Rude Awakenings of a Jane Austen Addict (22 page)

In this future world, however, it seems that the more starved a woman looks to be, the more her collarbones and elbows protrude through her skin, the prettier she must be.

No wonder Anna referred to Courtney’s litany of complaints about her personal size. Poor Courtney; were she in my time she would be considered an ideal of beauty by many a man and woman. I, however shall make up for that neglect by showering praise every day upon this beautiful form which I have inherited.

As I rifle through my clothes for something suitable to wear, my stomach rumbles. Something I imagine women who would not otherwise go hungry voluntarily endure, as there was a great deal of talk in the magazine of the methods used to achieve the desired starved look, which, of course, involves actual starving. That is a practice I shall certainly not adopt, as long as I have money enough for food. I have had nothing at all to eat since yesterday afternoon. How blessed I am to have money in my bag that will buy me a meal at one of the restaurants along the road, and some money left in the bank, but I am no closer to having the smallest notion of what I shall do when that runs out than I was yesterday. I cannot think of such things now; I must dress and buy food. And a supply of candles.

I find a long, flowing skirt in the closet and top it off with a sleeveless white bodice. It is, after all, abominably hot, as Mary would say, and it’s not as if every woman out there isn’t baring both arms and legs. I have to laugh, for I believe my little blunder of running outside before in only a nightshirt has relaxed my heretofore strict notions of proper attire.

I am about to walk out of the apartment when the phone, which I’ve forgotten in my haste and left sitting atop the bookcase, explodes with the joyous music from
Pride and Prejudice
.

“Mom,” it says on the screen. “Answer. Ignore.”

My stomach tightens at the thought of speaking to this unknown person who has been leaving me increasingly angry messages. Nevertheless, she is supposed to be my mother, no matter how unknown she is to me, and thus it would be unfilial to refuse her call.

Oh, dear.

“Hello?”

“Courtney—thank God. First I don’t hear from you for two weeks. Then I call your number and it’s disconnected. What the hell’s going on there?”

Perhaps answering the phone was not the most prudent idea after all.

“Well? Are you all right?”

“Perfectly—Mother.”

“Since when do you call me Mother?” Her voice is deep and has a rapidity of expression quite unlike that of my own mother, whose calm clear tones and careful enunciation can be quite deceptive.

“Ma-ma?” I venture.

“Have you been drinking?”

“I hardly think—”

“What happened to ‘Mom’?”

“Forgive me—Mom. Of course.” Stupid, stupid. It was right there on the phone. And in her messages.

“Just what are you up to, Courtney?”

“I was only going to walk to Sunset Boulevard and buy something to eat.”

“You’re not at work? Did you lose your job? Is that why your phone’s disconnected? Oh my God, Courtney.”

I summon as much calm and command into my voice as possible. “I left my job. It was the right thing to do.” Despite my efforts, I am trembling by the end of this little speech. Clearly, Courtney’s mother has the power to unsettle me as much as my own does.

“Without lining up another job first? Are you out of your mind?” She drops her voice to a whisper. “How much do you need?”

“Where are you?” I realize I have dropped my voice as well.

Still whispering, she says, “I don’t want Don to know I’m sending you money.”

Don? She cannot be talking of my father.

“Not that it’s any of his business,” she says, “but you know how it is.”

I do?

“His kids are like vultures, and I don’t want him to think—”

“That I’m picking at your carcass?” I cannot believe that just came out of my mouth. And who is Don anyway?

“That’s disgusting,” she says. “And unfair. Don’s been very good to me. And you, I might add. It’s not his fault your own father forgot he had a family. But you’ll never give him a break, will you?”

Oh, my. What sort of family is this? Courtney’s father—my father—abandoned his wife and child? And is her mother married to Don? Or is she—?

“I’m sorry, Courtney. I shouldn’t have brought up your father.”

“No. It is I who should apologize.”

“Let’s just forget it, okay? You know I’m not made of money, but you’re my daughter, and if a mother can’t help her own daughter, then what kind of mother is she?”

“Please do not trouble yourself. I’m certain I will find a new job very soon.”

“In this economy? You should listen to me and forget about the movie business. Assistant. That’s a make-nothing, go-nowhere job if there ever was one. I know, I know, you have friends who moved up. Well, good for them. I’m tired of seeing my daughter treated like dirt. Assistant. It was all well and good when they changed my title from secretary to executive assistant back when that first became fashionable, but that didn’t mean I got to stop fetching the coffee, and it didn’t mean I was ever getting my boss’s job. Of course when you work in a law firm, that’s not an issue, but at least it paid well. Why didn’t you listen to me and get an MBA instead of a degree in English, of all things?”

I, a degree?

“You could have gone to law school. And now it’s too late; you have to start thinking about having kids—Oh, boy. I really stuck my foot in it, sweetie. I’m so sorry. I know you’re devastated. God. I’m just so upset that you’re out of work on top of everything else.”

“I’m—okay—Mom. Truly.”

I have taken a degree. I. A woman. Oh how I longed to be like my brother and go to Cambridge. I would treasure the opportunity for learning, whereas he saw it only as a means of being free from the restraints of home.

“Courtney! Are you listening to me? When have you ever quit a job without having another lined up? That’s it. I’m coming out there.”

“No!” I know not whence that came, but I do know I must prevent her coming at all costs. I force some calm into my tone. “Truly. I am perfectly okay. I assure you.”

“I can’t keep sending you money forever, you know. Truth is, I’m about tapped out. I know I said I’d never mention it, but that $2,000 in deposits I laid out for your wedding is money I’ll never see again. You need to find a job. Fast. Which is why you should let me help you. Give me two weeks in L.A. scouring the want ads and reworking your résumé and I promise you’ll have results.”

Despite the heat in the apartment, my bones chill with fear. “But the expense of traveling, would it not be—”

“Don has plenty of miles; flying won’t cost a thing.”

“Miles.” I have no idea what she’s talking about, especially the part about flying, and I dare not inquire. I have only a terrifying vision of this strange woman who claims to be my mother sprouting wings and then tapping on my windowpane.

“And of course I’ll stay with you.”

No. This cannot be happening. Shall I tell her about Wes’s offer, or would doing so seal my fate?

“Mom. There is no need for that. I assure you that I will have a new job within a week.”

“How do you figure that?”

“I have a plan.” Of course I have no such thing. “And please, Mom, do not send me money.”

“Are you sure?”

Of course I’m not sure. I have not even money to pay the electric and telephone bills. But I know that I cannot trade my independence for pecuniary assistance.

“All I ask is one week, and if I am not employed by then, I will do whatever you wish.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” She pauses. “All right, then. One week.”

Thank heaven. I feel as if I have been holding my breath. “And Mom? I’m touched by your generosity. Truly.”

And I am. Despite my terror at having her appear at my door. Or window.

“Don’t disappear again, Courtney. I love you, you know.”

Suddenly, my throat is tight with unshed tears which blur my eyes. It is all I can do to choke out “Thank you.” And with that I end the call, vastly relieved. And just as guilty as I feel after every conversation I have ever had with my own mother about the grim state of my future. If only she could see how that future turned out.

If I do not get out of here, I shall end up on the floor having hysterical giggles. I grab my bag and hurry out of the door.

Nineteen

T
he glare of the sun is blinding, the heat a solid wall. I rummage inside the bag, hoping I possess a pair of dark spectacles like the ones I have seen Anna and Paula wear, and which I now see on almost every driver in the street. My fingers close around a pouch which contains a pair of dark spectacles—sunglasses, that is what they are called. Lately, it is as if a vast internal lexicon has opened up in my brain, providing to me names of things I never knew of before.

I put on the sunglasses. Ah, yes. The bright world is now pleasantly so. When I reach Acme Taqueria I marshal my courage, for in my world it would be unheard of for a respectable woman to enter an eating house alone. Indeed, it would be unusual to see a genteel woman, accompanied or not, in such a place. But this is not my world, and few if any of those rules apply.

I stand before the door of the restaurant, longing for the coolness I know awaits me inside yet unable to move myself out of the heat. I survey the several configurations of diners at the various tables. Women. Men. Women and men together. A lone man. But not a lone woman.

But it cannot be wrong for me to dine here alone, for did I not say to Courtney’s—my—mother that I was about to venture out for food? She did not even inquire if I was accompanied, let alone by whom. She cared only about employment and money matters.

Then why are there no unescorted females within?

I am about to turn round and go home, despite the grumblings of my stomach, when a familiar voice calls out.

“Don’t go in. Come out with me instead,” it says.

I turn towards the voice. It is Deepa, alone in a car. “Get in, girl. It’s bloody hot out there.”

I was never so relieved to see anyone as I am to see Deepa’s smiling countenance, her perfect teeth bright white against her lovely brown skin, and as soon as I’m settled into the cushiony, cream-colored seats in her car, I know I am safe.

“I can’t believe I didn’t get your number the other night,” says Deepa. “So I stopped by your place, just like an old-fashioned Jane Austen morning call”—she turns momentarily towards me, her eyes sparkling mischievously—“but madam was not at home. Lucky for me running into you on Sunset.”

I smile at her. “Lucky for me as well.”

“So,” she says, “shall I assume your hesitant manner in front of the restaurant indicates you’re not as starved as I am?”

“Not at all. I’m famished.”

“Excellent. Can you wait forty-five minutes for a meal? I’ve got this wild idea to drive out to the beach, where it’s got to be at least fifteen degrees cooler than this inferno, but it didn’t sound like much fun doing it on my own.”

“The beach. That would be lovely.”

I haven’t been to the seaside since Brighton, and that was four years ago.

“My treat,” she says.

“But I—”

“No, I insist. This is my adventure, and I’m happy for the company.”

She cannot possibly know how straitened my circumstances are; no, this is not the impulse of pity. It is an act of real friendship. She has sought my company, and not merely for a fifteen-minute formal morning call, but for a journey to the seaside. I shall accept her generosity and repay it when I can.

We are on the road not ten minutes when I catch sight of something that nearly makes me gasp aloud—a bona fide airborne machine with wings like a bird, high up in the sky, cutting through the heavens like an arrow.

Did Deepa see it as well? She does not look as if she has noticed anything extraordinary. Could it be that in this world, a flying wonder in the sky is as commonplace as a carriage was in mine? What a miraculous creation! Somehow I manage to tear my eyes from the sky and respond to Deepa’s kindly asking me how I’ve been since that night in the club.

By the time we leave the freeway—another new word I have learnt—and turn down a street, at the end of which beckons a twinkling blue sea, I have seen two more flying machines. And I don’t quite know how it happened, but I have also ended up telling her about the loss of my job, the refusal of my mother’s offer of money, and the threat of a visit from her (and it was then that I realized the airborne machines must be what she had in mind when she talked of flying).

“In all fairness,” I say, “she is quite generous to make such an offer, so I should be ashamed of myself for dreading the prospect of a visit. I mean, I
am
ashamed of myself.”

“You’re kidding, yeah? Listen, I love my mother as much as anyone does, but whenever she descends upon me, she positively puts everything in my life under a microscope. And she never likes what she sees. You did the right thing by turning down her cash. There are always strings attached, believe me.”

I could not be more delighted with a companion if Mary suddenly appeared before the imposing hotel made of brick and what looks almost like Bath stone, where we alight from the car.

“What do you think?” says Deepa as we enter the building. I am so absorbed in the airy lightness of the vast space that I can only murmur my approbation. A curved double staircase inlaid with colorful tiles leads us to a vast columned area filled with sofas and deep, cushioned chairs, where young men and women sit sipping drinks. The walls are lined with books, and there are even desks with little lamps, giving the feeling of a library in a grand estate rather than a public place. But no library, of course, leads to a bar where two smiling women with long blond hair serve drinks. One wonders if the ladies were chosen for their looks, like footmen, as they are of the same height and figure and complexion.

These wonderings are but fleeting, for the source of the brilliant light that permeates the vastness of the grand room comes into clear view as I walk closer towards the bar, and I behold what takes my breath away: a veritable wall of windows, semicircular in shape, which must be twenty feet tall and reveal a spectacular view of the ocean and strand. And this, I realize as Deepa leads me to a table before one of the immense windows, is where we are to dine!