He could pass for his twin, but of course, he wasn't. He just had an uncanny resemblance to the actor most associated with the Jane Austen character. He had even been stopped in the street a few times and asked for his autograph. He grew a moustache and a goatee, but it didn't help, because as improbable as it was, his name was William Darcy, from a long line of Darcys that had nothing whatsoever to do with Jane Austen's Mr. Darcy.
It was inevitable that most women who dated him, insist on comparing him with the character, to their eventual disillusionment. He didn't have an English accent, born and bred in the hamlet of Hicksville, Long Island, New York, a nice town with trees and malls, buses and trains and taxicabs. He wasn't as tall or as confident, or as proud of bearing, and not one hundredth of a percent as rich as the fictional Fitzwilliam Darcy. One disappointed woman actually told him he had no right facially to resemble Austen's Darcy. She suggested plastic surgery.
Wil tried gaining twenty-five pounds. But that only led to his cholesterol rising. Under strict orders from his doctor, he shed the extra weight. If only he could find a girl who hated Austen's Mr. Darcy. That was as improbable as finding a needle in a haystack.
Riding the Long Island Railroad to his job in the City as a financial advisor, he kept his head lowered behind his newspaper while he struggled to read with the print hugging his nose. Fortunately, most of the passengers that crowded into the morning express were not fully awake yet to bother with faces and identities.
He had been riding the LIRR for over ten years, since his employment at the financial consulting firm, and, as had happened several times during those years, five minutes before the train's scheduled arrival at Penn Station, it slowed to a crawl. It took another twenty minutes for it to pull onto the 34th street track. The passengers, grim-faced, most of them now late for work, nearly tripped over each other as they hurried out of the train cars and up the stairs to the central lobby toward the street, or to transfer to city trains or buses.
Wil's firm was only a block away. He was late, but so were six of his fellow-employees. The time clock would mark him tardy, and note the date and time on his personnel record. At least he'd have company when the department head called him into his office suite to remark on his lack of punctuality. The department head, Jack Habbernacky, was basically a tolerant chap. He rode the trains as well to work and knew when an employee's tardiness was or was not the fault of the railroad.
Wil entered his cubicle just as his phone rang. He picked up. "Wil Darcy, here."
Habbernacky's secretary greeted him. "Everything okay?" Heather asked.
"Yes, I'm fine. The train stalled."
"Well, you know the routine."
"Now?"
"All six of you." she told him.
"Okay," he sighed. "On my way."
Habbernacky's suite of offices took up most of the side of the twentieth floor. He'd been with the company twenty years, starting out as a clerk and working his way up to management.
Wil fell in line with his five co-workers headed for Habbernacky's suite. They reached Heather's desk.
"Hi, beautiful," Ken Lunden, winked.
Heather made a face. "You better all get in there."
"It's that bad?"
"Get in there," she repeated, pointing with her thumb to the closed door behind her.
Wil exchanged worried glances with his compatriots. All six filed into the executive office.
A woman in a grey tailored business jacket and skirt stood looking through the floor-to-ceiling window that extended the width of the room. The shoulders of her fitted jacket were padded. She was a good 5' 8", a few inches shorter than Wil. Her posture was straight, shoulders back, head up. Wil exchanged puzzled glances with the others.
The woman turned, and Wil swallowed. Joan Crawford? he thought. But on closer inspection, he revised that impression. Her eyes were hazel, and her features softer, her shoulder-length hair golden brown and wavier.
She smiled at the men. "Good morning, I'm Audrey Lambert, the new head of this department."
"Good morning, M—" in unison, gazes went to her left hand. "Miss Lambert," they greeted.
"That's right, I'm a Miss. And to get one thing clear and out of the way, I don't date men." She paused to let the words sink in, then added, "or women." She smiled benignly. "Understood?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Ken Lunden answered for the others.
"Great. Now let's get down to business. First, my appointment was impromptu. Two days ago, I had no idea I'd be replacing Jack Habbernacky. Most of the department knows that Jack is in the Reserves. Because of the situation in the Mid-East, he's been called to active duty. I know you all join me in well-wishes and prayers for his safe return."
"Yes, of course," the men echoed.
"I am qualified to replace him. Jack ran this department smoothly and comfortably. My job is to make sure it continues so. An official memo regarding Jack Habbernacky and myself will be sent to the whole department. Are there any questions?"
The men remained silent.
She nodded her acknowledgment. "Oh, and not to worry about today's tardiness. I heard about the train stalling.
Amazed, the men glanced at each other. Wil had known Ken for several years, and he could guess what his fellow-worker was thinking. Ken's eyes practically beamed with admiration. The woman incorporated beauty, intelligence, stature, and most of all, unattainability. And Ken loved challenges.
"Well, then, that's it for now. Go back to your regular duties."
Wil turned to join the others filing from the suite.
"Wil," Miss Lambert hailed him.
He turned back. "Yes, Ma'am."
"Please, don't call me Ma'am."
"Yes Ma'— Miss Lambert."
"Wil, are you aware you bear a striking resemblance to—"
"Please, don't remind me," Wil interrupted, hating to hear that name mentioned. "It's my curse."
"I can see why. Never liked that character. Much more preferred Bronte's Mr. Rochester. You know, the Vulcan look," she chuckled. "I shan't remind you of your curse, if that's what you consider it."
She nodded and smiled at him, and took her seat at Jack's desk. Her desk now. He took her actions to mean he was dismissed. As he left the suite, Wil glanced over his shoulder. He thought wistfully, the needle in the haystack ... finally ... a woman, smart, beautiful, young, single, who wasn't smitten with Fitzwilliam Darcy. And just his luck, he sighed regretfully — she didn't date. Should she eventually change her mind, what chance did he stand with someone with her beauty, self-poise, and confidence.