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&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.
