Bad Austen

by Peter Archer

  Alas, Mr. Howard appeared to be somewhat partial to one Miss Alexander, who, unorthodox and unconventional, has unexpectedly captured his attention and perplexed his soul, much to Miss Harrington-Davis’s displeasure and Miss Alexander’s quiet bemusement. For, while Mr. Howard would be an unexpected and not unpleasant addition to Miss Alexander’s life, his conventional and orthodox lifestyle would somewhat hamper Miss Alexander’s preference for an unconventional and unorthodox experience of the world.

  Such is the complex setting to a summer evening’s unvoiced deliberations, masquerading beneath the pretext of an informal midsummer’s repast.

  While Miss Harrington-Davis holds court with her supporters, gaily running her fingers through her well-teased hair, her tinkling laughter floats softly around the gathering as she ensures that its melody will reach and assuredly enchant Mr. Howard’s musically inclined ears. Miss Alexander, well loved in her own society, is surrounded by confidants who quietly support her supposed candidacy. Unmoved by the silent tempest of wills surrounding her, Miss Alexander, with some restraint, quietly inhales the delicate, fruity notes of an exceptional Indian tea and listens as an acquaintance regales her with tales replete with the antics of a precocious grandchild.

  Mr. Howard, meanwhile, somewhat overwhelmed by his confusion, welcomes and sees to the comfort of his guests, ensuring that all are enraptured by the magnanimity of his generous hospitality, and tries to avoid stealing glances at the delightfully unconventional Miss Alexander, as Miss Harrington-Davis’s tinkling laughter becomes a bit louder and her unnaturally gray eyes sparkle with dubious joy.

  Maximilian, a chocolate Labrador much beloved by Mr. Howard and self-proclaimed master of this home, lazily enters the gathering, sauntering over to bid Mr. Howard a quiet, canine “good evening,” who himself makes much ado over his furry, four-legged friend. Miss Harrington-Davis, suddenly aware of an unequaled opportunity to endear herself to her host, squeals in a throaty, ladylike manner and rushes across to gush untold enthusiasm over the four-legged wonder. Maximilian, a little surprised at the squealing human, gently disengages himself from her frothy sounds and backs away to peer curiously at her from behind the safety of his owner’s expensively trousered legs.

  Miss Alexander, attention caught by the persistent yet escalating squeals, watches as Maximilian seeks the further safety of the fireplace, pausing on his journey to wag his tail gently at the genuine smile she bestows upon him. He, enchanted by this orderly display of affection, gently woofs and takes a detour to venture over for a tickle from this purveyor of quiet dignity.

  Caroline’s Humiliation Conga

  CELTICGIRL13

  William’s Journal

  Today was very interesting to say the least. Charles, Jane, elizabeth, and I all went to the Museum of Fine Arts. Will and I were about to go into another exhibit when my phone vibrated.

  “Caroline?” I asked.

  Caroline said, “Is it true? Are Charles and Jane engaged?”?

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess. He was planning on proposing today, but that’s supposed to be a secret. If you want to give them your congratulations, they’re in the Museum of Fine Arts. Probably in the Impressionist section.”?

  About ten minutes later, elizabeth and I were checking out the egyptian art exhibition when Caroline walked in to find us, with my arms around elizabeth’s waist.

  “Caroline …” I said. “We were just admiring the latest in international art.”?

  “I thought you were here to see Charles and Jane,” elizabeth said.

  “I already saw them,” Caroline said. “It’s quite shocking, however, to see you here, elizabeth.”

  “Why should it be shocking?” Elizabeth said. “I’m his girlfriend!”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Caroline said. She looked like she was going to burst into a pillar of flames at any second.

  “Uh, he has his arms around my waist,” Elizabeth said. “Can it be any clearer that we’re going out?”?

  I chuckled.

  “But I thought …” We knew Caroline couldn’t lose her temper in front of everybody in the museum, so I told Elizabeth to let me talk to Caroline privately. I led her to another part of the museum. Caroline began her ramble as soon as Elizabeth was out of earshot. “William, surely you two are playing some prank on me like you did in March. You are the springtime I dreamed of so desperate during the cold winter chills. Contempt, farewell! And maiden pride, adieu! No glory lives behind the back of such. I will requite thee, William, and my feelings will not be repressed. I love you. Most ardently.”?

  It was all I could do not to laugh. Not only did she take a quote from my favorite play completely out of context, but it seems like her knowledge of Pride and Prejudice extended only to the keira knightley movie.

  I replied, “You are too hasty, Miss. You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do it without further loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliments you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honor of your proposal, but I have no choice but to decline it.” I looked to Elizabeth who was recording all this on her video phone.

  “William, I don’t understand. I’m so much better than this chit is. I graduated from one of the top-ranked high schools in California with honors. I’ve already graduated from UCLA cum laude with a degree in liberal arts. I’m in grad school to get my MBA, and if nothing else, I have better cars than her. She, on the other hand, cusses too much, has no job offers or even a real job, a dysfunctional family, no style, and a pickup truck, which she shares with her sister. Besides all that, think about what everyone in your social circle would say if you married a redneck.”?

  I rolled my eyes. “You’ve said enough, Caroline. You’ve insulted Elizabeth and me in every possible manner. Elizabeth is my girlfriend. I never liked you in the way you wanted me to because you’re too much of a kiss-up and a wannabe. Now please go home and never bug me about elizabeth again or I’ll tell certain CEOs about your rudeness.”?

  I almost felt sorry for her until she screamed that I’d be crawling back for her and that Elizabeth would be sorry. Elizabeth posted the video on Youtube the next day to the delight of our fellow coworkers. Needless to say, Caroline won’t be invited to Charles and Jane’s wedding.

  Willoughby’s Boogie Nights

  STACEY GRAHAM

  Light bounced off the disco ball like tiny diamonds shattering on the gold lamé dress pants hugging the aerobics-toned legs of Willoughby. Long-limbed and nimble as a tiger, he prowled the dance floor at the Holiday Inn Scandals in search of a partner, his platform boots clicked on the parquet floor in rhythm to the beat of Donna Summer’s soulful siren call about the last dance for the desperate and slightly sweaty. Spying the cascading curls of a young woman across the room, he gyrated her way, his intent clear—their hands must touch, their breath to mingle; they must speak each other’s unspoken language.

  DID YOU KNOW?

  If a person has heard anything at all about Jane Austen’s mother, it is probably that she was a hypochondriac. That seems to be true, but there is much more to be told about Mrs. Austen, the intriguing woman with whom Jane lived her entire life.

  For all her aristocratic and scholarly background, Mrs. Austen’s practical streak and lack of concern with appearances served her well as the wife of a country clergyman and farmer with a very modest income. She jokes in a letter to her sister-in-law, after saying how she would like to show off her children, that she would like to show off her other “riches,” too—her bull, cows, ducks, and chickens.

  She was not only a mother to eight children of her own, but she also seems to have done quite well mothering her husband’s pupils firmly but fairly, looking after their meals and laundry and their characters, too. Mrs. Austen wrote poetry from childhood on, and we have some of her very clever light verse, including the poems she regularly wrote to these boys. The verses are charming and spirited—and often relayed a specific message—and evi- dently meant enough to her charges that th
ey preserved them their whole lives so that we can enjoy them today.

  Like so many women in Jane Austen’s novels, Mrs. Austen was a strong, confident woman. She could be stubborn, and she sometimes made tart remarks about the neighbors—as did Jane (in private, of course). Even after she fell seriously ill in Bath, she recovered to write a cheerful, defiant poem called “Dialogue between Death & Mrs. Austen.”

  After she was widowed, Mrs. Austen took pleasure in visiting her relatives, taking along her daughters. At Stoneleigh Abbey she counted the windows (forty-five) and described the grand rooms with enthusiasm and a novelist’s imagination and eye for detail.

  Marianne’s eyes slid toward him, her tongue chasing the plastic straw around the rim of her Shirley Temple. Cocking her head, she motioned to her sister, Elinor, that they were soon to have a visitor.

  “Here comes another one. At least this one can dance. The last one trod on my foot and broke a strap.” Extending her floppy stiletto-clad toes toward Elinor as evidence, Marianne sighed in resignation to her fate of turning down another would-be Lothario.

  “Madam, I would be honored if you would extend me the pleasure of the next dance. I believe I hear the strains of ‘Boogie Wonderland’ from the DJ booth.” His dark eyes caressed her face like wandering fingers of love; his hand trembled with anticipation as he reached for the fair beauty.

  “Good sir, I’m afraid I cannot boogie at the moment. My strap is such that it is quite impossible for me to get funky on the dance floor,” said Marianne, waving her foot.

  “Fear not, I shall transport you to the pinnacle of ‘Funky Town’ and return you unharmed before ‘Stayin’ Alive.’”

  Before she could protest, Willoughby carried Marianne to the dance floor. Together they flailed about to “YMCA,” piggybacked “The Hustle,” and couldn’t stop till they got enough.

  “Enough, kind sir! I am quite fatigued by your exertions. Leave me be by my sullen older sister who has had nary a dance,” said Marianne. Adjusting her mesh tube top, Marianne then pointed back to her table where Elinor glared in the darkness. Willoughby acquiesced; he knew she’d return for more of the Will-man.

  “As you wish, Madam.” Crossing the dance floor with such beauty in his arms, Willoughby rested his cheek upon her head briefly, breathing in the scent of Charlie mixed with Jean Naté After Bath Splash. It was a heady combination.

  “Sir, your tenderness has moved me, not to mention your impressive splits on the dance floor. Mayhap you will call on me next week? We can watch Friday Night Videos and read poetry.” Her voice loud over the speaker system, Marianne dared to hope he wouldn’t notice the tremor that shook her though she trembled in his arms.

  “Miss Marianne, I would be delighted … but I’ve been called away by my aunt for the season. I don’t know when I’ll return again to Scandals, though it now holds my heart.” Pain edged his voice, his passion to boogie now checked by the whims of an old woman.

  “Then we must return once more to the dance floor so that we can remember each other in depressing sonnets until you once more return to me.”

  Throwing her arms wide, she narrowly missed another couple getting down on the edge of the dance floor. “Oh, those Wick-hams! Always drawing attention to themselves because that’s the way (uh huh, uh huh) they like it.”

  Dropping Marianne’s tan pantyhosed feet to the floor, Willoughby drew her in close, being careful not to entangle her curls with the enormous amount of chest hair escaping his unbuttoned shirt. As Lydia Wickham did the Worm on the lighted floor behind them, Willoughby and Marianne held each other, saying their final goodbyes to the beat of “Super Freak” before separating into the night.

  “Call me, okay?” Marianne yelled across the parking lot. Elinor rolled her eyes and searched for the key to the Ford Pinto.

  “Yeah … sure.” A hand gestured in her direction as Willoughby unlocked the El Camino’s door. “Till we meet again, fair Carrie Ann!” With a roar of the V6 engine, Willoughby sped into the night.

  “That’s Marianne, you jerk,” she whispered.

  “Come on, let’s get a Slurpee,” Elinor offered.

  “I believe you’re looking for this, Madam.” The voice behind her made Elinor pause. Turning, she saw an outstretched palm with her car key nestled in the manly folds.

  “Thank you,” she stumbled.

  “Edward. And I enjoy Slurpees as well. May I accompany you?” Folding Elinor’s hand within the crook of his arm, Edward said, “I see a 7-11 a few blocks down. Shall we walk?” As elinor smiled through Marianne’s pout, she escorted edward to the convenience store and into his heart.

  Black Ops Bennets

  RILEY REDGATE

  In the pursuit of a greater sensibility and a distinct taste of modernism to which few of his wealthier acquaintances had not yet adhered, Mr. Darcy found himself in possession of a marvelous entertainment, which was soon pronounced quite agreeable by Mr. Bingley.

  “I am most partial to the clarity of the image this game produces,” cried Bingley. “However, I find myself confounded as to which weapon I hold. The appearances of these weapons bear little distinction! It is a callous error on behalf of the programmers, is it not?”

  “Whichever weapon has been bestowed upon your character, it must be esteemed useful, as it provides to you a kill Count of magnificent stature, which, until this happy find, had been but a wistful dream,” Darcy remarked dryly.

  A prepared surety appeared to descend upon Darcy then, as a creature undeniably undead made its progression across the screen, which faced the two men. Said Darcy, “Shall I press the key marked B, or that upon which is inscribed the letter A?” In his inquiry was a frantic appeal, for the undead creature had held up its hands and begun its dragging approach toward the camera.

  “Both,” said Bingley, and, as gunfire erupted, excitement extended itself across his visage. Never before Black ops had any invention borne such joy to mankind! How should any day be spent away from this uncommon satisfaction?

  Scarcely had the excitement bestowed itself on Bingley, however, before it receded in light of a most unhappy realization; his attention had fixated upon a script hovering above the heads of two players whose curious monikers read “E_pWnz” and “J_ mOnEy.” Bingley felt drawn to comment on the script, in turn compelling Darcy to seek the source of such a dismayed tone as that issuing from his friend.

  Remarked Bingley, “A pair of players in the realms of virtual skirmish have called us ‘n00bs,’ and I am thus inclined to forestall assistance when next the undead barrage them.”

  “I am inclined to respond in a similar manner,” said Darcy. “I often find that petty revenges like to that which you suggest are the pleasantest options when faced with such impudence.”

  They continued, though the impudent players absented themselves before further attacks. After the passing of some time, both men were surprised by the sudden appearance in the room of Elizabeth and Jane, the virulent rage of whom seemed beyond adequate expression.

  Elizabeth knew not how she might chastise the despicable behaviour of the two gentlemen; they had scarcely emerged from this chamber for innumerable hours! “Mr. Darcy,” cried she, “I must protest against this condemnable obsession to which you seem practically married! If it be not too much of a distraction, I might remind you of to whom your vows were spoken!”

  But Darcy and Bingley found themselves distracted instead by a renewed wave of undead warriors, and the unhappy sisters found themselves bathed in a most uncouth silence hardly befitting of two married couples. Jane cast a longing glance to Bingley, but her husband was too overcome by the amiable nature of Black ops to realize what scrutiny he bore.

  When Elizabeth next spoke, it was with cold repugnance. “I had hoped that our taunt would offend your pride in a sufficient quantity to cause you to disavow this game and all it entails, but I see I was mistaken.”

  Darcy spared a trifling glance to Elizabeth. “to what taunt do you refer, Elizabeth?”
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br />   Now a wicked glint appeared in Elizabeth’s eye; her countenance bore a strange mischief whose presence was quite unfamiliar to Darcy. “I, too, respond to the Call of Duty,” said Elizabeth. “I find myself thoroughly unchallenged by its petty trials. When, however, I do endeavour to entertain myself in such a base manner, I may pick up the controller in the drawing room and sign myself in as my chosen name: ‘E_pWnz.’”

  Jane made a simple attempt at disguising laughter as a cough; the subsequent expressions of the two men were utterly woebegone and quite pitiful to behold.

  “N00bs you deemed us!” cried Bingley. “Jane—were you to do with this foolhardiness? This cruelty?”

  “This is outrage,” declared Darcy simply, a fearful darkness descending on his disposition.

  Jane fervently denied any involvement, meriting such a scornful glance from Elizabeth that she relented almost instantly. “I admit—I am J_money. oh! Lizzy and I meant no poor conduct! I hope you do not find us to be the sole instigators of outrage, Mr. Darcy.”

  Darcy shook his head with an unhappy solemnity. “It is not your deceit that I find detestable.”

  A grave silence hung over the room.

  Finished Darcy, “It is rather the fact that either of your kill Counts may be observed to be higher than mine and Mr. Bingley’s—combined!”

  Status and Social Networking

  MARY C.M. PHILLIPS

  Elizabeth, having had prior feelings of reservation, could not help fancying the thought of opening a Facebook account and related her curiosity to Jane.

  “Indeed,” said Jane, smiling. “The gentlemen on Facebook you will find to be agreeable and pleasant; men of fine reputation and good manners.”

  Elizabeth’s disinclination was noticeable; she was silent. She considered her feelings of possible judgment. “What might Mr. Darcy think of such an act?”