Day 3: 6,025 Words

I decided that I need to finally give Isla her due, even though her story isn't as flashy as that of Abigail. A lot of what is going on with Isla right now is inspired by the past few months where Indigo and I have watched basically every Regency era miniseries that is on offer on streaming platforms. It's been a ton of fun! There have obviously been a lot of stinkers, like the Mansfield Park adaptation that I write about in this chapter. Isla's story, at least for now, centres on the Regency Movie Club that she runs in the afternoon at the Picton Street Bed and Breakfast.

One of the reasons that Isla appreciated the rag-tag rotating cast of regency romance aficionados that for that hour every week day, she felt like she was with her people and because movie watching was on the agenda, lengthy conversation just wasn’t necessary. Isla was always a very private and shy person. When she lived in Toronto, in the same city as her sister and the friends that they had grown up with, she felt like she had her community and didn’t need to find anyone else to add to it. Abigail was the bold one who would walk up to strangers in Jackie’s Place who appeared to be enjoying the latest Labrador retriever-themed cover band and ask them to name three of their songs. After a few drinks, of course. Isla preferred to sit quietly in their favourite booth far away from the speakers and make wordless eye contact with Jackie whenever they wanted another round. Jackie seemed to have a special affection for her for just this reason: they never really spoke words out loud to one another.

After she moved to Niagara-on-the-Lake they were still in her life, of course, as well as the aging Grandma Louise and Grandpa Ted. But if making friends were a muscle, Isla’s had long since atrophied—if it had ever really existed to begin with. Walking up to strangers was not something that she ever wanted to do, even after one too many beers at Jackie’s Place. Since most of the people that she met in this small and delightful town were extremely old and not spry for their ages, she spent a lot of time alone when she wasn’t working. Talking to her coworkers and guests took all of the socializing energy that she had, and then a little more. At the end of the day, she just wanted to read alone in her little rented cottage and not talk to anybody. 

But in the drawing room, with the lights off, and a favourite movie playing, she got to feel a sense of community without needing to be social or brave. The people came to her, and they were usually satisfied to sit in silence and eat the popcorn that the kitchen staff had prepared. It was her favourite hour of the day. 

She smiled at the assembled group as she set up the projector. One was a short woman with curly hair in her mid-twenties who Isla had checked into the bed and breakfast the day before. The previous day Isla had noted that she looked to be spry for her age. This no longer appeared to be the case. Judging by the many wristbands she was sporting, the t-shirt reading “Boozed and Confused,” and the fact that she was already asleep, she looked as if she had indulged a little too much at the many wonderful wineries that Niagara-on-the-Lake has to offer. That was fine—there wasn’t a finer place to sober up than the plush couches in the Picton Street Bed and Breakfast, set to the dulcet tones of a mediocre Jane Austen adaptation. In Isla’s mind, she still counted as an attendee.

On the couch beside her was a woman who appeared to be in her late fifties, who introduced herself as Carol from Grimsby. Isla remembered that she had checked in with her wife earlier that afternoon. Isla had seen them say goodbye to each other soon after, as her wife had headed off to see the sights while Carol apparently had wanted to stay in and watch the middle episode of a middling mini-series.

The other two were a couple that, on the other hand, she didn’t recognize. She had a great memory for faces, and she hadn’t seen them before. They looked like tourists, but like they were visiting different places: they were wearing shirts for New York City and Lake Louise, respectively, that paired nicely with their bucket hats and running shoes with long socks. Had one of her colleagues checked them in while she was off doing something else?

“Hi,” Isla said, looking at the pair. “Can you remind me of your names?”

“We, uh, aren’t guests at the hotel,” the woman began, answering Isla’s question. 

Isla was surprised by this. She thought about it for a second: should non-guests be allowed to attend the Regency Movie Club? Her first instinct was to feel worried that she would get into trouble for it. But why wouldn’t they be allowed to stay? And more to the point, was there someone who was going to get her in trouble for allowing it? If they wanted to watch an extremely 1980s take on Mansfield Park, then she certainly wasn’t going to stop them. 

So, it was resolved. Isla smiled back at them to indicate that they were welcome to join the club.

 

“I’m Mary,” the woman said, “and this is my husband Dwayne. We’re locals.”

“Welcome,” Isla said warmly.

“We heard that you were showing the 1983 version of Mansfield Park, and we haven’t seen it since it came out. We don’t know how to find it. It’s certainly not Austen’s best, but it’s fun to watch all the same.”

Isla didn’t realize that anyone else would even care to find out what was going on at the Picton Street Bed and Breakfast. Let alone that her “club” that no one generally wanted to be a part of was drawing non-guests. She felt touched.

“Well I’m glad that you heard about it and that you can join us today. You are welcome to come any day that you want.”

They smiled at her widely, feeling more at ease now that they had revealed themselves to be interlopers and even so hadn’t been asked to leave. Isla imagined that there was something that someone could do that would lead them to getting kicked out, but it certainly hadn’t happened yet. Perhaps insulting Dawson’s Creek: Legacy, particularly the episodes that her sister had written? Or maybe criticizing her favourite lab-themed cover band that played often at Jackie’s Place, Death Lab for Treatie?

he words to her favourite song, “I Will Follow You in the Dog Park,” filled her head: 

Human of mine/ When I run off and I hide/ I'm still always be close behind/ I'll follow you in the dog park

When I’m yowling loud/ And leaping at dogs, so mad/ With my leash clasped so tight/ Waiting for the hint of a bark

If dogs and cats decide that they both are satisfied/ And everything has been sniffed/ and the water bowl is dry

If there's no one beside you and I need to bark/ Then I'll follow you in the dog park

It was always powerful when Death Lab for Treatie performed this touching song about the love between humans and their dogs. There was rarely a dry eye in the place. 

However, in the place where Isla was currently, everyone in the room was wondering what the hold-up was with the Mansfield Park episode three viewing, aside from the bachelorette party attendee who was sleeping soundly. Isla knew she had to soldier on, even when she had important reminiscing to do.

* * *

Isla switched the lights back on at the end of the episode. It had ended on an uninspiring note. The scandalous play that the ensemble had planned on performing was cancelled due to the return of the father of the house who disapproved of a play that depicted sex outside of marriage and an illegitimate birth. Fanny Price, as usual, was a wet blanket who refused to participate and who did nothing else redeeming in the entire episode aside from staring stupidly off into the distance. 

The young woman who had previously been sleeping on the couch appeared to have woken up, and was smiling approvingly. Another convert to the Regency Movie Club, Isla thought to herself. The others were looking pensively at Isla, as if waiting for her to invite a discussion.

She demurred. “Did that live up to your memories, Mary and Dwayne?”

Mary looked at her husband, curious about his response.

Dwayne paused for a second, then offered his thoughts. “Well, I have to say that I am a lot more troubled about the fact that the patriarch, Sir Thomas Bertram, owns slaves! I hope that the ‘problem’ that he had to deal with on his plantation in Antigua was a revolt!” 

Isla stopped for a moment. Of all of the possible responses, she hadn’t anticipated this one. She had to remind herself that being old, and being a man, did not mean that you couldn’t have a progressive take on the Regency oeuvre! 

“I agree, Dwayne!” Carol responded. “I appreciate that more recent adaptations problematize the ownership of slaves more than this adaptation did.”

“And frankly,” the bachelorette party attending woman, who Isla finally remembered to be named Rachel, responded, “the horrifying orange tans on the people returning from Antigua were just racist.”

“They were certainly an affront to any human with eyes,” Isla agreed.

She found herself smiling widely. No discussion so robust had ever followed a Regency Movie Club viewing. 

“Would you mind if we come back tomorrow, for the next part in the series?” Dwayne asked tentatively. 

“Even though I know what is going to happen next, I would still love to come,” Mary added.

“Of course,” Isla said. “There’s always room on the couch, and a bowl of popcorn, for anyone who wants to be a part of the Regency Movie Club.”

“I know I’ll be here tomorrow, too!” Carol said. “The stakes are so low about their shitty performance of Lovers’ Vows, but I just feel like I need to see this through!”

“I can totally relate,” Isla said with a grin.