“The first plenary session? No, then everything else is a letdown,” Cindy told her friend.
“But everyone will be clamouring for it.”
“Then all the more reason to delay it for Saturday,” said Megan, the other coordinator. “Besides, not everyone can make it on Friday.”
“Oh right,” Beth Ann conceded, and then added, “but if it were Friday, then everyone can be talking about it the whole weekend.”
“It’s not like we won’t be talking about it the whole weekend either way. Actually having Jane Austen at the AGM? How wild is that?” Megan asked her friends.
“Would you ladies care for another round?” their waiter asked, interrupting Cindy, who was about to reply to Megan’s remark.
All three ladies agreed and also asked for another basket of chips and salsa, which the waiter immediately brought to their table, spurring another round of dipping and munching.
“It’s actually a bit of an imposition, though,” Cindy said as she knocked back the remainder of her margarita and looked in vain for the waiter to bring the second round. She followed this with ice water, cursing that she’d allowed herself to be tricked into the endless cycle of salty, spicy food and salty drink and then ice water followed by a massive Mexican dinner. It was her fault for agreeing to discuss their planning at a restaurant instead of at one of their homes.
“What’s an imposition?” Beth Ann asked.
“You know, what Megan said,” she replied.
“What? I just said it’ll be wild to have Jane Austen there.”
“Don’t you want Jane Austen to come?” Beth Ann asked.
“Well, sure, but let’s face it, we have to change everything to do it … move everyone’s schedules around … I mean if we move someone to Friday, well Dr Davis had planned to fly in Saturday morning.”
“That’s why I wanted Jane to talk Friday. My friend Carol, she’s the one who introduced me to Jane, she wasn’t planning to come to the AGM this year because of her nephew’s wedding, but she thought she might fly in Thursday night and …”
“It’s not just the inconvenience,” Cindy said, a little more loudly than she’d intended, and then regretted saying it. “No sorry, forget I said anything. She’ll have to go on Saturday and …”
She realized her two friends were looking at her. They’d been friends in the North Texas chapter for years, all of them joining JASNA about the same time, and by now they knew each other pretty well, and they’d caught Cindy’s tone.
“What’s up, Cindy?” Beth Ann asked.
“Yeah, you’ve got that tone.”
Cindy looked at her friends and decided to confess her misgivings. “I mean how do we know it really is Jane? Won’t we feel incredibly stupid if it’s not her?”
Beth Ann’s confusion was evident. “But she is Jane Austen. The AfterNet says she is.”
“What, the AfterNet is always right? I mean how can anyone really be sure?”
“Well, legally she’s Jane Austen, right? So what difference does it make?”
Cindy shook her head. “No, that’s not what it means at all.”
“Huh?” Megan and Beth Ann said in unison.
“I’ve been looking into it. All it means is that the AfterNet has recognized her as Jane Austen. But it’s just like a company policy, or a quasi-governmental agency’s policy, or whatever the AfterNet is. But legally, I don’t think it means anything.”
“Well, it meant enough for … who’s publishing her book?”
“Random House,” Megan supplied.
“Yeah, well it was enough for Random House to sign her up for a bazillion dollars and for whoever it is to make a Sanditon movie.”
Megan agreed. “Uh huh, it has to be a pretty good book for them to pay her for it. They wouldn’t pay her if it doesn’t read like the real thing.”
“I don’t know about that,” Cindy objected. “How many times have we heard about some famous author writing some amazing continuation and it reads like crap?”
“I really liked the excerpt I read,” Beth Ann countered. “What about you, Megan?”
“Well … it was good, but … well it was just an excerpt. I mean I liked it and all, but …”
Megan’s comments trailed off and she looked thoughtful.
“Sorry about the drinks,” their waiter said, again interrupting their conversation, placing their margaritas and Beth Ann’s daiquiri from the small tray he held, while a busboy behind them scurried over to their table with a much larger tray, holding a combination enchilada plate, chicken fajitas and a taco salad. Together, they completely covered their table with food.
“Is there anything else you need? More salsa?” the waiter asked, eager to make up for the late drink order.
The women assured him they were fine and were eager to be left alone to continue their conversation.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Cindy said. “Of course it’s big news Jane’s coming … I’m just bitching about it messing with our schedule.”
“No, that’s OK,” Beth Ann said. “But I guess I feel a little stupid for not even thinking it’s possible that she isn’t the real Jane Austen. I mean it would be great if she is Jane, wouldn’t it? I’ve got like a million questions. Which reminds me we should plan for a really long Q&A period.”
“What do you think most people think?” Megan asked, ignoring Beth Ann’s enthusiasm.
“I don’t know,” Cindy replied, now very upset for having voiced her doubts.
“There was a poll on Jane Austen Today, when it was announced on her birthday she’d been identified,” Beth Ann said. “I think it was about 50-50, but you know something like that’s not scientific. I didn’t pay it much attention.”
“OK, enough about this. Let’s get back to planning this. I like your thought about the Q&A, Beth Ann. I also think we’ve got to make sure we include Jane … and her avatar … does anyone know her name? When Ajala called, she just said Jane and her avatar.”
“Well, you’re not going to believe this, but I read that her avatar’s real name is Mary Crawford.”
That information understandably generated further discussion among the three women, another round of drinks and ensured that little was actually accomplished that night with regards to the planning for the AGM.
White soup for the soul
Regency medicine
Mary tried counting to ten but only got to three. Melody had been criticising her performance all morning in the still bare conference room of Melody’s new office.
“If you have some problem with my reading, just say so,” she finally told Melody. “Don’t just sit there with that sour look on your face!”
Melody, who’d been trying to remember how many antacids she’d taken that morning, was surprised by Mary’s outburst.
“What? I don’t have a problem.”
“Yes you do. You do nothing but look at me and wince, and it’s been that way all week. I think I’m doing a damn good job, but if you don’t like it …”
But now Melody winced yet again and Mary realized she was in some pain.
“Hush, Mary. Have you still not seen a doctor?” Jane asked.
“What doctor?” Mary inquired.
“She suffers from indigestion and should see her doctor.”
“I haven’t got time to make an appointment,” Melody protested.
“Then at the very least take one of the over the counter medications containing a proton pump inhibitor such as omeprazole.”
Jane’s statement surprised Mary and Melody, who looked at each other and suddenly laughed.
“Oh that’s great. I’m getting my health care advice from Jane Austen.”
“I think that’s a whole new untapped market, Melody. Health advice from Jane Austen.”
“White soup1 for the soul,” Melody suggested.
“Pardon me for taking an interest in your problem,” Jane said, “but if you fail to understand the perils of gastroesophageal reflux dis
eases and its attendant risk …”
But Jane’s attempt to describe the risk of erosive esophagitis only made Mary and Melody laugh again.
“I’m sorry, Jane,” Melody finally said after her laughter subsided. “It’s just a little weird to hear you talking about modern medicine. I keep expecting you to suggest leeches.”
“No, I suggest Prilosec, but knowing your inherent miserly-ness, I suspect you will opt for a generic.”
Melody paused to belch delicately before responding. “OK, you sold me. I think I’ll go get some right now.”
“Do you not have a very able assistant named Sarah who could run such an errand?” Jane suggested. Sarah had been hired only the week before after Melody had finally convinced her ancient receptionist Lillian to retire.
Jane’s suggestion caught Melody by surprise.
“Oh yeah, I do.” She made to rise to walk and ask Sarah, but then thought to pick up the phone in the conference room. She paused in doubt, however, looking at the unlabelled buttons.
“It is the second speed dial button,” Jane said. Melody gave Jane a wry look.
“I know, I know that.” She connected with Sarah and gave her the errand.
“Some food might also relieve your symptoms,” Jane said.
Melody also ordered lunch for herself and Mary.
After she hung up, she turned to Mary.
“I’m sorry if you got the impression I was upset with your reading. You’re actually doing a great job.”
“Oh. I just thought … really? Sometimes I don’t think you’re paying any attention to me and then you’d make those faces.”
“No, that’s just the sour stomach. And if my mind’s elsewhere … well, it’s just the survey numbers.”
“What survey numbers?” Jane asked.
“I paid a polling company to see what percentage of Janeites accept you.”
“Oh, and the results?”
“Unchanged. About half do and half don’t.”
“I’m sure that will change once the book’s on sale,” Mary said.
“Does it truly matter?” Jane asked.
“Of course it matters,” Melody answered, accompanied by a little grimace.
“Whatever may be the opinion of me, or even of Sanditon, ultimately means little.”
“Oh, I know what this is. I’ve seen it before.”
“Seen what before?” Mary asked.
“She’s in that ‘what have I done lately funk’ and that ‘my best work is behind me’ blues. Seriously, Jane, Sanditon is your best ever, and I think for the same reason that P&P and S&S are so good. You’ve been thinking about and working at it for so long that it’s perfect.
“And as a matter of fact, that would apply to you, Mary. You’ve got Jane down perfectly and you’re right to tell me off.”
“Oh, OK, thanks.”
“No, I mean it. I had my doubts, but now I can’t imagine anyone else representing Jane.”
“I must agree,” Jane said. “I cannot speak to your ability to sound like me, but I have definitely seen your confidence increase.”
“Thank you. I guess I have gotten … I am a lot more confident. I think for the first time, I really know what it means to inhabit a role.”
“Perhaps we have been working a little too hard, Melody.”
Melody had been smiling and nodding during this exchange, but Jane’s last words brought her back to reality.
“Are you serious? Our first reading is two days away. We’re going to eat our lunch, I’ll take a proton pump what’s it and then we’re going to go through it again until it’s perfect.”
1 For whatever reason, white soup was often served at Regency assemblies—public dances that often went into the wee hours. In Pride and Prejudice, Charles Bingley says: “As for the ball, it is quite a settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough I shall send round my cards.”
Here’s a recipe from John Farley’s London Art of Cooking (1783):
Put a knuckle of veal into six quarts of water, with a large fowl, and a pound of lean bacon, half a pound of rice, two anchovies, a few pepper corns, a bundle of sweet herbs, two or three onions, and three or four heads of celery cut in slices. Stew them all together, till the soup be as strong as you would have it, and then strain it through a hair sieve into a clean earthen pot. Having let it stand all night, the next day take off the scum, and pour it clean off into a tossing-pan. Put in half a pound of Jordan almonds beat fine, boil it a little, and run it through a lawn [fine cloth] sieve. Then put in a pint of cream, and the yolk of an egg, and send it up hot.
Today, of course, it would seem strange to serve a hot, creamy soup to young people flushed from dancing.
A sneak peek
Jane and Mary’s first book reading
Jane looked nervously to the book-lined corridor as Mr Pembroke continued his lengthy story about the drunken author he once had to extricate from a jail in the southern American state of Georgia. A long life spent in publishing had given him a vast fund of stories and he was entertaining Jane, Melody and Mary with those stories while they waited for more people to arrive at the Strand for the book signing.
But Jane could not keep her mind on the story. She kept hoping to see another attendee to supplement the seven people who’d arrived so far. All seven were seated alone, spread out over the two sections, five rows and 49 chairs, one chair in the last row gone missing. She’d had time to count.
It all looked so horribly empty to Jane and she wondered if there were some way to better distribute the six women and one man, but decided short of a miracle of the loaves and fishes variety that there was little to be done.
“I finally found a judge to set bail but by then it was too late. But it didn’t matter; he used the story as his own Reading Gaol1 opportunity and created a particularly pornographic ballad that I cannot possibly repeat. He would recite it at any literary party after his fourth or fifth martini. He never could hold his liquor. Which reminds me of …”
Jane decided she could take the opportunity while he related yet another publishing story to see if there were people in the store who might look as if they had come to the book signing but had gotten lost.
She was philosophic about the turnout, of course, and had said that ten people or a hundred made no difference to her, but seven! She left Mary’s side and navigated the maze to the middle of the store, which was doing good business on a Saturday morning. Coffee sipping customers were in line at the registers and the table of bargain advance reading copies was mobbed.
It was quite a scene and Jane thought briefly of the circulating libraries of her day, where she often met with people to gossip, buy postcards and had attended several book readings. She tried to imagine herself at Marshall’s on Milsom Street in Bath, a venti cappuccino in hand, listening to Ann Radcliffe read from The Mysteries of Udolpho2 while following along on her e-reader.
Unfortunately her recce failed to make her aware of any individuals obviously there for her appearance and she retreated back to the reading area.
She reacquired the AfterNet field of Mary’s terminal and realized her avatar was speaking for her to the store manager, who had just rejoined them.
“Please don’t concern yourself, Mr Britten. A low turnout might be a blessing for I am already nervous,” Mary said to the worried young store employee. Jane looked at the transcript of their conversation and saw that he had apologized for the low turnout.
“Where have you been?” Mary asked of Jane. “I’ve been tap dancing while you were gone.”
Jane wasn’t familiar with the expression but guessed its meaning.
“Sorry, I just looked in the hallway. And also through the store to see …”
But Jane’s reply was cut short by Mr Britten holding up one hand while talking into the phone he held up to his ear.
“Oh, wait a minute,” he said to Mary and Melody. “It looks like we have some people waiting outside on the sidewalk. I think someone pu
t up the overflow sign. Let me take care of this.” He and Mr Pembroke hurriedly left to investigate, leaving Jane, Mary and Melody able to converse.
“I told you there was nothing to worry about,” Melody said, but the relief in her voice made clear that she’d been worried as well. Melody had advocated this book signing a week ahead of the official start of the book tour as a “shakedown cruise” and it was put together with almost no publicity or advertising. Instead they decided to see how much of a turnout could be achieved just by word of mouth.
“Well, as Mary said, a low turnout might be preferable,” Jane said. Mary spoke these words for Jane, feeling odd to be referring to herself in the third person.
“Are you nervous, Jane?” Melody asked.
“Not as nervous as Mary must be, is that not so?”
Mary said these last words uncertain how to answer. Finally she said, “I thought we agreed I shouldn’t break out of character, Jane. And if you’re going to address me while I’m speaking as you, I think you will make me nervous.”
“Quite right, Mary,” Melody said. “I’m glad you at least understand how this must work.”
Mary smiled at this, happy for once to be the target of Melody’s praise. Just last night, Melody had been quizzing Mary about the details of Jane’s life until she knew them better than the author herself.
Her biggest challenge was remembering Jane’s family tree, which included Lloyds, Perrots, Lefroys, de Feuillides, Leighs and Knights. Fortunately Jane could untangle the most complicated family ties, but Melody insisted Mary memorize Jane’s genealogy for those times when she was speaking extemporaneously—without Jane being present.
Jane’s task to prepare for the book tour was to answer inane questions posed to her by Melody: What was your favourite food? Who was your favourite brother? Did you ever fire a weapon?
She also asked Jane considerably more personal and delicate questions: How did you get along with your mother? Did you ever fall in love? Were you ever attracted to women? Did you ever have sex?
Jane, Actually Page 16