I Could Write a Book: A Modern Variation of Jane Austen's Emma

by Karen M Cox

  She nodded, and he left the room, grinning.

  Mary Jo sat across from me at a two-top in Duke’s Café, picking at her salad.

  “Don’t you like your lunch? I know you prefer burgers and fries, but the vegetables are so much better for your health.”

  “Oh, this is fine. I do feel a lot healthier since I started eating more salad and cottage cheese for lunch, like you suggested. And I’ve lost a couple of pounds too.”

  I beamed at her. “I thought you looked slimmer. Now, we just need to get you started with some exercise, so you’ll be even healthier.”

  Mary Jo stirred the lettuce around some more. “So, what do you think of Robert?”

  “Robert? Oh, Mr. Martin.” I paused, weighing my words carefully. “He’s one of the paralegals, isn’t he?”

  “Mm-hmm. He asked me to go see Jaws with him this Saturday night.”

  “He isn’t hitting on you, is he, Mary Jo? I can speak to Mr. Knightley about it if he’s imposing on you.”

  “Oh, it’s not like that at all! He’s very polite and respectful. Don’t tell Mr. Knightley. I don’t want to get Robert in any trouble. He’s really a nice guy.”

  “Well, if you say so.” I frowned and then returned my attention to my salad.

  “It’s perfectly fine. Honest. I like Robert—he’s a friend. He’s cute too. His eyes are so dark and expressive, and he’s tall. I’ve always liked tall men. Robert and I have really gotten to know each other lately. So, what do you think? Should I go see Jaws?”

  “Do you want to see Jaws?”

  “I probably wouldn’t go if it was just me, but…”

  “I wonder why he thought you would like a gore-fest like that.” I shrugged my shoulders. “But a lot of men aren’t very sensitive to women’s preferences.”

  Mary Jo shook her head. “Oh no, Robert’s definitely tuned-in to the women in his life. He talks about his mother and his sister very fondly. His birthday was last month, and he sent his mother flowers that day. He called the florist from my desk, because William Larkins was on the phone in the back.”

  “That was kind of him to think of his mother.”

  Mary Jo’s dreamy expression was back. “I overheard what he put in the card, even though he said it so softly. I think he was a little self-conscious about it, but it was so sweet…”

  “Do tell.” Maybe this would help me figure out what Mary Jo found so fascinating about this guy.

  “The card said, ‘Dear Mama. Thank you for my life. Love, Robert.’” She put a hand to her heart. “Lord, it makes me tear up just to think about it.”

  “He seems to be supremely attached to her.”

  Mary Jo smiled and nodded. “So, should I go?”

  I probably let a half a minute go by as I considered Mary Jo’s dilemma. “Do you think it’s a good idea to date someone at the office?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s just that I know how much you love your job. I would hate for your co-workers to see you as unprofessional because of some office fling.”

  “Would they think that? Everyone in the office likes Robert, and I don’t think there’s a rule against co-workers going out, is there? You don’t think anyone would say anything because he’s black, do you?”

  “Goodness, no! No one at Knightley and Woodhouse thinks that way. It is the seventies after all. But sometimes people perceive interoffice friendships between men and women as romances. That’s often viewed in an unfavorable light, regardless of the rules. Especially for a young woman like yourself.”

  Mary Jo sighed. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “I would never tell you what your decision should be, of course. But it’s a strange time for women in the workplace, and it pays to think these things through beforehand.”

  “Yes, I guess you’re right.”

  “Perhaps, if you’d like some fun, you might consider going out with someone outside the office, somebody like…oh, I don’t know. Somebody like Tim Elton perhaps?”

  “Tim Elton?”

  “I introduced you at Linus & Lucy’s Café last month.”

  “Oh, I remember now. Do you think he’d ever go out with someone like me? I mean…wow, he’s really a hunk.”

  “Yes, he really is.” I put my napkin to my lips to hide a smile. “And yes, I do think he’d go out with you. He said something very flattering about you that day.”

  Mary Jo sank back against the booth, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “He did? What was it?”

  “I don’t know if I should say.”

  Robert Martin seemed to be forgotten within a moment. “Oh, please tell me Emma! I’ll die of curiosity if you don’t. Please?”

  “All right. I guess it won’t hurt.” I leaned in toward her and whispered to lend some extra drama to the compliment. “He said you were a fox.” I smiled at the blush that spread over Mary Jo’s cheeks.

  “He did?” she squeaked.

  “Cross my heart.” And my fingers too, but she doesn’t need to know that. Tim says that about every girl he meets, so I’m sure he said that about Mary Jo as well.

  After that, the rest of lunch sped by with giggles and discussions of Tim’s various assets—both financial and physical. It was as if that paralegal Robert Martin had never existed at all.

  Ten

  “I’m not sure this super chummy friendship with Mary Jo Smith is such a good thing for Emma.” George accepted a drink from Nina, thanked her, and walked toward the back door that led to the Westons’ newly remodeled porch. He had dropped off some legal papers for Bob to sign and was waiting on him to get home so they could review them.

  Nina followed him outside and indicated a seat before she settled herself on the back-porch swing. “Why do you say that?” Nina had been telling him about Emma and Mary Jo planning a long weekend shopping trip to Atlanta at the end of the month.

  “I know Emma, not as well as you, but I’ve known her all her life, and I’ve had the unique opportunity to see her from outside the family looking in.”

  “I didn’t know you were so interested in our Emma.”

  “I’ve always taken an interest in her. She was the precocious child that charmed every adult in the room. I wondered what would become of her because I knew all the things she could do if she would only apply herself with any kind of consistency. I want her to do well.”

  “And she is doing well—she has a straight A average.”

  “Exactly my point. Without any effort at all, she has a four-point average, and she’s had some difficult classes: calculus, chemistry, physics. But then she goes and changes her major to psychology. What’s she supposed to with a degree like that?”

  “I can’t believe that surprises you. You know how much she loves studying people. Perhaps she isn’t sure what she wants to do yet, but she’ll put the knowledge to good use.”

  “I hope you’re right, but I can’t help this vision in my head of her corralling poor unsuspecting girls like Mary Jo Smith and turning them into her personal, platonic Pygmalions.”

  Nina chuckled. “What a gift you have for alliteration, George. That comment’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

  “Emma’s too quick and clever for her own good. Unfortunately, she’s also a bit spoiled and has been under her own sail since she came back from Georgia—probably even before that. She goes from project to project, never really seeing anything through to completion.

  “Remember the painting phase? She spent all that time and money on paints and canvas and lessons—and just about the time she was developing some skill, she gave it up.”

  “Oh, I loved that little cottage she painted for my birthday present that year.”

  “And then there was the book group. She was going to read the classics with all the English lit majors she met in one of her classes. She lasted four months.

  “After that was the interest in photography, complete with the addition of a dark room to the house. Now it sits virtually unused, the equ
ipment collecting dust month after month.”

  Nina sighed. “All true.”

  “Plus, there were countless little things—the rose garden, the macramé, the piano lessons, and on and on. I’m afraid poor Mary Jo is but another project to be started and then discarded when the next interest comes along.”

  “I disagree, George”—Nina admonished him in her quiet way—“you’re forgetting some of the ‘fads’ that Emma has stuck with: the health-conscious eating for her and her father, which the doctor says is helping John tremendously, the long-distance running, the yoga. And college—she could have easily quit college after her father’s stroke, but she hasn’t.

  “And, furthermore, I disagree that helping Mary Jo is a bad thing. I think Emma could become very selfish if she focused only on self-centered ‘projects’, as you call them. But helping someone else, focusing outside herself—that has always brought out the best in Emma. She has such a generous heart, and she’s so devoted to those she loves. I think that’s a marvelous quality in her.”

  “I’m not suggesting that she not help people, of course, or that she not befriend Mary Jo at all. But Mary Jo idolizes Emma. She relies too heavily on her guidance, and Emma, who thinks she has the answers to everyone’s problems, is too free with giving them. It’s not good for Mary Jo to depend on someone else to that degree, certainly, but I’ll go farther and say it’s not good for Emma either. The exclusive company of Mary Jo Smith is like a steady diet of candy. Emma may like it, but it doesn’t benefit her. If she surrounds herself with people who never disagree with her, I don’t think she’ll ever truly grow up. At the very least, she won’t become the woman she could be.”

  “In some ways, I think Emma is very mature. She’s committed to her family, very responsible. She’s witty, and bright, and…”

  He laughed warmly. “And she has quite a champion in you, Nina.”

  Nina smiled. “I love her too much to see any true fault in her, I suppose. It comes from taking care of her all those years and knowing what she went through when my sister was ill.”

  “You loved and cared for her well, and no one could have done better. She’s fortunate she has you.”

  Nina nodded her acceptance of the compliment. They were both silent for a minute, and George decided he’d probably been too critical in Nina’s eyes.

  “Well, I guess it’s better to be interested in helping others than some of the things my former girlfriends have been interested in, like which designer makes the best dresses and whose party to attend on a Saturday night.”

  “Are you having lady problems, George?”

  “You can’t have lady problems if you don’t have a lady. I haven’t dated much since I broke up with Marilyn.”

  “You two seemed quite serious for a while. You dated for how long?”

  “Three months. I thought perhaps it would work, but over time I realized that although she was beautiful, she had very few interests, outside her appearance, the Junior League, and where we were seen together. A wise man wants a woman who is interested in the world around her, so he has someone to talk to after the party is over.”

  “And you are nothing if not a wise man,” Nina teased. “It’s too bad, though. Marilyn was, as you said, such a pretty girl.”

  He set his glass down on the wicker table and stared into it. “And that was a major part of the problem. Her beauty made her vain.”

  “I always thought she resembled Emma—they both have those unusual hazel eyes and a similar hair color, almost like honey.”

  “Emma is a little blonder, I believe. And to her credit, Emma doesn’t have Marilyn’s vanity with regard to her appearance. Men find that type of conceit very off-putting.” He grinned up at Nina. “No, Emma’s vanity is her absolute confidence that she knows what’s best for all. She’s so self-assured. I think perhaps a little romantic angst would do her some good. She’s never had her heart bruised.”

  “Come now. You don’t wish a broken heart on our Emma.”

  “A broken heart? Never. One that’s a little bent? Maybe.”

  “Now you’re just cutting up.”

  “You know me well, Mrs. Weston.” He heard a car door slam. “Ah, the man of the house has arrived. I’ll just talk with him a few minutes, and then he’s all yours again.”

  Eleven

  August 23, 1975

  “Lordy, lordy, it’s hot!” Mary Jo tried to fan herself with her visor, but it was a futile gesture.

  We had gone over to the park that morning to play tennis, or rather, I was trying to teach Mary Jo tennis. She had never played before, but she’d wanted to try it ever since she saw Cheryl Tiegs model a cute tennis dress in a magazine.

  We met every Saturday in August to work on the game, but I was starting to get frustrated, because it was going nowhere. Then again, it might have been my teaching as much as Mary Jo’s lack of athletic prowess. I had tennis lessons, of course, but eight lessons the summer before last did not a tennis instructor make. George offered to play opposite me. He said I was athletic enough to play well if I would practice more, but when did I have time for that? I couldn’t always get over to the country club on the spur of the moment, and whenever I called to reserve a court time, they kept saying I needed to call further in advance. Who could actually plan their recreation that way? I was a full-time student and had a household to run.

  The result was that Mary Jo and I ended up at the public park courts instead. People rarely used those, especially early in the morning.

  I spun my racket in my hand. “Okay, okay, you win. We’ll go over to the health food store and get some iced herbal tea and have a chat.”

  “But it’s only been fifteen minutes. Are you sure?”

  “I can’t play in this heat either. We’ll hit the courts again next Saturday.”

  Mary Jo was quick to acquiesce, as usual, and we were gathering up the tennis balls scattered on the court when I heard someone calling my name.

  “Emma!” Tim Elton came jogging up and raised his hand in greeting. He looked impeccable, his dark, wavy hair falling over his face in that Rock Hudson kind of way, and as he approached us, a tantalizing combination of musk and woodsy scents drifted our way. He smelled nice—which was saying a lot in the sticky, oppressive heat.

  “Good morning!” I replied, giving him my most welcoming smile. “What are you doing here?”

  “Me? I… uh…” he stammered, looking up, down, and all around, until his eyes landed on Mary Jo. “I was supposed to meet a friend here for a game this morning, but it looks like I’ve been stood up.”

  “Who was your friend?” I asked.

  “You don’t know the person,” he answered after an awkward pause.

  I elbowed Mary Jo in the ribs and stage whispered, “Perhaps it was one of Tim’s admirers. The ladies all think he’s quite the charmer.”

  He looked back and forth between us. “Oh no!” He laughed. “You’re teasing me, Emma. You know that isn’t the case. It was a co-worker—a male co-worker, I assure you. Do you ladies play tennis?”

  “A little and very ill, as Elizabeth Bennet would say.”

  Mary Jo turned to me and whispered, “Who’s that? Have I met her?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” I muttered out of the corner of my mouth, as Tim laughed heartily at my joke. “It’s actually pretty sad, Tim. I’ve been trying to teach Mary Jo how to play, but I’m afraid I’m not that good a tennis coach. We were about to give it up.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’re an excellent teacher. You’re so athletic yourself. And so patient.”

  “I’m afraid I lack the technique though. You, on the other hand, play very well.”

  He ducked his head and blushed.

  Genuine modesty is a good quality in a man, and Tim wears it well.

  “I’ve just had the best idea! You should teach Mary Jo tennis.”

  They both looked at me, stunned.

  “Say what?” Tim said. Then he collected himself, and after a second, h
e gave me a brilliant smile. “I’d be glad to give the two of you a few pointers. Since my friend didn’t show, we could even start this morning.”

  “Great idea!” I smiled encouragingly at Mary Jo.

  “But what about the health food sto—?”

  “We can do that later.” Good Lord, Mary Jo! Catch up here! Can’t you see I’m trying to get you and Tim to spend some time together? I raised my eyebrows and smiled pointedly, casting a furtive look over at Tim.

  I could almost hear the gears turn and the bell ring as Mary Jo caught on. “Oh yes! That would be so helpful.”

  I sighed in relief and shook my head. Being a young woman’s guide and counsel certainly took some quick thinking at times!

  We spent the next twenty minutes under the tutelage of Tim Elton, tennis extraordinaire. He was pretty good—told us nothing I hadn’t heard before, of course, but the way he explained how to serve and hold the racket seemed to help Mary Jo. He was really into his new role as coach, and my ego soared when he stood behind Mary Jo and put his arm around to help her adjust her hand position on the racquet. He winked at me and a smile bubbled from inside me. Tim Elton, who always seemed so difficult to please where women were concerned, was finally showing some interest in one. The one I had chosen for him, of course.

  “I think I’m going to have a little Labor Day picnic at our house.” I had been considering having a party for Daddy’s birthday, which was on September 4. He didn’t like venturing out much, but he always enjoyed it when his friends visited with him.

  “Oooh, how fun! I love picnics,” Mary Jo agreed.

  “I’ll invite the Westons, and Mrs. Goddard, and Tim Elton, and George, of course. Mr. & Mrs. Knightley are still in Europe, so they can’t come. Daddy will be disappointed about that, but I’ll just have to remind him that they’re traveling. And I guess I’ll have to invite my aunt Delores and my cousin Helen. Thank goodness, Helen’s cousin Jane is in New York.”

  “I’ve not met your aunt. Or your cousins.”