“But you’ve got to make him understand you were going to tell him.”
“I cannot ‘make him’ do anything. If he thinks that I care so little for him that I would not tell him such an important matter … then perhaps he is right.”
“Oh please, don’t be fatalistic about this,” Mary said. “I know you love him.”
“Do you? You hardly know anything about him.”
“No, but I know you, and I know you wouldn’t let someone be this close to you if you didn’t care for him. Don’t throw it away.”
“I think you’re too much of a romantic.”
“I didn’t use to be, at least not until I met you. And if anyone is a romantic … I mean why didn’t you tell him about you.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“Yes it does. Tell me.”
Jane walked away from Mary, as far as the terminal would allow.
“I enjoyed being his Jane. Not that Jane from so long ago. With him, it felt new again. I cannot explain it.”
“That sounds pretty romantic to me.”
“Again, it doesn’t matter. My only thought can be the keynote tomorrow. If I allow my worries to consume me …”
“But if you love him …”
“What poor love can two ghosts have? Love is for the living, for people like yourself and your young man.”
That surprised Mary. “What, Stephen? I don’t love Stephen.”
“Perhaps not yet, but in the future.”
Mary was about to further object but thought better of it. She didn’t want to explain that while she enjoyed Stephen’s company, she didn’t expect anything more than a friend with benefits.
“Whatever, but back to you and Albert. Why are you so afraid to admit you love him?”
“Kindly refrain from presuming to know my feelings, Mary.”
Say something, Mary thought. Tell her what an incredibly stupid mistake she’s making. Tell her it’s thinking like this that made her into the world’s most famous spinster.
But then she thought of her larger responsibility to Jane, especially as she had agreed not to inform Melody of the affair. She decided, for the moment, not to antagonize Jane any further.
“OK, sorry for speaking out of turn. If you don’t want to talk about it, fine. Anyway, we have to get ready for the autograph signing and then the portrait.”
The shock of receiving Albert’s letter had driven all thought of her duties from her.
“Oh, I had forgotten. Would you very much mind, Mary, attending to that alone? Only, I am … I would like some time to compose myself. I’d rather not endure … ”
“Uh, sure, but what if I get a question I can’t answer?”
“You can always send me a text with your terminal, although I suspect there is little you don’t know.”
After a few more protestations, Mary agreed to the scheme. She realized that preserving Jane’s equanimity was paramount and resigned herself to the task.
. . .
Mary’s smile faded after the last person in line left with Sanditon in her hands and Jane Austen’s signature with personalized note. She was utterly tired, even though the organizers had limited by lottery the number of people who would get an autographed copy. She assumed it was because she didn’t have Jane in her ear to entertain her, offering her little criticisms of each person or crafting personalized notes for each one. Instead, Mary had written the same personalized note fifty times.
Three more days of this, and then a break.
But that thought did not comfort her; it only increased her exhaustion. She did her best to hide it as she rose from the signing table and thanked the JASNA volunteers who waited with her as the room emptied and while she waited for Melody to arrive with the photographer.
The task of making small talk, unfortunately, did not prevent her mind from churning.
What am I going to do? Did I promise Jane I would sign a contract? It was the heat of the moment. Surely they’ll understand. And what did I say?
She tried to recall her exact words: Something like ‘I hope I’ll always have the privilege of being your avatar.’
She had earlier hoped she could explain to Jane that she’d said those words unguardedly, but then Jane told her about Albert’s letter and again she felt the need to support her friend.
She’d been surprised by her instant defence of Jane, even though she thought Jane was stupid to have deceived Albert. It made her realize that Jane was no longer just her employer, but a friend to whom she had made a sort of promise.
And, of course, Albert’s letter only increased Mary’s desire to remain by Jane’s side. It would be like leaving a movie before the lovers unite—before Elizabeth realizes Darcy paid off Wickham, she thought with a smile. Oh God, she’s gotten into my head and can I ever get her out? Nine months ago I hardly even knew who she was.
Further contemplation was interrupted by Melody’s arrival. Mary thought Jane’s agent seemed strangely subdued, but perhaps Melody was still recovering from the drama of the morning showdown.
“Hi Mary,” Melody said quietly. “How’d the signing go?”
“No problem,” she replied, quickly reminding herself of the lie she and Jane had concocted.
“Is Jane with you? I have to ask her a question and she hasn’t been answering any of my emails.”
“No, she left right after the signing. I’m surprised you didn’t bump into her on her way out,” Mary said without hesitation. “She’s going on one of her walks, I’m afraid.” She decided not to elaborate on her deception.
“Oh, well tell her to answer her damn emails,” Melody said, although she did not make her remark with any vehemence.
“Is everything OK, Melody? You look a little down.”
“No, everything’s OK.”
“You’ll feel better once Tamara arrives. Was she able to get a flight for tomorrow?” Mary knew that there had been some difficulty about Tamara’s flight because they’d put off booking it until the last minute.
Melody grimaced, stood and then answered, “Yes, she gets in very early.” She walked away from Mary and toward the backdrops the photographer had earlier set up.
“Now I know what’s wrong. You forgot to take your heartburn pill this morning.”
Melody nodded without looking at Mary. “Yes, that’s it. Where is that photographer? We’ve only got this room until three. Damn, Jane should be here.”
She’s gone from depressed to cranky, Mary thought. “I don’t think it really matters, Mel.”
“Still she … no you’re right. I guess you can handle this on your own. You know it’s a load off my mind that we won’t have to find another … oh, finally. You’re late,” Melody told the photographer.
Mary, with a sinking heart, prepared once more to pose as Jane Austen.
. . .
Mary fumbled for her phone, worried for a brief irrational second that Jane, still on walkabout, had been in a car accident. She looked at the display and saw it had just gone twelve and that her caller was Stephen. She had just fallen asleep despite her troubled thoughts.
“Mary, is Jane with you?” Stephen asked without a hello.
“What? No, she’s gone for her walk. Why are you calling so late?”
“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what else to do. Do you know that Jane has a boyfriend?”
His question erased any lingering sleepiness. She turned onto her back and raised herself up, adding an extra pillow for support.
“How do you know about that?” she asked, rather confused.
“Because her boyfriend is my roommate.”
That comment required several minutes of explanation from Stephen before their conversation could continue.
“And then he sent her an email telling her that he was leaving the AGM.”
“I know, she told me about it,” she said, her voice betraying her anger.
“Well he now realizes how stupid he was and he wants to apologize.”
�
��Does he know how much he hurt Jane? And what was he thinking, telling her off the day before the keynote?”
“OK, we know it was stupid, but what about her? Did she have to lead him on? Couldn’t she trust him enough to tell him?”
“It’s more … complicated than that,” she said in rebuttal, and then related Jane’s explanation of her actions.
“I think this is the first time she’s ever really been in love. I mean think of it: she had to wait two centuries before she experienced the kind of love that makes you do monumentally stupid stuff.”
Stephen considered this a moment. “It’s pretty romantic,” he said finally.
“Right, that’s what I said.”
“So what do we do now? Albert wants to apologize, but she won’t respond to any of his emails or chat requests.”
“I don’t think she’s been online all day. She went all fatalistic after she got his email. She actually said, ‘What poor love can two ghosts share.’ So the drama.”
With a catch in his voice, Stephen said, “We’ve got to do something.” He cleared his voice before continuing, affected by Jane’s words. “I’ve gotten to know Albert and I think he’s a decent guy, and I don’t want to be responsible for ruining Jane Austen’s chance at happiness.”
Many months later, Mary would consider that comment as the moment when her regard for Stephen changed.
“Well it won’t be easy. She almost tore my head off when I said the same thing. And we can’t upset her until she delivers the keynote.”
“But we can’t let her go through the keynote thinking Albert wasn’t there for her,” he countered.
“I’m not going to aggravate her any further by mentioning it. We’ve got to find some way of her knowing he didn’t skip on her without making her so upset that she gives a bad keynote.”
“Uh, you’re giving the keynote, aren’t you? I mean technically speaking.”
His question confused her for just a second. “Oh, yes, technically I’m the one up there speaking the words, but Jane is in my ear, and it won’t help if she’s sulking. And half the keynote is the question and answer so I need … oh wait, that’s perfect. I think I know how to do this.”
“This sounds like a cunning plan.”
“Oh it is. She’s still going to rip my head off, but it will be after she gives her speech.”
Keynote
Do you believe in second chances?
“Stop fussing with me, Melody,” Mary finally said, her frustration overcoming her natural caution with Jane’s agent. They were waiting outside the main ballroom for Jane to be introduced.
“Your AV pin is upside down,” Melody said.
Mary looked down at the pin and was about to say that it looked all right to her, but caught herself at the last moment.
“Oh, thanks,” she said as Melody righted the pin.
“She has been fussing,” Tamara said and smiled, while absently brushing back a tendril of Mary’s hair. She was a little bleary eyed for she had arrived early that morning. Mary returned the smile, thankful that Tamara’s arrival diverted some of Melody’s attention.
“But it’s worth it. You look very pretty,” Tamara said. “In fact you both do.”
Melody looked away, a little embarrassed at Tamara’s praise and at being called pretty. Tamara had convinced her that as Jane Austen’s agent, she should look a little more upmarket. Melody wore a tailored suit that had been ordered before she left for the AGM and that Tamara had brought that morning.
“I still look like a troll,” Melody said.
“You look stunning, Mel,” Mary said. The gold, embroidered fabric and the suit’s sculpting accentuated the short woman’s abundant curves.
“No one has complimented me,” Jane said, and then worried her comment might be interpreted as a whine, which in truth it was. Tamara did correctly interpret Jane’s comment, transmitted via the small speaker on the terminal Mary wore on her arm, as a peevish complaint.
“Your aura has never looked lovelier,” Tamara said. The comment surprised Jane, who didn’t think Tamara was the sort who pretended to see the auras of the disembodied. Then she saw the playful grin on Tamara’s face.
“Thank you, I think the green suits me,” Jane said.
“Very calming, very serene,” Tamara agreed. “In fact, I need a picture of the three of you.”
“Of the four of us,” Melody said. She turned to the young woman who was waiting to open the door for them. “Excuse me, could you take a picture of us?”
The woman, whose attention was bent on hearing the cue to open the door, was startled.
“You’re going to go on soon,” she objected.
Melody gave her a cold look and said, “It’s still the introduction of the person who’s going to introduce Jane.”
“OK, whatever,” the young woman said, a little unnerved by Melody’s look. Melody took the camera from Tamara, handed it to the woman and gave the requisite instructions. Then Tamara, Melody and Mary quickly arranged themselves, with a space left for Jane between Melody and Mary.
“If you could just squeeze in a little … oh right.” The young woman suddenly realized who was in the gap. She took the picture and looked at the LCD on the back of the camera, almost expecting to see Jane in the picture.
“I think that looks good,” she said, and handed the camera back to Tamara, who looked at the picture and saw that it was acceptable.
“Perfect,” she said, but Melody took the camera from her and without looking handed it back to the young woman.
“Take another, just to be sure,” she instructed. The woman took the camera but also opened the door to the ballroom and glanced inside to make sure there was still time. Satisfied, she closed the door, and the foursome reassembled. This time Jane actually stood in the gap left for her and the picture was taken.
Tamara took back the camera, pronounced the photo even better than the previous, and made a show of putting the camera into her purse.
“OK, I’m going to go inside and find a seat,” Tamara said. “Break a leg, Mary … and you too, Jane.”
She touched the back of the woman waiting to open the door and asked, “Can you let me in?”
She was about to object but caught Melody’s glare and opened the door. Tamara slipped inside.
As soon as she left, Melody started bouncing on her feet, then winced at the pain from her fashionable shoes.
“Don’t worry, Melody, everything will be fine. This is not our first rodeo,” Jane said, and was delighted at the look on Melody’s face.
“Oh please, don’t say things like that, Jane,” Melody said with a groan, but smiled regardless.
Mary tried to smile as well, but suddenly worried at the subterfuge she and Stephen had arranged. She might soon face the wrath of both Jane and Melody.
“And don’t you let her say something like that, Mary.”
“I’m just her mouthpiece,” Mary said and shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh great, the two of you will be the death of me.” Melody then took the terminal from Mary’s arm and clipped it to the back of her dress.
“Get ready,” their attendant at the door informed them. She put her hand on the door handle and a few second later a knock from the other side alerted her. She turned back to Melody and Mary, nodded, and opened the door for them. Mary entered first and after a pause, Melody entered and turned sharply to find her seat.
As soon as Mary emerged from the cluster of people who had been waiting at the entrance, the audience began applauding and the camera flashes lit up the room. Mary had enough experience by now to be looking down, rather than risk being blinded, but she was still caught by surprise. The front row was now standing to take pictures and in a slow wave, the rest of the people in the ballroom stood.
Mary carefully walked to the stage, careful to lift her dress as she climbed the steps. The regional coordinator Cindy Wallace was applauding from behind the lectern and then walked to meet Mary. She stretched out
her hand, but then had the idea to offer a curtsey, which Mary returned. Then they clasped hands, to applause. Ms Wallace retreated from the stage and Mary stood there to receive Jane’s applause. She noticed that not everyone stood and that some did not applaud as enthusiastically as others. She also looked to her left and saw a young man wearing headphones who nodded to her and pointed, indicating the wireless microphone she wore was now live.
Mary nodded her head several times to accept the applause but after a count of ten, she motioned to the audience to sit.
“Thank you, thank you very much for your warm welcome. It is hard to believe that I now stand before the members of the Jane Austen Society of North America at your Annual General Meeting. Less than a year ago, I was just one of the many billions of disembodied who could not claim their own name, and now I am proclaimed Jane Austen. It is a humbling thought that one’s identity hangs from such a slender thread.”
Mary’s image, which had been displayed on the large screen behind the stage and the two smaller ones flanking it, was now replaced by a series of articles about Jane’s identity being recognized by the AfterNet. The headline of the last article read: Jane Austen’s identity now ‘a truth universally acknowledged.’1
“And I do stand before you with a measure of humility and gratitude and embarrassment and with a very real sense that I have to show myself worthy of my own legacy. My six novels seem so small in comparison to the movies, television series and documentaries about them. They seem so small in comparison to the societies such as this one and the society in my own homeland and in Europe … and South America and Australia and Japan. They seem so small, so infinitesimally small, in comparison to the universe of Jane Austen fan fiction, where my characters are endlessly falling in and out of love or have been re-imagined as vampires and werewolves or detectives, and where even I have been re-imagined as such.”
The audience laughed as a series of book titles were projected on the various screens in the ballroom, the last showing a ghostly pale Jane as a vampire with a trickle of blood upon her chin. Mary turned to look at the last image and then faced the audience.
“I look like Miss Havisham2 … eating a jam tart,” she remarked, which elicited more laughter. She had to wait until the audience quieted.
Jane, Actually Page 36
