Rude Awakenings of a Jane Austen Addict (33 page)

We exchange information, she promises to call me tomorrow, and for the rest of my shift and during my drive home, I float on a cloud of happiness. To think that my knowledge of my own time could translate into a wonderful new situation. On a movie, no less.

I am so buoyant when I return home that I find myself cleaning and tidying and even digging into the back of my clothes closet, from which I pull out the white gown I wore that very first day I arrived here, the white dress which was to be my wedding gown. The white dress which made my friends think I was insane, and small wonder that they did think such a thing.

What am I doing with this dress still in my closet? For when I do finally say yes to my beloved Wes, I shall wear something entirely fashioned for him and not for another man.

I unearth a couple of flattened boxes from the closet, one of which, when assembled, fits the gown perfectly. For now, I shall leave it outside the door, next to the laundry room. I know it’s silly, but I simply cannot have it in the house for another moment.

I am so happy, between the packing and disposal of the wedding gown and the job offer, that I decide to have a tiny little glass of vodka before I change clothes, for Anna and Paula and Wes and Deepa will be here in little more than an hour, and we are going to have dinner together.

This is the first time that Anna and Paula have made plans with Wes and me, and I realize I am a little anxious about it. Both of them were initially shocked when I told them about Wes and me. Paula took it harder than Anna, who quickly saw how happy I am—but Paula seems to have come round a bit. It is still a little awkward between us, however. As for Deepa, she has been nothing but delighted and has already met us once for a drink. She and Wes are fast becoming friends, and I’m grateful that she will be here tonight to balance out the group.

Paula, Anna, and Deepa arrive within minutes of one another; Wes is the last to arrive, stammering apologies for his lateness and looking red-faced and altogether uncomfortable before Anna and Paula, who greet him politely but without much warmth. Deepa, however, rises from her seat on the sofa and kisses him on both cheeks, which seems to put him at ease, and which is perhaps what inspires Anna to rise herself and kiss him on the cheek as well.

And then Paula grumbles, “Not quite ready for that yet,” and we all laugh, Paula included.

And that is when I tell them all about Imogen and the job offer and they are all just as delighted as I am. Deepa mixes drinks, and everyone toasts to my success. Wes assures me that Sam will be nothing but pleased for me. Anna starts speculating on the amount of my salary and tells me I should wait for an offer so that I don’t negotiate against myself. “And if they try and lowball you,” she says, “remind them that hiring you is like hiring someone who’s truly lived during that time period.”

How right she is. By the time our dinners arrive, delivered to the door and paid for by Wes, who insists on treating us all in celebration of my news, I am filled with confidence. I truly do have something unique and valuable to offer, though there is no need for Imogen or her colleagues ever to know just how unique are the origins of my expertise.

Just as I am about to taste the chicken mole on my plate, the sound of a gunshot pierces the night.

Anna gasps and drops her fork with a clatter. “Oh my God.”

I pat her hand. “It is only a gun, Anna.”

She looks at me, aghast. “Are you kidding me?”

“Well, it certainly sounds like a gun.”

Her face is as white as a sheet. “I haven’t heard one of those in a while.”

“Well, I suppose there is little worth hunting in town.”

Deepa bursts out laughing.

Paula lets out a snort of merriment but covers her mouth to suppress her mirth in the face of Anna’s glare. “Oh come on, Anna,” she says finally. “You used to live in this neighborhood. This is L.A., for God’s sake. Firepower is part of our auditory landscape.”

Deepa laughs even harder, and Anna gives her a look. “Sorry,” says Deepa.

“I fail to see what is so amusing,” I say, “for there really would be little need to take out a gun here, let alone shoot.”

Anna still looks a bit shocked. “Courtney,” she says, “you’ve been talking about moving out of this place since I’ve known you. Don’t you think it’s time for a change?”

“I happen to like it here, though I own I would prefer more greenery. And the bars on the windows are rather ugly. Though I do not notice them as much as I did when—as much as I used to do.”

“Gotta love a fearless woman,” says Paula cheerfully, and raises her glass. “To Courtney. They broke the mold when they made you, darling.”

I, a fearless woman? I am not quite sure I have earned such praise, but I like it nonetheless.

Paula comes over to me and gives me a hug, and it feels as if an old friend has come round after a long thaw, which is, in fact, the case. I hold her tightly, and she squeezes me back.

And then she raises her glass again. “And to Wes,” says she, and I look over at Wes, who was pouring himself a drink and is now as immobile with surprise as I. “Because I’ve never seen Courtney this happy before.”

“To Wes and Courtney,” says Deepa.

“To Wes and Courtney,” say Anna and Paula.

We drink, and as I look round the room at the faces of the man I love and these three lovely women, my caring, devoted friends, I am filled with gratitude at my good fortune.

L
ater, when the ladies have departed and Wes, who has lingered to stay and help me clean up, finishes drying the last of the dishes—how I love the willingness of the modern man to engage in domestic drudgery—he takes me in his arms and kisses the top of my head.

“So. It looks like you’ll be earning that competence after all.”

I smile contentedly. “I believe I shall.”

“Remember what you said before about preferring more greenery?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I was thinking. Why don’t you enjoy the greenery on my estate?” He smiles at me mischievously. “In fact, why don’t you make it
your
estate?”

I gaze up at him, and there is so much tenderness and love in his eyes that I can hardly speak.

“I offer myself to you again,” he says, “with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eleven weeks ago.”

He is proposing to me again, speaking words from
Persuasion
!

“Yeah,” he says, as if answering my thought. “I liked that one even better than
Northanger Abbey
.”

“Oh, Wes.”

“I know I said it would be up to you to reopen the subject of marriage, but you can’t blame a guy for trying, can you?”

“No.” I smile. “I cannot.”

And then he kneels down on one knee and removes a tiny velvet box from his pocket.

He opens the box and shows me a sparkling, perfect ring. A blue sapphire surrounded by diamonds.

“Then will you marry me, Courtney? Will you be my wife? Will you make me”—he smiles—“the happiest of men?”

My eyes fill with tears. And I touch his beautiful, angelic face. Could I ever have imagined that such happiness existed?

“Yes, I will, Wes. I’ll marry you.”

And he slips the ring on my finger. “It was my grandmother’s,” he says. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

He beams his delight and rises, then dips his head to touch my lips with his own. And we kiss, our breaths quickening, our bodies melting into one another.

And I know, in that moment, that Anna was right. We all have the power to create heaven on earth, right here, right now.

Twenty-nine

I
t is the morning after our wedding, and I am in that place between sleep and wakefulness, nestled against Wes, who sleeps like an angel, and thanking God for the happiness I have found in Courtney’s life. I pray that she, too, will find happiness in mine.

Will I one day awaken back in my old life, and will Courtney return to hers? I suppose I shall never know. And so I shall treasure every moment, every morning, every day, and every night, for each of them might be my last.

Time is fleeting, and few of us are fortunate enough to notice that there is always another chance at happiness. I have found mine with Wes. I hope that Courtney finds hers.

I find myself thinking of that most beautiful moment in
Persuasion
in which Anne reads the letter that Captain Wentworth left for her.
Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan.

And then I see myself, in my mind’s eye, dancing with Edgeworth in Bath. It is as clear and vivid as the most brilliant memory, though I have never danced with him there. And he is watching me as the man next to him turns me. I am conscious of displaying the movement of my body as Edgeworth watches. And I observe him with equal intensity as he turns the lady diagonally across from him; she, too, smiles into his eyes.

And then the scene shifts, and I see myself, years later, in a town house in London. And I am with Edgeworth, and it is our town house. I have never seen this house before, yet I know it is my house. Our house, for I am married to Edgeworth. And he is reading out to me those words from
Persuasion
:
“Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant.”
And I know that those words have special meaning for us, and that somehow I am living out that life—that Courtney is living out that life—and living it with Edgeworth, as his wife, and happily. There is no separation any longer between Courtney and me. My life is hers, and hers is mine.

My heart swells with happiness, for myself, for Jane, for Edgeworth, for Wes. And somehow I know that as Courtney lives out her life as me, or, I should say, as who I was, she must necessarily have those memories of her former life in a future time fade in order to be quite comfortable in the past, while I may have perfect recall of the past without its impeding the pleasures of the present.

As for what is in store for me, I have not the smallest notion, and I glory in that state of not knowing. There is no better place to be. For the past does not exist. There is only the present. Only the eternal beautiful ever-unfolding now.

Acknowledgments

M
y boundless gratitude to my beloved teacher and beautiful BFF, Aurelia Haslboeck, whose presence in my life is proof that we live in a magical world, and without whose extraordinary kindness and generosity this book would not exist. Thank you, Aurelia, for reading and critiquing draft after draft, sharing your peerless knowledge of storytelling, always inspiring me to give my best, and, most of all, for the infinite comfort of knowing that you are there for me every step of the way.

I am filled with love and gratitude for my magnificent husband, Thomas Rigler—my rock, my champion, my real-life Austen hero. Thank you, Thomas, for your love, your compassion, your constant support, advice, and encouragement. If there were an award for the most patient life partner ever, you would win hands down. Your shining presence in my world is a daily blessing and a constant inspiration. And thank you for producing the most gorgeous website ever.

I am deeply grateful to my extraordinary agent Marly Rusoff, she of the ready laugh and angelic voice, for her kindness, strength, and candor. My heartfelt thanks to Marly’s fellow agent Michael Radulescu for making the international editions of my books a reality and for his diligence and humor; to their lovely associate Julie Mosow; to the always delightful Paula Breen; and to everyone at Marly Rusoff and Associates.

I am tremendously grateful to an extraordinary team at Dutton and Plume for shepherding, launching, and championing this book and its predecessor. Some of these people are still around; others have moved onward and upward, within and without the Penguin Group. To all of them I am deeply grateful. First is my gifted editor Erika Imranyi, for her superb story notes and edits, which provided the balance of big picture and details that helped me get this book into its final form. My enduring gratitude to Susan Petersen Kennedy, Brian Tart, Christine Ball, Stacy Noble, Amanda Walker, Carrie Swetonic, Tala Oszkay, and the entire team at Dutton. I am grateful to Kathryn Court, Cherise Fisher, Marie Cool-man, Mary Pomponio, Cristi Hall, and the entire team at Plume who launched the paperback of
Confessions;
and of course to the original Dutton team who launched the
Confessions
hardcover: Trena Keating, Lisa Johnson, Amanda Tobier, Rachel Ekstrom, Lily Kosner, and Sarah Muszynski. I would also like to thank John Law-ton, Patrick Nolan, and the rest of the extraordinary sales team at Dutton and Plume.

I am deeply grateful to Anita Artukovich, an early reader of this book whose enthusiasm buoyed me up just when I needed it. Many thanks to Brit gals Beth Shube and Jessica Sully, the latter for vetting the Britishisms in the manuscript and the former for being the voice of the candidate in my Jane ’08 parody ads; Roman Jakobi for my author photos; Deborah Zeitman for hilarious input on the title; Dr. Irl Extein and Lisa McGee for allowing me to interview them for my research; Lisa Daily for providing my protagonist with dating advice from her book
Stop Getting Dumped!;
Tom Edgar for programming my website; and Scott Benoit for designing it.

My love and gratitude to my mother, Sara Levine, and my sisters, Cary Puma and Felice Levine Simons, for their love, support, and understanding. I am also deeply grateful for the blessings of my family of friends who encourage and inspire me and even show up at my readings.

My heartfelt thanks to my readers, whose questions, insights, emails, letters, and participation on my website forum are precious gifts. I love hearing from you.

My abiding gratitude to the devoted legions of booksellers and librarians who promote the love of the word and give us a place to recharge and be inspired. If it weren’t for the bookmobiles and library buses of my childhood, I would not be writing today.