Jane, Actually

by Jennifer Petkus

  He decided to spend some time in the dealers’ rooms. There were three rooms and from the listing, he thought one room mostly sold books; one sold clothing, posters and knickknacks; and the last said it sold Texas curiosities.

  Naturally he went to the book room first. He remembered his first time to an AGM in 1992 and before the discovery of the afterlife. He was just a lonely ghost then and all he could do was look at the book covers and try to get a sense of the content and hope he could find someone reading a copy. Of course at that time, much of the Jane Austen fan fiction was very casual and some of it was just Xeroxed copies. Looking at the wealth of fan fiction today was very different, as was the young lady holding a portable terminal who stood beside a table heavily laden with books. He caught the field and realized her terminal was set to anonymous access.

  Beryl says:

  No, I haven’t read that one yet. Who did you say wrote it?

  Albert looked at the ID badge the woman wore that identified her as a vendor. It said Beryl and he realized she was in conversation with someone, and since no one living was around, surmised it was another disembodied person.

  susannovick says:

  Karen Amon-something. She’s English. It’s from the viewpoint of Charlotte Lucas and how she’s dealing with being married to Mr Collins. I wish I could remember her last name.

  BertieFromHants has joined.

  BertieFromHants says:

  It’s Aminadra, I think. Karen Aminadra. I read it, it’s very good. I got a little uncomfortable with where I thought it was going, but it never went there.

  Beryl says:

  Well thank you, sir? I’ll look into that Susan, it might be an author we want to pick up.

  susannovick says:

  OK, ta Beryl.

  susannovick has left.

  Beryl says:

  Bye Susan. So, thank you, Bertie?

  BertieFromHants says:

  Yes, Albert Ridings. You’re welcome. This is your table?

  Beryl says:

  Yes, the Longbourn Circulating Library. Everything is 10 percent off.

  BertieFromHants says:

  Oh, good, it’s just I don’t buy many physical books. Sometimes for my grandchildren.

  Beryl says:

  Oh, we’ve got several good books for children.

  She walked to the other end of the table and opened a book with brightly coloured drawings.

  Beryl says:

  It’s a Cinderella/Mansfield Park mashup, with Fanny Price as Cinderella. Well it’s a natural isn’t it?

  Albert had to admit Beryl was a good saleswoman, for he bought two books for his great-great-granddaughter and learned of another that he would buy as an e-book from Beryl’s website. The books would be mailed, of course.

  He spent almost thirty minutes talking to Beryl and was joined by another woman asking if Beryl had an audiobook available. Albert thought he should excuse himself while Beryl helped a living customer, but Beryl introduced the woman to Albert and they held a strange conversation with Beryl as their intermediary.

  Albert left the room thirty-five dollars poorer but with a warm glow. It was the first time since his death that he’d actually bought something from a person in a real-time exchange, rather than over the Internet. If he did not have Jane’s and Stephen’s company to look forward to, he would be happy to deem the AGM a success already.

  Once outside, he made for the terminal he’d earlier used to register and found that he’d received an email from Stephen.

  Albert,

  Glad you made it here safely. I’m in the hotel bar with your roommates. Come on down and meet the crew.

  Stephen

  Albert walked back from the convention centre and toward the lobby and from there found the way to the hotel restaurant. He entered and looked around for Stephen and found him by virtue of his being a man sitting alone at a round table set for six. He appeared to be talking and Albert guessed the portable terminal before him was capturing his words.

  BertieFromHants has joined.

  BeauAbrams says:

  Albert! Another of our merry band has arrived.

  Stephen stood from his chair and offered a little bow, which Albert found charming, although the effect was a little spoiled by the bow not being remotely bent in his direction. Albert also saw that each of the empty place settings bore a little tent-folded placard with a name scrawled in marker pen. He found his name and took his seat.

  BertieFromHants says:

  Good to meet you, Stephen. And the name cards are a smart idea. Who else is here?

  AlanJTimison says:

  Hi Albert, Alan here.

  WalkLikeADuck says:

  Hello Bertie. Rob Perkins. Nice to meet you in person, so to speak.

  mikechapman says:

  Good to meet you too, Albert.

  orribleiggins says:

  pip, pip, Albert old boy

  BeauAbrams says:

  Ted Alexander gets here tomorrow

  WalkLikeADuck says:

  Bertie, you just missed Stephen’s admission. He’s been dating Jane’s avatar.

  That statement made look Albert look at Stephen, who was clearly embarrassed. He also realized that Stephen’s behaviour, sitting alone at a table for six and talking to himself, had attracted the attention of several people in the restaurant.

  BertieFromHants says:

  This is a surprise, Stephen. You might have mentioned something … wait, is this the woman you met on your … conference.

  AlanJTimison says:

  Oh, at the romance writer’s conference.

  BeauAbram says:

  Why did I ever make the mistake of befriending you lot? And Rob, I never said I was dating her, just that I’d met her a few times.

  mikechapman says:

  Oh, now it’s a few times. So have you met her employer?

  orribleiggins says:

  she’s definitely easy on the eyses

  BeauAbrams says:

  At the book signing in Chicago, yes, obviously through Mary.

  BertieFromHants says:

  I forgot her name is Mary Crawford. And very lovely I recall from seeing pictures of her. So you’ve known her since Austen was in Chicago.

  The men continued this way for some time, enjoying the sight of Stephen’s embarrassment. They eventually extracted from Stephen a promise of a personal introduction to Jane’s avatar. Then they moved to the more practical matter of how Stephen would share his room with them.

  WalkLikeADuck says:

  Remember, hang a tie around the door knob if you want to be alone.

  BeauAbrams says:

  Thanks, Rob, I’ll do that. OK, so tonight we’re all going to the rodeo bar, but as I said, no bull. And no, Miss Crawford will not be in attendance. Maybe I’ll dance with her at the Regency ball.

  AlanJTimison says:

  If it’s all the same, I will miss the rodeo bar. I had hoped to meet someone while here in Fort Worth.

  mikechapman says:

  Why you sly dog, Alan. But say no more, I will respect your privacy. But how will you get back in the hotel room when you return late at night?

  AlanJTimison says:

  Ahem, I might not get back till morning.

  BeauAbrams says:

  And with that, I call this meeting to a close. I’m going up to the room to take a shower. If anyone wants to come up, follow me, otherwise I’ll be back down here in half an hour.

  1 In Sense and Sensibility, Elinor and Marianne Dashwood ask Edward Ferrars of news of Norland (the home the Dashwood sisters vacated upon the death of their father):

  “Dear, dear Norland,” said Elinor, “probably looks much as it always does at this time of the year. The woods and walks thickly covered with dead leaves.”

  “Oh,” cried Marianne, “with what transporting sensation have I formerly seen them fall! How have I delighted, as I walked, to see them driven in showers about me by the wind! What feelings have they, the season, the
air altogether inspired! Now there is no one to regard them. They are seen only as a nuisance, swept hastily off, and driven as much as possible from the sight.”

  “It is not every one,” said Elinor, “who has your passion for dead leaves.”

  Fort Worth II

  Jane arrives

  Jane followed Mary through the airport slowly and at a considerable distance. Anxiety, guilt and fatigue dogged her steps, making her feel as if she were moving in a dream. She knew full well the reasons for her apprehension and had been weighing them since the plane landed: depression that even after a successful book tour, she still must fight to defend her identity; worry that Mary still had not come to a decision about remaining her avatar; anxiety that she remained uninspired; and most of all, guilt that she had yet to confess to Albert.

  She had chatted with him two nights previous, in penance for all her missed or abbreviated chats with him. He was excited about the AGM and wanted to know which breakout sessions she would be attending. She knew her reply was tepid, but truly, could topics such as—“Talk silly like Mrs Jennings”1 or “The Secret Agenda of Austen’s Card Games”—excite her? She needed no lessons to talk like Mrs Jennings and she didn’t think she had a secret agenda depending on whether her characters played vingt-et-un or whist or lottery tickets. Well, maybe lottery tickets.2 She could understand why Janeites might find such topics entertaining, but that did not mean she could gin up much enthusiasm.

  She knew she was being excessively tetchy, but once in her funk, it was hard to escape her mood. And then she realized that she could no longer see Mary ahead of her. She rose a little above the crowd but still could see no sign of her. She was not overly concerned, however, as she assumed Mary would proceed to the baggage claim area. But in the process of looking around for Mary, Jane had disoriented herself.

  She tried to recall anything about the airport but other than remembering that DFW was one of America’s busiest airports, she knew nothing. Ordinarily while travelling by herself, Jane would plan ahead, committing to memory the layout of the airports and cities she would visit, but she had failed to do so this time, an indication of the extent to which she depended upon Mary. She soon reached the end of the semi-circular terminal and then went back in the other direction and saw a sign indicating in which direction the baggage claim area lay. After a few minutes, she saw Mary.

  In her imagination, Jane had supposed she would find Mary anxiously looking in the crowd for her invisible employer, but instead she found Mary standing behind the luggage carrousel, waiting with a frown on her face, her arms crossed and her suitcase already retrieved. Jane realized Mary’s expression almost mirrored her own as captured by Cassandra’s watercolour.

  Jane captured the field of Mary’s terminal and was prepared to offer her apology for getting lost but Mary’s remark interrupted her: “Honestly Jane, I told you to stay by me. What would Melody do to me if I lost you just before the AGM?”

  Her words wiped any thought Jane had of apologizing and instead she started to say, “She would say it’s your fault for losing me.” But the kindness of fate intervened when someone reaching for his luggage brushed her aside and disconnected her from Mary’s terminal.

  Jane wasn’t sure quite how much of her remark was transmitted so as soon as she reconnected to Mary’s terminal, she said, “She would accuse us both of not paying attention, with some justification. I’m sorry Mary, I’m afraid I am not looking forward to the AGM.”

  “Why? What’s worrying you? I mean beyond the obvious.” She extended the handle on her suitcase and started walking away from the luggage carrousel. “Let’s exit here and I can look for a taxi,” she added, pointing in the direction of the exit. Originally they were supposed to be picked up by a JASNA volunteer but their delayed flight had made that impossible.

  Jane followed and said, “It is the end of the tour and my best hope for convincing Janeites that I really am Jane and … and you still haven’t said whether you will continue as my avatar and …”

  “We still have time to talk about that,” Mary said. She avoided looking toward where Jane should be.

  “Please don’t put it off much longer. I realize the airport is hardly an appropriate time or place, but you asked what concerned me, and this is one of my worries.”

  They now stood outside the terminal and Mary looked for a sign indicating where she would find a taxi stand. She had looked up the airport terminal layout the previous night and guessed it would be to her left and soon saw a sign indicating she had remembered correctly. A taxi was pulling up just as she arrived and soon they were on their way to the hotel.

  Inside the cab, rather than employ the ruse of talking on her phone, Mary communicated with Jane directly through her terminal. Fortunately the driver seemed more interested in his country-western music than conversation.

  “OK, you have a lot on your plate, but didn’t you fail to mention your argument with your boyfriend?”

  Mary regretted her words immediately. She wasn’t quite sure why she’d thought it, but that was an increasing danger as she’d become so proficient with the terminal.

  “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”

  “How did you know …” Jane asked, and realized that her words now made it impossible to refute.

  Mary turned to look at Jane, smiled and said, “Well we share the same computer. You might want to clear your browsing history, or at least remember to close the window after you chat.”

  “Oh, yes. I suppose I did forget to do that.”

  “But that wasn’t my only clue. You’re a lot different after you talk to him, assuming Bertie is a him.”

  “Yes, Albert is a gentleman. And what do you mean I’m different? Do I have a glow about me?”

  “You make a lot more jokes and are generally sillier. And today you’re grouchy, so I guessed you had an argument.”

  Jane said nothing in reply, surprised that her friend had observed so much of her.

  “So what was the argument about?”

  “There was no argument, only a little … there is some awkwardness … oh Mary, I have not told him I am Jane Austen.”

  “What?” Mary said out loud. Her exclamation caught the attention of the driver who turned down his radio.

  “Is there something wrong, ma’am?” he asked.

  “Just wondering how much farther to the hotel,” Mary responded.

  He assured her it was only another ten minutes and returned the radio to its previous volume.

  “What? You haven’t told him?” Mary asked silently. “Who is this guy anyway?”

  Jane gave Mary a quick explanation of her relationship with Albert and Mary had to make sure she did not vocalize any “oohs” and “ahs” at how cute she thought their friendship.

  “So you haven’t told him you’re the Jane Austen. He still thinks you’re some crazed Austen fangirl.”

  “I don’t think that is his impression of me.”

  “So more to the point, why haven’t you told him?”

  “It’s … complicated.”

  “Oh my God, that’s got to be the most modern-sounding thing I’ve ever heard you say. Jane Austen says, ‘It’s complicated.’”

  “Well it is. And it is further complicated by the fact that I have … recast my success as a consequence of my employment.”

  “Come again?”

  “I have explained my many absences by saying that the pressures of my new job …”

  “You’ve lied to him? Where are you supposed to be working?”

  Jane explained the fiction of her job as an editor at Random House. The more she explained, the deeper was her shame. She almost could feel her cheeks burning.

  Mary was more than a little amazed. Even though she knew the real Jane Austen could be irreverent, dark, acerbic and even occasionally profane, she always thought of Jane as someone who steered a narrow course. To discover a Jane who made up whoppers was a revelation.

  “You do know the phra
se ‘the best laid plans,’ don’t you?”

  “Yes, I am familiar with Burns, and it’s schemes, not plans.”

  “You don’t love him, do you Jane?”

  The question shook Jane, but she answered quickly, “What an absurd question.”

  “It’s just that usually people do the stupidest things when they love someone. And if you don’t mind me saying, that’s like I Love Lucy crazy.”

  Jane had no idea who the Lucy Mary referenced might be, but she denied any similarity.

  . . .

  Melody tapped on the door and waited anxiously for Mary to open it. She smiled weakly at two women who walked down the hallway, their JASNA badges hanging prominently from their necks. Both were wearing I Believe in Jane buttons. They returned Melody’s smile as they passed.

  Mary opened the door and Melody quickly stepped inside.

  “Hi Mel,” Mary said, but Melody stopped her from saying anything further.

  “Put Jane on speaker,” she told Mary.

  “Uh, OK.” Mary went back to the suite’s desk where her terminal was plugged into her laptop. She sent the output of the terminal to play through the computer’s speakers.

  “Everything’s arranged for tomorrow,” Melody said without preamble. “Davis has agreed to meet … even without a representative from the AfterNet.”

  “Excuse me?” Mary exclaimed. “She wanted someone from the AfterNet!”

  “I did not know this,” Jane said.

  “I didn’t want to worry you any more than was necessary. Thank God for bureaucracy. There’s a lot involved to overrule an AfterNet certification so despite Davis’s theatrics … so it’s just the JASNA president and what’s her name … the regional coordinator.”

  “Cindy Wallace,” Jane supplied. “No one else?”

  “That’s all.”

  “Oh, that’s good, right?” Mary asked.

  Melody laughed and said, “How do I know? I mean she’s banking everything on convincing two people Jane’s not Jane. Does that mean she’s desperate or does it mean she’s so sure … I just know that the Fort Worth organizers are happy to have it decided quietly. They don’t want a cat fight in front of the members.”

  “They could just refuse to let her talk,” Mary said.