Of course their early conversation was stilted and involved many of the pro forma questions Jane had come to expect: How are you finding the book tour? Where is the next stop? Have you ever been to an AGM before? What actress do you think should play Charlotte Heywood? Once the drinks and the appetizers arrived, however, the questions were of a higher calibre: What did you mean when you thought Emma a heroine only you might like? Were you aware Fanny would be thought of as so unlikable? How different is Sanditon from the book you would have written while still alive?
Jane enjoyed answering these questions, and remarked that she was always happy to critically discuss these matters with fellow Janeites. Her remark prompted the question what did she mean “fellow Janeites,” which allowed Jane to say that she was a member of JASNA, JAS, JASE and JASA.2
“I confess I now view my six novels as the work of a different person altogether. I know many novelists late in life look back in wonder and puzzlement at the passions that fuelled their early work and I am no different. I am continually amazed at the insight my fellow Janeites offer into the person I was.”
“I’m more worried about people … UNINTELLIGIBLE …who try to make you into something you’re … that book …” said a woman who sat at the other end of the table from Jane. The terminal apparently had difficulty recognizing her words, either because she was too far away or speaking too quietly. Jane thought a second to remember the woman’s name before asking, “I’m sorry, Rita, I’m afraid I didn’t hear that.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t … no … UNINTELLIGIBLE … east forget it,” Rita said, even quieter this time, obviously embarrassed by what she’d said.
“Do you refer to Mr Blake’s book?” Jane asked, guessing the topic.
“None of us believe that book, Jane,” one woman said.
“And none of us think it’s anyone’s business,” said another.
“What happens in the Regency, stays in the Regency,” Barbara said. Everyone laughed at this last comment, although its significance was lost on Jane.3 Her confusion didn’t matter; the joke managed to steer the conversation from the topic, for which she was grateful.
Shortly after this, the food arrived and the conversation took on a personal tone, as each person talked to her neighbour. Jane feared she might be left out of the conversation somewhat, so she did her best to ask questions about the food.
“Excuse me, Betty, that is elk?” she asked the woman across from her as the waiter set down a plate.
“Yes … Jane. I’m sorry that you …”
“Please don’t concern yourself and I am sorry to ask you questions while you’re eating. I don’t believe I ever ate elk when alive.”
“It’s quite wonderful. I had elk the last time I was here,” another woman said.
“I don’t think elk is common to the British Isles,” Betty said.
“Of course it is,” someone else objected. “Didn’t the queen shoot one … I mean not shoot one in that movie?”
“That was a red deer.”
Soon the women were producing smartphones and tablets and Googling information about elk—“the American Indian name is wapiti”—and the Queen—“she’s a lovely lady; why would anyone want to get rid of the monarchy”—and visiting the website of the very same restaurant they were sitting in to view the menu they had just ordered from.
Jane was very amused at the activity caused by her casual remark. She thought of her Darcy and how he would disapprove of the commotion and the inappropriateness of consulting smartphones while engaged in the very serious business of dining.
Would Darcy be one of those men who checks sports scores at the table? Jane wondered. People think I created Darcy with impossibly high standards, but he simply exhibited the correct manners of the day. A modern-day Darcy might very well be tempted to check on his stock portfolio or the results of a test match, or would he prefer football?
The dinner continued merrily. Jane wondered whether Melody might arrange more intimate gatherings of this sort, rather than the large bookstore signings.
Finally the meal was finished and their waiters were clearing the table and offering the dessert menu. But Susan stood up and gathered the attention of the women by clinking her water glass with a knife.
“I think we would all like to thank Jane for joining us tonight and especially for all the joy she has brought us over the years.” The women applauded and Jane felt quite moved. “And I’m sure we’re all hoping the next book won’t take two hundred years.” The laughter, Jane judged by the looks of the other diners, must have been quite loud.
“Now we all know what a … significant day this is for Jane. It’s a day that many of us mourn, but I’m told by Melody Kramer, she’s Jane’s agent, that last year they actually celebrated today as a kind of second or half birthday. Now Jane, they celebrate birthdays at this restaurant with a certain tradition.”
Suddenly several of the wait staff appeared, one of whom was holding some sort of furry object with horns, and to Jane they appeared to be singing. The terminal couldn’t translate the words. The waitress holding the furry object came behind Jane’s chair and put it on the table, next to the terminal. She now realized the furry thing was meant to be a hat.
“We had hoped we could put the birthday buffalo hat on your avatar, Jane.”
Jane was at first appalled at the idea of poor Mary being forced to wear the ridiculous hat. She shared with Mary a reluctance to appear ridiculous and knew her friend would have blushed at the prospect. The other women were all looking at the hat and several were taking photographs and Jane realized that to refuse to wear the hat would be tactless.
“I’m sure Mary—my avatar—is bitterly regretting her opportunity to wear the … buffalo hat on this special occasion. Might I suggest that each of you wear it in turn?”
This met with general approbation and in turn, each woman wore the hat and many pictures were taken and then a cake was produced with the words “Happy Birthday, Jane!” written in icing.
Everyone then sang “Happy Birthday!” and many other diners joined in the singing and especially in the applause as the Janeites used her full name.
“Thank you, thank you everyone. I shall always remember the day I wore the buffalo hat,” she said. “And I shall insist on photos being sent to me.”
. . .
“And then they all wore the buffalo hat and they all looked very silly,” Jane said.
“That’s nice,” Mary said in a sleepy voice and with half-closed eyes. She yawned while answering: “I hope there’re pictures.”
Mary’s reply was slightly garbled by the terminal, but Jane guessed what Mary had said. “Oh yes, I insisted, but you are tired and I should let you rest.”
For the last fifteen minutes, Mary had been trying to convey to Jane how much she desired rest. She had managed a few hours sleep while Jane was gone, but had awakened at ten o’clock with Jane still not returned.
She had become accustomed to Jane’s walkabouts and was not too worried and occupied her time by watching a movie. She was enjoying the experience of watching it alone, without needing to explain to Jane every cultural reference. And for once she felt free to watch something stupid. Not that Jane ever commented or criticized Mary’s taste, but sharing a hotel room with the very model of English literature precluded one from suggesting they watch a Jim Carrey movie.
As midnight approached, Mary was beginning to grow anxious. Just a little after midnight, however, she got a call that Jane had returned and she walked down to the lobby and met Ms Hornung and Ms Reineke, who had very obviously been making merry. At first Mary was alarmed that they had been driving, but it was explained that Ms Hornung’s husband had driven them back from the restaurant, allowing for some of the delay.
Mary thanked them for showing Jane a good time and they left still in good spirits, spirits Jane was still enjoying. She nattered away at Mary, telling her how much she would have liked the restaurant and describing each of the diners and their
habits and peculiarities in detail.
Mary listened to this with a smile, happy that her friend had such a good time and disappointed she had been unable to attend, although she was happy to have escaped wearing the buffalo hat. She did not enjoy looking stupid.
But a full half-hour of this left her desperately wanting sleep and her final “That’s nice” was her last word of the evening.
Jane saw her friend fall asleep and was tempted to make one last observation about the unfortunate choice of spectacles of one of the JASNA ladies.
Oh, I had best let her sleep. I can tell her in the morning. She does look all knocked up.4
She realized how much she wanted to tell Mary about the evening and suddenly knew that was the thing that was missing from her relationship with Mary.
After all, in many ways Mary was as close to her as her own sister. Since the start of the book tour, they had been together constantly. She and Cassandra, however, were often parted, sometimes for months on end and during those separations they would write long letters about what they had seen, who they had met, what people were wearing and who had danced with whom. Even dear sisters benefited from time apart, if only for the opportunity to tell stories from the perspective of having witnessed events alone.
The very small irritation she had earlier felt, that very small resentment that Mary was living her life, was now gone. She would have been delighted to see Mary wearing the buffalo hat and would have traded on that story for a good long while. She could just imagine Mary’s look of annoyance and knew it would have mirrored her own in the same situation. And she knew that Cassandra would have counselled her to accept the wearing of the hat with good grace and dignity.
Looking at Mary, she knew that she could never want another to represent her. She decided to email Melody to see if they could make their partnership permanent.
1 Bent’s Old Fort was a trading post along the Sante Fe Trail in southeastern Colorado. The building that stands there now is a recreation. The Fort Restaurant in Morrison, Colorado, is a replica of the re-creation, and famously serves game meats and other oddities, such as rattlesnake, alligator and Rocky Mountain Oysters.
2 The Jane Austen Society of North America, the Jane Austen Society of the United Kingdom, the Jane Austen Society of Europe and the Jane Austen Society of Australia.
3 A reference to an advertising campaign urging people to visit Las Vegas, Nevada: “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
4 Exhausted
Homecoming
Excess baggage
Melody shoved the door closed with her butt and announced, “I’m home.” She dropped her purse and computer bag to the floor and let the carry-on bag tip over with a loud thud, but there was no response to her announcement.
“Where is she? It’s almost nine,” she said. The flat maintained its silence until the sound of a jingling collar signalled the arrival of their cat Sally, who stopped short once she caught sight of Melody. Sally was really Tamara’s cat, but still Melody didn’t think she deserved the suspicious look she was getting.
“Stupid cat,” she said, before crouching down and offering her hand. After a little hesitation, Sally approached and allowed Melody to scratch her before running to the kitchen in hopes of food.
Melody stood up, her back stiff from the flight from Los Angeles, and followed Sally. Walking past the dining table, Melody saw that Tamara had made a neat pile of the letters addressed to her. She stopped to look through them quickly while ignoring Sally’s pleading. Once Sally was wrapped around her leg, however, she tossed the letters back onto the table.
“OK, food, I know.” In the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator, looking for an already opened can. As usual it was buried in the back. She had to move a takeout box aside to retrieve it.
“Provenza’s,” she said, reading the name of their favourite Italian restaurant. She’d promised Tamara they would go to Provenza’s before she’d left for the two-week trip.
She fed the cat a tiny spoonful, even though she’d undoubtedly already been fed, as a peace offering. It was gone instantly and the cat, perhaps knowing that she’d been given an illicit meal, quickly disappeared.
Melody exchanged the cat food for a bottle of pale ale and took it back to the living room where she collapsed onto the couch. Despite the still long late summer day, it was dark, a consequence of their being on the east side of the high-rise. She found the TV remote as usual buried in the couch cushion and reached up for the reading lamp. After a few seconds of unsuccessful fumbling she turned to look and saw that the floor lamp was gone, replaced by a new Japanese-looking lamp made of rice paper shades and wood.
She looked around the living room with no sight of the floor lamp that she’d bought from a thrift shop for her first apartment. It had three battered aluminium cones that were originally adjustable. One of the switches had never worked and the two remaining cones tended to flicker. It was always a source of contention, Tamara always arguing it needed to be binned.
After a little searching, Melody found a dial on the new lamp that incrementally controlled the brightness. The paper shades sent out a soft glow, in comparison to the spotlights from the old lamp.
The sound of keys in the front door attracted Melody’s attention, as well as that of Sally, who burst out of the bedroom. The door opened and bumped into Melody’s carry-on bag.
“Mel? Are you home?” Tamara called out as she pushed aside the luggage. The scraping sound alarmed Sally who jumped straight up.
Melody rose from the couch and answered, “I just got in.” She hurried to the door, picked up her purse and luggage and gave Tamara a quick peck on the cheek.
“I thought you wouldn’t be home until tomorrow,” Tamara said. “Stop it Sally, it’s not dinner time,” she told the cat, who was circling her leg. “You’re fat enough already.”
“We finished early so I booked an earlier flight,” Melody answered as she returned from putting her purse and luggage in the bedroom.
“You ate the ticket?” Tamara asked, surprised that her penny-pinching lover would ever willingly pay full fare.
“I wanted to come home and see you,” she said. “It was worth it.” She didn’t add that she no longer booked no cancellation tickets, one of the benefits of being Jane Austen’s agent.
Tamara took Melody’s hand and they embraced and Melody drank in the smell of Tamara’s hair.
“I’m really glad you’re home, too. We’ve missed you. Stop it Sally!” she said to the cat, who’d stood up and lightly sunk her claws into her slacks.
Their intimate mood spoiled, Tamara asked, “Did you eat?”
“I brought a sandwich on the plane,” she said. “How ’bout you?”
“Pizza at the office. Hizzoner bought.”
“Ooh, pizza with the mayor.”
“And five others from the planning department … and the rest of the mayor’s staff. We have the big announcement next week, remember?”
Melody nodded as if she had some idea to what Tamara referred.
“Liar. You have … OK, Sally, I’ll get you something.”
She scooped up the cat and took it into the kitchen. Melody considered saying something, but thought better of it. The incredibly small morsel of food she fed Sally could hardly make much difference anyway.
That task done, they retired to the couch, Tamara taking a glass of wine with her. They snuggled, their bodies naturally settling into their matching curves.
“New lamp,” Melody observed.
“It finally died,” Tamara said. “Honestly, there were sparks when I tried to turn it on. Look at the outlet; there are scorch marks.”
“I believe you,” she replied, although she tried to see the outlet from where she sat.
“Things happen around here if you’re gone for two weeks.”
“Like going to Provenza’s.”
“Among other things. I’m really glad you’re back. How long before you leave again.”
“It�
��s not that bad,” Melody said, knowing full well she was only home for the night.
“Yes it is. I hate having to look at a calendar to find out if you’re home. Aren’t you going to England again?”
Melody sighed. “Not for another two weeks.”
“It would be nice if you could spend some time at home.”
“Wouldn’t you just be at the office if I was?” Melody asked, and regretted it immediately. Her tiredness and the beer had dropped her guard.
Fortunately Tamara only said, “Probably,” and then was silent.
Melody was congratulating herself that her stupid remark hadn’t sparked an argument when Tamara said, “I have something to tell you.”
Back to Bath
Albert imagines the worst
BertieFromHants says:
Where are you Jane?
JaneAusten3 says:
Still in NYC, Albert.
BertieFromHants says:
And what are you editing now?
JaneAusten3 says:
Another young adult novel. Apparently being bitten by a vampire is the source for most teen angst.
Jane wrote this while looking at the square before Bath Cathedral and the Pump Room and the hundreds of people dressed in Regency costume. The festival, as ever, was a surreal event for Jane. She had been in Bath during the festival twice before and each time she promised herself she would not return, for the effect was disturbing.
She quite appreciated the obvious enjoyment of the participants and their desire to recreate the past, specifically her past, but naturally no one had ever given thought to how it might appear to the person whose name was lent to the festival. At a quick, first glance the crowd looked like a Regency gathering. From her vantage point with Mary beside her, all she could see were the re-enactors assembling for the promenade, which in itself was such a strange concept, looking like a civil insurrection of the ton.1
Jane, Actually Page 28
