Page 6 of Pride, Prejudice, & Pretense

"It's impossible to be fully prepared for any mission, Liz. And didn't someone, maybe Thoreau, say that you should beware of all enterprises that require new hair?"

Lizzy choked a bit on a sip of her coffee. "Warn me next time you decide to distort a quotation!"

In college, Thoreau’s book had been Lizzy’s Vade-mecum. That had been years ago. She had not looked at it or thought about it in ages. She was unsure why.

Jane laughed, but there was a wariness in the sound. It had taken her some time to tell Lizzy why she’d stopped working as an analyst. She had been working closely with a team in the Middle East and, in a sudden, desperate situation, forced to feed them information in real-time, she had misinterpreted chatter that had led the team into a trap. Two of the four members died.

It was not Jane’s fault, but she had never quite forgiven herself. While she refused to continue as an analyst, a sense of debt and loyalty to the agents who died kept her working for the Company.

Lizzy never could fully wrap her mind around it; it was an opacity at the center of her friend. But she accepted it. One thing her life in the Company had taught her was that no one is fully transparent?not to anyone else, not even to herself.

Her phone beeped. It was a text…from Darcy.

B will pick you up at 1 pm. plane will be ready

"So…time to go?" Jane asked with a small smile.

"Soon."

Jane stood up, her smile disappearing, seriousness in her eyes. "Break a leg, Liz."

Chapter Three: Knots

Lizzy had a backpack on one shoulder?her go-bag?and a large purse on the other. Since the October day was chilly, she wore a leather jacket. Her hair was up and concealed under a plain black ball cap. She had texted Charlie asking him to meet her behind her apartment building to further minimize the chance she would see anyone she knew, anyone who might ask about her hair.

It wasn't exactly that it would be hard to explain, but?as she realized when she looked at herself once more in the bathroom mirror before leaving her apartment?the hair made a statement. It was memorable. Her naturally brown hair, while not mousy, also did not, just by its color, compel attention. As a blonde, Lizzy felt like a mobile lighthouse. The cap helped; she'd put her candle under a bushel.

She smiled at her own phrasing. That English degree hadn't been a waste of time; she did have remarkable expressive resources. Words and phrases. A memory full of books. The resources had been useful a number of times on missions, but mostly they collected mental dust, a neglected library.

A car pulled around?the standard, dark SUV the Company used?and Lizzy saw Charlie inside at the wheel. He waved at her, leaning forward as he did, trying to get a better look. Some of Lizzy's blonde hair had strayed from beneath the cap, alerting Charlie to the L’Oréalfait accompli.

Ignoring him, she stashed her backpack on the backseat and settled herself into the front passenger seat after placing her purse on the floor. Charlie smiled at her, amused, the smile twitching on his face.

"So, you really did it?went blonde."

"You doubted me?" Lizzy was equally tempted to smile and to frown. Instead of doing either one, she yanked off her capwith her right hand, allowing the blonde hair to tumble to her shoulders.

His face briefly froze; he seemed not to know her. Finally, he jerked himself into recognition, response. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel! Let down your hair!"

She punched him hard in the shoulder with her left hand.

"Ouch! Hey, that hurt! I thought you were right-handed." Charlie rubbed his shoulder for a moment before pulling away from the curb.

Lizzy glared at him. "I am. And enough of the Grimm humor. My prince, youaren't."

As Charlie drove toward the airport, Lizzy put her hat back on and tucked her hair under it again as best she could. She settled back in her seat, hoping to take a few minutes and enjoy the fall color on the trees.

She had no more than gotten comfortable when her personal phone rang in her bag. She cursed under her breath and bent down, digging the phone out of a side pocket. She looked at the screen and sighed.

Mom

Lizzy had been deliberately dodging her mother's calls, knowing, among other things, that her mother was undoubtedly trying to arrange a Thanksgiving visit. A guilt trip. But she would also be calling?as she always called?to nag Lizzy about Lizzy's life and to whine and complain about her own. Mrs. Bennet was not a person who could suffer in silence or suffer alone. Her pain demanded noisy vocalization and faithful, compliant commiseration.

"Shit," Lizzy whispered, putting the ringing phone on her knee and staring at it as if it were poisonous.

"Who is it?" Charlie asked innocently, noticing her reaction.

"My mother." Lizzy had never talked to him about her mother, so the answer was unlikely to explain her reaction.But she couldn't take any time to elaborate with the phone continuing to ring.

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