Author's note: This story is the fourth installment of the "Songs About Jane" series, which revolves around Jane Morgan. The first story is "Calamity Jane," the second is "Paint Them a Picture, Jane," and the third is "Queen Jane Approximately." Reading those stories beforehand isn't essential to this one, but they would just some helpful context.
Jane, Age 14
During Jane's freshman year of high school, her parents' arguments are just as vicious as ever, but not as frequent. Instead, a constant tension simmers in the air, lurking just beneath the surface, about to boil over at any moment. The atmosphere of the house is suffocating, and, continuing a strategy she developed in middle school, Jane does all she can to stay away. Signing up for every extracurricular activity imaginable, Jane arranges to spend most of her time at school, thus limiting the house to just being a place to rest and refuel.
Due to all of her activities, Jane knows a lot of different people. But, oddly, she never feels connected to them. And only sometimes does she ever want to feel connected to them. She talks to them, she laughs with them, she compliments them, but never does she feel like she fits in with them. It's as though a deep gap separates her from other people, and she can't quite manage to build a bridge- and most of the time, Jane doesn't want to. Maybe it's self-protectiveness born from her home life. Maybe she simply doesn't have the ability to form meaningful relationships. Whatever it is, Jane is too drained to care all that much.
She doesn't hang out with Trixie or Diana anymore. Whenever Jane's thoughts veer in the direction of her two former friends, her heart floods with anger and bitterness. Unbelievable, that Diana ditched her for Trixie, not once but twice. And to think, Diana lied to her both times. No doubt she was inwardly sneering at Jane throughout both conversations and repeated the conversation to Trixie later so the two of them could giggle and gossip about Jane's family.
How long had it been going on? How long ago did Diana and Trixie decide they wanted to hurt her when the opportunity arose, and when had they decided to work together? Was Diana simply tired of Jane and her family's drama? If that's the case, Jane can't even blame her for it. God, she must have been eternally blind and naive not to recognize their scheming. Though Jane would be lying if she said she didn't hate the two of them for their malice, most of all, she loathes herself for being fooled.
At school, her main circle of friends is now Patti Morris and her clique of girls. Jane and Patti were science partners in the eighth grade, and sort of became friends by default. Most of their classwork was completed by Jane, simply out of necessity- Patti's father is on the school board, and apparently pulled some strings to have Patti assigned to the advanced science class despite her lack of merit.
It's after an evening at Patti's house that Jane and her father have one of their worst arguments to date. Jane waits outside for her father, and runs up to his car the moment he pulls up. He doesn't greet her- presumably, he's angry he has to "play chauffeur" for her.
Ignoring him as he ignores her, Jane pulls out a book and begins to read.
The car ride passes in silence, and it's only as they're walking into the house that either of them speaks.
"What are you reading?" Her father asks neutrally.
"The Stepford Wives," Jane says. "By Ira Levin."
Her father's tone is snide when he replies. " The Stepford Wives ? Really?"
"Is there a problem?" Jane knows she shouldn't pursue this conversation but does so anyway. She follows her father into the living room, where her mother is sipping a cup of tea.
"I think that book is fundamentally immature," her father opines. "People are lying? People are deceiving each other? Welcome to the NFL, rookie! Sometimes people hurt each other. That's part of life. It's not news, and it's certainly not worth it to write some moralizing lecture with the naïvehope that people will change."
"The point of the book was to show it's wrong to expect women to be perfect all the time, and that it's also wrong to punish them for not being perfect," Jane responds stiffly.
The remark appears to touch a nerve.
"Oh, is it?" Her father replies mockingly. "Is that why you're reading the book, Jane? Because you want to hear about how oppressed you are? How terrible it is for you that I break my back working to provide a good life for you? How everything in life in unjust and unfair? That if you don't get something you want, it's not because you didn't put in enough effort or just flat out didn't deserve to win, it's because everyone else is conspiring against you?"
Jane's heart is hammering. "That's not what I think, and that's not what The Stepford Wives is about at all-"
"Sure, it's not," her father sneers.
"Let's give an example," Jane continues shakily. "Let's say, maybe, that Mom-"
She doesn't have the chance to finish. Her father leaps from his seat and rushes at her, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her.
"YOUR MOTHER IS NOT A STEPFORD WIFE!" He screams directly into her face. "What about the Stepford Husband, huh? Doesn't anyone give a damn about that? About me ? What about all the lies I have to deal with, all the deceptions? Why doesn't anyone care about what I have to go through?"
During the entire argument, her mother does not once try to interject or intervene, instead just sits on the couch and drinks her tea.
Trembling, Jane detaches herself from his grasp and rushes to her room.
"If you want your life to be so terrible, I can make it terrible!" Her father shouts after her.
Drained to the point of numbness, Jane skips dinner and spends the evening paging through fashion magazines. Perhaps sensing her loneliness, Pepper, her Caucasian shepherd dog, barges into her room and curls up beside her. Jane absently strokes his fluffy coat as she pours over the glossy images. Vintage is coming back in again in the spring, and most of the outfits are simply darling, sweet yet sophisticated.
The argument between herself and her father flares into Jane's mind again, though, the delightful retro outfits on the pages proving reminiscent of the costumes in the seventies The Stepford Wives movie.
The Stepford Wives. It would be a cinch to dress like one, especially with the vintage fashions becoming big this spring. It's not like Jane doesn't have near constant access to her father's credit card, after all.
At that moment, Jane resolves to be a Stepford. To smile, to talk, to laugh, to charm, to seem pretty and carefree while hiding away all of the secrets and flaws that let her be complete person.
She'll be a Stepford Wife, in a sense. Jane will be the perfect, obedient Stepford Daughter.
It's what her father wants, after all.
Swim team soon becomes her favorite extracurricular once the season starts. There are no tryouts for the team, because they need every member they can get. The sport earns its place in Jane's heart because practices go over two hours, and meets go up to nearly five, including warm-ups and bus rides.
Her parents leave her to her own devices where her free time is concerned, and Jane is relieved. At least some things can remain sacred.
However, her gratefulness is shattered one breakfast when her mother announces she'll be attending Jane's swim meet that night.
"Are you sure?" Jane asks skeptically. "I mean, it's an away meet, at least a half hour's drive."
"Of course I'm sure!" Her mother's bright smile seems artificial. "What will all the other parents think of me if I'm never there to cheer you on?"
Quite intentionally, Jane does not reply.
That night, though, she never sees her mother in the stands. It's for the better, Jane decides. Besides, it's not like her parents have never gone back on their promises before.
But when she exits the locker room, she finds her mother waiting for her.
"When did you get here?" Jane asks, surprised. "I didn't see you earlier when I looked around."
"Janey, I said I would be here. Of course I was going to be here." Her mother giggles, and a suspicion rises within Jane.
"Let's go, Mom," Jane says, pulling her mother into the well-lit lobby, watching her mother's eyes. As predicted, her mother's pupils do not contract, and instead remain unflinchingly overblown.
Jane sighs. "Let's go out to the car, Mom." In all honesty, it isn't safe for her mother to drive, but Jane honestly doesn't give a damn. If they perish in a fiery collision, so be it.
On her way to the exit, Jane waves at her coaches, indicating she's leaving with her mother rather than taking the bus back to Sleepyside. She's certain that a few of her teammates notices her mother's behavior, but Jane can't worry about that right now.
"Where did you park, Mom?" Jane asks, trying to keep calm.
"Let's see." Her mother turns, swaying momentarily but managing not to fall. "I don't know!" Her mother's tone is riddled with dismay, like a child's would be. "I don't remember where I parked."
"That's okay," Jane reassures her, though she's privately seething. The winter night air is frigid, and her hair is still damp. "We'll just check the parking lot."
"I'm sorry, Jane," her mother apologizes pitifully. "I don't mean to bother you. I just wanted to see you."
"We'll find the car," Jane says, forcing cheer into her voice, even though her ears are beginning to burn with cold.
They search the entire parking lot. Her mother's car isn't there.
"Now, I know I drove it here," her mother says, as though the information is an earth-shattering revelation. "I wonder where I parked it."
"So do I." Jane reaches up and pats her hair, and is dismayed to find the tips hardening with frost.
The Sleepyside swim team bus pulls up in front of the building, and Jane watches with irritation as her classmates board, while at the same time, trying to hurry her mother in the opposite direction.
"Come on," Jane says, wanting to get out of sight of her classmates as soon as possible. "There's a parking lot on the other side of the building. You might have parked there."
In fact, that is where they find the car.
"So that's it!" Her mother exclaims. "I parked it over here !"
"Erudite," Jane growls.
"Don't be angry, Janey," her mother says petulantly. "It's not my fault. You're the one who dragged me through that other set of doors instead of the ones where I came in."
Jane just shakes her head. She's too cold and tired to object to her mother driving, and in the end, they arrive home fine, despite a few close calls.
That night, sleep escapes Jane, warded off by her simmering anger and resentment. In an attempt to relax, Jane wanders to her bookshelf, hoping to find a book to take her mind away from her problems. Briefly, her eyes land on Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet .
That's right. The ninth grade is putting on Romeo and Juliet as a play, and tryouts are just after Christmas break. Jane feels her spirits lift. If she were to, say, try out for Juliet, it wouldn't hurt anybody, would it?
