It was long after 9:00 p.m. when the black GMC Denali pulled into the club’s crowded parking lot. The engine shut down, the doors opened, and three men and a woman exited the vehicle. The parking lot was full of cars; the sign announced that this was the Meryton Public House. The building had once been a chain restaurant of some kind but had long ago been converted to a nightclub and had numerous additions built. It was currently attempting a southwestern style of decor, but the result was simply shabby.
“Such an exotic location, Darcy,” the woman murmured softly over the shoulder of the tall man in front of her. “Are you quite sure we will be safe?”
Fitzwilliam Darcy turned his head, and his dark eyes fixed hers with a look.
Caroline allowed herself a brief smile before they were interrupted by the sharp staccato of high heels clicking across the asphalt.
“Christ! Are you people ever on time?” Anne de Bourgh swore through clenched teeth. She was a small, slender woman, with short dark hair and a stylish yet severe suit of black leather.
“Sorry, Anne.” Charles Bingley was the only one who felt obliged to reply. Not because he was the driver, rather that he was the only one who cared at this point.
“Caro, who are we seeing tonight?” Darcy asked, his boredom evident.
Caroline Bingley smiled inwardly, while shaking her head slightly. It didn’t matter that she had emailed all this information to the boys already. They hadn’t read it, just as she knew they wouldn’t. They were so predictable. “Tonight’s band is called Long Borne Suffering,” she said as brightly as possible.
“Some kind of Goth group?” Darcy asked dryly.
“No, actually, it’s a girl band. Two sisters and a friend.” Caroline consulted her notes. “Here we are: Jane and Elizabeth Bennet and Charlotte Lucas.”
“Can we just go?” Anne snapped.
The group followed the shorter woman to the club’s entrance. There was no need to comment on Anne’s behavior; they were all feeling the pressure that was provoking her. It was a ridiculous situation they found themselves in. Slurry, the hottest ticket across the country this summer, had a problem, a serious one. Their opening act had left following the Asian leg of the tour, and no amount of begging or threats had been able to bring them back. This was the third act Slurry had lost, and the group had gained a reputation in the process. The word was out that Slurry was impossible to tour with. Rumor had it that they were arrogant, demanding, and out of control. Consequently every act on their “A” list was suddenly unavailable.
Hence they found themselves in the wilds of northern Westchester County, New York, looking at the best of the “B” list: groups that were good enough but hadn’t broken through yet and were hungry enough to risk the trauma of touring with Slurry.
This was the third band in as many nights they had auditioned, and the situation was getting critical. The tour resumed in just two weeks, barely enough time to get a new act ready. Besides that, the press was starting to notice the problem. They all knew that the last thing Slurry needed was more bad press.
Anne’s title was Artist and Repertoire Executive for De Bourgh Records, but in fact, her sole duty was Slurry. Slurry was the company’s biggest band, with revenues that outpaced every other act. It was her job to see that nothing happened to the prize cash cow.
As the group followed Anne de Bourgh through the doors of the nightclub, they knew the real reason for her temper. It wasn’t the wrath of the media that was keeping her awake at night. It was her mother, the Gorgon. Lady Catherine, owner of De Bourgh Records, had been made aware of the situation and if it was not resolved very soon, she would become involved, which was something they all wished to avoid.
Muffled music throbbed through the walls of the small lobby. A short man pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning on and approached Anne. He was balding, overweight, and wearing a tan turtleneck sweater that emphasized the olive in his complexion.
“Ms. de Bourgh,” he enthused, taking Anne’s hand and pumping it. “What a delight it is to see you again!”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Collins,” Anne replied without returning his excitement. She stood silently, waiting until the lack of conversation had gotten distinctly uncomfortable. Then with a look at her companions, she sighed and addressed him again. “Mr. Collins, this is Caroline Bingley, Slurry’s tour manager,” she indicated the tall woman who was wearing her professional smile. “Mr. Collins is the A and R for Long Borne Suffering.”
Collins laughed at Anne’s words. “Yes, I’m her counterpart, as it were. She is the executive for Slurry, and I, well, have my own little flock to tend.”
Caroline fought off the discomfort she felt as his clammy hand clasped hers and he waited expectantly. Caroline looked at Anne, who glanced at the men and spoke up. “You do understand, I really can’t introduce you in this setting, Mr. Collins. Security and all that.”
Collins’s eyes flared. “Oh, of course!” he assured her anxiously. “Certainly. I completely understand. Please let me escort your friends inside.” He winked broadly, but he was moving and that was all she wanted.
Caroline shared a quick smile with Anne as she passed by. Security was not really a problem. The lobby was empty and the boys were “incognito,” as Charles liked to say. That meant that Charles’s long blond hair was in a ponytail and tucked into the collar of his shirt. Richard was dressed in a button-down shirt and gray slacks, which covered all of his tattoos. Darcy was actually wearing a shirt and did not have his sunglasses on, sufficiently altering his appearance from his onstage persona. The three tall and attractive men would stand out anywhere, but it was unlikely anyone would recognize them for the rock stars they were.
The music became clear as they entered the nightclub. It was large, and the group was careful to skirt the sides of the room, getting close enough to watch the band and yet remain in the shadows.
“Of course, I’m sure you have listened to the girls’ CD. We’re very proud,” Collins fluttered at Anne.
She shook her head once. “We don’t care about the CD, Mr. Collins. We just want to know if they can play.”
Darcy turned his attention away, glad that for once Anne was doing her job and keeping that buffoon from him. He turned to his right to comment on the full house to his closest companion and stopped.
His expression immediately darkened as he beheld Charles Bingley’s face. He knew that look. Charles’s attention was locked on the stage, although Darcy doubted he was listening to the music. “Charles!” he said loudly into his ear.
Bingley broke away from his stare to focus on his friend.
“What do you think?” Darcy demanded.
Charles’s face broke into a huge grin. “She’s an angel.”
Darcy looked up to the stage to see who the object of worship was this time. For once he was not disappointed. The subject of Charles’s rapt attention was the singer. Of course, Darcy generally didn’t think of angels as wearing white leather corsets, but she was quite beautiful. Tall and slender, she moved with an easy grace as she sang. Under the corset, she wore a pink filmy skirt that exposed her shapely long legs. Her hair was elegantly arranged into an almost ’40s-style arrangement and in a most intriguing shade of pink. Her features were stunning, with large blue eyes and high cheekbones. Her expression was pleasant, and Darcy was impressed by her ability to interact with the crowd watching her.
Her voice sailed easily over the energetic crowd as she played the keyboards to accompany herself.
The guitarist moved closer to stand beside her and sing along with the chorus. Darcy saw them share a matching smile and knew that these were the two sisters.
“Well, at least they can play,” he sighed to himself. It was a clear improvement over the last two bands. The guitarist, he noticed, could actually play quite well. She was not anywhere as attractive as her sister, but she was not bad looking by any means. If she were standing alone, he reasoned, he would consider her pretty. She was not as tall as her companion; Darcy guessed she would be about average height. Her arms were exposed by the black silk tank top she wore, and he could see she had the unique muscling there of a committed guitarist. She wore low-riding jeans that hugged the curves of her hips. Her face was turned down to her instrument, hiding her features, except for her long brown hair, which was captured in a ponytail.
Of the drummer, he could see nothing more than a pair of flailing arms and the top of a head.
He looked over at Caroline and indicated Bingley. She took in her twin’s expression, understanding it as well as Darcy did, and rolled her eyes in response.
“Well at least they can play,” Richard echoed Darcy’s own thoughts in his ear. “You want to talk to them?”
Darcy nodded once, and Richard gave Anne the sign. They would meet with the band after the show. As he leaned against the vibrating walls, Darcy hoped they weren’t making a mistake.
Elizabeth smiled joyfully at the crowd. She waved and blew kisses as she exited the stage with her sister and friend. The Public House was their “home base,” where they had played more times than anywhere else. The crowd there was their devoted following and had supported the band for years.
As they reached the backstage area, Alex was waiting and kissed them each in turn. It was a ritual. Alex always saw them out onto the stage and received them when they got off.
Elizabeth noticed the gleam in his eyes as he looked at them.
“What?”
“You had some special guests tonight,” he replied mysteriously. “A band is here to make a very interesting offer to you. Go get cleaned up and then there are some people you should meet.”
The women looked at their manager questioningly until he motioned them away with his hands. Then they broke into wide grins and separated.
Elizabeth shrugged and went to do what she always did after a show: take care of her guitars. Her younger sisters teased her that she was in love with them, and she was. The shining instruments, one electric, one acoustic, were her constant companions. She was cleaning the electric when she sensed someone behind her.
“What brand is that?” a deep voice asked her.
She finished wiping the black body down and laid it in the case before answering. “It’s a Guild Guitar Bluebird.” She turned around to look into the deepest pair of dark eyes she had ever seen.
The eyes held her captive, completely unaware of anything else until the voice asked, “May I try it?”
That jolted her out of her daze. She looked down and then back up again, a refusal on her lips, when recognition, quickly followed by surprise, blessed her fine features. “You’re Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she said in a soft, puzzled tone.
“Yes I am,” he acknowledged with a matter-of-fact tone. “May I try your guitar?” His long arm reached toward the instrument.
“Yes, certainly,” she replied.
He picked it up and carefully positioned the strap. Hefting it, he looked at her. “It’s very light,” he observed.
“That’s because it’s chambered,” Elizabeth explained.
She watched as Darcy’s long fingers moved gracefully up and down the neck of the guitar, a classical scale left softly in his wake. Slowly he moved away from her, listening intently to the instrument, his face blank with concentration until she believed he had forgotten her presence. He was tall, maybe six foot, three inches or so, Elizabeth guessed. His eyes, which she had always seen hidden behind sunglasses, were large, dark, and intense—eyes that were like a weapon, dangerous. He had short black hair that curled tightly around his head. His nose was long and straight and he had full lips that were pressed together as he played.
Finally he stopped and looked up at her. She had large, intelligent eyes that were watching him, filled with questions. “It has a great sound,” he complimented her sincerely.
“Thanks,” she replied, pleased, puzzled, and a bit uncomfortable. “Um, I’m Elizabeth Bennet.” She was slightly annoyed that she had been reduced to introducing herself.
“Oh, yes.” He paused. “Nice to meet you,” he responded belatedly. He released the strap on the guitar and presented it to her.
Holding the instrument like a shield, she asked, “Why are you here?”
Jane Bennet was sipping warm water as she hummed softly to herself.
“Hi,” a soft voice spoke behind her.
Jane turned to find herself in the company of a tall, handsome man with white blond hair, tan skin, and dark blue eyes. “Hello,” she replied.
“I’m Charles Bingley,” he said, smiling.
Jane smiled brightly back and held out her hand, “I’m Jane Bennet. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” he replied, delighted by her touch. “I really liked your song. Did you write it?”
“Yes, I did,” she blushed becomingly. “Thank you.”
With every second, Charles was becoming more bewitched. The angel named Jane was dressed like a siren. He took in every detail, from her finely arched brow, to her bare shoulders, to her delicate hands, and he desired her body. Yet her every word and look was completely open and innocent. Her expression was warm and her laugh infectious. A mixture of sex and purity had come together in a package that was swiftly becoming irresistible.
“Did you write it about someone?” he asked openly, incapable of guile.
Jane shook her head slightly. “No, I wrote it more about wanting an ideal so much that it becomes an obsession. I’ve never been in love that deeply, and I’m not really sure it’s possible, but I’ve dreamed about it.” Her eyes met his shyly, as if she suddenly realized how openly she was sharing herself. “Do I know you, Charles? You seem very familiar.”
Charles blushed slightly. “I sing too.”
“Oh,” Jane nodded. “Is that where I know you from?”
“Yes.” He grinned. “Let me take down my hair.” He moved his hands and a moment later a blond, wavy cloud surrounded his face.
“Oh, yes,” Jane smiled playfully. “Slurry, right?”
“Yes,” he smiled back. “Would you like to sing with me, Jane?” he asked shyly.
Charlotte was standing by the stage door, enjoying her post-show cigarette. She smiled as she inhaled lightly. Better than sex. Or at least any sex that she’d ever had.
Footsteps on the cement floor alerted her to a man approaching her. He was tall and handsome, in an easy, casual way; long brown hair falling in loose curls, blue eyes, strong shoulders, and a trim figure. Charlotte couldn’t help but smile at eye candy like that. He walked up to her and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Richard Fitzwilliam.”
“Charlotte Lucas,” she replied, carefully shaking around her cigarette. “Do you mind?” she asked.
“No, not at all,” he assured her easily. “Mind if I join you?”
Charlotte nodded and made room for him by the door. As Richard lit up, he took a moment to study her. She was average in most ways. Average height, average build, average looks. The only thing that really stood out was her hair, which was short and spiked, with white-gold tips, showing up against the light brown of the rest of it.
“So, I heard you play,” he said easily after a moment. “You’re very good.”
“Thanks,” Charlotte smiled. She’d recognized his name and was puzzled why a major rock band was here but was willing to let the man tell his story.
“So, my band is on tour and we need a warm-up act.” He looked at her slightly sideways. “Would you be interested in that?”
Charlotte watched the way one half of his mouth curled up and mentally drooled. Oh yeah, baby. “Really?” she replied aloud. “I would be very interested. But you’d have to work it out with our manager.”
“Yeah,” Richard assured her. “Caro is talking to him now.”
“Caro?”
“Caroline Bingley,” he explained. “She is our tour manager. Everyone calls her Caro. You’ll like her.”
Charlotte took another drag and nodded easily. “Sounds good.”
Alex Lucas listened impassively to Caroline Bingley. The woman was very friendly and professional, and the offer she was making was very good—too good.
“We start up the tour again in two weeks. Your group would have that time for rehearsal. We have arranged for practice space, a choreographer, and a stylist to get them ready.”
“What would be expected from the band?” Alex asked.
“They will be expected to perform a thirty-minute set at the start of each show. Generally that would work out to be six songs. They will also be expected to participate in any promotions that are done for the shows.”
Alex bristled inside but was careful not to let it show. He had been managing bands for ten years, and he knew how many songs were in a thirty-minute set. He pushed his annoyance down. This was far too important a deal to lose his temper over.
As Caroline continued selling her deal, Darcy, Bingley, and Richard stood together, talking softly.
“Do you really think they can do it?” Richard asked.
“What choice do we have?” Darcy said blackly. “They can play and they’re available.”
“I think they are wonderful,” Charles objected.
“You think the girl is wonderful, Charles.”
“Isn’t she gorgeous?” he asked, not perceiving the acid in Darcy’s tone.
Elizabeth was carrying her instrument cases to her truck, oblivious to the negotiations as she passed by. Then she heard Darcy’s voice rise above the murmur, catching her attention.
“Let me make this clear to both of you. If these girls come with us, they’re there to play. They are not going to be anyone’s personal playthings, got me?”
“Darcy!” Charles replied, his voice echoing the shock Elizabeth felt.
“No, Charles! Listen, these girls are just starting out. They’re not prepared for what’s going to happen to them. Christ! They don’t even have people to set up and break down the stage for them.
“When they get on this tour, they’re going to get a taste of a completely different world. Once they do, they’ll try to do anything to hang on to it—and that would definitely include us.” His tone was flat and ugly. “So I’m only going to say this once: keep your dicks clean.”
Elizabeth was shocked beyond words. The breath left her lungs as she was stung by what she had heard. Silently she moved away from the trio and back into the dressing room where Jane and Charlotte were packing and excitedly discussing their visitors.
“Lizzy!” Charlotte exclaimed upon seeing the flabbergasted look on her face. “What happened?”
Elizabeth repeated Darcy’s warning verbatim, causing Jane to gasp in shock and Charlotte to swear under her breath.
Elizabeth just shook her head in amazement, trying to understand why that man would say such an outrageous thing about them. Then the absurdity of it struck her. Elizabeth covered her face, which was quickly getting red, with her hand. “Damn it, they think we’re whores!” she squeaked between her fingers until she could no longer control herself and broke out in laughter. “Charlotte! Don’t you get it? They think we’re morally loose women who are a threat to them! Them! Slurry! The bad boys of rock and roll with the worst reputation in the business and we are going to somehow corrupt them!” She had to stop as her laughter became too strong to continue.
“Well, you know, we are just so hot! We could totally make them our slaves,” Charlotte took up the charge. “Because, after all, we’re only here for their money!”
“And their drugs!” Jane piped in loudly. “I don’t know about you, but I want some of those party drugs they are all doing, right?”
All three of the girls were laughing so hard that they were holding each other up when Alex knocked on their door and asked them to come out. It took them longer than it should have for them to compose themselves, mostly because they would start laughing again whenever anyone made eye contract. Eventually, they regained control and filed out silently.
The others were all there: Alex and Bill Collins on one side and Caroline, Anne, and Slurry on the other side.
Elizabeth quickly realized she would not be able to look at Darcy without laughing, so she carefully looked at anything else.
“Well, ladies,” Caroline said brightly, “I’m pleased to say we have reached an agreement. In two weeks you will be joining Slurry on the Grind tour!”
Jane grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and squeezed it tightly as she said, “Thank you very much! We’re so excited and happy to be joining you.”
Elizabeth didn’t trust herself to speak but nodded in agreement, while Charlotte added, “I’m sure this’ll mean great things for all of us.” This caused Elizabeth to bite her lower lip to keep from giggling.
“Oh,” Jane said excitedly. “Perhaps we could invite you to our house next weekend for dinner. It would give us all a chance to get to know each other before we leave, and you could tell us what to expect.”
Caroline and Charles exchanged looks. “Are you sure?” Caroline asked.
“Definitely. I’m sure our families would like to meet the men we are going to be spending the next eight months traveling with,” Jane assured them with a bright smile.
“That is, if we’re not too dangerous to you,” Elizabeth said softly.
Darcy’s eyes locked on hers, and she was able to meet his gaze with frank inquiry. She realized that despite her laughter, his warning still stung badly.
“I think that is a lovely idea,” Charles said agreeably. “Next Sunday then?”
“That would be great,” Charlotte replied.
“We’ll send you the directions and the time,” Jane glowed.
“I look forward to it.”
“Good night then; it was nice meeting you,” Anne said formally as she began leading the group away. Darcy left with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, which turned colder as he heard Elizabeth’s laughter at his exit.
“For MTV News, I’m Mark Cole.
“The rock band Slurry has finally announced the warm-up act for the North American leg of their Grind tour, squashing the rumors that had been circulating about the band following the resignation of their last opening act, Dead Man Walking.
“The new group is called Long Borne Suffering. Relatively unknown, the band recently released their debut CD, First Impressions, on De Bourgh’s Rosings Park label.
“That’s all for now. Stay tuned for more MTV News, every ten minutes of the hour.”