Young Jane Young(25)

“So I hope this won’t be presumptuous,” Schiele said at the restaurant, “but having worked with a fair number of wedding planners, you don’t exactly strike me as the wedding planner type.”

I asked him what he meant.

“The kind of woman who has been planning her wedding since she was a little girl, and then when she actually had her wedding couldn’t get enough of weddings, so she decided to go into the business,” he said.

“I feel like you’re being quite sexist, or quite something,” I said.

“Sorry,” he said. “I mean, you seem very solid,” he said. “As a person, not like your body, though that seems admirably solid as well. I’m sticking my foot in it.”

“You are,” I said.

“To be clear, I think you’re gorgeous. You remind me of a Cleopatra-era Elizabeth Taylor. And by ‘solid,’ I meant intellectual and thoughtful – not what I associate with people in your line of work.”

“And you’d been doing so well,” I said.

“Crap. What I’m trying to say is what led you to wedding planning? What did you study in school? Did you go to school? What did you want to do when you were young? Who are you, basically? Who is Jane Young?”

“You could google it,” I said.

“What fun would that be?” he said. “Also, I tried. You’ve got a very common name. There are about a thousand Jane Youngs.”

“You ask a lot of questions,” I said.

“I used to be a teacher and I believe in the Socratic method.”

“I feel like I’m on a job interview,” I said. “Why did you stop teaching?”

“I don’t know. I wanted to have more time to spend with my plants.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Plants respond more readily to care and attention than people do. As a teacher, I felt like I was boring the kids. Why do questions make you anxious?” he said.

“They don’t,” I said.

“They seem like they do,” he said.

“I’m an open book,” I said. “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”

“What did you study in college?” he said.

“Political science and Spanish literature,” I said.

He looked at me and he gave a small nod. “Now that makes sense.”

“I’m glad you approve. To be clear, even if it’s not what I thought I’d do, I like planning weddings,” I said. “I like the ceremony. And people invite you into their lives on what they believe to be the most important day. It’s a privilege.” This was my spiel.

“You know everyone’s secrets,” he said.

“I know a few,” I said.

“You might be the most powerful person in town.”

“That’s Mrs. Morgan,” I said.

“What did you think you’d do?” Schiele asked.

“I thought I’d go into public service, government, politics,” I said. “I briefly did.”

“You didn’t have the stomach for it?”

“I loved it,” I said. “But then I had Ruby, and I needed to reinvent myself. What did you study?”

“Botany,” he said. “You probably guessed that. Why Spanish literature?”

“Because where I grew up, it was useful to be fluent in Spanish if you wanted to work in politics,” I said. “I had high school Spanish already, so I thought I could get more out of studying literature. But honestly, I made the decision pretty impulsively, in about two minutes. It was my junior year. The clock was ticking, and I had to choose something.”

“Tell me something from Spanish literature,” Schiele said.

“I’ll give you a line from my favorite novel. ‘Los seres humanos no nacen para siempre el día en que sus madres los alumbran, sino que la vida los obliga a parirse a sí mismos una y otra vez.’”

“I like that,” he said. “What does it mean?”

The door chimed, and Mrs. Morgan walked into the restaurant like she owned the place, which, in point of fact, she did. Mrs. Morgan had just turned seventy. She was outspoken in the way of the very rich. In addition to the restaurant, she owned half the town and the newspaper. Mrs. Morgan and I were in the middle of planning a benefit to restore the statue of Captain Allison in Market Square.

“Jane,” she said, stopping at our table, “I was planning to call you, but as long as I have you here, any word on the yacht club? And Mr. Schiele, how is your lovely wife, Mia?”

Mrs. Morgan sat down at the table. She signaled the waiter and ordered a glass of red.

“Very well,” Schiele said.

“Do you know Schiele’s wife?” Mrs. Morgan asked me.

“I don’t,” I said.

“She’s a ballet dancer,” Mrs. Morgan said.

“She’s retired now,” Schiele said.

“Well, still. What a thing to have a talent like that,” Mrs. Morgan said. “Excuse me, Mr. Schiele. How rude of me. Were you two about done? I have a few things to discuss with Jane about our little benefit.”

Schiele stood. “It’s fine,” he said. “Jane, I’ll give you a call.”