Austentatious

“See you in thirty.” She waved before darting out into oncoming traffic.

“Drive,” I told myself, heading toward Sixth Street and an evening of watching Sean at work.

17 life will surprise you—surprise it back

After dashing off my entry that morning, I’d broken my own rules, stuffing the journal into my bag and slipping the key onto my key ring. Chalk it up to impatience. I was curious to see whether my little fortunes would change now that I’d essentially given in. I was hoping for more straightforward and less, well, cheeky.

Evidently it was not to be.

Parked downtown, with a few minutes to spare before eight-thirty, I decided to take a little peek. And judging by this morning’s leftovers, it looked as if the gummed-up cliche was here to stay. And while I now realized that all those previous fortunes did eventually make sense, hindsight wasn’t a whole lot of help right now.

It was impossible to tell whether “life will surprise you” referred to the little shockers of the past week or new ones still to come. Which meant I was stuck playing defense. I hadn’t the vaguest clue how to go offensive with my life and “surprise it back”—although I would have dearly loved to one-up Fairy Jane. Talk about your double whammies! So rather than dwell on something that would, I had no doubt, come clear eventually, I decided to sneak another peek into the past.

Hunching down in the semidarkness of the front seat, I let the magic happen and then flipped through the pages until I’d found my place. Reading by the pearly glow of streetlamps, I lost myself in someone else’s life....

27 February, 1908

I’ve been called the family changeling as long as I can remember. And it isn’t simply my chestnut locks and deep brown eyes that have garnered me the nickname. While my siblings are each elegant, accomplished, and engaging, I am clumsy, overly candid, and unfashionably academic. They worry I will end up a spinster, and honestly, I can’t fault their assumptions. The men who interest me are much the same as I, and consequently, we are bound never to move past an awkward introduction, for neither of us have a fondness for small talk or dancing. Somehow, I need to sift through the glamorous trappings of New York society to find a kindred spirit. And once I’ve found him, decide precisely how to seduce him. It seems best to treat this as any experiment, recording both successes and failures on the path to getting practical results.

I couldn’t help but admire her strategy. I hurriedly flipped the page, eager to read on.

1 March, 1908

I’ve come to wonder whether my nickname might be more literal than I could have possibly imagined. What other explanation can there be for a diary in which some words disappear and some are left, seemingly for the purpose of offering advice? Is it possible that fairies are at work here? Surely not—this is New York, not the wilds of Britain, and yet no other solution presents itself.... I’ve not yet felt it necessary to use the diary’s key, but today, I think I must. I wonder if it will be any use. I need some time to consider this mystery— perhaps an afternoon in the library might shed some light on the matter. I look forward to discovering a plausible explanation. My only regret is that my proposed experiment must unavoidably be put on hold.

This could have been me a century ago! I glanced at the clock. I would have loved to keep reading, but several minutes had already passed, and I didn’t want to miss any of the band’s SXSW performance. I was going to have to come back to this later. Talk about your riveting reading—I was hooked!

I joined the parade on Sixth Street, thronging along with festival music-lovers in search of a great band and a couple of adult beverages. Maggie Mae’s was already crowded, and I hollered for my rum and Coke, rather surprised to be heard over the din, paid my tab, and spent the next ten minutes worming my way through clusters of people, looking for any kind of breathing room.

When Gabe and Beck finally did show, holding hands and tipping their heads together, I lifted my free hand in a wave, feeling quite delighted with the world.

Gabe dropped Beck with me and beelined for the bar to order their drinks.

Beck leaned in and said loudly, “Gabe never suspected a thing.” She tried for the smoldering gaze of a femme fatale but came off more Cyndi Lauper.

Then Gabe was back, toting a couple of Guinnesses, as a voice sliced through the dull roar, stretching out to reach every corner of the bar. “Ladies and gentlemen, Maggie Mae’s is proud to host South by Southwest Showcase Artist Loch’d In!”

Standing on tiptoes, I’d only caught the barest glimpse of the band when a tall, sturdy cowboy of a man in a black Maggie Mae’s T-shirt, Levi’s, and boots showed up at my elbow, tipping his head down to speak into my ear.

“Nic James? There’s a table reserved for you and your guests at the front.”

Surprise flustered me, had my eyes darting toward Gabe and Beck, both of whom were staring curiously back.

“Hello again, Austin!” Sean’s voice piped through the speaker system had me whipping my head around to see him, center stage, guitar in hand. “Welcome to South by Southwest!” The only hint that Sean even noticed the Texas-sized helping of cheers and applause was the hint of a smile as the drummer synced them up with the one- two-three clicking of sticks. Opening with a pounding-loud drum solo and a sizzling guitar riff, the music held me in its thrall. This wasn’t the first time I’d heard the song—or even the fifth—but hearing it here, amid the noise and the lights, live and in person, with memories of last night zipping and twirling through my mind, I was lost. I didn’t even realize the cowboy had lingered, waiting patiently for me to get it together.

“This way,” he prompted, gesturing toward the stage. Beckoning Gabe and Beck with wide, “do you believe this?” eyes, I turned and let him lead the way.

As we wound our way closer to the stage, the music was building to an impossible crescendo, and my pulse was struggling to keep pace. When the words finally came, overlaying the music, I wasn’t prepared, and nearly stumbled into someone’s lap. As distracted as I was, it was lucky I didn’t settle in.

The same voice that had serenaded me with backup from a mariachi trio was now singing his own wildly seductive lyrics at a professional venue. And people loved him. Seeing him like this, immersed in the music and the crowd, it was impossible to look away. In scuffed jeans and an emerald green polo, he looked like a celebrity. And then I realized—here he was a celebrity.

I was vaguely aware of Beck tugging on my sleeve, urging me to sit, so I sat, still staring, mesmerized by Sean’s fingers skimming, impossibly quick, over the guitar strings. He made it seem effortless, and it was obvious that his focus was reserved for the crowds. He wasn’t grudging with his dimples either.

An unfamiliar little curl of jealousy was quickly and thoughtfully tamped down. Evidently I needed to get used to the idea that when Sean was performing, he belonged to the crowd.

Certainly I never thought I’d find a man who’d reserve all his smiles for me, but maybe I thought they’d be given out more sparingly, or with less obvious sex appeal. I realized I was being unreasonable, feeling slightly dizzy and overwhelmed, like a little girl at a carnival watching the rides spin in the dark with a tummy full of funnel cake.

Deliberately I let my eyes fall closed and pretended, just for a minute, that I was the girl I’d been a week ago, with a life relatively free of complications. I could feel the bass vibrating into me as the guitar notes hung in the air and the last lyrics skimmed the surface of my consciousness. And then the song ended on a long lonely note, a promise hanging in the air, echoing in Sean’s voice. My eyes fluttered open and came into focus, homing in on the Complication himself.

The band played a couple more songs, wowing the crowd and ratcheting up my qualm-o-meter, before breaking for a quick intermission. They’d demonstrated they could shift seamlessly from edgy rock to British band punk to haunting melody, and it was all brilliant. I had no doubts that this band—Sean’s band—was going to make it