A new story! I think sometimes that I enjoy torturing myself. I'm now writing four stories at once. Why? I really don't know. I was sitting at work, and this was coming at me full-force, so I figured I'd give it a go. Tell me what you think. Darcy may come across as a bit of a prick, but keep in mind that he's emotionally stunted and will develop later. This is another parody, it's meant to be lighthearted.

Ok. May you have fun.

Fitzwilliam Darcy: Former Child Star

Chapter One: "In Need of Assistance"

"Fitz Darcy! You are a psychopath. I quit!"

"That's good because you're probably the worst assistant ever," I shouted back at the domineering Asian girl in front of me. She sneered at me and didn't bother with another word before she threw her hefty handfuls of clothing onto the floor and stomped away.

I reminded myself to breathe. I mean… it could have been much worse. When my last assistant quit he punched my in the jaw while I was sitting in my living room. Kimberly was incompetent anyway. What did I care if she quit? In fact it was probably a good thing… saved me from having to fire her.

I looked down at the pile of clothes by my feet. Now who was going to pick those up? I looked around the crowded LA boutique. It was disgustingly full of nobodies. I was having vivid nightmares of what it must be like at The Gap.

"Miss," I said, holding out my hand like Kimberly always did when she hailed me a cab. The sales girl looked at me. Why wasn't she smiling? Isn't that what these moronic girls get paid for- to smile and be at your beckon call? "Miss, I seemed to have dropped my clothes."

The sales girl glared at me and looked down at the clothes. "Wow, that sucks," she said and walked away.

I stood in complete shock for quite awhile. "Miss!" I shouted after her.

The girl stopped, took a deep breath and turned to me with one of those plastic, obviously fake smiles. "Yes?" she asked in a falsely friendly tone that had an amazing amount of bite to it.

I looked down at my clothes again. "My clothes are still on the floor."

"That's. Nice." She was obviously very angry. She was grinding her teeth and her eyes were popping out a bit. It reminded me of those stress toys that my agent always makes me hold when I didn't get a part. Its eyes also popped out when I squeezed it... Not that I was squeezing the sales girl or anything.

"Listen, I think you should probably pick up those clothes before I have a little chat with you manager." I was trying to be threatening. I'd spent almost twenty-two years in this business. I've been an actor since I was four years old. I think by now I'd know how to be intimidating and threatening.

The girl bit her lip and grudgingly picked up the clothes. She stomped away from me, similarly to how Kimberly had but in a different direction, and dropped my clothes angrily onto the floor in one of the dressing rooms. She turned to me, her face the epitome of anger, and said with a hard edge, "If there's anything else you need." She stopped for a second and glared then added, "Sir," with such a vengeance that I almost flinched. If I wasn't such a trained and objective professional, I might have. But famous people do not cringe from lowly sales girls.

The girl stomped away again and I quickly tried on my clothes in a huff. I couldn't believe that girl! Did she know who I was? I'm Fitzwilliam Darcy! I was Connor on the television series that inspired a phenomenon. I had catch phrases and people asking me for my autograph. I wasn't the kind of man you were rude to. I'd been an actor since I could talk. I was the kind of man that people took pictures of with their cell phones.

I eventually finished trying on my clothes. None of them worked, so I walked out of my fitting room and there was that same girl sitting there looking very bored. I dropped my large stack right there on the small table in front of her. She glared at me again as I walked out empty handed.

I really needed something to wear for my old cast-mate's birthday, so I continued to look through the shop for awhile. That girl was folding some shirts over in a corner and periodically shooting me scathing looks. I quite liked the shirt she was folding so I went over and rifled through the pile she was folding for my size. I pulled out the shirt, wordlessly, and it really wasn't my fault that the whole stack toppled over. I held up the shirt against my body and changed my mind; I needed something that would make my blue eyes pop, so I just laid it back down.

The girl growled and glared at me. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" I asked cheerily. She looked as though she wanted to stab me.

She death-glared me for a couple moments as I smiled cheerily back. "Who do you think you are?" she asked with the kind of tone that implied that she hardly cared who I was.

I was slightly taken aback. She didn't know? I knew she was acting funny. Surely if she had known she wouldn't have been nearly as rude. "I'm Fitzwilliam Darcy!" I replied, filling her in quickly. "I was in the hit TV series 'Boomerang'."

She eyed me, looking very confused. Did she really not know? "What the hell are you talking about?" she asked, managing to ask a question and still sound quite put-out.

"I'm talking about 'Boomerang'! Have you never seen 'Boomerang'?" I asked in shock. This was blasphemous. "It was a television phenomenon! I had catch phrases for crying out loud! What kind of freak hasn't heard of 'Boomerang'? Did you grow up under a rock? Were your parents demented or something?"

I should have realized that it would be stupid to go on one of my tirades in the presence of a girl that was in obvious need of some anger management.

But I didn't… so I was rather shocked when she punched me in the face.