Jane, Actually

by Jennifer Petkus

  He nodded. “Yes, I’m honoured you remember. So, what you are doing here, so far from the hotel?”

  “Well, I thought I was far enough away that I could remain incognito,” she said.

  His face reflected his discomfort. “I’m sorry that I …”

  “No, no, it’s OK,” she hastened to say. “You don’t look like one of the more rabid Janeites. What are you, a professor?”

  “Just a grad student and … well, my thesis is about … well Jane.”

  “Oh, so you are a rabid Janeite. And here I thought I could talk about something other than Austen.”

  Again he looked uncomfortable and Mary realized she’d again said something that could be misconstrued. Of course, truth was that as much as she was enjoying her job, she did want to talk about things non-Austen every once in a while.

  “Well, thank you for the coffee,” he said, and began to push back in his chair. To stop him, she reached out and put her hand on his arm.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “That came out wrong. Look, I’m here in Chicago and Jane’s given me the day off and I don’t know what to do. Maybe you could suggest something?”

  He sat back down and smiled. “Sure, there’re a million things to do here. Do you like museums? Ever been to the Field Museum?”

  Mary had nothing against a good museum and were she to spend a week in Chicago would undoubtedly visit it, but she didn’t want to waste her one day on one.

  “That sounds great. Where is it?”

  So Mary spent the day at the Field Museum with Stephen and afterward walked along the shorefront, which gave her more exercise than she’d had in weeks. The book tour involved sitting in aeroplanes and at signing tables and she’d worried that she’d put on weight, but evidently the nervousness of her role had kept her thin, although her muscle tone was awful.

  So she tried not to complain about all the walking for she was having a very good day with Stephen. She realized that she was having just the sort of day she’d have had in New York and recognized in Stephen a fellow starving student. He’d gained admission to the museum with a student pass and walking along the shorefront cost nothing and buying a hotdog from a pushcart cost little.

  But finally her wobbly legs gave out and so by El2 they headed back to where she’d left her car. Stephen felt happy that he’d spent the day with Mary, even though it meant that he’d have to work all day Sunday to finish grading papers. He always loved showing off Chicago to out-of-towners and the fact that he’d spent the day with Jane Austen’s avatar made it extra enjoyable.

  By agreement, however, he’d refrained from asking her any questions about Jane Austen. So he’d learned Mary was a struggling acting student who was now making more money than she’d ever dreamed of making, but in a role destined to go uncredited. He learned of her family and her childhood and her hopes and fears and he’d done his best to find her fascinating, which was an easy task, but all during their tour he’d been dying to know one thing.

  “What’s she like?” he finally blurted out on the El, unable to contain himself any longer.

  “Wow, you held out a lot longer than I ever thought you would,” she said.

  “You don’t mind?”

  “How can I mind? I was more fascinating than Jane Austen for all of two hours,” Mary said with a smile.

  Stephen looked at her in the dying sunlight that flashed upon her face whenever the train moved between buildings. She looked like a film star in a silent movie and he stared at her, forgetting he’d asked her a question.

  “So, do you want to know what she’s like?” Mary prompted him.

  The question broke the spell and he nodded his head.

  “Well, she’s like the best older sister there ever was, although I admit that since I’m not close to my older sister, I’m just guessing. She’s really funny and … you know the person in the meeting who sits there quietly and you don’t think they’re paying attention? And then they say something that completely skewers the pompous ass that’s talking—that’s Jane.

  “And she can be so prim and proper because she still talks like the books, you know, but then you realize she’s seen it all. You Janeites worship her as the spinster from Hampshire with her little studies of people, but you just can’t know the woman from that.”

  “Little travelled, never married,” Stephen said.

  “What?”

  “Sorry, it’s a dismissive description of Jane Austen boiled down from Henry Austen’s little biography of her. The family, after her death, really emphasized her Godliness and frugality and even temper. Henry called hers a life of little event, and maybe it was up until the time she died.”

  “Yeah, I guess so, but that’s the thing about the afterlife, isn’t it. You just keep adding to your knowledge and experience of life, for the rest of eternity. Oh, isn’t this our stop?”

  However Stephen was already rising, confirming it was their stop and the conversation was interrupted as they exited the train and the station and walked down to ground level.

  “Well, I’m happy to hear Austen isn’t the simple spinster, but that’s just confirming what I’d thought all along. It’s always galled me when critics say, ‘She just wrote what she knew,’ as if that isn’t a great compliment. She knew people and their emotions and made them real, like no one before her.”

  “I wish you could know her like I do,” Mary said, “not that I know that much about her life when alive. She keeps that to herself, but she certainly shares her observations and opinions about the here and now. And she knows a lot about everything, which I suppose is a consequence of being around for so long. She follows the news obsessively. Actually, she can be a bit of a bore about the news and is always giving me grief that I don’t know anything about politics—and I’m talking US politics here. She has a lot of opinions about our peace keeping mission in India.”

  They had reached Mary’s rental car in the parking lot and Mary looked back at Stephen, who had a faraway look in his eyes. She recognized that look.

  “Oh, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said. You’ve got that look.”

  “Huh? What look?”

  “That ‘I’d love to ask Jane Austen about … ’ look. You’ve been dreaming up a million questions to ask her, haven’t you?”

  They were back in the car and Stephen’s expression confirmed his guilt. “OK, busted. I’m sorry, it’s just … yeah, I have so many questions. I’m sorry, I should have been thinking how much I enjoyed the afternoon … with you.”

  She hadn’t started the car yet and was looking at him and thinking his guilty look was very cute.

  “I’m leaving Chicago tomorrow morning and continuing the book tour and attending several Austen events. Are you going to any?”

  “Uh, yeah, there’s a small writer’s conference in Colorado Springs in July.”

  “That’s near Denver, right?”

  “Near enough. It’s about the middle of the month. But it’s not an Austen event, it’s a conference for …” and now Stephen looked embarrassed. “It’s a conference for romance writers.”

  Oh that’s so cute, Mary thought and wished she had Jane with her to witness this man’s charming discomfort. She did her best not to convey how cute she thought his admission. She started the car and exited the car park to cover her smile. Once in traffic, she said, “Wow, I wonder why we’re not sneaking down for that. Maybe Melody doesn’t want to cross into the romance genre, but you’d think Jane would be a fit. So you’re a romance writer?” She asked the last as nonchalantly as she could, without any accusation in her tone.

  However his reply made it clear he was touchy about the subject despite her effort to keep any judgment from her tone.

  “I’m a liberal arts graduate student obsessed with Jane Austen and medieval literature so I thought I should try to find an outside source of income. And I started writing … well a historical romance … it just started out as fun and …”

  “Hey, you don’t need to justi
fy what you need to do to make money. I’m selling my body to support my acting school classes, which I’ve pretty much abandoned for an uncredited role as a Regency spinster. And I don’t know how long this gig will last, but I’m having a great time and making great money. But when it comes down to saying what I’m doing … I’m basically a …”

  She couldn’t bring herself to say it. She was stopped at a red light, three cars back from the intersection, worried about her admission and its effect on him and shamed even more by the admission to herself.

  Play-acting as Jane Austen’s avatar sounded so high-minded and she had been doing it so long that she had almost forgotten the misgivings she had when she signed up at the avatar agency.

  She could have just as easily been an avatar for a far more unsavoury character and asked to do unsavoury things. Of course she was making enough that she could go back to school for another semester, but eventually she’d either have to make it as an actress or be someone else’s avatar.

  Then she felt Stephen’s hand on hers, and he said, “Don’t say that, you’re …”

  But his words were interrupted by the car horn that sounded behind them. She realized then that the light had turned green and there were no cars in front of her. She moved her hand from where it rested on the emergency brake to the wheel, breaking contact with Stephen’s hand. She hoped he wouldn’t perceive it as her taking her hand from him and shot him a smile, which he returned.

  The revelations of their mutual desperation, however, kept their conversation to a minimum until she brought him to a bus station where he said he could catch a bus straight to his home. As he was preparing to leave the car, she said, “Maybe we could get together then, when you’re in Colorado Springs?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “And maybe you can meet Jane. I mean you did meet Jane at the signing, but …”

  “I know what you mean, I’d like that, but … I’d like to see you again even more.”

  She saw the sincerity on his face and said, “Liar. But it’s a very nice lie. I’ll expect an email from you.”

  “You can expect a call. Would tomorrow be OK?”

  “Oh God, now I’m sounding pushy.”

  “No, no, tomorrow night? After 8 pm? It’s just if you call earlier … well Jane would be there and …”

  “After 8 pm, then. I can talk to Jane Austen another time.”

  1 Teaching assistant

  2 The “L” or “El” refers to the trains operated by the Chicago Transit Authority. Much of the train system is above street level.

  How considerate

  Stephen tells Dr Davis he’s met Mary

  Stephen kept trying to keep the grin off his face, but being a man with little ability to dissemble and being naturally outgoing, he knew he was failing miserably. Normally by this point of a faculty meeting he’d be getting sleepy or would be staring vacantly out the window, but his slight smile apparently made him appear, if not interested in the proceedings, at least cognizant of the topic.

  “You have something to add, Mr Abrams?” asked the department head, who had been unnerved by the smile upon Stephen’s face.

  The smile melted from the unexpected question. He had no idea what the topic had been.

  “No, it sounds like a good idea,” he ventured to say, only then noticing the amused glances in the room.

  “We are all gratified you approve of reducing your expense reimbursements. No doubt you are aware of the serious nature of the budget shortfalls affecting our department. I am sure your fellow graduate students will share their opinions with you. And with that, let’s call it a day.”

  Naturally Stephen had to face a good deal of friendly abuse from the others because of his inattention, including a dope slap1 that caught him off guard and that hurt slightly more than the giver had intended. He waited in the room until his advisor stood next to him.

  “Is there something you wish to tell me, Stephen?” Dr Davis said, with a wry smile.

  They left the room together and walked down the hallway to her office.

  “You were preoccupied this morning and I see that hasn’t changed. And from that stupid smile you’re wearing … I assume you’ve met someone.” They arrived at her office and she opened the door and entered. Stephen followed, feeling foolish for allowing his emotions to so openly show. But he could hardly deny his feelings.

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry for being so …”

  “Smitten?” she suggested with a laugh. “God, you don’t get to say that word often enough. So out with it, who is she? Not someone I know, I hope. I would hate to see you making googly-eyes at someone I know.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “You know her; you definitely know her.”

  For a second, he couldn’t think how he could relay to her the enormity of his revelation or even if he should, and then he remembered the task his advisor had given him. He reached into his bag and retrieved the signed copy and handed it to her.

  “Oh, thank you, I was afraid you’d forgot …” but she stopped because he didn’t quite relinquish his hold on the book as he handed it to her.

  She looked at him quizzically, and then he nodded at the book and released it. The exchange left her puzzled. She looked at him and he again looked at the book and back to her. She opened her mouth, shut it, and then asked, “What are you trying to say, Stephen? I had previously thought you a gifted young man, but you are seriously testing my patience.”

  But Stephen couldn’t quite say the words, “I think I might be dating Jane Austen’s avatar.” It sounded so preposterous in his head, but finally, haltingly said something to that effect.

  “I sent you out to get a book signed. I didn’t mean for you to fall in love. Well, well, Jane Austen’s avatar. Tell me about her.”

  The invitation prompted Stephen to tell her the entire story of waiting in line, getting the book signed, later meeting her at the coffee shop and spending the day with her. He also snuck in an apology for not getting around to some of the other tasks she’d set him.

  It would be unfair to say that Dr Davis wasn’t pleased for Stephen, for she truly did like him and appreciate him. But her immediate reaction was that his news could prove immensely useful to her. And as he continued in his praise of the woman, she thought of a way that she might control the situation to her advantage.

  “I’m very happy for you, Stephen, but you do realize some of the ethical considerations that arise from this?”

  Stephen, who had just expressed his hope of meeting the avatar in Colorado, looked puzzled. “What? What ethical consideration?” But he realized the implications of her question as he responded. “Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “Your objectivity will be called into question if you’re romantically involved with the avatar of the subject you’re … dating.”

  His serious expression, however, warned her not to overplay her hand. His seriousness and integrity were the reasons she valued him and she didn’t want him doing anything noble.

  “I wouldn’t say we’re … so you’re saying I should …”

  “Wait, wait, I didn’t say anything, just that you should be cautious. If I may be allowed a little self-aggrandizement, that is precisely why you have me as an advisor. I can tell you if you’re allowing your feeling for … what is her name again?”

  “Mary, Mary Crawford,” he said, and then hastily added when he saw the look on his advisor’s face. “I know, that’s kind of weird, but at least it’s not Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “You are certain this person is Jane Austen’s avatar?” she asked, suddenly worried that the poor boy had deluded himself.

  “No, of course it’s her. I mean she’s on the dust jacket,” he said.

  Dr Davis looked at the book and on the back cover saw the picture of the author, or rather a painting/computer illustration. It was well done and she recognized it from its earlier release, but it was obviously not a photograph.

  “No, on the inside front flap,” he said, a littl
e testily.

  She opened the cover and looked at the flap and recognized the photo of the woman who had been hired to be Miss Austen’s avatar.

  “And this is the woman you met?” She gave Stephen a quick smile. “You didn’t get hit on the head and all this was a dream?”

  “No, I … wait a minute.” He reached into a pocket and produced his phone and after pressing a few buttons, he turned the screen around to show her. Standing below the fossil of Sue the T-rex,2 she could recognize the woman who seemed identical to the picture in the book. Or as close alike as she could tell from the small image of the woman in contrast to the large image of the dinosaur.

  “Very well, Stephen, I will assume you are not suffering from a mental disorder. Perhaps you’d better keep me informed of what you learn … of your relationship with this Mary Crawford, so that I can advise you if it might affect the objectivity of your thesis.”

  1 A light, upward slap to the back of the head

  2 Sue, at The Field Museum, is the largest and most complete Tyrannosaurus rex fossil ever found

  Boston

  The obligations of being civil

  Courtney fidgeted nervously behind the desk as he listened to the woman. “I’m not sure if I agree with you, but I suppose I must read this,” she said. “Everyone does seem to be talking about it.”

  He looked at the several pins and buttons the matronly woman sported, including the “I Believe in Jane” button that showed the new portrait of Austen. There was a JASNA pin and a very nice cameo with the famous Austen silhouette as well.

  He offered her his most ingratiating wry smile, which tried to suggest he was embarrassed but pleased at his own success, but his charm failed to impress her.

  So he took the book from her and after asking her name signed it: “To Caroline, whose skepticism and loyalty does her justice, Courtney Blake.”

  He returned it to her and she looked at the inscription and then at him and her stern look softened.

  “Oh, thank you. I do hold great faith in Jane that she would never …”