Jane Bites Back

how dashing he was. A true gentleman.

They walked down a hallway lined with offices. Inside each one an editor sat at a desk, peering at a computer screen. Jane glanced at their faces as she passed by. They all looked impossibly young, not at all like editors in her time, most of whom had been men well into the second half of their lives who peered out at the world from behind thick spectacles, their eyes ruined from years of reading in inadequate light, and their fingers perpetually ink-stained and chapped from constantly turning the pages of manuscripts.

“Here we are,” Kelly said, entering a corner office. “Welcome to my castle.”

The room was not terribly large. A desk, piled high with folders and what Jane assumed were manuscripts, sat in front of a bank of windows that looked out on the street. The floor too was covered with stacks of manuscripts, and one whole wall was taken up by shelves filled with books. Jane, relieved to see evidence of the publishing world she had always imagined, felt herself relax.

“It’s not much, but it’s all mine,” Kelly said. “Please, have a seat.”

Jane took one of the two chairs across from Kelly’s desk. She looked around the room, trying very hard not to stare at him. “Do you have to read all of these?” she asked, indicating the mountains of manuscripts.

“My assistant reads most of them first,” he answered. “But I try to look at everything. I like to make decisions for myself.”

Jane wondered if her manuscript had languished among the paper, and how Kelly had come to rescue it from the crowd.

“It’s something of a miracle that anything gets published at all,” said Kelly, as if reading her thoughts. “Especially an unsolicited manuscript such as yours. May I ask why you don’t use an agent?”

“It never occurred to me,” Jane answered truthfully.

Kelly laughed, shaking his head. “I must tell you, it’s refreshing to meet an author whose sole goal in life is to be published. Most authors come in here and I can tell that what they really want is to be famous. I don’t get that from you, or from your book.”

She wondered what Kelly would say if he knew that she was already one of the world’s most famous authors, was in fact arguably the most popular writer of all time. And that she very badly wanted to be published again.

“Most of them want to be Stephen King or Danielle Steele,” Kelly remarked. “I don’t know when authors went from being storytellers to being celebrities, but more and more I think we cast writers rather than publish them.”

Jane was nodding as she looked around the office. Then she noticed a book resting atop a pile on the corner of Kelly’s desk. Her heart sank.

Kelly’s eyes followed her gaze. “Oh, that,” he said, sighing. “This is exactly what I mean,” he added as he held up a copy of The Jane Austen Workout Book. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? But I guarantee you we’ll sell a hundred thousand copies.” He looked at the cover and snorted. “Austen would roll over in her grave,” he said.

“Indeed,” said Jane, chuckling with relief.

“You’re British,” Kelly said.

“Pardon?” said Jane. She was still staring at the image of herself on the book’s cover.

“Your accent,” Kelly said. “It’s British.”

“Oh,” said Jane. “Yes, it is.”

“How long have you lived in America?” Kelly asked.

Jane laughed lightly. “It seems like a hundred years. My parents moved here when I was quite young,” she added quickly.

“I thought there was a British sensibility to your writing,” said Kelly. “I think that’s what attracted me to it. I’m a bit of an Anglophile.” He smiled again. “Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong century.”

“I know just what you mean,” Jane said.

“You must be hungry after your trip,” Kelly said. “Shall we have lunch?”

“That would be lovely,” Jane replied.

Kelly stood and retrieved his coat from the back of the office door. “You can leave your suitcase here,” he told Jane. “We’ll come back before I send you off to the hotel.”

They took the elevator down to the lobby, and as they walked outside Kelly said, “Is this your first time in New York?”

“I’ve been here once before,” Jane said. “But it was a long time ago.” Before there were cars on the streets, she thought. And long before you were born.

They walked several blocks until they arrived at a restaurant. Stepping inside, Jane found herself in a reasonable replica of a French bistro.

“Now then,” Kelly said after a waiter had brought them two glasses of merlot, “let’s talk about your book.”

“I’m very glad you like it,” said Jane.

“I don’t just like it,” Kelly replied. “I love it. In fact, I haven’t been this excited about a book in a long time.”

Jane felt herself blush with pride. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Kelly shook his head. “I mean it,” he said. “There’s something about it that’s timeless. People don’t write books like yours anymore. Especially for women. Now it’s all about middle-aged women going to Bermuda and falling in love with twenty-two-year-old surfing instructors, or young women working at fashion magazines and whatnot. I wonder sometimes if people would even recognize a quality book if they were given one.” He waved his hand around. “But your book is actually about something.”

“Thank you,” Jane said. She was slightly embarrassed by Kelly’s effusive praise, although hearing it was not at all unpleasant after so many years of disappointment. “I feel it’s important that a book make people think and feel.”

Kelly lifted his glass and said, “To your novel. May it stay atop the bestseller lists for many weeks.”

“Indeed,” Jane agreed. “And to you for your most excellent taste in literature.”

They both laughed. Jane took a sip of wine and set her glass down. “May I ask when you’re thinking of publishing the book?”

“I’m glad you brought that up,” Kelly said. “Normally we like a long lead time in order to pull together publicity. But I want your book out much sooner, preferably by summer.”

“Summer,” Jane repeated. That’s only five or six months from now, she thought.

“I want to get it out in time for vacation season,” Kelly explained. “I know it sounds crass, but it’s a reality of the industry that books for women sell best in the summer.”

Jane nodded, taking a long drink from her wineglass.

“And you’ll be selling it in your own store,” Kelly said. “When customers bring it to the register you can offer to sign it for them.”

Jane smiled broadly. She wanted to tell Kelly how many times she’d been tempted to take a customer’s copy of Pride and Prejudice and do exactly that. Now she could. But what if Lucy —or anyone—notices the similarities? she found herself thinking. What if they discover who I am? The thought dampened her joy.

“To get the book out so quickly, I need to get it to production immediately,” Kelly said, drawing her back to the moment. “The good news is that it needs very little editing. I know we haven’t even signed the contract, but I’ve taken the liberty of going through it and making a couple of suggestions. Nothing major. If you’re okay with my edits, then we can go right into production. We’ll do as much as we can while you’re here, and I’ll give you the manuscript to take back with you to finish up.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Jane said, speaking more to herself than to Kelly. Her worries about being found out were fading as she reassured herself that no one would possibly think to connect her to the Austen of old.

Kelly cocked his head. “Are you sure this is your first book?” he asked.

For a moment Jane panicked. Had she said too much? Had Kelly somehow seen through her act? “No,” she said hastily. “I mean yes, I’m sure. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that you’re so calm about it all,” said Kelly. “Usually first-time authors are nervous wrecks.”