Jane Actually

appreciate the view.
    “Miss Crawford?” Mr Pembroke asked, breaking the spell the view had on the young lady. She started, then smiled and shook hands with Mr Pembroke and Melody, and then was introduced to Jane.
    “Miss Crawford, I’d like you to meet Miss Jane Austen,” Mr Pembroke said. He suddenly looked surprised and said, “I just realized … Mary Crawford!”
    He laughed and after a second was joined by Melody.
    “Jane,” she said, “that’s a coincidence. Wait, that is your real name isn’t it?”
    Mary had no idea to what Melody referred but she realized that her name obviously had some association with the author.
    “Yes, it’s my real name,” she said, trying to project confidence that she appreciated the coincidence.
    “Mary Crawford was an enjoyable character to write, but I hope you don’t share her faults,” Jane said.
    Mary heard the words come from a speaker attached to what looked like a smartphone. She assumed it was a portable AfterNet terminal through which the author was speaking. There was an empty chair immediately next to the terminal.
    “Miss Austen? Excuse me, where are you?”
    “I am in the chair before you. Forgive me, you seem somewhat uncomfortable. Please have a seat.”
    Mary took the seat Mr Pembroke offered.
    “Do I detect that you are as new to the role of an avatar as I am to the need for one?” Jane asked, although she knew from the information provided by the agency that Mary had yet to play the part of an avatar. She was being considered primarily because of her appearance and her considerable ability to interface with an AfterNet field.
    “Yes, I am new to this. I’ve met other disembodied people of course, but …”
    This was a partial lie. Mary had corresponded with a few disembodied people online, but had never met one in person … so to speak.
    “But talking to an empty chair is disconcerting, I understand. And you have shown me how important it is that I employ an avatar for my upcoming book tour.”
    “I’m sorry,” Mary said nervously, understanding how wrong it would be for someone so untried to expect such an opportunity. “I think maybe it would be better if you interview the next candidate.”
    She made to rise.
    “Please, Miss Crawford, have I offended you in some way?”
    The question disconcerted Mary.
    “No, of course not. I think it’s the other way round. I mean you’re Jane Austen and I’m just some schlub 6 who doesn’t know the first thing about you auditioning to play you, well more than play you, but be you. Most of the women out there have their noses in your books and I didn’t even think to look you up.”
    “You don’t know who Jane Austen is?” Melody asked, alarmed.
    “Well, yes, I do know who she is. I read her in high school, but that’s about it. I don’t think it qualifies me to be you.”
    “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.” Jane said. “By the bye, do you even know the significance of your name, why we find it so surprising?”
    Mary was ashamed to say, “No, I do not.”
    “She is a character in
Mansfield Park
, and I enjoyed creating her almost as much as I did Emma,” Jane said. “Mary Crawford, my Mary Crawford, was a person who could behave well, even generously when it did not cost her anything or to be fair, even when it did not benefit her. She was in her own way genuinely a friend to poor, drab Fanny. But she also treated Fanny as a plaything, but then so did I. Sadly my Mary Crawford never had the conviction to choose happiness over status.”
    Mary laughed. “I know someone like that.” She thought of her brother, the fair-haired child of her family. She noticed that Mr Pembroke and the agent, whose name she forgot, were waiting for her to elucidate.
    “Oh, my brother,” Mary supplied. “Your Mary Crawford sounds like my brother.”
    “Don’t tell me his name is Henry,” Melody said.
    “Uh no, it’s Nathan. I guess Henry Crawford’s also in
Mansfield Park?”
    “Yes he is and he’s a thoroughly rotten scoundrel,” Jane said.
    “Who was also a lot of fun to write, I’ll bet?”
    “Oh yes, quite fun. Now, Miss Crawford, perhaps you might tell me something of yourself despite your complete and utter lack of suitability for the role of yours truly.”
    Mary allowed herself to relax, dropping her shoulders and sitting back in her chair slightly, but careful not to slump. Somehow she had the impression that Jane Austen never slumped. For some reason,