My Own Mr. Darcy (3 page)

“Fine. I’ll go out with
him again if he asks me.”

“And?”

“If he doesn’t ask me,
I’ll ask him?”

“Right. And how many times
will you go out with him?”

“Way too many,” I said
under my breath.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Ten times. If he asks me.”

The door cracked open. “And
you’ll be nice to him?”

“Whatever you say. Now
give me the keys.”

Janessa emerged from the
bathroom and triumphantly dropped my keys into my outstretched hand.

“You’re an idiot,” I said.

“An idiot that loves you
and wants you to be happy,” she said. She turned and headed down the hall. “Someday
you’ll thank me,” she sang.

“If I don’t kill you first.”
I slammed the door behind me.

“YOU HAVE TO
call him
today,” Janessa said. “Before you go to bed. I don’t know why you don’t just do
it and get it over with.”

“I don’t want to call him.
If he wanted to go out with me again, he’d have asked me by now.”

“He’s probably afraid to.
If a guy doesn’t look and act like Matthew Macfadyen, he’s out of luck. Matthew
Macfadyen is married and has two kids. It’s time to branch out.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“Sorry Lizzie. You’re
calling him tonight. I’m not letting you go to sleep until you do. Give me his
number and I’ll dial it for you.”

“I can dial it myself. If
I decide to call him.”

I’d hoped Janessa would
forget about this crazy agreement, but her reminders had become more and more persistent
the last few days. I should have called him right away instead of waiting two
weeks. Now it was sure to be even more humiliating.

A thousand times I wished
I’d never mentioned my adoration of Matthew Macfadyen’s Mr. Darcy to Janessa.
We’d been seniors in high school when Janessa’s parents went on a Western
Caribbean cruise and asked if she could stay with us for a week. Late one
night, when my defenses were down, I’d confessed all. Well, almost all.

“Whatever happened with
Luke?” Janessa had asked. “You crushed on him for so long and then when he
finally asked you out, you didn’t even care.”

“I don’t know. I guess I just
realized he wasn’t my type.”

“Since when do you have a
type?”

“I didn’t used to, but I
guess I do now.”

Janessa giggled. “Spill
it. What’s your type?”

I thought about Mr. Darcy.
“Tall. Definitely tall.” Tall enough to look out over a crowd of people and
hold my gaze with his.

“Luke’s tall.”

I shook my head. “I like
dark hair. And just a little long so it can be tousled and a little messy in
the wind.” Or on a gorgeous gazebo. Or a misty meadow.

Janessa rolled her eyes.
“Did you seriously just use the world ‘tousled?’”

“You know what I mean. A
little messy. Not too perfect. And I like blue eyes.” Eyes that are bright and
piercing at times and cloudy and smoldering at other times. Eyes that find me
no matter where I am in a room. Eyes that show love when he’s looking at me,
disappointment if I reject him and concern if someone in my family does
something foolish.

“Wow, that’s pretty
specific,” Janessa said. “Does this ‘type’ have an actual name?”

I didn’t want to tell her
who it was. She’d think I was crazy if I told her I was in love with Mr. Darcy.
And not just any Mr. Darcy, but a very specific Mr. Darcy. A Mr. Darcy   that
looked and sounded exactly like Matthew Macfadyen.

After I’d given my heart
away in that movie theater the year before, I’d immersed myself in all things
Darcy. I’d looked up Matthew Macfadyen on the internet and discovered that,
while he was pretty handsome in all his movies, his career might as well have
started and stopped with “Pride and Prejudice.” It was in that role that he was
perfect. Perfectly perfect in every way.

I’d read
Pride and
Prejudice
with a highlighter in hand, marking each word Mr. Darcy uttered.
I’d watched the six-hour version with my mom and even though I liked it, I
wanted to hear my Mr. Darcy—the Matthew Macfadyen Mr. Darcy—say those lines. I
read reviews and wondered at the women who preferred Colin Firth to my Matthew.
Colin’s face wasn’t as expressive and he never took my breath away.

Yes, my type was specific.
Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley specific.

“Lizzie, are you thinking
about someone in particular?”

“No, why?”

“Your eyes just got really
far away and dreamy. Come on. Tell me who you’re thinking about.”

“No one in particular,” I
said.

“You’re lying to me.  Come
on, spill it. You know I won’t leave you alone until you do.” Janessa was good
at getting her way. She used a variety of tactics—nagging, threats of public
embarrassment and when all else failed, sweetness.

And so I told her. “I
think my type is like Mr. Darcy.”

Janessa looked confused. “I
thought you hated that movie.”

“I didn’t hate it. I
actually liked it a lot. And someday I want someone just like Mr. Darcy.”

Janessa swooned. “Who
wouldn’t?”

We watched “the real
Pride
and Prejudice
” three times during the week she stayed with us. She was the
perfect person to share my secret with because she nodded when I pointed out my
favorite parts and she didn’t care when I watched the meadow scene over and
over.

Unfortunately, the friend
who had kept my secret all these years had watched me govern my dating life by
what she now called “my unrealistic Darcy expectations.” Where once she’d been
my ally in my desire to find my own Mr. Darcy, she had now become my enemy.
Well, not really my enemy. Just where Mr. Darcy was concerned.

Lately, she’d been on a
crusade to get me to “open myself up to other possibilities.” Why didn’t she
just say it? She wanted me to settle. Like right now, for instance.

“Call him, Lizzie. Before
it gets embarrassingly late,” she said and tossed my phone onto the couch beside
me. “I mean it.”

I knew if I didn’t call,
she’d jump on my bed or blare country music at 3 a.m., so I reluctantly dialed
his number. On the fourth ring, his voicemail picked up. “Hey, this is Chad.
Leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”

“Hi. Uh, this is Elizabeth
Barrett. Um, we went to lunch together a couple of weeks ago.” I hesitated.
Maybe he went to lunch with lots of people and wouldn’t even remember who I was.
“I’m the one from the grocery store. I was buying coconut milk and we talked
about Pok Pok. Anyway, I just wondered if you might want to see a movie this
weekend. Or something. Um, well, okay. If you do, just give me a call back and
we can make arrangements. If you want. Bye.”

Janessa laughed. “That was
super eloquent.”

“Don’t talk,” I said
pointing at her. “I wasn’t ready for voicemail. I hate voicemail.” After a few
moments, I smiled. “I sounded really bad, didn’t I?”

“You’ve sounded better.”

“Maybe this is good. Maybe
he won’t call and we can end this dumb thing right now.”

“You’ll just have to go
out with the next guy ten times.”

I frowned. “You can’t hold
me to that. I have no control over how many times a guy asks me out.”

“But you have total
control over whether or not you try to make them
want
to ask you out
again. That’s what I’m saying you need to do. Be cute. Be fun. It’s not that
hard to make a guy interested in you.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Maybe you’ll actually
like him if you give yourself long enough to know him. You’ve never done that
before.”

“You can’t possibly know
if I’ve ever done that,” I said.

“Liz, I’ve been your
roommate for more than 4 years now. I know.”

I didn’t argue any further
because she was right. Every date I’d been on since that fateful night when I
was sixteen had been spoiled by perfection. No one measured up. No one looked
so good or brooded so well. No one was so haughty and egotistical or so
generous and caring. No one had the right combination of eyes, hair, and
expressions. I knew what I wanted was nearly impossible but I stubbornly
refused to give up hope. I was a nice girl. I worked hard and loved my family.
I liked children and I recycled. I deserved to have my dream come true.

My cell phone rang. Janessa
pumped her fist in the air like she was at a rock concert and I shook my head. “Hey,
Lizzie.”

“Hi, Chad.”

“I just got your message.
I was surprised.”

“You were?”

“It didn’t seem like you
had much fun the other day.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.” I
turned away from Janessa and lowered my voice. The last thing I needed was her
knowing I hadn’t been flirty and fun. “I guess I just had some things on my
mind. I really did have fun.”

“Great, then let’s go see
a movie.”

Janessa’s smug expression
when I hung up the phone was rankling. “We may have to get our own apartments
if I have to deal with your meddling much longer,” I said.

“You love me and you know
it,” Janessa said.

“That doesn’t mean I want
you managing my love life.”

“Lizzie, you don’t have a
love life. I’m trying to help you
get
one. Once you have one, I promise
I’ll back off.”

“Not all of us are lucky
enough to have a Ben dropped in our lap.”

“That’s true, but have you
noticed how little Ben looks like Mr. Darcy? If I had your list of
qualifications, I wouldn’t have given Ben a chance. And look what I’d have
missed out on.”

I busied myself with the
remote control. I refused to acknowledge that maybe she had a point.

 “Hey Liz, Chad’s here.”
Janessa knocked on my bedroom door as she opened it.

“I’ll be right out.”

“Whoa, you look really
good.”

“I’m determined not to give
you ammunition. I don’t want you saying I didn’t try,” I said.

“Good girl. But be
careful. You might make him fall in love with you.” I followed Janessa out to
the living room where Chad was waiting.

“You ready?” Chad asked.

“Yep.”

“You kids have fun,”
Janessa said. I glared at her as I pulled the door closed.

“How much is your heart
set on a movie?” Chad asked when we reached the car.

“It depends. Did you have
something else in mind?”

“Have you heard of The
Slocums? They’re a local band and they’re playing tonight at a club downtown.”

“What kind of music is it?
I’m not a big fan of grunge.” I wanted to make that clear since Portland still
had its share of leftover, grungy wannabes. They wore dirty flannel shirts,
rarely washed their hair and they made their voices so gravelly, my throat hurt
for them. I couldn’t imagine sitting through an evening of that.

“It’s not grunge. It’s
three brothers and they do more indie, acoustic stuff. I’ve heard them before
and they’re really good.”