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Everyone laughed, charmed as always by Charlie’s aw-shucks demeanor and self-deprecating wit. The guy sometimes suffered from actor-itis: the almost pathological compulsion to have other people notice him. That had never been Darcy’s problem—he was happy to do his job and go home at the end of the day—but the affliction was surprisingly common in Hollywood.
Lydia Bennet introduced herself with a great deal of hair flipping and giggling—and a thorough recitation of every movie she had ever appeared in, devoting much time to her “greatest achievement”: a bit part in her father’s recent movie, My Hovercraft is Full of Eels.
“I’ve been rehearsing my lines for In the Shadows,” Lydia announced with a smile in Darcy’s direction. He did not return it; every movie set had at least one starlet who thought the way to fame was through his bed. “I think it’s vitally important to try out different line readings in advance.” She assumed a very solemn expression—presumably getting into character—and intoned, “That will be $17.50,” closely followed by, “We don’t sell meatloaf.” The earnest “emotion” in her voice required Darcy to hide a smile.
With the exception of Jane Bennet, the entire family seemed completely devoid of talent—or even common sense.
Then it was Darcy’s turn to introduce himself. “I’m William Darcy, playing Eric Thorne, and I’m looking forward to working on this project.” No other introduction was necessary. He didn’t need to be witty or charming or self-deprecating; they all knew who he was.
He pretended not to notice the cast members exchanging knowing looks. Yes, Palm Springs hadn’t been that long ago. Yes, it would be the first thing you’d find if you googled Darcy’s name. Yes, he had crashed his Ferrari that morning. But Darcy wanted quite desperately to have his life amount to more than just his latest scandal.
Of course, Palm Springs was the primary reason he was at this table. So perhaps it was disingenuous of him to pretend it didn’t define him.
Once the introductions were finished, the cast read through the screenplay. They were a talented bunch for the most part, aside from Lydia as the wooden meatloaf girl. The story had a few charming, laugh-out-loud moments that Darcy had forgotten about and some well-written love scenes with Caroline that he was dreading. But the experience reminded Darcy of what he liked about the screenplay in the first place.
After the event ended, Darcy performed his obligatory schmoozing with Tom and Roberta—the only ones worth chatting up—and repeatedly exclaimed how awesome this film would be. Of course, Darcy would have said that even if they’d been gearing up to film Captain Succotash V: Revenge of the Lima Beans.
Darcy budgeted five minutes for this distasteful task, knowing it was the maximum he could endure before rapidly descending from pleasant into snide and then glacial. Chitchat was simply intolerable. He’d had to endure it when he was new to Hollywood, but now it was better left for people with time to burn and careers to build. Darcy could tell people what he wanted them to do. Small talk was pointless.
Unfortunately, he got trapped by Tom Bennet, listening to the man drone on about the problems he’d encountered with special effects for War of the Worms.
“Worm genitalia aren’t easy to work with. I bet you didn’t even know they have genitals. Well, let me tell you—”
Someone grabbed Darcy by the elbow; he didn’t resist. Charlie made an apologetic face at Tom. “I’m sorry, I need Will for a minute.”
His friend drew him out of the conference room and into the empty corridor. “This better take more than a minute,” Darcy threatened his friend, “or I will tell your sister what really happened with the EZ Bake Oven and the stapler when you were eight.”
Charlie gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
“As long as you don’t make me go back in there and talk about worm genitalia.” Darcy shook his head in disgust. “Sometimes I can’t believe this is my life.”
He stared disconsolately at the scarred surface of the yellowing hallway. If he’d stayed with the French Resistance movie, he could have been filming in the glorious, state-of-the-art Perspective Pictures studio instead of crammed into Worldwide’s lot—the best that Tom and the other producers could afford to rent.
“Dude, this is a lot of negative energy. We should go somewhere to lighten the mood.” Charlie snapped his fingers as if a thought had just occurred to him; Darcy wasn’t fooled. “I know! Peter Moore has a nightclub opening tonight. He’d freak if I brought you.” Darcy’s presence at a new nightclub would give it terrific publicity and draw crowds, while being Darcy’s wingman would give Charlie the pick of the best booze and the hottest women.
“I don’t know.” Darcy didn’t actually enjoy the club scene all that much. “Josh wants me to stay out of the spotlight.”
“C’mon!” Charlie leaned forward so he could whisper in Darcy’s ear. “There will be Victoria’s Secret models.”
All the attention from women had been heady and exciting when Darcy first achieved superstar status. It was easy to believe you were hot stuff when women were falling at your feet, although he hadn’t taken advantage of what was offered nearly as often as everyone believed. But he’d soon grown weary of the hot-and-cold running women and everything else that came with that scene. He’d tried longer-term relationships, but it hadn’t been much better. Everyone just wanted the glamour and the proximity to fame. They didn’t know Darcy or want to know him.
Nobody had even caught his eye for the longest time. God, that was a depressing thought; he was too young to be that jaded.
Nobody…except Elizabeth Bennet.
Huh.
She did have intriguing eyes. And she hadn’t fallen at his feet—well, tripping didn’t count.
But she was…difficult and sarcastic. Who wanted that? And he couldn’t imagine walking into a film premiere with her on his arm. No, it was just an idle thought.
“C’mon!” Charlie’s shoulder bumped Darcy’s. “You’re too young to stay home at night.”
What else would he do with himself tonight? Play a video game? Nap? Sit alone with his thoughts? Darcy shuddered. “I’ll think about it. Text me the info.”
“You’re slowing down, man,” Charlie said as his thumbs flew over his phone. “Should we get you a prescription for Viagra?” Darcy didn’t rise to the bait, a bit bored with the teasing.
But Charlie wasn’t finished. As a group of chattering actors pushed their way through the conference room door, he pulled Darcy further down the corridor and lowered his voice. “What do you think of the prospects for hooking up?”
