Darcy waited impatiently until his security expert gave him the okay; then he marched into the building, his long black leather coat flaring out around his tall frame.
Caroline was waiting for him in the offices, examining papers on her desk. As he entered, she looked up and said firmly, “Good morning, Darcy. You are going on Top 20 today. Don’t try to get out of it.”
Darcy resembled an annoyed cat as he growled, “I hate Top 20. I hate the Juliya. I hate Allison. I hate performing like a monkey before all those drooling teenagers.”
“And they hate you,” Caroline replied, then she smiled, “but you are going.” She saw his face settling into his usual sulk and returned her attention to her papers.
“Where is Charles?”
“Watching LBS rehearse,” Caroline answered, expecting the question. “Slurry might want to rehearse as well, being that you haven’t played in three weeks.”
He gave her his trademark glower and walked into his office without comment. Twenty minutes later, Rachel left the office and Caroline was called in. Darcy’s office decor was purely functional. This was where Darcy the businessman reigned. It was a side of him he did not enjoy, so he spent as little time as he could in it. The premium equipment contained in the office was modern and expensive but entirely without soul.
“You have some papers for me?” he said without looking up.
Caroline passed a few folders over. “When are we expected to see the band?” he asked as he flipped through the documents.
“They will call for us when they’re ready,” Caroline answered. She watched him as he worked, waiting. Whether he was being Darcy the businessman or Fitzwilliam the artist, it was her job to wait on him, which she did with a loyalty that went beyond her job description. Luckily for her, Caroline was patient. She would wait for him forever.
The ringing of the phone interrupted her musings. Caroline reached across the desk for it when she saw that Darcy wasn’t moving. “Yes? Okay, we will be right there.”
She hung up and told Darcy, “They’re ready for us.”
He nodded and led the way to the next floor. They stopped at the smaller studio, where they found Richard talking to a beautiful petite woman holding a violin. “Will,” he said, a charming smile on his face, “you remember Kay, don’t you?”
In fact, Darcy did not remember her at all, although he did have to admit she was quite beautiful, and he found the knowledge that she taught yoga momentarily intriguing. He shook the lady’s hand then led Richard away to the larger studio. He found Charles waiting by the door. “Will! Richard! Wait till you see them; they’re wonderful!” he bubbled and led the way into the large rehearsal area.
Darcy found it difficult to credit Charles’s objectivity, but he had confidence in the band. He turned to look at them and blinked. For a moment he hadn’t recognized the trio.
Jane was the least altered, and it was she whom Darcy latched onto first. Her hair was now platinum blonde and her makeup was improved, with dark red lipstick, pale skin, and highly arched brows. On her left wrist she wore a length of rhinestone bracelets, her right arm free to play her instrument. She was wearing a red halter top that showed off her fine shoulders and her flat stomach. Her hips were circled by a white belt that was holding up a pair of low-slung jeans, which were peppered with rhinestones.
Charlotte was behind her drum kit, but Darcy could see her from where he stood. Her hair was even shorter now and had been dyed a dark turquoise blue, so it looked more like the feathers of an exotic bird than hair. Her makeup was dark, emphasizing her eyes. She wore a white tank top and black plastic bands around her wrists, exposing the colorful tattoo on her upper right arm.
But Elizabeth really captured Darcy’s attention. He dimly heard Charles announce, “Ladies and gentlemen, Long Borne Suffering,” as he watched her. She flashed a coy smile to the small audience and she began playing her acoustic guitar. She was wearing black leather pants that laced closed and a vibrant red shirt that clung to every curve. Her hair, which Darcy was sure he had never seen down before, was long and loose around her shoulders, its soft waves showing off the red highlights in the rich warm brown. It looked like she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all, but her eyes were huge and vivid and her lips full and red. The only jewelry she wore was a large silver pendant that hung between her breasts.
As striking as her appearance was, his attention was totally captured when she started to sing. Her voice was dark, rich, and full. Low and sexy, he wasn’t sure he had even heard the lyrics. Darcy found himself trapped in her eyes. They were so large and bright, challenging him with intelligence; he realized she was staring straight at him as she began her next verse.
Darcy could tell she was singing to him and he could not withdraw from her. His eyes devoured every inch of her as she strutted confidently over the stage area, her body swaying in a way that spoke of both sexuality and self-possession. He remained perfectly still until the song was over, when Jane immediately started the next one without a pause.
Hearing Elizabeth’s sister broke his trance, but he watched her still, fascinated. Darcy was struck by the differences in the two women. Jane’s voice expressed innocence while Elizabeth’s spoke of experience. Elizabeth played along with Jane’s singing, adding her voice for backup but completely comfortable with sharing the spotlight. Back and forth between the two women the performance went, ending thirty minutes later with Jane’s “Everything You Are.”
When they were done, Darcy approached Elizabeth directly. “You can sing,” he said in a tone of disbelief.
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, her voice puzzled. “I sing and play guitar.”
“I had no idea,” Darcy said softly.
“Didn’t,” Elizabeth frowned and started over, “didn’t you hear us perform at Meryton?”
“Yes, but you didn’t sing there.”
“Yes I did!” she protested. “If you missed me, you must have come really late to the show.”
Darcy began to get the uncomfortable feeling that he was making a fool of himself. Stiffly he replied, “Yes, we were late that evening.”
“But didn’t you listen to our CD?”
“No, I did not,” he answered her haughtily. “Frankly, it doesn’t matter to me what you sound like in a studio. We needed a band who could play live.”
“And what do you think?” Elizabeth asked him, her eyes demanding an immediate answer from him.
He stared at her for a beat. “I’ve told you before, Elizabeth, you’re very talented.”
“Darcy! Elizabeth! We’re going out to lunch to celebrate.” Elizabeth jerked, as if startled by Charles’s voice. She looked away from Darcy to the safety of her friends.
“No, Charles, I’m going to stay here,” he demurred. “I want to practice.”
“Will!” Richard protested. “Come on! We’re going to get Indian.”
Darcy refused, despite the protests of his friends. Finally, Caroline offered to bring him back something and the group moved out in a noisy cheerful mass.
Darcy shut the door, opened the case to his Paul Reid Smith, and plugged it in. For the next forty minutes, he played without thinking, processing emotions he didn’t care to examine or understand in the way he knew how. He felt troubled and frustrated, and he sought release of these feelings in the privacy of his music. His eyes closed and his breathing grew deeper as he focused on the sensations in his hands. His fingers moved of their own volition, without thought. They gently loved the instrument, caressing the strings, squeezing them tightly then releasing them, his fingertips dancing over the frets to cause the silver strands to vibrate at the rate he desired. The music that came out of this communication between man and guitar would never be heard by another soul. It was his alone. It was a song of yearning, but even he could not name it as such. He just knew the music was him at that particular moment in time.