“Oh, good. You’ve seen the flyer.”
Jane turned to see Beverly Shrop approaching at a brisk clip. As usual, she was dressed in pink, and her face wore a cheerful smile that appeared to be painted on with copious amounts of red lipstick, much like a clown’s ghastly perpetually grinning mouth.
“Beverly,” Jane said without enthusiasm.
“Doesn’t it sound delicious?” Beverly asked. “I’m especially looking forward to Tavish’s talk.”
“Aren’t we all?” asked Jane.
“I would have asked you to speak,” Beverly said. “But I know how very busy you are trying to get your next book written.”
And how would you know that? Jane wondered. Just what had Beverly and Byron talked about? She would most certainly have to have a word with him.
“It’s true,” Jane said. “I am quite busy at the moment.”
“Well, I hope you’ll at least grace us with your presence,” said Beverly. “Oh, and if you’d like to sell your book at the event, feel free to bring a few copies. Blockstone’s will be selling copies of Tavish’s Penelope Wentz novels.”
“Blockstone’s?” said Jane, the name of the rival bookstore bitter on her tongue. “Why not have us sell his—”
“I have to run,” Beverly said. “Lovely seeing you.”
Fuming, Jane watched Beverly leave the store.
“Wow,” said Shelby. “She really is something.”
“You’re breaking the wall!” Ant shouted at her. “Rule one. Don’t get involved with the subject!”
Shelby ignored him. “You should have a big sale on this Tavish guy’s books right before the event,” she suggested to Jane. “That would really piss her off.”
Jane nodded. “Yes,” she said, smiling at Shelby. “It certainly would.” She was liking the young woman more and more.
“Jane, you have a phone call.” One of the twins leaned over the counter, covering the receiver with his hand. “It’s a Jessica Abernathy.”
For a moment Jane couldn’t remember why the name was familiar to her. Then it hit her. “Oh!” she said. “Of course. I’ll take it in the office.” She turned to Ant, who was beginning to follow her. “This is private,” she informed him. Without waiting for him to object, she went into the office and closed the door behind her, relieved to finally be alone.
She took a moment to calm herself before picking up the phone.
“Hello, Jessica,” she said. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said a husky voice. “I hear we’re used to waiting for you around here.” Jessica laughed. It sounded like sandpaper rubbing against an obstinate board.
“I’m sorry?” said Jane. “Waiting for me?”
“It’s a joke,” Jessica said. “You know, waiting for your manuscript. Wasn’t it due six months ago?”
“Something like that,” said Jane. “I’m working on it.”
“You might want to think about working faster. We’re already going to miss the holiday shopping season. Now you’re into spring at the earliest and more likely summer. You don’t want to come out in summer. You’ll get buried. Nicholas Sparks has a new one out in June. So does Jodi Picoult. And I heard King has three hitting the stores in time for vacation season. You’ll be lost in that bunch.”
“My last book did very well,” Jane reminded her. “It was number one for—”
“Three weeks,” Jessica said. “I know. But the remainder bins are filled with second books that flopped. You can’t assume anything. Especially if you wait too long between books. People will forget you.”
Jane wondered if Jessica remembered rejecting Constance. It certainly sounded as if she wasn’t entirely thrilled about working with Jane on the new book. At the very least she was hardly being encouraging.
“Anyway, I’d like to have it by the end of the month,” Jessica continued.
“I don’t know if—”
“Great,” said Jessica. “We’ll talk then.”
The line went dead. Jane stared at the phone for a moment. She felt shaky and disoriented, as she had as a girl when her brothers would hold her by the wrists and swing her around and around. Then she had enjoyed the giddiness that resulted. Now she merely felt sick. That didn’t go at all well, she thought.
The phone rang again. She picked it up with some hesitation, wary that it might be Jessica calling back to tell her that her book had been canceled altogether. But it was Kelly.
“I’m calling from my new office,” he told Jane. “Wait till you see my view.”
“I just spoke with Jessica Abernathy,” said Jane, skipping the pleasantries.
“How did it go?” Kelly asked.
“I’m not sure I know,” Jane said. “She’s rather difficult to read.”
Kelly laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “She loves your work.”
“Really?” Jane said. “I’m not so sure I got that from our little talk.”
“When I interviewed her she just raved about Constance,” Kelly said. “She said she couldn’t wait to get her hands on your new manuscript.”
Yes, Jane thought. So that she can toss it in the shredder.
“You’re just anxious about working with someone new,” Kelly continued. “But you’ve still got me. I’ll read whatever you have before you give it to Jessica. In fact, why don’t you email me what you’ve got and I’ll take a look.”
“Maybe,” Jane said. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that there was nothing more for him to read than there’d been the last time he asked.
“I saw Satvari at a publishing party last night,” said Kelly. “She tells me a film crew is invading Brakeston.”
“Yes,” Jane said. “Some of them are already here. Did she tell you they were following me around documenting my thrilling existence?”
“No,” Kelly replied. “Are they really? Are they there now?”
“Lurking just outside the door, I expect,” said Jane.
“It sounds like things are crazy there,” Kelly remarked.
“You have no idea,” said Jane. “Did I tell you Walter’s mother is coming to visit?”
“I sympathize,” Kelly said. “Bryce’s mother was just here for a week. I thought I was going to kill her. She’s pressuring us to get a baby so she can have a grandchild. She says she wants a black one because they’re more exotic than white babies and everyone else has Asian ones. If you’d heard her, you’d swear she was talking about a cat.”
“She sounds intriguing,” Jane said. “And perhaps the tiniest bit racist.”
“She’s a loon,” said Kelly. “Oh, and she wants us to name it after her grandmother. Her name was Parsimony.”
“Do you and Bryce even want a baby?” Jane asked.
“Not really,” said Kelly. “But it might be fun. We could dress it up and buy it toys.”
“Now who sounds as if he’s talking about a cat?” Jane teased.
“I know,” said Kelly. “It’s ridiculous. But just think of it. Parsimony Littlejohn-Manx. It’s kind of cute.”
“It’s horrid,” Jane told him.
Kelly sighed. “It really is,” he admitted. “What do you think of Aida Littlejohn-Manx?”
“Only slightly less horrid,” said Jane.
“Does Walter want children?” Kelly asked.
The question took Jane by surprise. “I don’t know,” she said. “We’ve never discussed it. But it really doesn’t matter. I’m far too old for that sort of thing.”
“You aren’t,” Kelly said. “They can do wonderful things with in vitro these days. A friend of ours is pregnant for the first time at forty-seven. With twins. Can you imagine?”
Jane did imagine it. And she was horrified. It had never occurred to her that Walter might want children. She wasn’t even sure she could have children. Of course, the girl in the Twilight books did, she mused.
“You know I’m joking,” Kelly said after Jane had been silent for some time.
“Of course,” said Jane. “I was just trying to imagine going to my child’s graduation at the age of two hundred and fifty-three.”