her other shoe. "I don't know what Will Fitzroy has to do with that."
"What?"
"You hadn't heard?" MJ asked. "Liddie and Katie were talking about it last night."
"Like I listen to a word they say."
"Good point," Char murmured.
MJ picked up a little bag. "Makeup time," she said.
Char's face registered horror. "No."
Liz brightened at the thought of turning the tables on her friend. "Yes."
"But I put powder on!" Char wailed.
"You need more."
"More?"
"Eyeliner--blusher--lipstick--" MJ murmured, taking the items out of her bag.
"Oh, come on! It's just a dumb dance!"
"Yes, and we practically had to blackmail you to get you to go in the first place." The only reason she had, which Liz did not articulate, was that it would be good for MJ to get out more. "Now, submit, or we'll have to put on--" she waggled her brows menacingly "--mascara."
Char's helpless scream echoed throughout the room.
"Wow--this looks cool," Char said when they walked in. She had given in to the makeup, mostly because of the threat of mascara, and looked fantastic.
Liz glanced around. Char had the right of it, she thought. The ballroom looked like a fairyland. Now she understood why most people stayed after exams to attend this.
Strings of Christmas lights lined the walls and draped from the ceiling, blinking gently. Mistletoe balls hung at random intervals, and she saw more then one couple kissing under them. Miniature Christmas trees, cheerily decorated, stood like merry soldiers along the walls. In the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by dancing couples, was a large-size version that reached nearly to the high ceiling. Tilting her head back, Liz could see the glittering star at the top.
"C'mon," she said, hefting her package. "Let's drop these off so we can get in there and get partying."
They headed for the nearby gifts table, already piled high with brightly colored bags and bow-laden boxes--the price of admission. After the ball was over, they would all go to underprivileged kids in the L.A. area. Liz couldn't find a bare spot, so she simply set her silver-wrapped package atop two others and waved to Rick.
He waved back and came over. "Hey, ladies, hot outfits!"
Liz struck a pose, then said, "I like what you've done with the place."
He grinned at her. "Thanks. And before I forget to mention it, thanks for the tip about that abuse shelter. I called over to their office to ask if it was cool to give 'em some of our collection, and the lady about had a heart attack thanking me." Rick was in charge of distributing the gifts.
"It doesn't get much, that's for sure. But it's a really good place--my mom always suggests it to the abused women with kids that she sees."
Hands came around to cover her eyes, and a voice in her ear said, "Guess who?"
She ducked away. "Hi, Jason."
He just grinned at her. "I like the outfit," he said, running his eyes over her sleeveless Oriental-style red dress, which had golden Chinese dragons wending up from knee-length hem to high-button collar.
Liz smiled gamely. Why did the same compliment, coming from Jason, sound so much smarmier then it had coming from Rick?
"Did you bring a gift?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah--almost forgot." He stuck a hand in his pocket and came out with a miniature car, the kind they sold at drugstores for ninety-nine cents, and dropped it casually on the table.
Char, at Liz's side, looked at it critically. "Did you miss the part of the announcement that said it had to be wrapped, or what?"
Jason shrugged. "I had better things to do. The little monsters won't care, anyway."
Rick rolled his eyes and turned away.
"C'mon," Jason said, grabbing Liz's hand. "Let's dance." And before she could refuse, he was dragging her onto the dance floor.
When Will walked up, Rick was muttering to himself as he slung a cheap toy car into a paper bag under the table. "What's with you?"
"Oh, good, you brought a real gift," Rick said, taking the long, flat present from his friend.
"It's freakin' Battleship," Will pointed out. "Don't get too excited."
"At least it's wrapped."
Will stared at him, then shook his head. "You're psycho, man. Where's Liz?" He hated his own weakness for letting the words out, but it didn't stop him from holding his breath for the answer.
"She's out there, dancing," Rick said absently, balancing the board game across the gap between two other presents.
"Where?"
Will's gift started sliding, and Rick caught it and started moving things around so he could put it in a more secure spot. "Over there--by the big tree."
Will looked, and for a second he saw green. Then red.
Christmas colors, to be sure, but jealousy and pure, scorching anger weren't exactly Christmas emotions.
Somehow, he was in the middle of the dance floor, pushing through the mass of dancers, without realizing when he'd started. But it was a thick, boisterous crowd, and by the time he'd worked his way to the Christmas tree, the song had ended and Jason and Liz had disappeared.
The crowd thinned out for a moment, and he saw Liz, with Jason following, working her way to the outer edges of it. Ruthlessly, he elbowed and shouldered his way through, leaving grumbles and the occasional curse in his bruised wake.
Liz was by the refreshment table, studying the layout, and Jason was talking about his exams. "I don't even know how that hack ever got a job here," he was saying, "if he's so rigid--"
"Is it rigid to want the students to actually perform the role assigned to them?" she asked, with artificial pleasantry.
"Whatever--he just put me in that role because he plays favorites, everyone knows it--"
How childish do you get? she thought.
A hand caught her elbow, and a voice said in her ear, "I need to talk to you."
Well, this was all she needed. "What do you want, Will?"
"You'd honestly rather come to this with that twerp rather then with me?"
"Look, contrary to what you may think, you are not God's gift to women everywhere. The only possibility is a gag gift, because you are making me gag on all that arrogance."
"I'm a better choice then him."
It cost her, but she said, "I didn't come with him."
He blinked. "Why didn't you accept me, then?"
"What does it take to make you understand that I plain old don't want you? A guy who would screw up someone else's big chance just because he was jealous--" Just because Jason was a self-centered jerk didn't mean it had been right.
"Hey, I told you--"
Her voice rose, and heads were starting to turn. "A guy who thinks he knows what's best for everyone, even his own best friend--"
"What?"
"Chaz and MJ," she snapped in a lower voice. She didn't want MJ hearing--she hadn't said a word about it to her yet, even though she'd told her about his asking her to the Ball. How could you say something like that? "Did you think I wouldn't find out eventually?"
"Look," Will hissed, "I don't know who blabbed, but I had my reasons."
"Bullcrap. You decided she wasn't good enough for him, and of course since you decided it, it must be so. What a prince. Of course no woman could resist." She shook her head. "Incredible. And you're surprised that I turned you down?"
"If you'd just--"
"If you'd just shut up, you might get out of here without bodily harm."
"You're making a scene."
"That is the most Victorian thing I've ever heard in my life. You know what you are, Will Fitzroy, you're just a little boy who doesn't like sharing his toys."
She started to stride away, and he reached out and grabbed her arm. Without missing a beat, she scooped up a glass of punch and, pivoting on one high heel, flung it full in his face.
He blinked at her, stunned, as bright red liquid dripped down his face and soaked into his white shirt and khakis. "What the hell was that for?"
"For ruining what had started out to be a fun evening. I hope you're happy. You've finally managed to screw up my life too."
After watching Liz walk away towards the doors, Will turned to see Jason standing there, smirking. His eyes narrowed. "What the hell's so funny, jerk?"
"Looks like you're not getting any tonight."
Will reached out, picked Jason up by the front of the shirt, and slammed him into the wall. "You shut your filthy mouth," he snarled. "Liz is too smart to let your paws on her."
"Liz is all grown up. She makes her own decisions."
"And I'm sure it's a switch for you, coming on to a girl who actually has her driver's license." Will leaned in, until their noses were barely an inch apart. "You touch her, or any other girl who doesn't want you around, and I won't just leave you with two black eyes like last time. I'll rip out all your teeth, one by one, and shove 'em up your nose into that echoing cavern you call a brain."
He let Jason crumple to the ground and stalked away. He couldn't stay here anymore. He had some major thinking to do.
Part Nineteen
It was the sun, streaming through his window in pale wintry rays that woke Will. He blinked at the light, then twisted his head around for a look at his watch.
The last time he remembered seeing was after five in the morning, as his head had slid forward onto his folded arms. It was a few minutes to ten now, making about five hours of sleep. More then he'd expected, actually.
He sat up and winced as various aches and pains asserted themselves. It wasn't the first time he'd fallen asleep at the keyboard, but it was the first time that he'd been there playing and thinking, rather then writing.
He flexed his hands as they came back to life, tingling painfully, and rubbed at the imprint of the keys on the undersides of his arms. He'd told his mom he'd be back by one, which, with traveling time, gave him two hours to pack the last bits and pieces he was taking home, and to find Liz and tell her everything that he'd decided on throughout the long, long night.
Will leapt to his feet. What if she'd gone home already?
He grabbed for the phone and dialed her number. Just as a sleepy-sounding someone picked up, he saw a dark-haired figure, bundled in a jacket, walk out the door below and head off towards the wooded path.
Liz.
He hung up without bothering to reply to the "Who is this, please?" on the other end. He only had a few moments to catch Liz and tell her his side of the story, and he wasn't going to waste it yakking with MJ.
He snatched his jacket, shoved his feet into his shoes, and went through the door at a run. On the way out, he grabbed her mittens.
A cold snap had hit the LA area in the past week. Shivering slightly in her jacket, Liz estimated the temperature at forty-five-bone-chilling degrees. Her hands, shoved deep in the pockets, felt like brittle sticks.
She wondered for a moment where her little-used mittens were, then realized with a jolt that they were still in Will's possession.
Dammit, why did she have to think of him?
She hunched her shoulders and trudged down the wooded path, hoping for the peace that this quiet place always brought her. But it was reluctant to come this time, and she knew why.
Will.
It all came back to him--dammit.
Liz couldn't remember ever being more confused in her entire life. On one hand, she hated Will for his high-handedness and his insensitivity to anybody's feelings but his own, but on the other, she kept remembering the way he'd been while they'd worked on the project. Rude, yes. Arrogant, yes. But also talented, hardworking, and even strangely sweet sometimes. And she couldn't reconcile that Will with the one who'd messed around with Jason's career and Chaz and MJ's relationship.
It was enough to make her want to scream.
Would the real Will Fitzroy please stand up?
Running footsteps thudded behind her, and Liz suddenly remembered that people called this the "rape trail." She spun around with her fists up, then left them up when she saw who it was. "You!"
Will skidded to a stop. "God, woman, you walk like you're training for a marathon."
Liz ignored that. "What does it take," she said instead, furiously, "to make you realize that I don't want you around?"
He shoved his hair out of his eyes. His shades, she suddenly realized, were nowhere on his person. He must have really been in a hurry to have left those behind. "I don't blame you," he was saying, and she blinked at him. "But would you just listen for a moment?"
"I'll listen to the sound of you walking away--" she started furiously.
"Would you shut up!" he bellowed, shocking her into silence. "Jeezus, I may be an arrogant control freak, but at least I don't leap to conclusions like a freakin' kangaroo!"
"I don't leap to conclusions--"
"You've been doing it ever since we met."
"I usually try not to make judgements until I've heard all sides of the story--" Except she hadn't, with him, Liz realized, and felt hot shame bubble up from her stomach.
"Then listen to mine," he said in a tired voice. "You can make any decision you want after that, but just give me ten minutes of your valuable time, without any snide comments, and then after that I'll leave you alone."
She looked down at the ground, studied her toes. "All right," she said in a muffled voice.
"Good. This is kind of a long story, so sit if you want to."
She found a boulder with a comfortablish hollow in it, and settled into it.
He remained standing just in front of her, fiddling with an thick, engraved gold band he wore on the middle finger of his left hand. Liz had seen it thousands of times, and had wondered about the engraving--DF and BE, 4/30/77--too many times to be intrigued by it now.
"I guess I should start with Chaz and MJ," he said, half to himself, "since that's a little easier to explain. You've got to understand that I've seen Chaz fall in love with dozens of girls before, and they've always been the same. Pretty, flirty, extroverted . . . MJ was a total departure from the norm. She wasn't anything like any of the others."
Liz opened her mouth, then bit back the angry words. She'd promised, after all. And she was already wishing she hadn't.
Will began to pace, back and forth in front of the rock. "So when Chaz started acting kinda funny--moody and snappish--I figured that she was at the root of it. I mean, she was so quiet and withdrawn all the time--nothing like Chaz's usual chick. She never acted like she even liked Chaz; that I saw. And she kept taking all those gifts--"
Oh, god, MJ, I knew you should have put your foot down about that.
"I couldn't figure her out, until I realized that the only thing about Chaz that attracted her must be the money. I won't deny that I had a part in their breakup, but I didn't tell Chaz to do it. I just told him what I'd seen, and asked him to think about it." He stopped and looked around at her. "I know you're really pissed, but I'd do it again, because I refuse to let Chaz get hurt any way, any how. I did it because I didn't think MJ was right for him, and I still don't."
Liz had to grit her teeth and look away to stop herself from saying something she'd be sorry for later. Or maybe she wouldn't be sorry--but she refused to give him the satisfaction. "And what about Jason?" she said when she was calm again. "What about what you did to him?"
"Jason," he said, and began to pace again. "I don't know what he told you, but I'm going to tell you everything that happened. His dad and my dad were best friends, and my dad was named his godfather when he was christened. He even called my parents Uncle Darren and Aunt Bev, and my sister and I called his parents Uncle Jack and Aunt Maisie. They lived next door, until Uncle Jack got hit by a car when Jason was fifteen and I was seventeen. I literally grew up with him around. We were friends once--I forget that sometimes. He was so different then," he murmured.
"He started acting when he was just a toddler--baby food commercials and stuff like that. My dad handled his career, because it never would have occurred to him not to. My dad was like that." His thumb rubbed restlessly over the DF on his ring, then fell away. "I won't deny that when I was a kid, I got a little jealous from time to time. My dad was real busy, usually, and some weeks, Jason saw more of him then I did. Sometimes we got in fights--me and Jason. But it was kid stuff--stupid, and easily forgotten."
He bent to pick up a dry branch, lying on the ground, and began running it through his hands. "When I got into high school, leaving Jason behind in middle school, I got into friends and activities that left him out. It happens a lot. Anyway, by the time he hit freshman year, we were pretty much strangers. We saw each other, because of our families, but we never talked anymore. I was kind of sorry about it, when I thought about it, but I didn't think about it much." Methodically, he began ripping off the brittle twigs sprouting from the branch.
"The thing with 'The Rumor Mill' happened late last fall--more then a year ago, now. Doug--my cousin, Mackenzie Douglas--was holding auditions, and he gets very picky about who he casts. He brings other people to auditions a lot of times, just to give him a different perspective. Don't make the mistake of thinking that he doesn't have the final say. Oh, boy, does he."
Runs in the family, then, Liz thought, but didn't say it.
"My dad wasn't doing too well, but he wanted Jason included in the auditions. Doug did it as more of a favor to Dad then anything else--Jason was the only client Dad was still handling."
"Why?" Liz couldn't help asking. Was the dynasty on the verge of collapse?
Will looked at her, somberly. "He was dying of lung cancer."
Dying...
"I--I'm sorry."
Will shrugged and turned away. "You didn't have anything to do with it," he said in a taut, brittle voice, and cleared his throat. "Anyway, Jason was included in the cattle call--you know what that is."
Of course Liz knew--she had a cousin who was a struggling actor. Dave had attended literally hundreds of the preliminary auditions, packed in like a sardine with innumerable other possible choices.
"He made callbacks, but then so did about a hundred and fifty other guys. Doug likes keeping his options open. He got through another screening, about a hundred guys this time, but Doug was toying with not calling him back again. He'd just about decided not to, and was asking me my opinion of Jason's acting. I'd sat in on that callback, and I told him the same thing he was thinking himself. The part was too deep, too multi-layered for Jason, and besides that, he didn't want it. He wanted the other part--the pretty boy, who gets all the girls."
"Andrew," Liz murmured.
"Yeah--Andrew. I don't know if you've ever seen an actor play a part he doesn't want to be playing. That disdain shows up like a bad note in a chord--just screws everything up. Anyway, after I said it, I got up to leave, and I saw Jason standing there. I don't know how much he heard. I don't know if he heard all of it and conveniently forgot some parts, or just part of it and convinced himself that I had more power over Doug then I really do. But he never let me forget that I'd cost him what he became convinced had been the chance of a lifetime. And he took his revenge."
Will sighed and rubbed at his temple with one hand. "My dad died in the middle of December, right after the whole mess with the movie. He didn't know about what had happened--by that time, he was in the hospital, on twenty-four hour life support. I couldn't have told him any of it and lived with myself. Dad still had a blind spot about Jason. I was always kind of glad that there was no possible way he could have known Jason didn't come to his funeral. It was on a Saturday afternoon, and Jason had better things to do." Will's voice was cold and bitter, and Liz huddled deeper into her jacket.
"Dad left about a hundred thousand dollars to Jason, for his tuition here, mostly, and for support while he was searching for his big break. Jason went out on a spending spree with it--bought himself a car, among other things. I don't know how he's paying tuition, and actually I don't care." A twig tumbled to the ground.
"I spent most of the spring and part of the summer with another cousin of mine in New York. It started out as trying to figure out if composing was what I really wanted to do, because I'd tried so many other things before. I got an audition with Longbourn's rep in New York just under the line, then spent until the beginning of August absorbing everything I could from JC's music clients. Then I came home."
Liz's hands reached for each other and knotted themselves together. This was the worst part of the whole story--she could tell by his voice.
"The day after I got home, I woke up to the sound of my little sister, Tina, puking up her guts in the bathroom. Tina's five years younger then me--fifteen, nearly sixteen now. She's my only sibling, and I've always babied her and spoiled her."
Incredible--Will Fitzroy's weak point is his baby sister.
"I thought she was sick--the flu or something--and tried to talk her into going to the hospital. She just burst into tears and told me everything. She was pregnant. And Jason Ford was the father."
The branch broke, with a crack like a gunshot.
"He'd started paying attention to her at his graduation party, which was after I'd left. She told me she was dazzled--he was so cute, and so charming, and all her friends were in love with him, and she'd never thought he'd really notice her 'cuz he'd known her for so long. They started going out a week later, and--well, the obvious happened. Obvious when it comes to Jason, anyway."
Liz bit her lip, remembering.
"I asked her if Jason knew, and she told me yes. She told me he knew, and he didn't want it, and they were going to go have an abortion that afternoon."
The two halves of the brittle branch slammed against the ground.
"I told her no way."
"What?" Liz burst out.
"Before you say it's a woman's choice, I'll say I agree with that. And I'll also say that this wasn't--Tina's choice, that is. It was all Jason's idea, and he was pressuring her like crazy to do it. You don't know Tina--she's the kind of kid who cries over dead animals on the road and carries spiders out of the house in a Kleenex. The only thing she's ever voluntarily killed is time. To have had a hand in destroying her own baby would have torn her apart. It was tearing her apart."
Liz stared at the ground again, feeling her body start to tremble.
"The rest of the story is kind of mundane. I called the clinic and canceled the appointment, and then I went after Jason and beat him to a pulp. Then I told him that if he ever went near my sister or her baby, what I'd just dealt him would look like a day in the park compared to what I would do to him. Then he told me why he'd done it. He'd never cared about Tina--screwing my precious baby sister was just the best way to get back at me. Knocking her up had been an accident, but he didn't care, as long as it hurt me more. Those were his exact words."
"Oh, God," Liz whispered.
"And that's it. We avoid each other now, which is probably the best thing for everyone, especially Tina. Her pregnancy is going okay--some problems, but nothing major. It's mostly because she's so--so young."
His voice, steady throughout the recital, cracked on the word "young."
He cleared his throat roughly, and looked down at Liz. Her head was bowed, her shoulders hunched, her fingers ice-white and tangled together. He knelt, pried her chilled hands apart--she didn't resist, which surprised him a little--and gently put the mittens, warm from his body, on them. Then he rose. "Can you--can you please not tell anyone about what I've told you?"
"Of course," she said in a hollow voice. "Of course."
"Thanks." He started off down the path, then turned. "Liz?"
She lifted her head. "Yeah?"
"Merry Christmas, and all that."
"Yeah. You too."