Searching for Mr. Darcy

Scene Thirteen

Somehow, Talia convinced Maisie to keep her second date of the week.  Even as Maisie pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, she couldn't remember how her friend had managed it.  The man she was meeting was a thirty-five year old CPA from Durham whose sister had a PhD in English literature and was convinced he could be someone's Mr. Darcy.

Unlike Jack from the previous night, Neal didn't look like a Mr. Darcy, though he did have a very nice smile. Average height, average build, average features.  Maisie worried she wouldn't be able to pick him out in a lineup if necessary. He pulled her into a hug instead of a handshake, and immediately began talking.

"I'm so glad my sister set this up.  She showed me the page and I thought it was hilarious.  You're not really serious that you need to meet a man named 'Darcy,' are you? I told her you just wanted someone who fit your idea of him.  Am I right?  You're cute.  Why would you need to go about dating in such an unorthodox manner?  Match.com didn't work for you, huh?  Anyways, I work at a big company in Durham - I manage all of their holdings and taxes, etc. You know how it is.  What do you do?  Let me guess - English teacher - because of the Jane Austen thing.  Am I right?"  He stopped long enough to take a sip of water.

"No, I'm in new home-"

He waved his hand at the waiter approaching the table.  "Hello there!  We're on a date, so you get this pretty lady whatever she wants.  I'll have a scotch and soda and go ahead and get us one of the edamame appetizers.  Margaret, what do you want?"

"It's Maisie, and just a water for me, please."

"Just a water?  No, no, have a glass of wine, or a cocktail.  My treat!  What do you have that she'd like?" Neal asked the waiter.

"No, really, water is fine."

The waiter opened up a drink menu in front of her, as if he hadn't heard he reiterate that she didn't want anything alcoholic.  Neal grinned like an idiot, pointing to the page.

"How about a nice mango martini?  That sounds interesting.  Or maybe a spiced rum and coke? No, that's too fall-ish.  We want something for spring.  Something refreshing.  Let's see-"

"Water is plenty refreshing enough, thank you!"  Maisie closed the menu on top of his fingers and handed back to the waiter.  "Just water.  And I'm not a huge fan of edamame, so I'll have a vegetable spring roll, please."

The waiter wrote down their appetizers and Neal's drink and walked away.  Neal began again.  "So, Maggie, do you like other books beside Austen, or is that kind of it?  I've never really understood people who only read one type of book.  As for me, I like all kinds of genres: science fiction, fantasy, action-adventure, really anything that involves aliens or swordfights!  Some medieval stuff.  I'm really into World War I fiction right now.  Not non-fiction and biographies, but historical fiction about World War I. I read All Quiet on the Western Front a couple of months ago and it changed my life.  Man, I'm thirsty.  Where'd that waiter go?  Are you sure you don't want anything to drink, Mags? I'm paying."

"It's Maisie.  M.A.I.S.I.E. Maisie.  And I'm sure, thank you. To answer your question-"

"Well, if you're sure.  I can never have a meal at a restaurant without a scotch and soda.  Not that I'm an alcoholic, mind you, but it just doesn't feel right, eating at a nice place without a scotch and soda.  A real drink, you know.  A man's drink.  Or so my father always used to say.  He would get a scotch and soda anytime we went out to a restaurant as a family.  I guess that's why I do it, too.  He passed away a couple of year's ago.  Sad.  Good man.

"I'm sorry for your loss.  My dad passed away, too, when-"

"Good man, but a complete alcoholic.  I'm glad I didn't take after him in that, although a lot of people say we're similar in other ways.  Boy, he could tell a story.  I'm pretty good at that, too.  Like this one time, my friends and I were out on a boat..."

For her own self-preservation, Maisie tuned him out.  She counted in her head the number of words she'd been able to say since meeting this asswipe of a human being.  Around 70, or 75.  She'd have better luck holding an intelligent conversation with her five-year old niece and nephew, and all they liked to talk about was poop.

The appetizers came, and Neal kept talking, even while shoving edamame in his mouth.  Maisie finished her spring roll in three bites, desperate to get out as fast as possible.  Underneath the table, she texted Talia "9-1-1", hoping her friend would come through with an "emergency" phone call so she could make an excuse and leave.  When the waiter came by to take their order, she stalled, hemming and hawing over the menu.  Her phone remained silent.

"I'll give you another couple of minutes," the waiter said.

"Thanks."  Maisie propped the menu up so it hid half of Neal's face as he continued talking.  She thought he had moved on from the boat story to something about fireworks.  She dropped her napkin on purpose so she could lean under the table and dial Talia's number.  Then she head Talia's very distinctive ringtone coming from several tables away.

She looked up so fast, she hit her head on the side of the table.  "OW!"

Neal didn't even notice, he kept rambling on.  Maisie scowled at him, but looked over his shoulder and saw George, smiling and waving at her.  Talia's ringtone stopped, and she turned around, also smiling and waving.

"Excuse me for a minute, Neal." Maisie pushed her chair out and walked away.  Neal's mouth hung open, his voice finally silenced.