Jane Bites Back

a few of the young men, left the shop in tears, clutching books to their chests and lovingly stroking the lockets around their necks.

Finally the last autograph seeker was shown the door by Lucy, and Jane let out a sigh of relief. The table of books she and Lucy had set out for the event was completely empty. Behind the counter she called up the night’s sales figures on the computer screen. When she saw them she gasped audibly.

“That’s more than we made in the last three weeks combined,” said Lucy, who was peering over Jane’s shoulder.

“It’s unbelievable,” Jane agreed.

“It’s like that every night,” sighed Melodie Gladstone. “Everybody loves their Jane Austen.”

Jane was surprised to hear the change in the author’s tone. She looked up to find Melodie sprawled back in her chair, her feet stretched out beneath the table as she massaged her forehead.

“Do you have any aspirin?” she asked. “Better yet, do you have any vodka?”

Jane and Lucy exchanged glances, then Lucy went off in search of aspirin. Jane smiled politely and said, “This tour must be exhausting for you.”

“It’s a fucking nightmare,” Melodie replied. Jane cringed. “Every night it’s the same thing. ‘Don’t have sex until you’ve found the right one. Keep yourself pure. Wear this stupid locket and one day your prince will come.’ What a load of crap. But they eat it up.” She waved her hand in the air. “You’ve seen the numbers.”

“They certainly are impressive,” Jane said wryly.

“That’s why I do the dog and pony show,” Melodie replied. “Every time one of these idiots buys a copy I picture another five bucks piling up in my bank account.”

Lucy returned with a glass of water and two aspirin, which she handed to Melodie.

Melodie popped the pills into her mouth and drained half the glass. “My head is killing me,” she said. “I should have taken a Valium.”

“So,” Jane said carefully, “you don’t really believe what you say in your book?”

Melodie shook her head. “Please,” she said. “Do you really think there are any Mr. Darcys left in the world? No, there aren’t. I don’t think there ever were. But these girls want to think there are, so I give them what they want.”

“And in return they make you quite wealthy,” Jane commented.

“It’s just my piece of the Austen pie,” Melodie said. “Everyone’s in on it now. You’ve seen the books. Austen is all the rage. You put her name on anything and it will sell. Hell, my publisher is coming out with a Jane Austen massage book in the spring. You know what it’s called? Sense and Sensuality.” She laughed. “I bet it sells two million copies.”

“We can only hope,” Jane remarked dryly. If she’d disliked Melodie Gladstone before, she now loathed her. The woman was vile, an opportunist who was using her name to make her fortune. Meanwhile, I haven’t seen a royalty check in almost two hundred years, she thought.

Melodie, oblivious to Jane’s growing animosity, snorted rudely. “I don’t get the big deal about Austen myself,” she said. “I mean, have you read her novels? I could barely get through them. Most of what I know I got from watching the PBS specials. But the books? Talk about boring.” She made a grotesque snoring sound that caused Jane to clench her jaw in irritation.

“I love Austen,” Lucy said. “I think her books are wonderful. And if you ask me, they’re not about finding Mr. Darcy at all; they’re about young women breaking convention and going after what they want.”

Jane sent Lucy a silent thank-you. She gets it, thought Jane. It never was about Darcy.

“All I know is that the more people there are who love Mr. Darcy, the bigger my royalty checks are,” Melodie said. “I could care less about the rest of it.”

You mean you couldn’t care less, Jane resisted the urge to say out loud. Not only was Melodie Gladstone without dignity, she had appalling grammar.

“We have a few books left in the storage room,” said Lucy. “Would you mind signing them?”

Melodie rolled her eyes. “I suppose not,” she said. “I wish you’d had them out here for the reading, but someone is sure to snatch them up. I hear I’m one of the top five holiday sellers this year. I’d be number one if it wasn’t for that book about that stupid blind kid and her dog.”

Lucy retreated to the stockroom and returned with half a dozen copies of Waiting for Mr. Darcy, which she set on the table in front of the author. “When you’re done I’ll drive you back to the hotel,” she offered.

Jane, who had been counting the cash drawer, looked up. “Lucy, I can drive Miss Gladstone back to her hotel,” she said. “Why don’t you go home?”

Lucy glanced at Melodie, who was signing the last of the books. “You’re sure?” she asked Jane.

“I don’t care which one of you drives me,” said Melodie, snapping the cap back on the pen she’d used to sign the books. “But let’s get going. I’ve got to be on a plane for Columbus or Detroit or some other shit hole first thing in the morning.”

“I’m quite sure,” Jane told Lucy. “You go on. I’ll see you in the morning. Thank you for all of your work on the event.”

“No problem,” said Lucy. She turned to Melodie. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “It was nice to meet you.”

The woman nodded but said nothing. After a short pause during which it became obvious that Melodie had no intention of returning Lucy’s thanks, Lucy shot Jane a look. “See you tomorrow,” she said as she turned and walked to the front door.

“I’m ready to go,” said Melodie, standing and putting on her coat before Lucy had even shut the door behind her.

Jane looked at the woman and smiled. “Well then,” she said. “Let’s tarry no longer in the parlor of joy.”

Melodie stared at her.

“My car is out back,” said Jane. “I’ll just get my coat.”

A few minutes later they were sitting in Jane’s beat-up Volvo wagon, waiting for the heat to kick in. Melodie rubbed her hands together. “How old is this thing, anyway?” she asked dismissively

“You should never ask a lady her age,” Jane said primly, earning a peculiar look from Melodie.

She put the car into gear and pulled out of the lot. As they drove through the snowy streets of downtown Brakeston, Melodie looked out the window. “This place is so boring,” she said. “How can you stand living here?”

“I find its unassuming character charming,” Jane answered.

“If I had to live in a place like this, I would absolutely die,” Melodie continued. “When I saw my tour itinerary I was like, Brakeston? Where the hell is Brakeston?”

“Lucy went to a lot of trouble to get you here,” Jane informed her. “And I think the turnout was quite impressive, don’t you?”

Melodie shrugged. “It was nothing compared to the New York reading,” she said. “We had to turn people away from that one.”

“Oh, the horror,” said Jane sympathetically.

“Right,” Melodie agreed. “Anyway, I guess I’m probably the biggest thing to ever come through here, so at least I added a little excitement to those people’s lives.”

“We’re ever so thankful you agreed to grace us,” said Jane. “I’m sure we’ll be talking about it for months.”

“I just can’t wait to get back to civilization,” Melodie said, sighing.

That’s it, Jane thought. She suddenly turned off the main street and headed down a quiet side lane.

“The hotel is that way,” Melodie protested.

“This is a shortcut,” said Jane curtly.

At the end of the street she pulled the car to the side and stopped in front of a house that blinked red and green with Christmas lights. On the lawn a life-size Mary and Joseph stared at the car. Behind them Santa, Frosty, and Rudolph gazed rapturously down at the baby Jesus asleep in his plastic manger. Giant candy canes provided a