Eligible (54 page)

HAM LED A
CrossFit workout in the courtyard at nine in the morning; he had told Liz the night before that anyone was welcome, including parents, and that he’d modify the exercises to be compatible with the participants’ current fitness regimes or lack thereof. But no workout could have been modified enough to accommodate the dry-mouthed, head-pounding state in which Liz awakened. She didn’t attend the class; she didn’t attend the midday lunch for the two families; and it was only a short while before the rehearsal dinner, which also was to happen in the courtyard, that she forced herself out of bed. The rehearsal dinner was supposed to be casual; even bathing suits, the producers had mentioned a number of times, were acceptable.

Liz applied makeup, drank a cup of black coffee she brewed in the bathroom, and was visited by the same production assistant and a different sound guy from the previous night.

That the rehearsal dinner functioned both as a real rehearsal for the wedding and as an event that was itself being recorded for the entertainment of an audience represented a brain-hurting conundrum, but Liz’s brain hurt for other reasons, and she was mostly preoccupied with which hair-of-the-dog beverage she’d consume as soon as the walk-through of the ceremony concluded. While making chitchat with Mr. Bingley, she acquired from a passing tray a glass of white wine. Having learned of her job, Mr. Bingley was confiding that he’d always yearned to write a novel. With wine in hand, Liz’s prospects for the evening improved greatly.

Though Liz wore a sundress rather than a bathing suit, Lydia, Kitty, Ham, Shane, and Caroline all swam. (Liz attempted not to stare at Ham’s chest, but insofar as she did, she noted that it was impressively, masculinely defined; a trail of hair ran above and below his navel, and the only evidence of his previously female body were two thin red scars beneath male-looking nipples.) The women all wore bikinis that Liz assumed were courtesy of their own welcome baskets; Caroline’s was white, and at one point, she emerged from the water, approached Darcy—he wore khaki pants and a long-sleeved button-down shirt open at the collar—and was clearly trying to convince him to join her in the pool. He shook his head; she shivered sexily; he still shook his head.

Jane, who was standing next to Liz, said, “Are you planning to go in?”

“I’m afraid I’d accidentally become the role model for American women who shouldn’t wear bikinis but do.”

Jane pointed at her belly. “Then heaven help me.”

“Oh, please,” Liz said. “You get a free pass.”

There was a multitude of topics Liz wished to discuss with Jane, and no way of broaching them with any confidence that they wouldn’t later be broadcast. Was Jane having a horrible time or did she find this whole spectacle funny? Did she actually like the Bingleys or was she just pretending? Were their parents behaving, and had their mother yet delivered any on-camera rants? To Liz’s amusement, Mr. Bennet and Mr. Bingley had discovered a shared fondness for cribbage and cigars and apparently had spent most of the day at a table in the courtyard, puffing and playing.

A chicken fight commenced, with Lydia on Ham’s shoulders and Kitty on Shane’s, as Liz said to Jane, “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

Jane smiled. “I’m ready to start living the rest of my life.”

Because she found it difficult not to, Liz again looked directly at the camera and audio guys standing five feet from them. “You’re welcome,” she said.

SHE WAS CROSSING
the lobby with Mary and Mr. Bennet, all of them headed toward the elevators to return to their rooms after the rehearsal dinner’s conclusion, when Liz heard her name being called. As she turned, she was surprised to see Caroline Bingley walking briskly behind her. “Go ahead,” Liz said to her father and sister, and, warily, she waited for Caroline. The other woman had changed from her white bikini into dark jeans and a fitted gray hoodie sweatshirt that looked to be cashmere.

When Caroline was still a few feet away, Liz said, “What do you want?”

“You’re completely wrong for Darcy,” Caroline said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Liz. It’s obvious you’ve had your sights set on him since that awful Fourth of July barbecue. But he wasn’t available then, and he’s not now.”

“Okay.” What on earth, Liz wondered, had inspired this confrontation?

“Your sister is lucky to be marrying Chip,” Caroline said. “Very lucky. Don’t let it give you any ideas. I know your family thinks of itself as, like”—Caroline made air quotes—“ ‘Cincinnati high society.’ But that’s an oxymoron. And Darcy and I go way back. There’s always been an understanding that we’d end up together. We have this intense chemistry, and the moment is finally right for us to be serious.”

Liz smiled in as nasty a way as she could manage. “How wonderful for both of you.”

“If Darcy goes for you, it’ll only be because he’s lost perspective living in Ohio. It’s like when people start sympathizing with their kidnappers.”

If Darcy goes for you
—were Darcy and Caroline not a couple? Because if they were, then this display was even more unhinged than if they weren’t.
I’m sure you’ve heard from my brother about him and Caroline,
Liz thought, and the revelation of her own foolishness was like a clap of thunder in her brain. Upon receiving that text from Georgie, she had, of course, wondered,
Heard what?
But she’d quickly gone from wondering to suspecting that she knew to being certain. Never would she have leapt to a conclusion this way when writing an article, never would she have allowed a fact to be alluded to without clarification. Trust but verify—that’s what she’d have done. Yet not once in the past three months had she even attempted verification. How sloppily, and with what slim evidence, she had embraced the disappointment of her own desires. Why on earth had she been so ready for, so complicit in, the denial of what she most wanted?

“But if Darcy goes for you,” Liz said slowly to Caroline, “would that be a more suitable match? No one would be embarrassing themselves?”

“Listen,” Caroline said. “It’s not a secret that your dad bankrupted your family. Your mom and your sisters are idiots, and now you have a tranny brother-in-law. You’re not girlfriend material for Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“Let me see if I understand. Your brother is a reality-TV star, which you set in motion. But
my
family is too tacky for Darcy?”

“The TV stuff is business.
Eligible
has just been a way of establishing Chip’s brand and setting him up for his own projects.”

“In your defense,” Liz said, “I can tell that you believe what you’re saying, even if it’s completely illogical. But either way, Darcy is a grown man who makes his own decisions.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “Are you guys already together?”

Liz laughed. “How could we be when it would be such a breach of propriety? It would almost be worse than wearing linen after Labor Day. Maybe as bad as using a salad fork for your main course.”

“You find yourself very clever,” Caroline said. “We all know that about you.”

“I’m going to bed now,” Liz said. “Good night, Caroline.” But Liz had taken only a few steps toward the elevators when she turned back. “By the way,” she said, “we’re delighted to have Ham join our family, and no one uses the word
tranny
anymore. Or at least no one with good breeding does.”

It was inside the elevator, during the short ride up to the third floor, that Liz remembered that she had been mic’d for the entire conversation.

IN THE HOTEL
room, Liz grabbed her cellphone from the bureau where she’d left it before the rehearsal dinner and searched frantically for the text from Georgie. After rereading it (
I’m sure you’ve heard from my brother about him and Caroline and now I feel very awkward about the conversation you and I had. I really wish I’d bitten my tongue
)
,
Liz typed hastily.

Georgie
so sorry I never responded to this. It was great to meet u too. I know this is random but what did u mean when u said u were sure I’d heard from your brother about him & Caroline?

During the next ten minutes, Liz was so addled and impatient that she began doing jumping jacks to distract herself; after a few, as a courtesy to whoever was staying in the room under hers, she switched to sit-ups. Although she hadn’t smoked in years, she was considering trying to find a cigarette when, at last, Georgie’s response arrived:
I meant the car accident. Your Kathy de Bourgh article was awesome! I knew it would be.

What car accident?
Liz replied.
Thanks about article!

Georgie’s subsequent response came in three separate bubbles.

Not sure how much you already know,
the first one read,
but coming back from hike that day, another driver hit my brother’s car in foothills and Caroline’s collarbone fractured.

The second text read,
It wasn’t Fitzy’s fault but he felt responsible since he was driving. Caroline NOT happy the rest of the weekend. I think she is better by now!

The third text read,
You’re all at Chip and your sister’s wedding, right? So funny to think Fitzy will be on eligible. I told him to get a selfie w/ Rick Price. He will probably “forget” so pls remind him!

Did the fact of Caroline having sustained an injury mean, Liz wondered, that she herself ought to feel more compassion and less loathing for the other woman?

Just to confirm,
Liz wrote,
your brother & Caroline aren’t a couple now & haven’t been since we were all in Atherton?

Nope!
Georgie responded.

This, Liz decided, was the reason she shouldn’t loathe Caroline: not because she wasn’t loathsome but because she wasn’t Darcy’s. And then Liz understood with an abrupt urgency what she needed to tell Darcy and—even more important—what she needed to ask him. Indeed, the urgency was so great that she considered texting him immediately, or just figuring out which room he was staying in and knocking on the door. But surely such a conversation ought not to be initiated impulsively.

Thanks Georgie,
she wrote.
I’ll see what I can do to get a pic of Rick & your brother.

THOUGH CHIP’S TEARS
during the exchange of vows weren’t a surprise, their duration and magnitude was a spectacle unlike any Liz had ever witnessed. They began the moment Jane appeared, following the procession of her sisters and soon-to-be sisters-in-law: She was resplendent in an ivory silk organza gown; her blond hair was pulled into a loose chignon; she wore a tulle veil delicately dotted with freshwater pearls; and she carried a bouquet of white roses. On her feet were gold satin peep-toe pumps whose heels, Liz thought with some consternation, hadn’t been designed to support someone in Jane’s current condition, though it was undeniable that they contributed to an overall presentation of exquisite and even magical beauty; Jane resembled nothing so much as a pregnant angel.

She was accompanied down the aisle by Mr. Bennet, in a new tuxedo. In his suitcase, he had brought to California the Brooks Brothers one he’d acquired in 1968 as the Cincinnati Bachelors Cotillion escort of a debutante named Peggy Isborne, and inducements from various young and attractive members of
Eligible
’s wardrobe department had been required to convince him that he’d be even more dashing were his formal wear updated. The bridesmaids wore lavender chiffon dresses with plum-colored sashes, and though Liz remained generally wary of
Eligible,
she appreciated that the wardrobe department had chosen different cuts of the dress to most flatter each woman’s body; hers was sleeveless, with a V-neck and a knee-length skirt.