Page 28 of Dear Mr. Knightley

“I’d love to run New York someday.”

“You should. They say it’s the best. The crowds are amazing, and you run through all five boroughs.”

I looked down at the book in my hands and was reminded of my mental image of him. “Why do you never put your photo on the back cover? You aren’t ugly.”

“That’s good to know.” He laid his hand on top of the book. Not really talking to me, he continued, “I don’t, because however people imagine me is always better than I am. And I don’t want to be defined by these.”

“I thought fame was the icing on the cake.”

“It should be avoided. It limits you and hurts you. Besides, if I was shackled by too much of it, you and I couldn’t spend even this time together.

Too many people already know what I do and where I go.

People forget your face after a book tour or an infrequent interview on Letterman, but put your face on your books and you’re handing them your life.

They presume to know what you think or who you are.

Not like a movie star or anything, but you definitely give yourself away. ”

Alex leaned against the shelves. “No more spontaneity. No more first impressions. All of that gets tainted by the fame and the money, and even by Cole Barker himself.”

“I never thought of it like that. I used to believe all those externals meant happiness. I’m beginning to see they don’t.” Ashley and her mother came to mind.

“Often they lead to pain.” It was a cryptic answer, but one I couldn’t question.

We wandered a bit more. I confessed my obsession with Jane Austen. We agreed that Barnes and Noble could devote an entire section to Austen’s sequels, prequels, mimics, knock-offs, and add-ons . . .

Last year I got the flu and went through about forty titles: The Darcys Give a Ball , The Watsons and Emma Watson , The Darcys and the Bingleys , George Knightley’s Diary , Captain Wentworth’s Diary , Fitzwilliam Darcy’s Diary , Austenland .

. . I emerged with no aches and pains, but with a stilted language pattern that took a month to purge.

My new favorite title is How Jane Austen Ruined My Life .

I don’t have the courage to read it, though.

I’m afraid to discover she’s ruined mine too.

We were talking next to a display table when a booming voice startled us.

“About time you came home, young man!”

I looked up to see a blur of white bounding toward us. Professor Muir is tall, thin, and intense like a lightning bolt, with the bushiest white eyebrows imaginable. Without Ashley and those tweezers, mine may look like that someday.

The professor grabbed Alex into a quick hug and, after much backslapping, started rapid-firing questions. Alex jumped right in, and I faded into the background. It was like watching puppies play in a pet shop window, all unbridled affection and enthusiasm.

“You carrying your books around with you now?” Professor Muir joked to Alex.

“I signed these.” Alex threw me a glance. “Couldn’t help myself. I’ll take them down to the customer service desk on my way out.”

“Not yet, we’ve got a few minutes.” He took Alex’s arm to lead him toward the café.

I inched away.

“Don’t leave.” Professor Muir looked straight at me. “Come sit for a few minutes.”

“No, thank you. I just met Al—Mr. Powell today. You two catch up.” I turned to Alex. “Good-bye.”

He studied me for a moment. “Sam, I’ve only got about fifteen minutes before I’m needed downtown for some PR work. Come sit. You should know this old guy.” He poked the professor in the ribs. “He’s good to have in your back pocket.”

To be honest, it was time to leave. I was intruding and I knew it, but I didn’t know how to politely decline. And it was fine for a few moments. Then I opened my mouth and humiliated myself. I should have left when I had the chance.

Alex clearly got that “quote from a book” game from the professor, because that’s what got me into trouble. I corrected an English professor and America’s best writer—who does that? They were talking about another writer they both knew and disliked.

“I saw him last week and couldn’t help but think ‘How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him but I am heartburned an hour after.’” Professor Muir laughed as he delivered the line in a high falsetto.

“Katherine to Bianca, Taming of the Shrew . Bravo, Pops. Very appropriate. I feel the same way.”

“No, no! It’s from A Midsummer Night’s Dream . You’ve forgotten the Bard.” The professor sounded pleased.

“I have not. You’re confused. Katherine says it about Bianca’s suitor in act 1,” Alex replied.

“I beg—”

“You’re both wrong,” I announced. Their heads swiveled so fast I thought they’d twist off. Alex hiked his eyebrow at me, questioning.

“Beatrice said it to Antonio in Much Ado About Nothing .”

Both men stared at me. My face burned.

“Are you sure?” Alex said.

“Yes. It happens in the scene right after—” I clamped my hand over my mouth. No more talking! They didn’t seem angry, but I’m not sure . . . Alex left moments later.

I sat with the professor for a few minutes while he drank his coffee. I didn’t know how to leave without being even more insulting.

“You should meet my wife.”

“Excuse me?”

“You should come to dinner. Here, write down your number and she’ll call you.”

“You don’t need to—”

“Nonsense. I like you. And a friend of Alex’s is always worth knowing.”

There was no point protesting again that I’d just met Alex, so I wrote my number down, thanked him, and left.

It was a great day, Mr. Knightley, and I’ll never forget it.

And though I tarnished it at the end, I am determined to revel in what began as a most spectacular day.

I’ll never see him again, so what does it matter?

Besides, can you believe that, for a brief shining moment, I was on a first-name basis with the Alex Powell?

I called Ashley to recount the morning; she chewed and savored every detail. I’m meeting Debbie after class tomorrow, so I’ll get to enjoy the whole story again. Now it’s late and I need to sleep.

Lovely dreams,

Sam