Jane continues knitting like a madwoman.
There’s only one poster on her wall that I recognize. It’s bright pink and decked out with 1950s-era home appliances and housewares: a vacuum cleaner plugged in somewhere out of frame and an icebox with a giant, metal latch handle taking center stage. A Pacific island-inspired floor lamp completes the picture.
I only recognize that poster because of the band name—The Cure—but the rest of her posters are nonsense to me. Sisters of Mercy? Bauhaus? HIM?
On the other hand, I always love to take in the Celtic tapestries and Jane’s own drawings of sprites and pixies hanging on the walls and pasted to the ceiling. She sometimes drags a piece or two of décor to her workspace as show props and to add a bit of character, but her actual room encapsulates her passion for the arts.
“Hi, my name is Lizzie…”
“Hey, Lizzie!”
She’s quick. Let’s see if she knows where I’m going with this.
“…and I’m a Darcy-holic.”
I hear her knitting needles stop moving for half a second. They start up again before she speaks.
“Fucking figured that’s where you were.”
“Jane, are you…”
I can’t finish, I know the answer.
“That’s an open-ended one, Lizzie. Let me sleep on it.”
Fuck this shit, I’ll ask anyway.
“Aren’t you happy for me? Even just a little bit?”
She stops her knitting again, for less than half a second this time, before tearing back into it with purpose.
“I’m on your side, love. Always. I’m looking out for you, and the rest of us. But this is our new boss you’re fucking around with.”
I pivot my head to look back at her directly. She’s still going at it. Who knows what that scarf is really for.
“Still an assumption, Jane. Even if it’s happening for sure, he’s not the boss yet.”
“I’m not being abstract with this shit. I’m talking about William Darcy, your new man-toy. You don’t know about his rep? Not at all?”
I shift positions, leaning forward now. The velvet-covered cushions are starting to get scratchy.
“I have no idea. Seriously. I just met him for the first time when he came by with Hawk.”
This gets Jane to stop knitting and drop the whole mess in her lap.
“And before that?”
“No idea.”
“Well, shit. He’s well-known in the industry. You know, the industry where people generally fuck each other all the time? Darcy doesn’t do that. He’s famous for not doing that. He just does not fuck employees. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, Lizzie. It just means it’s going to end. The more wrapped up you get, the more that’s gonna hurt.”
My eyes are cast down on a sparkly silver shag carpet. I don’t even want to consider what she’s saying.
It must be different this time. Darcy can’t just cut it off for some goddamn business deal. I know Jane would never buy that, though. I go for my backup argument.
“Hawk wants to buy all of Bennet Babes for himself. His pockets are deep enough, and that dude is determined.”
Jane takes the cue to get back to her scarf-making, speaking with her eyes fixed on her work.