Launching Sanditon
Planning the NYC/London book launches
Melody rubbed her temples and then her eyes. She couldn’t believe the difficulties of scheduling the London launch party and why she needed to be here at the meeting, but consoled herself with the thought that it was just one of the responsibilities of being Jane Austen’s agent.
She was tired from worrying about the tension that had developed between herself and Jane. Melody felt some measure of responsibility—perhaps she had taken a little too seriously her new role as Jane’s business manager and maybe she had been trying to use Mary as leverage with Jane, but everything she’d done had been in their best interests.
Thankfully relations had warmed lately and Jane seemed to take her suggestions as intended and Melody had tried to not interfere with Jane’s relationship with Mary. It was, after all, in their best interests that Jane and Mary should be the closest of friends, although that might make it all the harder once they no longer needed Mary as an avatar.
The other headache had been moving into the office space for the combined Kramer Associates/Austen Enterprises; and interviewing candidates for the job of her assistant. That last task might be put aside, however. She’d just heard from Rebecca, her former assistant. She was affianced no longer and had called Melody for support and sympathy and Melody had surprised herself by mentioning the possibility of Rebecca returning to New York.
She was surprised because she thought she still held resentment over Rebecca’s abandonment. Rebecca had gotten engaged without telling Melody, and it was something of a surprise when Rebecca announced she was moving to California to start her own agency and get married. During their conversation, however, Melody was reminded how much she had depended on Rebecca. Unfortunately she wasn’t quite sure if she’d actually offered the job to Rebecca and thought maybe …
“What about Tuesday? Would that work for Miss Austen?” Mr Laurence asked, his voice surprisingly clear over the conference call speaker in Mr Pembroke’s office.
Melody had a moment of confusion, trying to remember what they’d been talking about.
“Excuse me, I didn’t quite hear that,” she said.
“Can we nail down Tuesday as the book launch and have the party that evening?” the voice over the speaker said.
“Uh, yes, that will be fine,” Melody said. Actually, she’d hoped to be doing some of her own sightseeing on Tuesday, but obviously the book launch was the most important thing they would be doing in London.
“That’s a horrible day for a launch party. Wednesday is better,” someone else said in the London office, the newcomer’s voice overstepping Melody’s remarks in that annoying half-second lag of trans-Atlantic calls done through Skype.
“Wednesday would also be fine for Miss Austen,” Melody said, eager to move on.
Mr Pembroke, perhaps sensing Melody’s annoyance, suggested, “Perhaps we could move on to the venue. The last we heard you were suggesting the Savoy.”
There was longer than the half-second silence from the other end. “Well, that was floated here, but the expense … value for money …”
Mr Pembroke smiled, not surprised at that reaction, and interjected, “The expense should not be a consideration, not where Jane Austen is concerned.”
“Well of course,” the other side of the Atlantic confirmed. “No, we were just thinking … a false economy of course … yes the Savoy would be perfect. Or the Ritz. We can get a good price at the Ritz.”
“I’m sure the Ritz would be fine as well,” Mr Pembroke confirmed. He pressed the mute button on the speaker.
“I thought they might try to low ball this,” he confided to Melody. He was smiling broadly though, evidently enjoying promoting his last and most famous author. Melody smiled back at him, not sure whether the Ritz was a step up or down from the Savoy; both hotels sounded wonderful to her and she remembered them from Notting Hill.
He unmuted and continued: “By the bye, I don’t think we’ve gotten the invite list yet.”
Again a pause from the other side that went on long enough that Mr Pembroke added, “I’m sure Miss Kramer will want to make any notes that will help Miss Austen during introductions.”
“Jane doesn’t follow gossip,” Melody said, blatantly lying but wanting to defend the impression of Jane as a high-minded individual. In fact, she looked forward to sitting with Jane and dishing dirt on the celebrities they hoped would attend. Jane would pretend to that high-minded tone, but in fact she followed the careers of those actors who had played her characters. But it was true that she knew almost nothing of contemporary British comedians and actors and television outside her interests. She recalled her attempt at explaining Doctor Who to her—a difficult task because Melody didn’t really understand Doctor Who—and the fascination with whatever actor was the latest to portray the famous Time Lord. Fortunately Mary was able to help with that topic.
“So it really would help if I could give her a head’s up on who’s sleeping with who … I mean whom,” she added.
“Er, yes, we’ll send you something today. Problem is the list keeps growing because the launch party is already an open secret and everyone wants to make sure they’re invited,” Mr Laurence admitted.
Mr Pembroke rolled his eyes, annoyed the London office wanted to economize when the book launch was drawing this much attention. Still, he was glad it wasn’t coming out of his budget. The New York launch was already causing grumbling.
“I know how it is William,” Mr Pembroke said to his counterpart. “We’re having the same problem and we’ve had to change hotels here to accommodate the larger group. We’ll need Lincoln Center by the time we’re done.
“Now can we move on to the poster for the launch party. I notice your latest mockup uses Goudy Old Style for the title.”
Oh God, kill me now, Melody thought. Once Alan started going on the topic of fonts, she knew she was doomed. Problem was that he’d started out in life as a typographer, back in the day when Helvetica was considered avante garde—crap, that was practically a type joke—and had no taste for modern typography. Which made him a pretty good choice for working with a Jane Austen novel, but didn’t endear him to graphic designers on either side of the Atlantic.
She decided it might be a good time to sneak out for a bathroom break and whispered to him—“I am just going outside and may be some time”—and stole from his office, he little caring for he was busy debating the fine points of the kerning of the words “You’re invited to:”
Melody did use the opportunity to visit the lavatory and then found the break room where she topped off her travel mug. She nodded pleasantly at the receptionist who was heating her microwave diet meal and confessed her fondness for her frozen chicken parmigiana entrée, the pathetic aroma of which failed to arouse any hunger from Melody, but she still enjoyed the conversation. Because of the weeks and months of the book negotiations and then the planning for the book tour, she had become almost a fixture in the office.
Fortunately the receptionist was taking her meal back to eat at her desk, leaving Melody alone. She used the time to call Tamara.
“What are you doing?” Melody asked her partner when a breathless Tamara answered the phone amid the clamour of rattling pans.
“I just thought I’d try making something a little special for tonight,” Tamara answered. She had thought about spaghetti bolognese.
“What about chicken parmigiana?” Melody suggested.
“Oh, I’ve never tried that before,” Tamara replied, surprised at the request. She was celebrating the success of the new work schedule implementation and finally had some time on her hands. She and Melody had been living on takeout for weeks—that is when Melody was actually home.
“But I’m sure it’s not much more difficult than the spaghetti,” she lied. There were chicken breasts in the freezer, and she’d need to get some real parmigiana and mozzarella, and Panko bread crumbs for the chicken breast and she’d need to make marin
ara sauce instead of the bolognese sauce and that meant she’d need white wine instead of red; and all these thoughts were going round in her head alongside the guilt of a kept woman.
The kept woman guilt had finally struck her the other day when she caught a glimpse of one of the movie offers for Sanditon. Melody had written down some quick figures that Tamara had interpreted as the offer and was struck by the amount. Then she realized that what Melody had written down was her percentage as Jane’s agent.
Their conversation turned to other topics; the daily back and forth of two people who loved each other and had been in love for quite some time. Eventually, however, Melody decided she’d been away from Mr Pembroke too long and resigned herself to returning to discussions of the minutiae of the book launch. She said goodbye to Tamara and thought yet again how fortunate she was to find someone so lucky and talented.
And Tamara thought she’d better look up a chicken parmigiana recipe online.
Roommates
Stephen and Albert meet online
Stephen tried to ignore the distractions his computer continually offered while he was writing his speech for the upcoming romance conference in Colorado Springs, but the bookmark for Virtual Chawton kept tempting him.
He was no longer actively helping Dr Davis and frankly thought her obsession a waste of time. It wasn’t like this Jane Austen suddenly emerged out of nowhere. The AfterNet had announced it was examining a claimant to Jane Austen’s legacy for months before they made their decision. So if this person was not really her, then the real Jane Austen had had ample time to make a counterclaim. That no one had done so meant either that there were no legitimate claimants or the real Jane Austen had over the course of nearly two hundred years withdrawn from the world of flesh and blood so much that she no longer cared about her identity and her legacy.
So if he had to choose between a Jane Austen who seemed to be living up to the reputation—and that certainly seemed to be the impression of those few familiar with her completion of Sanditon—or a Jane Austen so lost to dementia that she couldn’t be bothered to claim her identity, then his choice was simple.
But just as an intellectual exercise, he was still curious how Austen had proven her identity. As he’d told Davis, the mapping project, the 3D reconstructions and the inventories of both Chawton House and Chawton Cottage meant it was pretty difficult for anyone to claim secret knowledge.
He had been wondering if the answer lay in Edward Austen-Knight’s other home, Godmersham Park. Perhaps Austen knew some detail at that house, which was now the home of a medical college. And soon he was reflecting on the parallels between his life and Edward’s.
Jane’s brother was the third oldest sibling, one of Jane’s six brothers. And he had been borrowed by his father’s cousin, Thomas Knight and his wife, and later adopted by them as they had no children of their own. The Reverend George Austen and his wife must understandably have hated to relinquish their rights to their son, but in the practical calculations of the day, it made sense to offer Edward a much better life with the wealthy Knights. After all, the Austens regularly visited their son at his several homes after the death of his adoptive parents and it was Edward who allowed Mrs Austen, Cassandra, Jane and their friend Martha Lloyd to live at Chawton Cottage, a house near his estate Chawton House. In that light, allowing Edward to be adopted certainly paid off.
Edward’s life closely resembled that of a character in Emma. In that novel, Mr Weston, left unable by grief and genteel poverty to raise his son after the death of his first wife, allowed his brother-in-law and his wife to adopt his son, Frank. And in Mansfield Park, Fanny Price is not quite adopted but is raised by the Bertrams. And again in Emma, Jane Fairfax is cared for by the Campbells after the death of her father.
So repeatedly, Stephen found that Austen’s definition of family ties was quite mutable, something he appreciated, as he was also to some extent a loaned son. At sixteen, he’d gone to Evanston, Illinois, to live with his childless uncle and aunt. He’d enrolled in prep school there, paid for by his uncle, and then went to Northwestern University, also partly paid for by his uncle and the scholarships Stephen had been awarded. He regularly went home to Bloomington, however, and didn’t need to change his name, but in many ways, he felt the same divided loyalties that he imagined Edward had experienced. And now he also felt guilt in not being able to support Davis in her quest to unseat Austen.
Lost in these conflicting thoughts and emotions, he was happy when his computer distracted him with new mail.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Mar. 10, 2011 09:31:11
Subject: AGM roommates
Greetings Mr Abrams,
I learn from JASNA that you have graciously volunteered to be one of the living roommates for the disembodied attendees of the upcoming AGM and I have been fortunate enough to be assigned to your care.
Please allow me to thank you for your kind offer. You must be very understanding of the concerns of the disembodied and I very much appreciate your willingness to act as our—well I abhor the word facilitator as was stated in the email I received—guide, perhaps.
I assure you I am a man of modest habits and do not snore and will respect your privacy, although that may be difficult for a little research shows that you are a student of Dr Alice Davis and surely you must have opinions to offer us regarding the special guest at the AGM.
If there is any information you require of me, please do not hesitate to ask. I assume as the time draws near, you will provide us with more information about the arrangements and until that time,
I remain your humble servant,
Albert Ridings
Stephen read this with a grin, amused at Albert’s elaborate tone. Stephen had a fair number of disembodied friends, and some of them had definitely crafted affectations. He suspected many were not authentically of their era and he wondered if Albert were playing up his part. He decided to reply in kind:
Dear Mr Ridings,
Thank you for your many compliments. I look forward to meeting you at the AGM and you are correct that I will provide more information as the date draws near. You have the distinction of being the first of my disembodied roommates to reply, however, so I will gladly take any suggestions from you as to what information you would require.
It may help you to know my appearance and to that end I include this link to my facebook page where I hope you might ask me to be your friend.
And yes the news that Jane Austen will be addressing the AGM certainly has kept me busy. You can imagine for someone like me the appeal of being able to directly ask Miss Austen questions, rather than sifting through family records, divining answers from diary entries and casual observations or traveling to England to examine museum inventories. Well, the last actually has a certain appeal.
Of course, even if this is the actual Jane Austen—something which I am ready to accept—the passage of time may have affected her recollections and will still need to be verified independently if possible.
I look forward to your reply and again any suggestions as to how I may make your attendance at the AGM more enjoyable.
In kind, I offer myself as your humble and obedient servant.
Stephen James Abrams, esq
Stephen smirked when adding the esquire, especially as his only pretension to the landed gentry was his one-year lease on a studio apartment, but he thought himself equal to Albert’s flowery flummery. He forced himself to return to his task of writing his speech when his email chimed again and found that Albert had asked him to be his friend on facebook.
He confirmed Albert, which allowed him to view Albert’s page. He found an old photo that showed a typical Tommy1 from World War I, posed in front of some painted backdrop with his hat sitting on a waist high plinth next to him. He could make out little other than that the man appeared older than the typical soldier, although that may have been the effect of the man’s smart moustache and
by his sergeant’s stripes. Clicking about also revealed references to the Battle of the Somme, the 1st Battalion of the Hampshire Regiment, JASNA and Boca Raton, Florida, Albert’s current home. It was clear from the context that Albert claimed to be someone who’d died during World War I, presumably at the Battle of the Somme, although Stephen could also see that Albert did not have a verified identity.
Judging from the postings on his page, however, that did not stop Albert from having connected with the descendants of his family. He found numerous photos and videos of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Stephen also assumed his descendants were the source of Albert’s photograph. Taken as a whole, it seemed a pretty convincing portrait of a man who’d died during the Great War and had successfully reconnected with his very extensive family.
But somehow the story of Albert discovering Jane Austen while convalescing from his wounds just seemed too ridiculously based on Rudyard Kipling’s The Janeite. Of course he knew there was a basis for the story. A soldier, returned to England and recovering from his wounds at a manor house pressed into service as a hospital, might well be given a copy of Pride and Prejudice by a kind-hearted nurse.
OK, that’s the romance author in me. I’ve created an elaborate background story of a man I’ve just met and of whose identity I am uncertain. Oh well, what does it matter if he truly is a Tommy that died in World War I or an accountant who died in Ipswich in 1988? He’s still my roommate.
1 Slang for British soldiers, especially during World War I
Where to put Jane
Accommodating the author at the AGM
“Shouldn’t she open the AGM?” Beth Ann asked for possibly the third time since their lunch began. The organizing committee was busy trying to rearrange the schedule. Dr Joan Klingel Ray, former JASNA president, had been their original choice to open with her talk: “Sense and Sensibility as The Problem Novel.” Dr Ray was a popular choice, back when the theme was simply two hundred years of Sense and Sensibility.
Jane, Actually Page 15
