Page 5 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

My office, a corner of the storage room crammed with art supplies, props, and costumes, offers no solace. It’s crowded and windowless, but if I keep my door open, I can catch a sliver of light from Verity’s corner office window. Freaking Verity. She gets the nice office and now my program. She’ll dig her glittery, painted claws into it and ruin it like she’s done to other programs. I just know it.

I slump back in my chair, frustrated.

“Knock, knock,” I hear someone say in a singsong voice, and I look up to see Jordan and Kristen coming into my storage room.

Jordan and Kristen are my two favorite coworkers. They’ve been coaching me through my hang-ups over speaking to Christine. Which I’ve now done. And failed. I can’t wait to tell them their efforts were a complete waste of time.

Jordan is in a T-shirt that saysIn Case of Drama, Add Jazz Hands, and Kristen is in one that saysDrama Llamawith a llama dressed in Shakespearean garb—a feathered cap perched between its ears and a classic Elizabethan ruff around its neck.

“So, how did it go?” Jordan asks, her bright eyes and smile making it clear she thinks she already knows the answer.

“It didn’t,” I say, skipping the dramatics because I’m frazzled and have the patience of someone at the DMV on a Tuesday morning.

“She didn’t like it?” Kristen asks, her face scrunching like she’s ready to go to battle for me. She sits on the edge of my desk, since there aren’t any extra chairs in my prison of an office.

“She loved it,” I say, no joy in my tone.

“I knew it!” Jordan claps, her hands slapping together like a one-woman pep rally.

“What didn’t go, then?” Kristen asks.

“She gave it to Verity,” I say, bracing for impact.

“Nooooo,” they say in unison, dragging out the word like I knew they would.

“Yep,” I say, popping thepfor emphasis.

“She’ll ruin it,” Kristen declares.

“Did you say something? To Christine?” Jordan asks.

I twist my mouth to the side.

“Macey,” Kristen says, her tone all scolding-mother vibes. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“She’d already given it to her,” I say, sounding whiny even to myself. “It’s not like putting up a fuss would’ve changed her mind.”

“Well, if you ever want to get out of here,” Kristen says, holding out her hands toward my makeshift office, a flickering fluorescent light behind her accentuating her point, “you’re gonna have to say something.”

“I know,” I say. “Next time.”

They exchange a look that screams,Sure, Jan.

“How’s the living canvas project going?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. It’s a giant canvas at the center where the community can add their own touches to it over several weeks. Both Jordan and Kristen have been working on it.

Jordan rolls her eyes. “Someone drew a penis on it.”

Kristen nods. “A very detailed one, actually.”

“I almost felt bad covering it up,” Jordan adds. “Almost.”

We chat for a few more minutes about other projects, most of which I’ll be doing administrative work for but not running. Blargh.

They say their goodbyes, and as the door clicks shut behind them, my phone buzzes on the desk. It’s an email from Pride and Prejudice Park. Just over a week to go. In ten days, I’ll stop being Macey, the stapling queen of the storage room, and become Elizabeth Bennet. Maybe I’ll learn a thing or two about speaking up—or at least get a taste of what that feels like.

Life might not be going the way I want, but soon I’ll be living a fantasy. With my very own Mr. Darcy. At least I’ve got that.

MACEY

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