Alyssa Goodnight - Austentatious

I didn’t even bother with a heads-up phone call, choosing to go with the pop-in instead. Mark was turned away from the door, reviewing something on his computer, and I spared a moment to take stock: no sudden squeamishness, no shortness of breath, no cringes or qualms—I was good. This was it. I raised my hand to knock and relaxed.

“Hey, Mark. You busy?”

He swiveled in his seat and then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk between us. “I didn’t expect to hear from you till tomorrow.” His eyes shifted sideways behind his glasses, and before I could answer, he asked, “Or are you here checking in on a customer return?”

I smiled, stepping farther into his office. “You were right the first time—I’m here about the job.” Big deep breath. “If it’s still available, I want it.”

This earned me a wide grin. “Awesome. I’ll call Human Resources and get things going. Does David know yet?” Mark looked vaguely guilty about stealing me away.

“He’s my next stop.” And I wasn’t particularly enthused. If an e-mail wasn’t considered a shabby way to end a relationship, it would be my communiqué of choice.

“Good luck.” His smile was commiserating, mine was resigned. “Let me know if you run into any problems.”

“Got it.” One down, one to go.

I really had to work for that second one. Trying to sever ties with my boss was like trying to cancel a magazine subscription, but in person. He managed to glamorize my job so significantly that I began, for a fleeting moment, to have doubts. He inundated me with the pros while my brain buzzed with the cons. He offered incentives, alternatives, even a new computer, a regular Wile E. Coyote, grasping at thin air. Because in my head I’d already gone.

Finally it was done. We agreed on two weeks to wrap things up, and I slipped out of his office, planning to while away the day in transition tasks. But first I needed to call Gabe. There’d been a lone message from him amid the slew of work-related calls I’d ignored yesterday. He wasn’t in his cubicle, so I went back to mine and texted him instead.

NJames: You called?

I’d tackled my e-mail—a whopping sixty-three new messages—by the time I got a response.

GVogler: yesterday

Evidently he was a little peeved. I tried again.

NJames: Are we still on for tonight?

GVogler: far as I know. i’m picking Beck up on campus

NJames: What time?

GVogler: around 8

NJames: I have the passes from Sean, so meet you there at 8:30?

GVogler: that works—so is yesterday a ‘lost wednesday’?

NJames: Ask me tonight.

With any luck Beck could de-grump him before I had to deal with him. And if I was lucky, I could get to her first. Gabe might be my best friend, but I was balking at discussing yesterday’s “queen toppling” with him. I dialed Beck’s number, and she answered on the first ring, her greeting a sort of muffled hiss.

“Shhhh! What’s up?”

My eyes narrowed in confusion. Was she shushing me?

“You go first,” I insisted.

“I’m in class, scrunched down in my seat, hoping no one notices me—cell phones are taboo in here, but you’re bound to be plenty more interesting than Differential Equations.”

“Gee thanks,” I muttered, remembering D.E. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. Gabe says he’s picking you up on campus around eight. Can you meet me at sevenish to chat?”

“Without Gabe, you mean? Sure. He’s picking me up under the bridge on Dean Keeton. Why don’t I meet you there, and we can swing up to the Law Library, and then you can drop me back under the bridge?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Then she just faded away.

“Drive,” Beck demanded, slamming the car door at seven on the dot. I turned to look at her as a Capital Metro bus roared past on my side, swooping to the curb in front of me to pick up and drop off.

Her smile was mischievous. “Sorry. Just wanted to see how that felt.”

I pulled into traffic and then glanced back at her. Her hair was wound into two messy magenta coils on top of her head, a modern take on Princess Leia’s cinnamon buns.

“So ... is Gabe proving nerdy enough for you?”

“More than,” she confirmed with a nod and a playful smile. “And while I’m excited to see him tonight, I’ve gotta admit, I’m just as anxious for the chance—finally—to meet Sean. How’d it go yesterday? I tried not to call, just in case, but I’ve been absolutely quivering waiting to hear. I can’t believe I had you on the phone earlier and didn’t get the deets.”

“You were in class,” I reminded her as I slid into a parking spot on the street, somewhat in the vicinity of the Law Library.

“You know we’re gonna have to whisper in there,” she said. “And knowing them, they probably frown on squealing. Wanna go somewhere else?”

“We could. Or we could chat here, wait for campus police to show up before we put money in the meter.”

“Perfect.” She rooted around in her backpack. “I was going to try to smuggle them in but now I don’t have to.” She pulled out two giant chocolate chip cookies in paper sleeves and handed me mine. I could totally get used to these girl talks.

“Perfect,” I agreed, wishing I had a Coke.

“So? Yesterday? Did you go with either of my suggestions?”

“No. But you get points for effort and consistency.” I sank my teeth into the soft cookie and chewed appreciatively.

“Girl, I will take your cookie hostage,” Beck warned.

“Okay, okay.” I held my cookie out of Beck’s reach and commenced with the telling.

It was a shame we didn’t bother with the Law Library. The two of us getting kicked out would probably be the most excitement they’d seen in ... possibly ever. Beck was loud and effusive and agog. I managed to finish off my cookie while she worked through her first wave of reaction.

“So ‘The Plan’ has been vanquished, and you’re hitching your wagon to a rock star?” She licked a smear of chocolate off her thumb, her eyes smiling.

I laughed. “Only you would phrase it that way.”

“And you’re not even hyperventilating! Impressive, Ms. James! How do you account for this wild change? Could it be magic?” She leaned in to position her imaginary microphone for my response. Even in the dark, our conversation lit only by a streetlight two car lengths away, I could see the twinkle in her eye.

“It could be,” I finally admitted with a smile.

“You’ve come a long way, baby,” she said, crumpling the cookie bag.

“Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.” We grinned at each other until I looked away to glance at the time. Five minutes to eight. “Yikes! We’re cutting it close. Ever the eager beaver—at least as far as women go—Gabe’s probably already waiting.”

“Just drop me a block away—I’ll hoof it.”

I stuck with this plan and sailed past Gabe’s Honda, letting Beck out on the next corner.

“See you in thirty.” She waved before darting out into oncoming traffic.

“Drive,” I told myself, heading toward Sixth Street and an evening of watching Sean at work.

After dashing off my entry that morning, I’d broken my own rules, stuffing the journal into my bag and slipping the key onto my key ring. Chalk it up to impatience. I was curious to see whether my little fortunes would change now that I’d essentially given in. I was hoping for more straightforward and less, well, cheeky.

Evidently it was not to be.

Parked downtown, with a few minutes to spare before eight-thirty, I decided to take a little peek. And judging by this morning’s leftovers, it looked as if the gummed-up cliché was here to stay. And while I now realized that all those previous fortunes did eventually make sense, hindsight wasn’t a whole lot of help right now.

It was impossible to tell whether “life will surprise you” referred to the little shockers of the past week or new ones still to come. Which meant I was stuck playing defense. I hadn’t the vaguest clue how to go offensive with my life and “surprise it back”—although I would have dearly loved to one-up Fairy Jane. Talk about your double whammies! So rather than dwell on something that would, I had no doubt, come clear eventually, I decided to sneak another peek into the past.

Hunching down in the semidarkness of the front seat, I let the magic happen and then flipped through the pages until I’d found my place. Reading by the pearly glow of streetlamps, I lost myself in someone else’s life....

27 February, 1908

I’ve been called the family changeling as long as I can remember. And it isn’t simply my chestnut locks and deep brown eyes that have garnered me the nickname. While my siblings are each elegant, accomplished, and engaging, I am clumsy, overly candid, and unfashionably academic. They worry I will end up a spinster, and honestly, I can’t fault their assumptions. The men who interest me are much the same as I, and consequently, we are bound never to move past an awkward introduction, for neither of us have a fondness for small talk or dancing. Somehow, I need to sift through the glamorous trappings of New York society to find a kindred spirit. And once I’ve found him, decide precisely how to seduce him. It seems best to treat this as any experiment, recording both successes and failures on the path to getting practical results.

I couldn’t help but admire her strategy. I hurriedly flipped the page, eager to read on.

1 March, 1908