“Jessica,” she said weakly.
JANE WAS TRYING TO HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH JULIA BAXTER, but Jessica’s presence beside her was distracting. The editor was holding a glass of white wine (Of course she likes white wine, Jane thought) and talking animatedly about one of Julia’s previous films.
“And I thought what you did using the Laundromat as a symbol for Victoria’s need to wash away her sins was brilliant,” she said.
“How perceptive of you to notice that,” Julia said.
“I noticed that as well,” Jane said.
Julia and Jessica looked at Jane as if she were a child who had just interrupted the grown-ups.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” Jane said as she used the opportunity to escape. She went outside and took a seat on one of the chairs on the deck. A moment later Cecilia Banks sat in the chair beside her.
“I just wanted to tell you how much I like your novel,” she said shyly.
“Thank you,” said Jane. “An author can never hear that too often.”
“I’m not saying that in the Hollywood way,” Cecilia said, smiling. “I actually did read it.”
Jane laughed. “I take it your co-stars haven’t?”
Cecilia shrugged. “I’ve found that most people in L.A. think of books as scripts with too many words,” she said.
Jane liked the young woman’s sense of humor. “And I find that most editors feel the same way,” she said.
“It must be wonderful being a writer,” said Cecilia.
“Not always,” Jane said. “But sometimes. When you’re working on something you love. I imagine being an actress is the same.”
“I thought so too,” said Cecilia. “Now I’m not so sure. I can’t say I love most of the things I’ve been in. But I think this will be different.”
Raucous laughter caught their attention, and they both looked across the yard. Chloe was talking to Tucker Mack, who had his arm around her waist.
“I understand this is her first film,” Jane remarked.
“Yes,” said Cecilia.
Jane looked at her. “You sound doubtful,” she said.
“Do I?” said Cecilia. She paused. “I suppose I am,” she admitted. “This afternoon we were talking about our favorite films and she said hers was Beverly Hills Chihuahua.”
Jane grimaced. “Really?” she said.
Cecilia nodded. “And that’s not the worst part,” she continued. “She said she couldn’t believe they’d taught the dogs to move their mouths like they were talking.”
“She didn’t,” Jane said, laughing.
“I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was all done with computers,” said Cecilia.
“That was very kind of you,” Jane told her.
“I suppose,” said Cecilia. “I think underneath all that makeup there might be a nice girl.” She glanced at Chloe, who was nibbling Tucker Mack’s ear. “Maybe.”
“There you are.” Jessica’s voice was like ice water on Jane’s mood. “Let’s talk about your book.”
“We were,” Cecilia said. “I was telling Jane how much I like it.”
“Oh, that book,” said Jessica, pulling up a chair. “I don’t care about that one. I’m trying to pry a new one out of her. But she’s determined not to give me what I want.”
Cecilia raised an eyebrow, then looked at Jane. “I’m sure it will be wonderful,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I should go back to the hotel and study my lines for tomorrow.”
“You’re an actress?” Jessica said. “I never would have guessed.”
Jane was unsure how to take this remark, but she could tell Jessica meant it to be an insult. Cecilia, however, reacted with grace. “Given the usual opinion people have of actresses, I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. She smiled at Jane. “Good night.”
“Good night,” said Jane. “It was lovely meeting you.”
“It was lovely meeting you too,” Cecilia replied, pointedly not addressing Jessica.
As Cecilia walked away Jessica said, “Now we can have an actual conversation. So, what are we going to do about this book of yours?”
“I’m working on it,” Jane lied.
“You’ve been ‘working on it’ for a long time,” said Jessica, using her fingers to put quotes around her words.
“A book isn’t a cake,” Jane said. “You can’t just throw a bunch of ingredients into a bowl, mix it up, and end up with something people want to eat.”
“That’s exactly what a book is,” said Jessica. “And that’s how you need to be thinking. It’s a good thing I decided to come up here. Clearly someone needs to put you on the right track.”
“Is that why you came?” Jane asked. “To put me on the right track?”
“Only partly,” said Jessica. “I was also invited to this silly little conference that’s going on. Austen A Go-Go, I think it’s called. Have you heard about it?”
How clever she thinks she is, Jane thought. Suggesting I’m not important enough to know.
“Yes,” she said. “I recall someone mentioning it.”
“I normally don’t attend things like this,” Jessica informed her. “They’re almost always useless. Just a lot of people who want to be writers trying to get you to listen to their ridiculous ideas. But I thought it would be a good opportunity to see you as well.”
“How thoughtful,” Jane said.
“Yes,” Jessica agreed. “Did you know Jacqueline Susann’s editor used to sit with her in a hotel room and go over each page as she typed it?”
“Is that what we’re going to do?” asked Jane anxiously.
“If that’s what it takes,” said Jessica. She sighed. “If only you could write a book as good as Valley of the Dolls,” she said.
“I can only aspire to such heights,” Jane said. She wished Jessica would stop tormenting her, and she resented Kelly for inflicting the woman on her. “You know they are making a film out of my novel,” she added. “And it was a bestseller.”
“Not a thirty-million-copy bestseller,” Jessica countered. “That’s how many copies of Valley of the Dolls have been sold.”
“Over forty-five years,” said Jane. “That’s not even a million a year.”
“Which is still seven hundred and fifty thousand more than Constance has sold,” Jessica said. “You need to start thinking big.”
“We’ll start tomorrow. Let’s have lunch and brainstorm.”
Jane shuddered. She hated that word—brainstorm. It was one of those ghastly made-up words that tended to be used by people in unfortunate professions such as advertising. Next she’ll say she wants to throw ideas around.
“We can throw ideas around,” Jessica said on cue. “See what sticks.”
“What a delightful image,” said Jane. “I can’t imagine anything more invigorating than throwing around sticky ideas.”
“I knew we could work this out,” Jessica said, standing up. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You’re leaving?” Jane said hopefully.
“No,” said Jessica. “I’m going to talk to someone else. That handsome man over there. I’m sure he’ll have something interesting to say.”
Jane looked and saw that Jessica was talking about Byron, who was standing on the lawn chatting with Chloe. From the smile on his face, Jane could tell that he was flirting with the young woman. Jessica’s arrival was sure to annoy him. As her editor slinked away, Jane thought, I should tell him to seduce her and drain her. But she’d probably give him food poisoning.
“She seems … intense,” said Lucy. She started to sit in the chair Jessica had vacated, looked at it, then switched to the one Cecilia had formerly occupied.
“Let’s talk about something pleasant,” Jane said. “How do you like Ben Cohen? The two of you seemed to be hitting it off.”
“He’s very nice,” said Lucy.
Jane couldn’t help but notice the sparks still emanating from Lucy’s body. They were less plentiful now, but glittered brigh
tly around Lucy’s head. Seeing them raised Jane’s spirits and erased some of the darkness Jessica had brought with her.
“Maybe you should ask him out,” Jane suggested.
“Really?” said Lucy. “Wouldn’t that be a little weird? I mean, he’s a rabbi.”
“Rabbis don’t date?” Jane asked.
Lucy raised her eyebrows. “I never really thought about it,” she said. “Most of the rabbis I’ve met have been old and, well, not so attractive.”
“He is handsome, isn’t he?” Jane said.
Lucy giggled. “He really is,” she said. “Have you seen his eyes?” She placed her hand over her heart. “They’re gorgeous.”
Jane laughed. A yard full of movie stars and she goes for the rabbi, she thought. It was typical of her friend. She was always looking for what was inside people, regardless of the package in which it came. It was one of Lucy’s many admirable traits.
“Ask him,” she said.
“Maybe I will,” said Lucy. “But enough about me. What’s up with you and Walter?”
Jane’s mood darkened. She took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” she said. She hadn’t told Lucy the details of her lunch the day before, and although she had tried to hide her feelings she was sure that Lucy had sensed something was wrong.
“He asked me to marry him,” she said.
“Again?” Lucy said. “Let me guess—you said no again.”
“Don’t lecture me,” said Jane.
“I’m not going to lecture you,” Lucy said. “You’re a big girl, and you can make your own decisions.” She was quiet for a moment. “But I will say that you’re an idiot.”
“I said no lectures.”
“It’s not a lecture,” Lucy argued. “It’s a statement of fact. Walter is the best thing in your life. Besides me, of course.”
“Of course,” Jane agreed. “But there’s the whole—”
“Vampire thing,” said Lucy, groaning. “I know. That’s always the excuse.”
“I think it’s a fairly sound one,” Jane said.
“I handled the news, didn’t I?” said Lucy.
Jane nodded. “Yes. But you’re an unusually accepting person.”
“And Walter isn’t?” said Lucy. “How will you know unless you try?”
“What will I do if he isn’t?” Jane asked. “Leave town? I can hardly stay here once I’ve told him I’m one of the undead. He’d think I was mad. And can you imagine what would happen if he told anyone else? There’s simply too much to lose.”
“Yes,” Lucy said. “But there’s even more to gain.”
Jane said nothing. She knew Lucy was right. But that didn’t make her any less afraid. The idea of having to start over somewhere new, become someone new, terrified her. After so many years she had finally found a place to call home. Was it worth risking all of that for something that might work out?
She just didn’t know.
“I’m not going to say another word about it,” Lucy told her. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”
“No, you won’t,” said Jane, not unkindly. “You’ll make me feel guilty about not doing what you want me to.”
“Nobody can make you feel guilty except yourself,” Lucy replied. “Remember that.”
Jane did know it. She also knew that despite what she said, Lucy would indeed try to make her feel guilty. She thinks she knows what’s right for me. And maybe she does. Cassie always did.
Would she too tell Jane to risk everything on a chance at love?
You know she would, she told herself.
“I’m going to go see what Rabbi Ben Cohen thinks about the work of Bernard Malamud,” Lucy said, getting up. “And maybe then I’ll ask him what he thinks about the possibility of having dinner with me.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” said Jane. “I’m just going to sit here and make myself feel guilty for a little longer.”
“You do that,” Lucy told her. “I’ll send Byron out to keep you company.”
“Oh, good,” said Jane. “I can’t imagine anything more cheering.”
Lucy smiled. “I’m always happy to help,” she said.
“Away with you,” said Jane, flapping a hand at her. “Leave an old woman in peace.”
Lucy walked off in search of Ben. Jane, left alone, leaned back in her chair. She shut her eyes and listened to the sounds of the party. The many different voices tumbled around in her head, forming a whirlwind of sound. She allowed herself to be surrounded by it so that it blocked out everything—her irritation at Jessica, her fears about Walter, her disappointment in herself. It was all swallowed up by the meaningless roar of idle chitchat.
Exhaustion overtook her, and, surrounded by her own party, she fell asleep.
JULIA BAXTER REACHED INTO HER POCKET AND WITHDREW A small plastic container of the kind generally used to hold prescriptions. Twisting the top off, she tipped the bottle and several round tablets poured out onto her outstretched palm. They were pastel in color—yellow, pink, blue, and orange. Julia popped them all into her mouth at once. Her teeth made a grinding sound as she closed her eyes and chewed.
She held the bottle out to Jane. “Do you want some?”
Jane shook her head. “I don’t think so. But thank you.”
Julia opened her eyes. “Good call. They’re terrible.” She put the cap back on the bottle and stuffed it back into her pants pocket.
“What are they, exactly?” Jane asked. She assumed they were drugs of some kind—something exotic from the wonderland of Hollywood.
“Gerrit’s Satellite Wafers,” said Julia. “Candy from the fifties. When I was a kid we used to get them at the penny candy store by our school. We used to get them and bottles of Orange Nehi and put ourselves into sugar comas.”
“If they’re so terrible, why do you eat them?” asked Jane.
“Nostalgia,” Julia answered. “They’re hard to find now. I buy them from the same store I did back in 1957. Strothman’s Candies and Soda Fountain in Baltimore, Maryland. I guess having them around reminds me how I felt then, like nothing was wrong with the world.”
She watched as two burly men walked by carrying coils of extension cords. “It also puts me in the right mood.”
“Right mood for what?”
“Shooting these scenes,” said Julia.
Jane looked confused.
“You know, the whole fifties vibe. I like to connect with the time period I’m working with.”
Jane was now thoroughly puzzled. “But Constance takes place in the eighteenth century,” she said.
Julia looked at her. “They didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Jane asked.
“We’ve moved it to the nineteen fifties,” said Julia. “Costume dramas aren’t doing well. People are in love with the fifties now.” As Jane stared at her, speechless, Julia continued. “It actually makes a lot of sense. The forties are a little too far back, and the sixties have that whole hippie thing going on.” She paused. “Nobody likes hippies.”
Jane found her voice. “You’re setting my story in the nineteen fifties,” she said, more to herself than to Julia.
“Uh-huh,” said Julia. “In America. Foreign films are a hard sell.”
“England is hardly foreign!” Jane objected. She felt her heart racing, and thought that she might faint. She was shaking.
Julia, completely oblivious to Jane’s distress, called out instructions to some crew who were setting up lights. When they failed to do what she wanted, she left Jane and walked over to them, gesticulating wildly.
Jane willed herself to breathe. This isn’t happening, she told herself. You misheard. She can’t really be setting your novel in 1950s America.
Just then she saw Portia Kensington emerge from a trailer. The actress was wearing a red pencil-skirt dress and red heels. Her hair—it must, Jane realized, be a wig—was now blondish, the bangs a row of pin curls and the back neatly rounded. Portia carried a pair of white gloves in one hand, and with the
other she toyed with the string of pearls around her neck.
I’m going to be ill, Jane thought. This was not at all what Constance was supposed to look like. She had to get away before she saw any more. If they put Charles in a sharkskin suit, I might do something I regret.
She walked down the street, away from the commotion of the shoot. Taking her cellphone from her purse, she dialed Satvari Thangavadivelu. The agent picked up after only one ring. Jane explained, as quickly as she could, what was happening.
“I guess I forgot to tell you,” Satvari said when Jane was finished. “Sorry.”
“You mean you knew?” Jane said.
“Well, I knew it was a possibility,” said Satvari. “When the producers bought the rights they bought the right to make minor changes.”
“Minor changes?” Jane said. “Jumping ahead two hundred years is minor?”
Satvari sighed. “It’s all in the contract,” she said. “Didn’t you read it?”
“Of course I didn’t,” said Jane. “That why I have an agent. Besides, I thought they were paying me to make changes.”
“No, you’re just there in case they need any last-minute rewrites.”
“Then who did all of these other rewrites?” Jane asked.
Before Satvari could respond, a scream rent the air. Jane turned around to see a woman running out of one of the trailers. She screamed again and then darted over to Julia Baxter. Jane saw the woman point toward the trailer. The next moment Julia and some other people were running toward it.
“I’ll have to call you back,” Jane told Satvari, and hung up. A minute later she was standing outside the trailer out of which the hysterical woman had come. A dozen other people were gathered there as well. All of them were watching the closed door of the trailer.
“What happened?” Jane asked a man standing beside her.
“That’s Chloe’s trailer,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going on, though.”
“She probably passed out again,” said a woman nearby. “I hear she’s been hitting the bottle pretty hard.”
“But she’s practically a child,” Jane said. She was surprised at the casualness with which the crew spoke about the young woman.
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