“Sorry,” said Shelby. She looked at Jane and bit her lip. “Sorry,” she said again, her eyes twinkling.
“It might also interest people to know that I write precisely seven hundred and thirteen words every day,” Jane said.
“Hold on,” Ant said. “I’m not shooting.” He hit the record button on the camera. “Say that again.”
“I write precisely seven hundred and thirteen words a day,” Jane repeated.
“So how long does it take you to write a whole book, then?”
“Oh, at least a month or two,” said Jane, maintaining a serious tone. “Longer if there are more than two characters. It gets a bit confusing once there are three. But I use dolls to act out the scenes. That helps.”
“Kind of like a movie,” said Ant. “Have you ever wanted to write a screenplay?”
“Heavens, no,” Jane answered. “I’m not nearly clever enough for that. I can only manage novels.”
Ant set the camera down. “That’s better,” he told Jane.
“Do you think so?” Jane asked. “I tried my best.”
“It’s your first time,” said Ant. “You’ll get the hang of it. Now I want to get some footage of you writing.”
“But I’m not drunk,” Jane protested.
“Or nude,” Shelby added.
“Precisely,” said Jane. “Perhaps if you give me half an hour?”
“We’ll do it later,” said Ant. “Maybe we can shoot some scenes at the bookstore. You know, with customers and whatever.”
“Whatever indeed,” Jane said.
Ant set the video camera down. “Shelby, pack this stuff up,” he said. “I’m going to have a smoke.”
When Ant was safely out of the room Shelby looked at Jane and the two of them burst into laughter. “Is he really that stupid?” Jane asked the young woman.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Shelby answered. “Do you know what the duct tape is for?”
“I was wondering about that,” said Jane.
“It’s so he knows which buttons to push on the camera,” Shelby explained. “He draws little arrows pointing to the ones he needs to use.”
Jane laughed.
“Sometimes I’m amazed he can put his pants on without killing himself,” Shelby said. “You handled him really well.”
“I suppose,” said Jane. “But I’m afraid my answers are completely inappropriate.”
Shelby folded up one of the light stands. “Don’t worry about it,” she told Jane. “You and I can reshoot it all later.”
“Really?” Jane said. “You can do that?”
“I always do,” the girl told her. “Ant hasn’t shot a usable interview yet.”
“Then why go through all this?” Jane asked.
“There’s one thing Ant is good at,” said Shelby as she rolled up an electrical cord and tucked it into a bag. “He speaks bullshit fluently. And in Hollywood that’s a major skill. Sort of like speaking Russian if you work for the CIA.”
Jane laughed. “I see. So why do you work for him?”
“He’s my brother,” Shelby said.
“Oh,” Jane said. “I’m sorry.”
Shelby laughed, and Jane realized what she had said. She also recalled calling Ant stupid. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right,” Shelby assured her. “I know what you meant. And he is stupid. But I’ve been covering up his messes since we were kids. I guess I’m just used to it.”
“But don’t you want to get credit for the work you do?” She thought about the centuries she’d spent not being able to take credit for her novels, and felt herself becoming angry for the young woman.
Shelby shrugged. “I like doing it,” she said. “But I don’t speak bullshit. Having Ant do that part kind of makes up for everything else.”
No, Jane thought. It doesn’t. But she kept her opinion to herself. Later, she told herself, she might have a talk with Shelby. But not now.
Ant poked his head through the door. “What’s taking so long?” he snapped.
Shelby ignored him and looked around the room. “I think that’s everything,” she said. “I’ll just take this stuff to the van and we can go.” She picked up one of the heavy bags and walked to the door. Her brother barely stepped aside as she left the house.
“Let me help you with this,” Jane said, reaching for a bag and following after the girl. As she passed Ant she shot him a withering look, which he didn’t notice because he was busy looking at something on his iPhone.
“Shel!” he yelled, his brow knitting up in confusion. “How do I make a call on this thing?”
I believe I will have a talk with your sister, Jane thought as she walked to the van. She felt her fangs slip into place, and ran the tip of her tongue over their needle-sharp points before drawing them back up again. And then I may just have a few words with you as well.
Chapter 5
“Austen A Go-Go?”
Jane looked at the pink flyer that one of the twins had just handed her.
“What is it?” Ant asked, pointing the video camera in Jane’s face before she could answer. “Is it something bad?”
Jane, who was reading the rest of the flyer, ignored him. A sick feeling was blooming in her stomach, followed closely by a rush of rage.
“How dare she?” she said furiously, balling the flyer up and flinging it into the trash can beneath the front desk. Several people browsing Flyleaf’s shelves turned to look for the source of the noise.
“She dropped them off while I was at lunch,” said Lucy. “If I’d been here, I would have told her where to go with her stupid—”
“It’s all right,” Jane assured her. “I just can’t believe the gall of that woman.”
“What woman?” Ant asked, still following Jane and filming her.
“Nobody,” said Jane. “And turn that thing off!”
“Sorry,” Ant replied. “I’ve got to get everything. Besides, this looks like it might be good.”
“It’s many things,” said Jane. “And none of them is good.”
“I apologize for upsetting you,” said the twin who had given Jane the flyer. “I didn’t know who she was, and she seemed pleasant enough.”
“It’s all right.…” Jane hesitated.
“Ted,” the young man said.
“It’s all right, Ted,” said Jane.
“Who is she?” asked Ned, appearing beside his brother.
“Beverly Shrop,” Jane answered, her teeth grinding on the name.
“The ShropTalk woman?” said Ted, or possibly Ned.
“Yes,” Jane said. “That’s the one.”
“She’s a moron.” Shelby’s voice emerged from the uncomfortable silence that had descended.
“Quiet,” Ant hissed at his sister.
“I’m sorry,” said Shelby. “But she is. Have you seen her site? It’s crap.”
Jane suppressed a smile. “Not the word I might have chosen, perhaps,” she said. “But vividly accurate nonetheless.”
“So what’s this Austen A Go-Go?” Ant pressed.
Jane sighed. “Apparently Beverly Shrop has organized a festival of sorts for fans of romantic novels, of which she considers Austen’s prime examples.”
“And that’s bad?” asked Ant.
“In theory, no,” Jane answered. “But Beverly has an uncanny ability to make things … inconvenient.”
“She’s a horror show,” Lucy clarified. “She’s turned writers and books into a cottage industry, when really she knows nothing at all about them. Austen A Go-Go. Honestly.”
“There’s going to be a Darcy look-alike contest,” Shelby said, reading one of the flyers. “And a Team Austen versus Team Brontë softball tournament.”
Jane groaned. “Fabulous,” she said.
“Someone named Tavish Osborn is a guest speaker,” Shelby continued.
“What?” Lucy and Jane exclaimed in unison.
“Tavish Osborn,” Shelby repeated. “Do you know him?”
“Vaguely,” Jane muttered, thinking, How could he?
“He’s going to be giving a lecture called ‘The Real Jane Austen,’ ” said Shelby.
Lucy and Jane exchanged looks. That’s it, Jane thought. Why hadn’t Byron said anything to her about Beverly’s ridiculous event? And what exactly did he mean by the real Jane Austen?