Plain Jayne

Carl Joliet had been an avid film buff. It might have been one of the reasons he'd courted and married Jenny James: though she was a simple girl from a simple family she'd reminded him of Jayne Mansfield, and that, some people thought, was reason enough for him. They had been quite happy together, and in the fifth year of their marriage Jenny had given birth to a daughter. Carl had insisted she be called Jayne. Jenny never knew why, but she thought it sounded nice, so Jayne it was.

When she was born she was completely bald, thin and a little tall for a newborn child. She had big eyes and a pronounced squint. But she was a friendly baby who hardly ever cried and Carl and Jenny were very happy with her.

Jayne turned out to be quite a precocious child. She walked when she was ten months old and she started to talk before she was one. She grew a shock of tawny hair; unlike in most children her squint didn't disappear. When she was almost four she taught herself to read, and at primary school she went through the curriculum much faster than her classmates.

They thought Jayne was a freak. She didn't enjoy PE, her hobbies were too difficult by far, she liked books and had a lively imagination her classmates couldn't follow. The Joliets had an unfortunate taste in glasses, Jayne had freckles and it wasn't long before she was generally known as Plain Jayne. And you didn't play with Plain Jayne, you just called her names.

Jayne noticed, and it hurt. There wasn't anything she could do about it, and she retired within herself, and so developed an imagination that was often somewhat quirky, especially in the field of contacts with others.

Secondary school wasn't any better. She grew into an awkward, gangly girl with a tendency to drop or upset things, and her teeth were irregular. The fact that she excelled at school didn't make things any better. Although her classmates would have categorically denied the accusation, they were jealous of her achievements, and took it out on her appearance. The "Plain Jayne, Plain Jayne has goofed again" chorus that had plagued her primary school time was taken up again by her secondary school peers. Billy James, a complete dullard, was the worst. He found a satisfying compensation for his intellectual inabilities in making others suffer, and Jayne was an easy victim.

One of the teachers, who'd heard the choruses, tried to help her by letting her give the right answers whenever her classmates failed; this was only adding insult to injury for the others. Jayne understood he tried to help her, but she knew it would never do.

PE was torture, especially whenever there was a game in which they had to choose sides. Jayne invariably ended up being chosen last. The PE teacher thought it was her own fault - she wasn't competitive and she didn't show enough enthusiasm for his subject. He actually took over the Plain Jayne moniker; Jayne despised him for it, and it showed. Consequently she never managed to get a sufficient mark for sports.

Her arts master was the only one who made her feel at home a little. He was a competent teacher who loved his subject and Jayne was quick on the uptake. He sensed it wouldn't do to make her stand more apart, so he never acknowledged her talents publicly, but he stapled special assignments to the work he returned to her, with written instructions and carefully worded assessments. He taught her a lot and really helped her develop her talents.

It was with great relief that she left school with an impressive set of A-levels. She knew she could easily have tried for Oxbridge, but she just went to one of the less prestigious universities and completed her studies in record time at high academic excellence. Then she found herself a job.

Life was lonely. Her parents died with a few years between them, and as she had always kept away from her peers she hardly had any social contacts at all, bar those that went with her job. Sometimes someone invited her to a birthday party out of pity for that awkward woman, and she always went, but she generally stayed on the periphery, exchanging a few words with whoever cared to talk to her for a moment; and whenever she found that the party was also visited by any of her former classmates she'd leave early.

She had found herself a nice apartment in a quiet road near the station; it was roomy and there was quite enough space for her books and records, and a drawing table in a spare room. She loved cooking, and she wrote stories to fill the long hours free from work. She loved reading and often wondered what it would be like to make friends, but she'd learnt to mistrust people and contacts came hard.

Then some day there was a new woman at the office, who was a little reserved, and who sensed a kindred spirit in Jayne. May was one of those people who simply didn't care for appearances, and she started talking to Jayne in a way she'd not known till then, naturally and unprejudiced, and it wasn't long before the two women had struck up a real friendship.

When May got to know other people she noticed some of them felt some antagonism toward Jayne. One or two people actually asked her what she saw in Plain Jayne -- but she flatly told them off and after the first few no one tried again.

Jayne loved her company, and May opened her eyes to all sorts of things she'd not experienced before. Carl and Jenny had raised her to enjoy classical music; May introduced her to punk and rock, and Jayne went on from there to develop an eclectic taste in popular music, ranging from scratchy torch singers to John Coltrane, and from Joni Mitchell to African pop.

May also took her out to the pub, and they went dancing once or twice. That, though, wasn't really a great success. It did two things for Jayne: it showed her dancing and touching someone were nice and it also showed her she wasn't too enthusiastically accepted as a dancing partner. She'd grown morbidly sensitive to other people's reactions, and she felt each rejection keenly.

May noticed this only too well. She tried to have other people around sometimes when Jayne came to visit her, and to coax Jayne into interacting with others, but progress, if any, was very slow.

Then one afternoon while they were at May's place she got a visit from an old classmate of hers who'd had a crush on her in the past. They had dated a couple of times and found out they liked each other as friends but as nothing more. Since then George came to see her at irregular times. He had been one of her class's handsome boys, and he'd developed into a quiet, handsome man, who wrote articles for a magazine and designed websites for a couple of small companies. At school he had kept his own counsel, and he'd never participated in the pranks some of the less mature boys went in for. May really liked him.

She introduced him to Jayne, and he sat down with them. May asked him about his work He told them something about the magazine he wrote for. Jayne listened with great interest. She hoped she could some time show a couple of her stories to him - perhaps she could even get one of them published. But she'd never ask him; there was the rub. Then May butted in and told George about Jayne's stories, and he asked her a couple of things about them. She found it quite easy to respond to his questions, and they eventually decided she'd bring a couple when she visited May next. He'd collect them there and let her know if he thought they were good enough.

George quietly watched Jayne while they were talking. He liked her mouth, and he sensed her mind worked along lines similar to his own. Through the thick glasses he could see a couple of very nice, green eyes. He thought she seemed a little uncertain of herself; she moved a little awkwardly, but he liked her figure -- reasonably tall, medium-sized breasts, and no signs of anorexia or enthusiasm for catwalk models. Best of all, he thought, she has a nice voice. Hmm.

Two days later George popped in again. May was always happy to have him around, and she made them some coffee before settling down on the couch. She drew her legs up under her and smiled at George, who sat across the room from her.

"Jayne hasn't yet been in, so I don't have her stuff for you yet," she said. "I've read a few of her stories, and I think they're good."

"She's very nice, isn't she? I never heard you about her. How do you know her?"

"Oh, I know her from work. She is nice. She's very shy, though, much more than I, and I think she has no trust in people, really. They seem to call her Plain Jayne."

"Plain Jayne? Oh, people are horrible! I think she looks nice. Did you notice her eyes? And she seems very intelligent."

"Oh, she is. She's very quick in understanding things; she just doesn't seem to understand the way people interact. But she really is a good friend, and I do like being with her."

May was silent for a moment. George was the first person she knew to say something positive about Jayne. "Lots of people seem to have to make snide remarks about her," she said. "What made you think she's clever?"

"I don't know. Hmm. For one thing, she didn't simply drool when she heard about my work, and she didn't immediately tell me she writes, too, and could I please tell her what I think about it? And she enunciates well, and her questions are intelligent. And so is her face, whatever those nasties say. Does she have a boyfriend?"

"You mean do you stand a chance?"

George blushed. "No, of course not," he said.

May didn't believe him for a moment. She'd known him too long, and his blush spoke volumes to her.

"I don't think she has any friend at all," she said, "except me. She was bullied no end, I'm afraid, and it takes no genius to dream up plain Jayne. She's been told she is so often she really thinks she is, and no one would want her in a fashion magazine."

"No," George said heatedly, "They wouldn't. Of course not. They never want faces with individuality in fashion magazines. They just want dolls. They all look the same and act the same. They think the same, too, I shouldn't wonder. That's why I don't read those bloody rags and why I like you. And Jayne has a real face, not a mask."

May smiled a little grimly. "You know I don't think there's anything wrong with her. But when you hear you're ugly every day -- and that's what she did all her school days -- it doesn't really help your confidence too much. She told me there even was a teacher who called her plain Jayne in class."

"Really? For crying out loud. Poor girl. Do you think she would let me take her out some time?"

"Not if you do so out of pity -- she's very sensitive to that. And I have no idea if she'll let you otherwise. I think you'd better get to know her some more first."

George nodded. He cleared his throat. "Would you mind if I came over more often? I'd really like to get to know her, you know."

"I'd guessed as much, my boy. You're welcome. I'd hate seeing her end up as an old disappointed spinster."

George blushed again. "I don't have any designs on her," he complained.

"Then you'd better get them pretty fast," May said. "Honourable ones, please."

George grinned. "Am I that transparent?"

"George, I've known you too long to be taken in. Besides, the gentleman protests too much."

"Yes, you're right," he said. "I think she's really nice."

Jayne went through her stories. She thought most of them had obvious weak points but there were two that could stand her own critical inspection. She printed them and went through them with a pencil to take out one or two stylistic flaws and changed a word here and there. Then she printed and reread them again, and felt they would have to do. She put them in a folder and stuck the lot in her bag to hand them to May.

When George came around again May had the stories on her table. "Jayne's stories are here," she said. "I've read them, and I think you'll like them. They're great."

"I hope so," he said, and reached for them. "Do you mind?"

"No, go ahead. Coffee?"

George sat down to read Jayne's stuff. To his delight Jayne's English was flawless. There weren't any of the usual mistakes, her sentences had a natural flow to them and she left out anything the reader could fill in for himself. He was used to reading other people's work, and he always read things with a mental red pencil. Jayne's stories didn't need any. There were one or two things he'd have put differently, but he was fair enough to see her way was quite as valid as his own. On second thoughts, he wasn't even sure if her way of putting it wasn't actually more so. He was so immersed in it that he didn't register that May had put the coffee on the table.

"Wonderful," he said when he'd finished reading. "You were quite right. They're great."

"Good. Do you think you could use them?"

"Oh, I'll give them to our editor tomorrow. He usually listens to me," George said with a grin. "He'd better. So, how is Jayne?"

"As well as usual. Quiet. She promised to come around later this afternoon."

"Could you tell me some more about her? You're her only friend -- what about her relatives?"

May filled him in on Jayne's history. George sat listening and shaking his head.

"Phew," he said. "It won't be easy to get her to trust me, I suppose. But I'm definitely going to make an effort -- and I can wait. She seems worth waiting for."

"You were always Mr Handsome," May said. "People may laugh at you behind your back, or even to your face."

"They can bloody laugh as they please, for all I care," he said. "I can't help my face; I didn't ask for it. I've always thought that nickname was silly. As if being handsome counts."

"But it does. You know so well enough. And Jayne -"

"Jayne isn't ugly at all. Perhaps she should have someone tell her to choose her glasses differently, but that's about it. She has personality, and a nice voice -- did anyone ever tell her that? And her eyes are nice, glasses and all, and perhaps she wouldn't make it to a girlie magazine, but she has a good figure. And I think the way she moves only adds to her charm. Besides, I expect she could teach me a thing or two about my own job."

"You wouldn't mind? Oh, I expect not. You never were too competitive."

"I usually feel things aren't worth competing for. Winning? Bah. I would mind being beaten to my own game by someone I do not respect, but that's about it. Most people can run much faster than I, jump higher, kick a ball harder -- some accomplishment."

May smiled. She really liked George. He used to be quite different from the other boys in school, and he was different from most of her male contacts. "Well, Jayne's surely got herself a champion," she said.

"Not before time either. Does she ever laugh?" George answered grimly.

When Jayne came by they had finished talking about her. George had gone through her stories with a mental fine comb once again and decided they could be used the way they were, without any alterations.

Jayne greeted May warmly, and said hello to George. She'd given him some thought at home, and decided he seemed intelligent. He looked at her in a way she couldn't place, but it was not the way she was accustomed to. Most men who looked at her just looked away again immediately, indicating she was a nonentity for them; her classmates had always treated her with a kind of sneering revulsion. George shook her hand, and held it just long enough to press it ever so lightly. He smiled at her. She tentatively returned his smile.

It was the first time George had seen her smile, and the way her face changed and her eyes lit up made him feel very happy. Plain Jayne indeed, he thought.

He told her he'd read her stories, and told her he thought they were excellent. He refrained from lavishing too much praise on them; if her mind worked along the same lines as his own it would certainly be embarrassing to be put in the limelight too much.

"I can take them to my editor?" he said.

Jayne nodded. "Do you think he'll see something in them?" she asked.

"Oh yes, I expect so. He loves good English as much as I do."

Jayne blushed. She was quite unused to being praised, and since she was very tuned to people's sincerity she sensed his praise was real. "Thank you," she said.

George asked her about her hobbies and she told him she liked drawing, reading and writing, and that she loved listening to music. No, she didn't sing or play an instrument. She told him a little about her taste in music and George thought he recognised May's hand in it.

After some more time George had to go. He took his leave and May saw him to the door. "Did you see how she looks when she smiles?" he asked on parting. "And I love it when she blushes. Beautiful!" He kissed May on the cheek and walked off.

When May came back in the room she saw Jayne standing at the window, looking at George's disappearing form. "He's different, isn't he?" she asked.

Jayne turned around. "Do you think he likes me?"

May grinned. "I would say that's obvious."

"Oh," Jayne said, as she went back to her chair and sat down. "Is it? I couldn't say."

"Oh, you'll learn," May said. "Do you like him?"

"I think so," Jayne said. "He doesn't look at me the way the others do, and he doesn't brag about things. Have you known him long?"

"For ages. He used to be my boyfriend," May said. "We slept together a couple of times. We were never completely easy together - always a little restless - and so we called it a day. But I still like him very much. He doesn't brag, no -- he'd feel stupid if he did."

"That's how I would feel. Is he good?"

"As a writer, you mean? Oh yes, he is. And I've seen a couple of his websites, and they're brilliant. But he is always modest about them. He's disinclined to worry about anything he thinks unimportant, I think -- not as a kind of mental laziness, but more er -- well, because he wants to get his priorities right. I saw him angry only once."

"Yes. Yes, that's good. He seems really nice."

May recognised Jayne's statement for the praise it was. "We could go out together some time," she suggested.

"Yes, that would be nice. Do you think he'll want to come?"

May grinned. "If he doesn't I'll make him," she said. "No, nonsense. He certainly will, you can bank on that."

They cooked together, and went to a concert that evening. It was good, but a little short -- barely one hour -- and they went their various ways afterwards. May immediately picked up the phone when she'd come home and called George to tell him Jayne had agreed to their going out together.

"Oh wow! That's splendid. When shall we go?"

"We haven't arranged things yet. Any preference?"

"Tonight? Tomorrow? Doesn't matter, any time she likes. I'll be there."

"You'd better be, or else. Oh, you know, she likes you, too. But do go slowly with her, won't you?"

"You don't take me for an idiot, do you? I don't want to wreck things, have no fear."

"No. But you're an unknown sort of person for her, you know."

"I guessed as much. But thank you very much. Keep me informed!"

"I certainly will. Be good."

When Jayne came home she sat down and took up the prints she'd made of her stories -- but she had no head for reading them. She put them down again and sat thinking about the things she'd heard that day. May had ended her relationship with George because she'd felt restless... She didn't think she'd feel restless with him. Actually he was the first person apart from her parents and May she did not feel restless with, or unwanted. If only she could have a friend like May had had... She was twenty-seven now. She'd not even kissed anyone yet, let alone slept with them.

The need to feel loved that she'd put away in the farthest recesses of her mind came back to her with a vengeance. Her mother had been the last person to cuddle her, and that had been how long ago? Twenty years? Longer? She didn't know. She couldn't even remember what it had felt like. Her constant defiance of the world at large suddenly seemed too heavy a burden.