Darcy and Lucien Part I

Setting for scene 1:  Tuesday (Darcy)

It was a normal Tuesday morning at the office of The New York Times. In the hour just before the start of the work day, everyone was bustling back to their cubicles with their coffee; they stood around and chatted before they were finally chased off to their own duties. The Public Affairs and Communications office was no exception. Only Darcy, the assistant copy editor and manager of the PA/C sat at her desk, already working. This was how it was every morning in the Communications office. Darcy was a workaholic who sometimes had time to grab her coffee in the morning before heading to her desk.
“Hey, Darcy, c’mere! This should be good for you,” Richie said, typing a last few words on his computer, with a handful of others looking on, smirks on their faces. Darcy held up a finger and scribbled something down on a notepad by her desk, then entered a new contact to her email and her black calendar book.
“Darce, leave it for a sec. Come on,” said Sadie, Richie’s co-worker. Darcy left her desk and bent over to look at the computer screen they were all huddled around. She adjusted her square-framed glasses to see better. Her own face stared out at her from the screen.
“Richie’s set up a profile for you on Match.com,” another co-worker explained. “It’s time you had a life.” Darcy stood up and folded her arms.
“I have a perfectly wondrous life, John, thank you as it were. If I needed to date someone, it would indefinitely be you, be assured,” she said as she made her way back to her desk. “Now stop this nonsense, I have to work. God, four messages in two seconds…”
“Just wait till I tell her I’ve set up a date for her for this Thursday,” Richie whispered to the other three. At her desk, Darcy took down more numbers and tore the page from her notepad. She answered her phone, scribbled a note and stood up.
“Ben,” she said to one of the men standing around the computer. “That was Mason from the network with an interview time schedule.” She handed him a number. “I want you to take the story.”
"The cap?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said over her shoulder as she whisked into the next room with several slips in her hand. “Call him now to arrange details.”
“Sid! New York called…” her voice trailed off as she headed into a far room.
“That kid needs to slow down,” Richie said.
“She will on Thursday, apparently,” John replied as they all headed to their desks.
Darcy finished her rounds of the office and headed to the coffee room. She poured herself a cup and leaned her back against the counter. A shaggy haired man in a t-shirt came into the room and headed toward the coffee.
“Hey,” he said congenially as Darcy moved across the room to get out of his way. “What’s your name?”
“Darcy,” she replied, sipping her coffee absentmindedly.
“You work here?” he continued, dumping a load of sugar into his cup.
“Of course. Communications/public affairs and assistant copy editor. You?” she said.
“Hell of a name. Art department,” he said, wiping his hand on his shirt and holding it out.
“Nice to meet you…--?”
“Izzy,” he said as they shook hands.
“Ah, Izzy from the Art department. Splendid. Well, I have to get back to work,” Darcy said.
“Nice to meet you, Darcy of Communications/public affairs and something-ma-jiggy,” Izzy waved.
“Assistant copy editor,” Darcy said over her shoulder.
“Woah, Darcy,” Richie said as he ran into Darcy.
“Sorry,” Darcy said as she made her way to her desk.
“Darcy, I need to talk to you,” Richie followed her to her desk.
“Ok, shoot,” she said as she sat down and took more numbers.
“Well, you’ve gotten some bites on that profile of yours,” he hesitated.
“Mmhmm,” she said offhandedly.
“And you, sort of have, a date for this Thursday…”
“Mmh-what?!” she stopped mid-number. “I have a what?”
“A – a date,” he said.
“Richie, I don’t think I quite understand you. I have a job on Thursday. I have two, no, three meetings on Thursday. I have a brief to finish by Friday –“
“And you have a date with, Manny, on Thursday at 7pm at The River Front.” Richie said, checking a paper he had.  “I sort of, set it up for you.”
“Manny? Manny?! What is he, 50? I don’t believe this!” she said as her phone rang. “Just—hang on—hello? Yes, this is Darcy. Ok, yes. Yes, that’s fine. Ok, Morgan; Wade – w-a-d-e? 5768, all right. Thank you. Bye. Ok, Richie, just, tell the guy…”
“Tell him what? That you’re breaking it off?” he said incredulously.
“I, I didn’t make this arrangement, Richie,”
“But he thinks you did,”
“God. Just, give me that. I’ll deal with it, I’m used to clearing up messes…” she said with a pointed look.
“Good, have a good time on Thursday,” Richie said, dodging back to his desk with a “thumbs up” to John.

Scene 2: Tuesday (Lucien)

Similarly, it was a typical day in Lucien’s office across town at the Intel building. Lucien, however, was not working so hard. He was leaning back in his chair, staring out the window as the falling sun went behind a cloud. Ten minutes to go. He sat up, turned his computer off and started clearing up papers he had to take with him. He didn’t bother with a briefcase; he just had a file folder he stashed his papers in. Five minutes to go.
“See ya, Lucien,” his co-workers called to him as everyone headed toward the door. He waved offhandedly, preoccupied.
“Hey, Lucien,” a friend, Mitch, called to him as he passed an office on the second floor. “Your place tonight?”
“Yeah, sure,” Lucien replied. “How ‘bout like, eight?”
“Sure, man, see ya then,” Mitch replied.
Lucien loosened his tie as he swept through the entrance doors of Intel. Cold air rushed at him as he escaped the vacuum of the building. He waved a taxi and climbed inside the cab, rubbing his temple. All he wanted was to go home, and have a brandy. Sometimes it seemed that the only emotion he could feel since college was impatience and irritability.
“Yeah, 34 Park Place,” he said to the driver. New York gave him a headache. But, this was where the money was, and they’d practically begged him to take this job.
“So, whatcha do for a livin’?” The cab driver asked him through his gum, looking back at him in the rearview mirror.
“I work at Intel. I’m a computer programmer,” he replied to the window.
“Aw. A regular Bill Gates, huh? Heh heh heh heh,” the driver signaled right and stopped abruptly. “’Ey buddy!!!” he yelled out the window. “Learn how to drive! Jesus, these cabbies…”
“Yeah, Bill Gates, not quite,” Lucien murmured. “That would be Microsoft...”
They finally arrived at Lucien’s apartment. He got out, paid the driver and went up the steps.
“Yeah, see ya ‘round, Bill!” the driver yelled to him, chuckling furiously to himself.
Beep beep beep beep beep beep. Lucien sighed as the buzzer rang and he trudged up the stairs. He let himself into his apartment and threw his folder on the coffee table. It was six. He went to the kitchen and poured himself the long-needed brandy. He stood over the counter and read the previous day’s New York Times, which happened to be lying on the counter. He read it every day, to help him relax and take his mind off of numbers and codes. He poured himself another brandy (an extra measure to take his mind off of numbers) and headed to the living room, where the current NYT was. He read it long enough to fall into a fitful sleep on the couch.
At eight, a buzzer rang and Mitch’s voice came in through the box on the wall.
“Hey, how about letting me up?” he said. Lucien pulled himself from the couch and went to the wall.
“What happened to your key?” he asked.
“No idea, man. Let me up,” Mitch’s muffled voice said.
Lucien sighed. He pushed a button next to the pattern of holes in the metallic box from which Mitch’s voice had come. He held it down for several seconds, listening to the faint buzzer coming from a few floors down.
“Hey,” he said as he let Mitch in.
“Hey, you got any brandy left?”
“Maybe,” he replied.
“Good. I’m gonna need some to help you,” Mitch said, heading for the kitchen.
“Oh God, not that again,” Lucien said. “Look, I told you, it’s useless, man. I don’t need help.”
“My ass,” Mitch said as he took the bottle of brandy into a small room off to the side which hosted a computer and dozens of books. “You look as if you need it more than ever.”
“It’s this town, man,” Lucien said. “I hate it, it gives me a headache.”
“Nah, you know you love it,” Mitch said. “Well, you will once I fix you. Ha ha.”
Mitch pulled up a chair for Lucien as he logged onto a website.
“So, how is it going to be different this week?” Lucien asked. “They’re all the same. All beautiful, all charming, all—“
“It just will, ok?” Mitch said irritably. “Dude, see, you have like, 20 messages. That’s gotta make you feel something, right?”
“Maybe sick to my stomach,” Lucien quipped.
“Ooh, except they’re all hate mail from girls we’ve already tried,” said Mitch. “Here’s one – You were my first date on this site, and I didn’t get anything from you, no feeling… What are you trying to pull, anyway – that sucks.”
“Maybe you should try a different tactic,” Lucien offered. “Tell them up front that they aren’t going to get feeling.”
“But that’s what we’re trying to fix, man,” Mitch said. “You will have emotions someday.”
“Haven’t for seven years,” Lucien had some more brandy.
“Maybe seven will be your lucky number,”
“Just, let me do it, ok?” Lucien put down the brandy and moved his chair up.
“You’re going to mess it up, dude,” Mitch protested.
“More than it already is? Doubtful.”
“Ok, dude, whatever. Take the mouse.”
“Ok, first thing,” Lucien said. “Take this damn picture off. Don’t let them see what they’re getting, only tell them, make them take your word for it.”
“Whatever,” Mitch droned.
“I’m changing the name, too. Can’t have my real name on here. What do you bet none of these names are real?”
“Yep, you’re probably right, Luc.” Mitch took a sip of brandy from the bottle.
“So, the new name is going to be… “Socio-boy.” He tapped into the box.
“What the?! – fuck, man, you are insane! You’ll never get g—“
“Ah, but that’s never been the problem, has it?” Lucien smirked.
“Ah, man, you don’t know how to do this, move.” Mitch shoved Lucien out of the way.
“Whatever. Don’t change it. Just add the truth, man.” Lucien meandered into the main room. He took his empty brandy glass from where he’d left it earlier and put it in the sink. It didn’t really matter, he’d always be this way, but at least this way Mitch would stop pestering him.
By the time Mitch left, it was midnight. The brandy was gone, Lucien’s mind peaceful. Despite his peacefulness, he fell into a fitful sleep at his desk, the clock ticking in the background.

Scene 3: Wednesday (Darcy)

“I’m not doing it,” Darcy said the next day, as she and Sadie met up on their way to the office.
“Why not?!” Sadie asked. They rounded the corner into the Communications office, carrying cups of coffee, a stack of papers in Darcy’s hand.
“I don’t have time. Plus,” Darcy added, slamming the papers down on her desk and turning on her computer. “I have no clue who this guy is anyway—“
“That’s the point, right?”
“--Meaning that I don’t want to meet him anywhere and, I have no qualms about breaking off the date.”
“But, Darcy… Darcy. Please, do this for me,” Sadie pleaded.
“Well, it’s just too late, isn’t it?” Darcy said, turning to her computer.
“What? Too late—“
“Yes, I’ve already told him no,” Darcy said. “Sorry.” She shuffled her papers, sipping her coffee and opening the notepad by her desk.

At lunchtime, Darcy stayed at her desk to finish up some letters that needed to be sent by the next day. Sadie peeked her head into the cubicle.
“Work, work, work,” she chided. “Darce, you need a life. Please let me try to help you.”
“After I finish these letters,” Darcy said.
“It’s lunchtime,” Sadie reminded her.
“Gotta get these finished and sent off,” Darcy said, not taking her eyes off the screen.
“It’s lunch. Time.” Sadie said again. She brought a chair into Darcy’s cubicle and sat down, crossing her legs.
“Ok, fine,” Darcy finally burst out. “I can’t work with you over my shoulder anyway. What do you want me to do?”
“Stay there, is fine,” said Sadie, slyly. “But open the internet.”
“No… god, no,” Darcy folded her arms.
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Sadie wheedled. She reached for the mouse.
“No, ok, fine! Ok,” Darcy said. She opened an internet window, with great emphasis.
“Now, w,w,w, dot,” Sadie continued.
“I’m not stupid, what do you think I spent my teen-hood doing?” Darcy quipped.
“Match, dot—“
“This is ridiculous,”
“I know,” Sadie grinned. “Do you know your password?”
“Yes, it’s here on the paper Richie gave me,” Darcy said. Soon they’d reached Darcy’s profile.
“Oooh, ten messages,” Sadie said.
“Woo hoo,” Darcy said.
“Well, let’s see them, then,” Sadie continued.
“Ok, message one. From “Fred.” They never use their real names, do they?” She asked rhetorically.
“Nope, that’s part of the whole, delicious suspense thing,” Sadie said.
“Well, I’m just in so much suspense to see what “Fred” has to say,”
“And what does Fred have to say?”
“Hey, love to take you out sometime. I love high-power chicks…Aw, how sweet …” Darcy said with mock sympathy. “Ok, delete Fred…”
“Well, look at the others, then,” Sadie said.
“Which one? There’s “Johnny,” “Hotztuf,” “Richard,” “Eric,” “Mickey,” Darcy read off.
“Ummmmm,”
“Ok, let’s look up some of our own, shall we?” Darcy said. “I-n-t-e-l-l-i-g-e-n-t,” she muttered as she typed into a search bar.
“Of course,” Sadie said sarcastically.
“All right, here’s ten matches,” Darcy read. “God, that seems low…”
“Mmmm,” Sadie looked at her fingernails.
“Ok, more brilliant names here. Shall we go with “Herbert,” “Harry,” “Bill,” “Socio-boy,” another “Manny…””
“Whatever you want, obviously,”
“Ok, “Socio-boy” it is…” Darcy clicked with a smirk.
“God, Darcy, do you have to make this so hard?”
“Ok, “Socio-boy” says he’s not really doing this for his own benefit, he’s got a friend who’s a sort of sociopath – ooh, now this sounds interesting,” Darcy scrolled down.
“Darcy! You’re doing this on purpose…”
“So, this friend had an injury in college which affected his emotion – he doesn’t have any, apparently – so this guy’s trying to get someone to “break the spell” or whatever…” Darcy laughed.
“Ok, so, on to the next one,” Sadie urged.
“No, no, I’m going to look at this,” Darcy continued in a jovial tone.
“Ok, no picture, that’s not a good sign, Darcy,”
“Eh, so what? Says he’s 27, that’s a good sign. Fit, charming, despite the “no emotion” thing… works for Intel, so he is smart. A plus, if it’s true.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Sadie said incredulously.
“Hey, this guy sounds pretty perfect, if I do say so my—“
“Darcy, he’s a sociopath! No conscience, no emotion! He works at Intel, for God’s sake,”
“I wonder why there’s no picture. Maybe he’s muy feo…”
“Darcy, this is not what I had in mind,” Sadie huffed.
“Hm, maybe I should send him a message,”
“Gah, you are so irritating!”
“Ok, here we go – Hey Socio-boy – Sadie what are you doing?!” Sadie was pushing Darcy’s chair out of the way.
“If you’re actually going to do this,” she said. “You have to do it properly. Fine, you want to try and date a sociopath, I’ll make it happen.” She started clicking away at the keyboard. Darcy sat back and folded her arms, one eyebrow raised.
“I don’t want to know…” she said.
When she was finished, Sadie gave her a sly smile and went back to her desk.
A little after lunchtime, her boss, Finley, poked his head into her cubicle and requested an audience with her. She’d been pestering him to let her write something up for weeks, and he had a proposition for her.
“Now,” he said as he closed the door to his office and offered her a chair. “Roberts bailed on this, caught some sort of virus; Egypt Nile thing. And I know you need a break. It’s just a opinion brite, so don’t sweat it. But we go to press tomorrow.”
“Thank you sir,” Darcy said. “This… you have no idea…I haven’t written in so long—“
“I know exactly what it feels like,” he said with mock stern-ness. “Remember: press tomorrow.”
“Thank you so much sir, I will have it in, don’t worry. Thank you, again.” She left his office and headed back to her desk. Once in the privacy of her cubicle, she allowed herself a small victory dance.

Scene 4: Wednesday (Lucien)

The next day in his office, Lucien was staring at his computer screen, scribbling down computer commands at the speed of light when his phone rang. He didn’t notice at first, just continued to stare at the screen, not looking at what he was writing. Then he suddenly dropped his pen and picked up the cell phone lying by his left hand.
“Hello,” he said, still looking at the screen, furrowing his brow.
“Hey, dude, guess what, your plan worked,” Mitch’s voice said at the other end of the line.
“What, what plan?” Lucien said, distractedly.
“The one to get rid of girls,” Mitch explained. “You’ve only gotten one message since I put the thing about being a sociopath on there.”
“Oh, right, right. That’s cool…Hang on a sec, my brain’s functioning very highly at this moment,” he set the phone down and looked at the computer screen again, a look of complete understanding coming across his face.
“Aha! Jesus—“ Mitch heard Lucien’s muffled exclamation and papers scuffling from his end. Then footsteps retreating…
“Hello-o… Luc?” Mitch said.
Lucien came back into the room after a few minutes, no papers in his hands. He looked thoroughly relieved, and ran a hand through his hair. Then he saw the phone laying on the desk, still open. He picked it up.
“Hey, are you still there?” he said.
“Yeah, dude, are you?” Mitch said.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Lucien said. “Hey, I just made a major breakthrough. I should’ve made it weeks ago, I had the basics all written out... I’m off till next week, unless I get another idea.”
“Schweet. Let’s go out,” Mitch said.
“Sure, whatever. Wait, don’t you have to work?”
“Eh, sorta. You know what my job is like…I’ll meet you out front.We'll call it a business meeting.”
“Sure,” Lucien hung up. He grabbed his jacket, this time not bothering to grab papers or look at the clock.
“See ya, genius,” one of his co-workers cat called. He waved them off on his way out the door.
“I need to stop by somewhere and get more brandy,” he said to Mitch as they slid into a cab. “You drank all of mine.”

Later that evening at Lucien’s, his cabinet sufficiently full of brandy, Mitch and Lucien had a discussion.
“So, do you feel anything now?” Mitch asked. “I mean, are you happy that you’re done, that you’ve made a huge breakthrough, and get paid for the next three days even though you’re not working?”
“Eh,” he shrugged. “I mean, it’s a weight off my shoulders, I guess. I don’t really know. I don’t feel much different.”
“So, you’re still going to finish off that brandy, is what you’re saying? Even though you don’t have to work?”
“My mind works all the time, whether I’m getting paid or not. That’s what the brandy’s for,” Lucien said.
“Mmm.” Mitch looked around the room. “Hey, I know. We should try that message.”
“What message?” Lucien poured himself another brandy and picked up the New York Times.
“The message.” Mitch said. “The only one you’ve gotten since you declared yourself sociopathic over the internet.”
“Oh, right. Sure, what the hell?” He said from behind the paper. “I’m feeling chipper as hell...” Mitch gave him a death stare. “Uhhh, metaphor. You go ahead.”
Mitch hurried to the other room.
“This has got to be the one. She has to work this time,” he said to himself.
“What are you muttering about in there?” Lucien said from the main room.
“Nothing, just… talking...” Mitch said. “To myself.”
“Aren’t we a pair,” Lucien continued from the other room. “A sociopath and a Schizophrenic.”
“Hey, so, should I reply to this chick’s message?” Mitch said.
“What’s she say?” Lucien said.
“Uhh, -Hey you sound interesting, would like to get to know you,- blah blah blah –How’s Friday if you’re interested…-“
“What’s she like?” Lucien pressed.
“Um, pretty freakin’ gorgeous, have a look, mate,” Mitch said. “Once you get past the bookishness...”
“Eh, ‘salright, I’ll take your word for it.” Lucien said, still reading The Times. “What else?”
“She’s a journalist, she likes to read and play music in her spare time…” Mitch trailed on.
“Really? Interesting. What does she play?” Lucien asked.
“Uh, the violin. Aaand, she’s trilingual. And she works all the time. Huh. That’s all it says. She’s pretty freakin’ gorgeous, Lucien.”
“Yes, I heard that part.” Lucien emptied his glass, got up, and went into the kitchen. “Um, sure, tell her we’re interested.”
“Ok, how about Friday at seven at… uh, where?”
“Mmm, how about Italian? That, Pizzini’s, or something.”
“Ok, Friday, seven, Pizzini’s. You’re going to have a... red rose this time.” Mitch said, and held his breath. Lucien peeped into the room.
“Red, huh? Getting hopeful, are we?” he laughed. “Friday it is.”
“Well, I have to work in the morning, so I’m going to head home. Don’t drink all that brandy tonight. Read The Times, it’s better for you anyway.”
“See ya, Mitch,” Lucien said.
“See ya, dude.”






Scene 5: Thursday (Darcy)

“Hey, did you hear about Darcy’s new date?” John asked Richie as he passed his cubicle.
“Did you hear about her piece?” Richie laughed.
“Piece?” John asked.
“Yeah, she’s got a break. It goes to press this morning.”
“This is just her week, isn’t it? Break followed by a date….”
Surprisingly, no one bothered Darcy about her date, though there was no way that word hadn’t gotten around that she was going on a date; and on top of that, a date with a sociopath. Most people stopped by to congratulate her on her latest break.
She made it through the day on one cup of coffee, and went home thoroughly exhausted. Once she was home and settled, there was a knock at her door. She opened it, and her neighbor, a seventy-some-year-old woman, was at the door.
“I saw your name in the paper,” she said, with a crinkly smile. “And I wanted to bring you a copy of it, so that you can cherish it always. You have a talent, m’dear. A real talent.”
“Thank you,” Darcy said, taking the paper from her. “Would you like to come in? I have some wine…”’
“No, thank you dear. It’s my bed time. I hope to see your name in the paper more often. Good night, and good luck to you, deary.” She smiled and shuffled down the hall to her apartment. Darcy looked after her, then closed the door.
She sank down on the couch and looked at her article. It was small, to be sure, but, she hadn’t written in such a long time, since her promotion, it was nice to see that she still had it in her. She looked at the newspaper, hesitated, and then folded it up and set it down on the coffee table. Ever since she’d gotten into this business she could hardly read newspapers anymore, especially her own. She drank the rest of her wine and went off to bed herself.

Scene 6: Thursday (Lucien)

Lucien kept his promise, and didn’t drink all of his brandy. Instead, he devoured book after book and The New York Times all day. That night, as he was reading the Times, he came across a name he hadn’t heard since high school. At first he thought he’d misread it.
“It couldn’t be…” he murmured.
He called Mitch on his cell phone.
“Yo,” Mitch answered.
“Hey, have you read The Times tonight?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah, actually, I did. Weird, huh? Did you see that one article on the third page about the green rhinocer—“
“Did you happen to read a short little article in the opinion section?” Lucien pressed.
“Uh, maybe, what was it about? Was it that techtronics device that you could hide in your—“
“No—and it’s more about who than what,” Lucien said. “Do you recognize the name Darcy Radcliffe?”
“Uh, uh… uh yeah! Yeah, she was that chick you went on about in college.”
“In college…” Lucien muttered. “Hmm.”
“Yeah, Darcy Radcliffe was her name. So she writes now?”
“I guess. I’ve never seen her name…”
“And you would know, right? ‘Cause you read that thing every day. Ha ha! Wow... Well, I’ve still gotta work an’ all… I’ll see ya later.”
“See ya.”
Huh. Darcy Radcliffe. He couldn’t believe it. After all these years, she lived in New York, and wrote for the Times. He couldn’t recall the feeling he’d had for her all through high school, but he could remember what it was called. He read the article again. And again. Then he went to bed, reminiscing (as much as he could) about high school.

Scene 7: Friday (Darcy)

It was 5:20 when Finley walked through the PA/C office and noticed a light was still on in one of the cubicles.
“Darcy,” he said, even before he read the name on the cubicle and looked over the wall. “Go home.”
“I will sir,” she said. “I just have this one thing to fini---“
“Now, I heard, through the grapevine, that you have a date tonight.”
“Uh, yes, sir. That is correct. But regardless, I have…” she looked up at him. He was laughing at her.
“Get outta here! It’s Friday! You’ve got a date, now go!” he turned her light off and shooed her from the office, laughing all the way.
Once outside, she hailed a cab. She had the strangest feeling, almost a nervousness in her stomach.
“Jesus, he’s a sociopath,” she said to herself.
“Wha’s that?” the cab driver said, with a strange look.
“Oh, nothing,” she replied. “Thank you,” she said as they reached her apartment. She paid the driver and went into her apartment.
“Watch out for them sociopaths, they’m dangerous,” the cabbie called after her, laughing.
Once inside, she poured herself a glass of wine and sat down at her laptop. She pulled her rose vase closer, slowly inhaling the flowers’ perfect scent. She began typing, noting that she had and hour to get ready. After a while, the phone rang, but she let the answering machine pick it up.
“Darcy, I know you’re there... you’re probably pecking away at some piece,” Sadie said from the speaker phone. “Pick up the phone…”
Darcy looked at the phone, then back at her laptop. She closed the laptop and wandered into her bedroom. Forty minutes.
“Alright then, don’t pick up,” Sadie said. “You know, the problem with your social life is that…”
Darcy opened her closet and walked inside, drowning Sadie out as she looked at her dresses.
“Which dress?” she wondered aloud to herself. “Which shoes?”
She reached past a burgundy dress to a long black one.
“…oh and don’t wear the black dress, Darcy, don’t do it,” Sadie quipped from the speaker phone. “Wear that dark red halter dress you have. And the black heels. And take your hair down.”
Darcy rolled her eyes and took the black dress from the closet.
“I’m wearing the black dress, Sadie,” Darcy said when she reached the phone. Sadie sighed.
“You need this break, Darcy. Now get off the phone and go get ready. Red  dress.” She hung up.
Darcy reluctantly looked at the black dress, then hung it back up in the closet, taking the burgundy from the hanger.
“This must be so easy for men,” she said to herself. “They just wear suits for everything.” 
She decided to take Sadie’s advice, except the heels, which she hated. She pulled on a jacket, smelled the roses one more time, and whistled for a cab outside.