Darcy in Hollywood

Charlie nodded.

Fortunately, Darcy was familiar with this theater. Keeping his head down, he slipped on a pair of sunglasses from his breast pocket and wove his way through the crowds, arriving at a side door that opened onto a nearly vacant hallway.

He could breathe more easily here. The hallway led to a lobby, which had a bar on this side, tucked away in the corner. A drink. A drink was what he needed.

There were only a few people seated at the bar when Darcy arrived. An older couple sat at one end, talking softly to each other. A paunchy man near the middle of the bar stared morosely into a beer. And at the other end was…

Elizabeth.

Chapter Thirteen

Darcy hadn’t even recognized her at first glance. The slim-fitting black gown revealed more of her skin than he had ever seen before, and her blue-green eyes sparkled. But everything else about her was just…wrong. Her normally impeccable hair was disheveled, with a few strands hanging into her eyes, and her face was flushed.

Unease prickled along his scalp. Something was terribly wrong.

His first impulse was to leave her alone in her distress; she wouldn’t want him to see her like this. He would be intruding. And now obviously wasn’t the time to ask for her forgiveness. But she was sitting at the end of a bar, swathed in shadows and completely isolated. Maybe he could help her somehow.

Of course, he didn’t know how. He didn’t know why she was out here when the rest of her family was in the theater. And he’d never been much good at this sort of thing. He never knew the right thing to say—not without someone to write him the lines, anyway. Still, he simply couldn’t leave her here on her own.

“Elizabeth?” he said tentatively as he approached her stool.

She regarded him with a glassy-eyed stare. “Darcy. Will. Will Darcy. Hello.” She raised her champagne flute in a toast and then took a big swig. Had she been at the bar for the entire premiere? Had she missed the first showing of the movie she’d believed in and fought for?

He settled on the stool beside hers. “I was sorry to hear about your sister’s accident. But I’m glad she’s on the mend.”

Elizabeth nodded slowly and solemnly. “She’s going to live; that’s what the doctors say. Lydia will live!” She held up her glass in a mockery of a toast and finished off the champagne.

“How many of those have you had?”

“I don’t know.” She pushed the glass toward the bartender so he could fill it up again. “I lost count, but I definitely need another one.”

He touched her wrist gently. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re not the boss of me!” She scowled at him. “I’m still upright, and I can see straight. Obviously, I need another one.”

Darcy stifled a groan. She wanted to get drunk? How long had this been going on? She was usually so controlled that it was all the more disturbing to see her trying to flee her demons so frantically. “Maybe you should have coffee instead.”

“If I wanted to be sober, I’d be having milkshakes or something!” she said indignantly. “If that’s your goal, you can just-just skedaddle.” She made a shooing motion. “Go.”

Darcy had just found Elizabeth; he wasn’t about to lose her again for any reason. He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, you’re right. I’m not the boss of you.” She subsided with a grumble.

He watched helplessly as the bartender, a skinny guy with a dark brown mustache, poured her another glass of champagne. She took it, staring in fascination. “See the way the bubbles move?” She pointed. “Up, up, up and then pop!” Giggles punctuated her words.

“Fascinating,” he agreed dryly.

A long silence followed. Elizabeth alternated between watching the bubbles in her glass as if hypnotized and drinking the amber liquid in small sips.

Darcy considered various neutral topics of conversation. “Why champagne?” he asked finally.

“We’re celebrating!” she said unnecessarily loudly.

Darcy took in the dark circles under her eyes, her bedraggled hair, and the fact that she was wearing only one shoe (the other was under her stool). “Celebrating what?”

She took another long sip and burped. “The success of the movie!” she said as if it should be obvious. “And my sister is going to live.”

“Those are both reasons to celebrate.” Darcy refrained from observing that he’d seen happier people at funerals.

She shoved her glass at the bartender for another refill. Darcy took the opportunity to look around for someone to help. A family member. A friend. Anyone. She so clearly needed help, and Darcy was wholly unqualified to offer it. However, the only people in the lobby were strangers.