According To Jane Part 33

And then, as if on cue (which, G.o.d knows, it probably is), Wild Ted's voice booms out to us. "Got a song my buddy Sam requested for the lovely sister of the bride. Ellie, if you're out there listening, this one's for you."

"True" begins playing.

I stand in place, rooted to the floor by my deep purple pumps and the knowledge that Sam's taken more than just tiny figurative steps today. This isn't a mere fantasy. It's not fading away. And neither is he.

"C'mon," he says. "Dance with me? Please."

So, I let him lead me to the floor and, for the first minute of the song, we're out there alone. There are no sounds, save for the music playing and the shuffling of our feet. My family and friends are watching us, protecting me in their coc.o.o.n of affection until they realize I'm fine. Okay, more than fine.

Then everyone turns their attention back to their own lives, and the dance floor fills with other couples.

Sam finally speaks. "Thank you," he says.

"For what?"

"For being you. For being a part of my life for ages. For forgiving me..." He eyes me as if this last part is still open to debate.

I grin at him. Truth is, I forgave Sam for everything so long ago it seems like ancient history. But I guess I'd needed the time to forgive myself-for squandering all those years thinking I could replace him with someone else, someone I considered less challenging.

"Boy, I'll bet Stacy Dasch.e.l.l would like to dance again to this song," I say, teasing him now because I know I can. "She's been married and divorced a few times already, but she's single these days. You might want to look her up."

He leans in and whispers in my ear, "You know d.a.m.n well I was only trying to make you jealous that night. You drove me freakin' insane dancing with Jason. I chose Stacy because I was sure that'd get to you and because she was too drunk to remember much of anything. But it was you all along, Ellie. And you, my sweet, s.e.xy little brainiac-" He glances down at my formfitting dress. "You always knew that, didn't you?"

Ah, well. Being honest with yourself is the last frontier, isn't it?

I nod, finally giving myself permission to trust my instincts. Sam draws me nearer. The song's chorus plays again, and I relax into his embrace.

Jane makes a last-ditch effort to test my resolve by applying her nearly unerring sense of logic. Are you certain you wish to go down this path? she asks, her voice worried. Do you not remember your own emotions at witnessing his behaviour? Do you not recall with clarity his treatment of you? From the very first this man has abused your kindness. Long ago you called him a coward and an idiot. You said you were glad to be rid of him. Are you quite sure you can think otherwise now?

I silently a.s.sess the messages Sam sent me this week. Three days ago he made an oral declaration of love. He spent today in action, solving our family's wedding crisis. He not only telegraphed romantic interest verbally and nonverbally in private, he had it announced by microphone tonight. At an event with two hundred people. Many of whom would dismember him if he hurt me.

Sam Blaine always had smarts. Now he's gained courage, too.

Have I?

Think, Ellie! You even made a wordplay on his initials once, Jane reminds me. It was, as he richly deserved, a less-than-flattering a.s.sociation.

I laugh at this. That's right. s...o...b.. Sam "the Obnoxious" Blaine. But, Jane- Precisely. You deduced the weakness of his character at a remarkably young age.

But that was the problem. I was a teen then, not much older than a child. And so was he. Don't you think I could've misinterpreted his behavior, or that maybe he changed?

No. I do not believe-Jane begins.

"Hey, Sam," I say aloud. "What's your middle name?"

He squints at me. "Uh, Randolph." He looks supremely embarra.s.sed by this admission. "Why?"

"Randolph," I repeat out loud, emphasizing it for Jane's benefit. "Wouldn't have guessed that one." Then, to Jane, And neither did you. We, neither of us, were completely fair. We didn't try to discover anything new about him. We stayed stuck in the past and- Oh, dear child, after he used you so ill, I could have dubbed him with a far more fitting middle name, Jane says hotly, clearly still wounded on my behalf and exhibiting her loyalty to the end. Fiend, Devil, Brute. Any of these would suffice.

"What did you think it was?" Sam asks me.

I shrug. "No idea, Sam. It just goes to show how many little details I still have to learn about you." To Jane, And that's merely the tiniest of examples. He's matured. We must look at him as he is NOW.

I dislike immensely what I see, Jane says stubbornly. Your heart is in grave danger, and I believe you are blinded to it.

Am I, Jane? Or, perhaps, are you the blind one this time? Tell me, have you any objection to the grown-up Sam Blaine other than your belief of my continued emotional peril when in his presence?

I confess I do worry for you, she says, though she avoids answering my question. I suspect him to be a proud, unpleasant man, interested in no one but himself.

I don't buy that, I tell her. And I'm betting he'd be fascinated by YOU if I ever told him about our relations.h.i.+p.

She sighs. Again, my concern is on your behalf. I fear Mr. Blaine has never been, and is not now, worthy of you or your affection.

Maybe. Maybe not. The point is, Jane, I don't know. And I WON'T know unless I give him a chance, as an adult.

I could not stand to witness your hurt at his hands the first time, Ellie. My months away from you then were not solely in anger. I, too, felt your injury and required some distance. So I am cautious, my friend, and I wonder how you can be certain he will not destroy your heart a second time.

I can't, I admit. But it's a risk I'm willing to take and, for once, I'm not being childish about this, Jane. I'm not going against your wisdom out of fear, arrogance or immaturity. You're the one who's always talking about Lessons and Reasons and Purposes that must be revealed in time...Well, I'm convinced Sam's path and mine are meant to intersect somehow. That everything in my life has led to this moment and- "Ellie, where the h.e.l.l are you?" Sam says.

"What?" I realize I stopped dancing and he caught me staring into s.p.a.ce during my debate with Jane. "Oh, sorry, just thinking."

Sam shakes his head. "No. It's more than that. I swear to G.o.d, half the time I tried talking with you in high school, and even afterward, it was like you were listening to voices or something. I could never get your full attention."

He scores his fingers through his hair and scowls at me, his forehead creased, his eyes pained. "What's the deal with that? I can fight against a real opponent, and I will if you want me to, but I can't battle your memory of someone more important. Are you sure there isn't somebody else, Ellie?"

I gape at him, half impressed, half stunned. No one has ever called me on this before. No one. See, Jane, I say, triumphant. In his own way, he's known about you all along. He's the only person who's paid close enough attention.

She sighs loudly, but I can tell she's wavering a bit.

"Sam," I say to him, "I can a.s.sure you there is no other man in my life. You're the one I want. The one I've always wanted. And, yeah, there are raging arguments in my head sometimes, and there probably always will be. But I love you, Sam Blaine." I look deep into his blue eyes, his pupils so dilated that, if I didn't know better, I'd a.s.sume he was drunk on wedding champagne. "And I have since...oh, the very beginning."

He exhales a long breath and bends his head to kiss me.

I pull back. "Mind you, I don't know if I'll want to marry you or anything. A night of wild s.e.x every fifteen years or so is one thing-but a lifetime commitment? We'll have to wait and see on that."

Sam smiles down at me. "If you don't want to talk about marriage or kids tonight, I'm fine with it, even though that's where I'm headed." He pauses. "That was the real problem during high school, you know. Bad timing. I knew you'd make a lousy girlfriend, but I-"

"A lousy girlfriend!" I swat his chest with the back of my palm. "How dare you, Sam! Did you think I was that boring? That ugly? That inexperi-"

He laughs. "Shhh, let me finish. I didn't want you as some short-term fling, Ellie. I was certain you'd be the perfect wife for me someday, if you didn't kill me first, but I figured I'd better wait it out until we were both ready. Until I was a better man for you." He pauses again. "Sorry it took me so long."

Well, I could hardly rage at him after that. So, instead, I say, "You thought about us, about marriage...that early?"

"Yes. Ask me why?"

"Why?"

"Because I've always loved you, and now I want to be with you once and for all. Please, can we just see how things go between us?" He waits for me to respond, which I do with a nod. "If it doesn't work out, then I want a d.a.m.n good reason why not. And, if it does, we'll cross that bridge when you're ready. You've never not been the one for me, Ellie Barnett, and I'll do what it takes to prove that to you."

Despite Sam's special ability to use confusing double negatives, I understand the sincerity of his declaration.

I grin at him. He grins back. Then he kisses my lips softly and, even with so light a touch, I can feel the electricity between us sparking. We return to dancing-our slow, body-hugging sway-despite the fact that the music has changed and Wild Ted has put on some upbeat Modern English for the newlyweds.

Jane, I say to the wise lady inhabiting my mind, he HAS changed. Love changed him. It's true and you know it. Sam IS my Mr. Darcy.

She gives a short, ironic snort, but the conviction with which she'd protested earlier diminished greatly after Sam's last speech. And, hey, how could she not recognize love's power to transform?

It seems even the brilliant Jane Austen might yet have a thing or two to learn about the strength of pa.s.sion through the decades...

Very well, she says. You have stated your case effectively and, if you insist on trying this, I suppose I cannot stop you. Mr. Blaine may, with much good luck, turn out somewhat better than I dare hope.

This, I know, is the closest I'll get to a concession tonight.

Thanks, Jane, I say. I realize, though, that I don't need her approval, much as I wholly respect her advice. I've finally heard the voice of my heart, and it knows when something is right.

Sam pulls me closer, I squeeze him back and we melt together. Our communication right now is silent, too, and effortless.

I appreciate your leap of faith in him, Jane, I tell her before turning my full attention over to Sam for the night. But I hope you'll stick around and see for yourself.

She laughs. Ah, Ellie. You may later regret the invitation, but perhaps I shall. Your challenge gives me reason to stay.

Please turn the page.

for a very special Q&A with.

Marilyn Brant.

In which author Marilyn Brant is interviewed by her main character, Ellie Barnett, on the subject of her life as a writer and why, precisely, she wrote this book.

Ellie (smiling, her pen poised studiously for note taking) : Hey, there, Marilyn.

Marilyn: Hi, Ellie. How are you doing?

Ellie: Much better now than I was in the beginning of the book. Thanks for improving my love life, by the way. There were more than a few times I thought, "You know? This dating thing isn't going too well." So, I appreciate the upbeat, if still somewhat vague, ending.

Marilyn: Glad to hear it. I'm always at your service.

Ellie (clearing her throat) : No, not always. That whole s.e.x-in-the-closet scene was not good. Not good at all. But now isn't a time to nitpick or lament your painfully vivid authorial imagination. I have some questions here your editor wanted me to ask you, like, How did you become a writer? Was this always your hoped-for career path? Stuff like that.

Marilyn: Sure. Novelists often interview their characters, so turnabout is fair play, right? Even if, on some level, we both already know the answers.

Ellie: Stop trying to rationalize this. I asked you a question.

Marilyn: Fine. Yes, being a writer was always something I wanted. I remember announcing that intention in sixth grade, but it wasn't taken seriously by anyone around me and, at the time, I didn't take it all that seriously myself. As a teen, I thought I wanted to be a scientist or, maybe, a detective. I spent a lot of my junior high and high school years observing people and "researching" them. I even went so far as to type out little note cards about guys I was interested in, adding tidbits of information when I discovered a new fact, like his middle name, his favorite food or his professed career goals. I became compulsive about journaling, too, and I'd record snippets of conversations in my nightly entries, along with song lyrics or poems. I listened to music for hours every day and read books the rest of the time. I had kind of an obsessive streak.

Ellie: Yeah, I know. Your brother told me.

Marilyn: Very funny. I happen to have a really great relations.h.i.+p with him, so don't be telling tales.

Ellie: Hey, that's what you did with my siblings. You were making up stuff all over the place. I don't know where you came up with those things about Di...you don't even have a sister.

Marilyn: Right. Because this is FICTION. Not MEMOIR. Big difference.

Ellie (grinning) : Good luck convincing people of that. Finish your story.

Marilyn: Well, my ability to fixate eventually took a scientific turn in high school biology when I learned about Mendelian genetics. I thought it was such a cool subject, and I began studying it on my own, which led quite a few people to expect me to go into medicine. It's still a point of mystification and some disappointment to my parents that I didn't.

Ellie: But blood freaks you out, you hate needles and the thought of performing surgery makes you nauseous.

Marilyn: Exactly. I'd have been a dreadful doctor, and you can feel free to remind my family of that anytime. Other people thought I had more of a leaning toward psychology, which, though true, wasn't my college major, either. Instead, I went into elementary education because I thought little kids were funny, enthusiastic, curious and very honest-characteristics I value highly-and I had an idealistic notion that I could help them hang on to those qualities for longer. Later, while I was teaching but after I'd met my wonderful husband, I got a master's degree in educational psychology, focusing on the relations.h.i.+p between "creativity" and "culture."

Ellie (sighing and glancing at her watch) : Okay. So then you became a writer?

Marilyn: Um, no. Then I became a mom. And because I wanted to stay home with my son, I was determined to find a way I could do that while still making time for creative projects. This was really important to me. I felt a tremendous responsibility to my newborn to not only be a conscientious mom but a joyful one. To model for him the act of being fulfilled by life. In the process, I rediscovered my love of writing and wanted to do more of it. But, even though I'd always been a bookworm and had done a great deal of academic writing and some journalistic work, fiction was a different game. I started out by writing parenting essays and educational articles for magazines, branched into poetry and short stories, became a national book reviewer and, at the same time, began the process of learning how to structure and orchestrate the writing of a novel. According to Jane was my fifth completed ma.n.u.script.

Ellie: Do all of your books involve Jane Austen?

Marilyn: Not directly. Much like your experience, I first read Austen's Pride and Prejudice in high school. It immediately became my favorite novel and Jane my favorite novelist. Remember that obsessive streak? Well, I read everything she wrote and delved into her letters and her biographies, too. Her genius in depicting human character quite literally changed my perceptions of the people around me. I wished I could've had her as my guide through the hazards of teen life and beyond. Her influence on my adolescent worldview was profound and, in my opinion, priceless. So, in that way, Jane is a part of everything I write, although this book is the only one I've written so far that features her as an actual character.

Jane (strolling into the room) : What a pleasing commentary. I should like to make an appearance in another of your novels sometime. Provided, of course, that it is one of my choosing.

Marilyn: Um, well...thanks, Jane. That's thoughtful of you. I'll have to talk to my editor, but we'll see....

Ellie (scribbling a few more notes) : Didn't you also formally study Jane's work and her life, you know, when you got older?

Marilyn: No need to emphasize the "when I got older" part quite so maliciously, Ellie. But, yes. I did take a cla.s.s specifically on Austen. It was a fantastic course, and it happened to be taught at Oxford University. When people hear this, they'll occasionally imply that having studied Jane's work there gives me a sense of authority in discussing her writing that they don't have. The truth, though, is that I'm not a big believer in any academic inst.i.tution, no matter how prestigious, bestowing legitimacy on scholars.h.i.+p. I really think the quality of education is directly proportional to the effort and depth of thought the student puts into it, not necessarily the building in which the cla.s.s was held.

Sam (leaning against the doorway, raising an eyebrow) : Kind of reverse sn.o.bbery, isn't it?

Marilyn: It is not.

Sam: Is too. You're gonna p.i.s.s off the literary scholars by claiming that just anyone who reads a lot of Austen can tap into the small body of knowledge available on her and, if serious about studying her work, can actually know her as well as the academically elite claim to.

Marilyn (squinting at him) : Who invited you into this converstion? Jane, tell him he's being obnoxious again. Make him leave.

Jane: Indeed, he is behaving as uncivilly as usual, but the man, insufferable as he is, may have a valid argument in his favor.

Sam: What the h.e.l.l is it with you and the insult slinging? For the last time, I'm not insufferable. No one uses that term anymore anyway, and- Ellie: Sam, don't talk to Jane like that! And, Marilyn, I've had a personal relations.h.i.+p with Jane for almost twenty years, and I think that level of intimacy can happen when a writer of her skill and integrity reveals her soul and her truthful observations to the reader. That's probably why millions of people around the globe feel they know her. That she's their "dear Jane"-their friend.

Sam (rolling his eyes) : Some friend.

Ellie (pointing with her pen) : Leave, Sam. We'll talk later.