Page 4 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

Something cold and dark falls like a bowling ball into the pit of my stomach. She assigned it to Verity? My program? On one hand, it’s great that she acted on it so quickly, but to not even consider me? Does Christine expect me to manage her calendar and staple her papers for the rest of my life?

I can’t help but wonder if it was the horse thing. Maybe Christine doesn’t see me as coordinator material because last month, when we did horse therapy at the center, I sort of freaked out. Well, not sort of—it was a pretty big freak-out. I’ve been scared of horses since I was a kid. I was riding a large, dark-brown mare when it spooked, throwing me off and knocking thewind out of me. Horses are beautiful, but they’re also terrifying. Maybe Christine doesn’t trust me not to panic when things go sideways.

I should say something. I need to tell her I wrote the program, and I want to run it. And maybe throw in there that I’ve gotten over my fear of horses. So ... lie.

“I think ... that ... Verity will do a great job with it,” I say, the last part of the sentence falling out of my mouth at double speed.

Okay, listen. I was going to say something, but between deciding to tell my boss I want to run the program and actually opening my mouth, I couldn’t do it. I want this job—I need it, really. What else am I supposed to do with my ridiculous degree? Teaching? That pays even less than this, which is honestly a disgrace. Teachers shouldn’t have to survive on ramen.

Christine gives me a quick bob of her head. “I think she’ll do a terrific job. And hopefully we can get you to write more programs for us in the future.”

I nod. That’s something, at least. If I’m given more opportunities to write programs, perhaps I might be able to parlay that into running one someday.

“Well, thank you,” I say, taking the win, even if it’s not the one I wanted. I stand up to leave.

“Oh, Macey,” Christine says, just as I reach the door.

I can’t help the surge of hope that courses through me at the thought that maybe she’s just now realized that I should be running the program I wrote. It’s a little far-fetched, but this is an arts center. We all tend to have a flair for the dramatic and the unexpected around here.

“Yes?” I ask, turning toward her.

“I’m out of town next week, at that conference in San Diego,” she says.

“Right.” I give her a quick nod, because of course I know this—I manage her freaking calendar.

“So I won’t see you before you leave for your fancy vacation,” she says, doing a small up-and-down bobbing thing with her shoulders. “I hope you have the best time.”

“Oh,” I say, realizing I haven’t thought of the trip since knocking on Christine’s door, which is strange given it’s been at the forefront of my brain for the past three months. “Yes, thank you. I’m excited.”

Momentary lapse aside, I’m beyond thrilled for my fancy trip—the kind I’ve never done before and likely won’t again, given I’m currently surviving on ramen. I’m only going because I won the trip. At a time when I was pretty much at my lowest, Lady Luck finally smiled on me with an all-expenses-paid trip to Pride and Prejudice Park. I get to fly to England, don Regency attire, and live out my Elizabeth Bennet dreams, reenacting scenes from my favorite book. It’s cosplay forPride and Prejudicefans, and with the last name Bennet, how could I not be the biggest one?

I couldn’t believe it when I won. It was the bright spot in a long series of disappointments this year—a list which I suppose now includes Verity getting assigned to my program. Fantastic. Anyway, my flabbers were even more ghasted when I found out I would be playing the part of Lizzy. It’s just too perfect. I aspire to be her—with that quick-witted personality, always saying exactly what she thinks and taking nonsense from no one. She’s confident and outspoken, ready with a sharp retort at a moment’s notice. Basically, the opposite of me. She never backs away from a challenge, while I, as recently demonstrated, avoid conflict at all costs.

Elizabeth is my favorite, but I would’ve played any role. Well, except Jane. Because, according to the program I was sent, in the scene where Jane goes to Netherfield, she’ll be riding a horse. Please see my previous statement regarding my feelings on horses.

“Did you find your Mr. Darcy?” Christine asks, sitting back in her chair, weaving her fingers together.

“I did,” I tell her. “My friend Derek is coming.”

As part of the prize package, I get to bring someone to play Mr. Darcy. It’s a couples’ package, but since I’m very (extremely) single right now, I had no one to play my counterpart. After friends—and friends of friends—all passed, I turned to social media. Which is kind of a big deal for me because I hate social media. Who wants to watch your friends live their lives while you ... don’t? Not this girl. Still, I sucked it up and posted “Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy,” with a quick explanation of the trip. Derek responded almost immediately, and it turned out to be perfect.

Derek’s golden retriever energy is more Bingley than Darcy, but he’ll do the part justice. We met in college at Sac State in a production ofMuch Ado About Nothing. He was Benedick to my Beatrice. Though despite what often happens in the world of thespians, no actual romance bloomed between us. Falling for your counterpart is so common that it’s become almost cliché. Not to say I didn’t find Derek adorable, with his dark-blond hair and perfect nose, and immediately crushed on him, but I was aiming at the wrong target, since Derek, I found out after getting one of my friends to investigate, prefers men.

Still, we became dear friends, and have stayed that way, even if our correspondence is mainly through texting now. I’m glad he agreed to go with me and also grateful I don’t have to go alone, because I’ve only flown a couple of times, and this will be my first time overseas.

“Well, enjoy yourself,” Christine says. “I’ll want a full rundown when you get back.”

“Of course.”

“One more thing.” She points to something on her desk, and my eyes track to a pile of papers.

“Stapling?” I ask, knowing the answer already.

She gives me a sheepish sort of grin. “Do you mind?”

I let out a breath before walking over to her desk and grabbing the pile.

As I walk back to my office, stack of papers in hand, past hanging posters of programs and theatrical productions we’ve done at the center, the excitement for my trip fades, replaced by the sting from the outcome of my visit with Christine—and how I let my chance slip because I’m a big chicken.

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