Jane Goes Batty (25 page)

Having not entirely had the conversation with Ben Cohen that she’d wished to have, Jane now did something she had never done before. Driving to the area of Brakeston closest to Meade College, she parked her car, removed from the backseat a bag containing her laptop, and walked to the nearest coffeehouse. There she ordered a latte, took a seat at a table near the front window, and began to work on her novel.

She had often seen people—mostly students from the college—busily engrossed in doing something (she assumed writing) on their laptop computers in coffeehouses all over town. Although the idea of working on one’s craft in public had never seemed to her to be quite polite, she wondered if perhaps a change of scenery might not give her a new perspective on her book.

After ten minutes she decided that it apparently did not. Despite
staring doggedly at the screen of her laptop, she had not written a word. She glanced to her left and saw a young man with papers and books spread across his table tapping manically at his keyboard. Pretending to stretch, she leaned in his direction to get a look at what he was doing.

The screen was filled with what appeared to be a picture of a factory. A series of pink shapes moved up and down, as well as from side to side, as something round and blue bounced between them. The man appeared to be guiding the blue ball by tapping the keys of his computer.

The blue ball dropped into a basket at the bottom of the screen and a series of numbers flashed rapidly on the lower left-hand side. The man, noticing that Jane was looking at his screen, said, “It’s a total waste of time, but I’m addicted to it.”

“What is it?” Jane inquired.

“It’s called Sushi Cat,” said the man. “See all of the little pieces of sushi?”

Jane moved her chair closer and peered at the screen. “Why, so they are,” she said. “How clever.”

“And here’s the cat,” the man said, pressing a key. The blue ball appeared at the top of the screen and Jane saw that it was in fact a cartoon cat.

“You drop the cat from anywhere up here,” said the man, demonstrating. “It falls between the gears or the balls or whatever and it eats the pieces of sushi. If you can get him to eat enough pieces, you go to the next level.”

Jane watched as the cat ate piece after piece of sushi, growing fatter with every bite. She saw absolutely no point in the game, but she found herself fascinated. “Can I try it?” she asked the young man after he’d successfully finished a level.

“You can play it on your laptop,” he answered. “Just do a search for Sushi Cat and you’ll find it. It’s a free game.”

“Thank you,” Jane said, leaving him to his game. She opened
the browser on her computer, found that she could connect to the Internet through the shop’s free Wi-Fi, and soon located the Sushi Cat website.

An hour later, having made it to level nine, she paused to get another latte and a scone. She promised herself that once she cleared level ten she would begin writing.

The completion of level thirteen saw her coffee cup empty and the scone reduced to crumbs, but not a word had been written. Jane glanced at the clock and discovered that she’d been sitting in the shop for more than two hours and had accomplished nothing.
If you can call
a
score of 654,890 on Sushi Cat nothing
, she argued.

Annoyed with herself, she closed the game and opened her word-processing program. Locating the file for her novel, she clicked on it and prepared to read what she’d written so far.

“Koi?” she said under her breath. “When did I write about koi? And why?”

She had no memory of putting those words to paper, as it were. But there they were. She read more, but it was equally hideous. She thought hard and vaguely remembered a bottle of merlot. Possibly two. Had there also been some typing involved?

“Apparently so,” she answered herself.

It was all dreadful, every last word. Lydia (and she had not the foggiest idea who Lydia was or why she was looking anxiously
into a koi pond) was dull and a bit of a whiner. There seemed to be no plot whatsoever, nor really any incentive to keep reading at all. Hoping to stumble across something she could use—some bit of prose that might be salvaged and used to build something better—Jane skimmed over several paragraphs about a pair of woolen mittens. When she arrived at some dialogue between Lydia and a child holding a balloon, she highlighted the entire document and deleted it.

She closed the computer, shut her eyes, and wished she hadn’t eaten the scone. It was disagreeing with her. Also, she had a headache, and now the music from Sushi Cat was playing in her head.

She got up and left, tossing her coffee cup in the trash and angrily pushing the door open. The afternoon sun was hot and the light hurt her eyes. Finally, to make things even worse, she walked two blocks in the wrong direction looking for her car before remembering that she was driving a loaner from the garage where her car was being repaired.

She considered going to the bookstore and having a chat with Lucy, but decided to go home instead. Lucy would almost certainly still be giddy over her new relationship with Ben Cohen, and although Jane was sincerely happy for her, she didn’t want to be exposed to that much joy. She just wanted to go home, open a bottle of wine, and not think about anything.

It wasn’t until her phone rang and she recognized Byron’s number on the caller ID that she remembered she was supposed to be watching Chloe. She’d promised to relieve Byron at four. It was now half past. For a moment she considered just not answering.
You could always tell him you got busy writing and lost track of time
, she thought.

“Like he’d ever believe that,” she said as she answered the call. “I’ll be there in ten,” she told Byron, and turned the car around.

“H
OW NICE OF YOU TO COME,
”
SAID
B
YRON AS
J
ANE ENTERED
Chloe’s trailer. “I hope we aren’t inconveniencing you.”

“Just a little,” Jane sniped.

Chloe was seated in one of the chairs, a script open on her lap. Her eyes were closed and she was silently mouthing some words. She was dressed in a white poodle skirt and a pink angora sweater. Jane couldn’t bear to look at her.

“What is she doing?” she asked Byron.

“Learning her lines,” Byron explained. “She’s shooting a scene with Tucker Mack this afternoon. It’s the scene where Jonathan seduces Barbara after taking her for a ride in his new Chevy Bel Air convertible. Wait until you see the car they got. It’s a beauty. Red and white. I had one exactly like it in 1955.” A dreamy look appeared on his face. “I took Scotty Mulligan to see
Rebel Without a Cause
at the drive-in in that car. He was captain of the football team.”

“How romantic,” Jane teased. “Did you go to the malt shop afterward?”

“Of course not,” said Byron. “We went necking.” He clicked his fangs into place and gave Jane a lecherous leer. “I think I still have his class ring somewhere.”

“Wait a minute,” Jane said, ignoring him. “There’s no scene in
Constance
where Jonathan seduces Barbara, let alone in a convertible.”

“There is now,” said Byron, getting ready to leave. “What’s-her-name wrote it not an hour ago.”

“Who?” Jane asked.

“The Frost woman,” said Byron. “And I must say, she’s quite good. You could learn a thing or two from her.”

“Out!” Jane ordered.

Byron, laughing, went invisible and slipped out the door, leaving Jane alone with Chloe. The girl had said not a single word during Jane and Byron’s exchange and seemed almost to be in a trance as she continued to mouth her lines. Now, as Jane stared at her, her eyes opened.

“Hey,” she said. “When did you get here?”

“Ages ago,” said Jane, now in a foul mood. “Thank you for noticing.”

“Run lines with me,” Chloe said, thrusting her script at Jane.

“Excuse me?” said Jane.

“Run lines,” Chloe repeated. “You read Tucker’s lines and I’ll say mine. It’s how we practice.”

Jane took the script from the girl and plopped down in the trailer’s other chair. She looked at the script and found Tucker’s first line.

“ ‘I hope you had a nice time,’ ” she read.

“Don’t use your voice,” Chloe said. “I can’t do a romantic scene with a
woman
. Try to sound like a man.”

Jane began to object, but Chloe said, “Please. It will really help.”

“Fine,” Jane huffed. She cleared her throat and began again, this time making her voice lower and gruffer. “ ‘I hope you had a nice time,’ ” she said.

“That’s better,” Chloe said. “Now me. ‘I had a swell time, Jonathan. Thank you for asking me. To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure you liked me.’ ”

“Swell?” said Jane in her own voice. “Who says
swell
?”

“Just read the lines,” Chloe said. “I didn’t write them, so don’t get mad at me.”

Jane gritted her teeth. “ ‘Why would you think that?’ ” she read.

Chloe shrugged. “ ‘I don’t know,’ ” she said in a breathy voice. “ ‘I guess because you’re always talking to Connie, and you gave her your letterman sweater.’ ”

“Please tell me she didn’t rename Constance Connie,” Jane said, putting a hand to her forehead. “Please tell me that.”

“You really suck at this,” Chloe replied, snatching the script from Jane’s hand. “Forget it. I’ll do it myself.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jane. “I can do it. It’s just that this is all very upsetting.”

“I don’t know why,” Chloe said. “They’re making a
movie
out of your book. You should be happy about it.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” said Jane. “You’ve never written a book.”

“No,” Chloe agreed. “But I know if I did I’d be pretty excited if someone liked it enough to make a movie out of it.”

Jane sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “Still, it’s not really my book anymore. It’s someone else’s story now.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” said Chloe, picking up a pack of cigarettes and tapping one into her hand. She began to light it, then suddenly stubbed it out. “Shit. I can’t smoke.”

“Why not?” Jane asked.

“Tucker has a thing about cigarettes,” Chloe explained. “If you’re going to kiss him, you can’t taste like cigarettes.”

“That sounds like a reasonable request,” said Jane.

Chloe snorted. “Yeah, except that
he
always tastes like garlic.” She looked at Jane with a worried expression. “Do I have to worry about that?” she asked. “You know, the whole garlic thing?”

Jane shook her head. “Probably not,” she said. “That’s pretty
much a myth, although some vampires do have an allergic reaction to it. But you should be fine.”

“How will I know if I’m allergic?” Chloe said.

“Well, you’ll probably break out in hives,” Jane explained.

“Hives?” said Chloe. “Like beehives?”

Jane wondered if the girl was joking, realized she wasn’t, and said, “Not like beehives, no. Like welts.” Chloe looked at her blankly, so Jane added, “Small red spots that itch.”

“Right,” Chloe said. “I get those when I’m around cats.”

“So you’re allergic to cats?” said Jane. “Then you know.”

“Oh, I’m not allergic,” Chloe said. “I just get all itchy and sneeze and stuff.”

Jane decided against further discussion of the subject and said simply, “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. “Come in,” Chloe shouted.

A young woman holding a clipboard and looking very anxious poked her head in and said, “They’re ready for you on set, Chloe.”

Chloe stood up. “You coming?” she asked Jane.

“I don’t know,” said Jane. “I might be in the way.”

“Oh, come on,” Chloe prodded. “It’ll be fun.”

Jane hesitated a moment, then stood up. “Maybe it will,” she said.

The two of them left the trailer and walked over to where a camera had been set up near a convertible parked in front of the house that in the movie belonged to the Wexley family. In reality it belonged to Agatha Martin, the town librarian. In a stroke of good fortune, Agatha had maintained the house exactly as it had looked in 1955, when she’d been a sixteen-year-old sophomore at Brakeston High and lived there with her family. As a result, the set decorator had only to remove the satellite dish from Agatha’s roof and add a few more garden gnomes to those already occupying the petunia beds.

Julia Baxter was peering at a monitor when Jane and Chloe
approached. Seeing them, she straightened up. “All right, people!” she called out. “Let’s make a movie!”

All around them crew members scrambled to do their various jobs. Jane watched in amazement as what had moments ago seemed like total chaos turned into an operation of military precision with Julia Baxter as the commander.

“I should have eaten something,” Chloe said to Jane as lights were adjusted and someone polished the convertible’s hood. “My stomach is growling.”