Jane Actually

that now was as good a time as any to ask Austen’s avatar to sign his copy, but as his head cleared the edge of his table he saw the woman in question standing in front of him.
    “Mr Blake? I was hoping you might sign my copy of your book.” And she handed him a copy of
The Real Jane Austen
. He stood there with his mouth open, uncertain what to do.
    “Oh, is that
Sanditon?
Perhaps I might return the favour?” And she put out her hand.
    Her offer saved him from continuing to look foolish. He handed her
Sanditon
and she took it and bent to the task of signing it. He took the advantage of his chair, which was not a very gentleman-like thing to do. He opened his book and found that Austen had several Post-it notes peeking out from pages and the dust jacket was torn and repaired with Sellotap.
    “To the REAL Jane Austen,” he signed. “With the hope that my esteem of your works is the primary impression I leave behind, Courtney Blake.”
    He looked up from signing and saw that Austen’s avatar had finished and he quickly stood. They exchanged books simultaneously and both quickly looked at the inscriptions.
    Austen’s avatar had written, in a good imitation of the original’s signature, “To Courtney Blake, Thank you for making me so much more interesting than I really was. Jane Austen.”
    Fortunately his mind resumed its normal operation and he thought to capitalize on the moment. He said loudly, for he realized that Austen’s admirers stood behind the author, “Thank you Miss Austen, that is a gracious sentiment.”
    She nodded regally and said, “And yours as well, Mr Blake. I hope this will put to rest any thought of ill-feelings between us.”
    She extended her hand, palm down and Courtney took it delicately in his and bowed. As he straightened, he saw that many of her admirers were taking pictures with their smart phones and cameras.
    She has that advantage,
he thought.
I have no admirers.
    Austen’s avatar retreated after a gracious nod to him. The store manager came out to greet her and thank her for coming and several more pictures were taken. Courtney reached back down for his messenger bag and made for another exit so that he did not have to pass by Austen and her admirers.
One book signing down and two more to go. Maybe I can be sick both days.
    . . .
    “He is positively grey,” Jane said to Mary back at their hotel room.
    “He’s understandably nervous,” Mary admitted while stretched out on the bed, trying to find something to watch on the telly. Jane was logged into the AfterNet, which meant Mary had to entertain herself by either tackling
Emma
again or going old school and actually watching television. But a Saturday afternoon offered little to watch. She considered taking a shower, but knew she was obliged to say “uh huh” and “sure” to Jane’s continued belittlement of her bugbear.
    “You’re not even looking,” Jane complained.
    She turned her head to look at the picture displayed on the laptop that had already been posted on the facebook pages of many Janeites. It showed them offering her hand to Blake who stood looking uncertain what to do.
    “Jane, I’ve seen enough. He looks confused. You completely trumped him by going to him first. We were all graciousness. But I thought he handled it well and it was a nice inscription.”
    “He wrote REAL in capital letters. He clearly meant it sarcastically.”
    “No it doesn’t, Jane. I mean yeah, maybe it is, but take the high road. You’re Jane Austen for God’s sake. You’re supposed to be better than this.”
    She’d listened to Jane whinge ever since leaving the bookstore and was getting tired of it. She needed to take a shower before they went out again to attend a performance of a
Sense and Sensibility
musical. She just needed to shut Jane out and …
    She realized Jane had not responded. “Jane?”
    “You are, of course, correct, Mary. I have allowed myself to wallow in petty vindictiveness.”
    “Well, wallow might be too strong a word,” Mary said, although she actually thought it the
mot juste
. “You just needed to get it out of your system.”
    “Sigh,” Jane said. “You do begin to know me, Mary. I do tend to fly off the handle, but you have shown me that I must control myself.”
    “Oh, right. Well if you’re done then, I’m going to take a shower. Are you going to be all right for a while or would you like to get out?”
    “No, I shall remain here. Have a nice shower.”
    Mary collected her