Jane Bites Back

“Five thousand, I think,” Jane said.

Bryce counted on his fingers. “That’s like fourteen bucks a day,” he said. “Unless those kids are turning tricks at a truck stop, I don’t buy it.”

“Stop it,” said Kelly, laughing. “Maybe they’re just savants. Instead of playing the cello they can spot loose change.”

Jane joined them, seating herself in a chair. She tried to ignore the gnawing sensation that was quickly taking over her stomach. Just make it through the show, she told herself.

A few minutes later the show began. Jane could hear the audience through the walls, and she could watch it on the monitor. First Comfort and Joy came on and engaged in some banter. This was followed by a commercial, and then the Tucker family was on. Jane tuned them out. Her stomach hurt, and she couldn’t stop thinking about Farrah’s missing body. More and more, she was sure that Byron was behind it.

“Jane?” A voice woke her from her thoughts. The same fellow who had come for the Tuckers was motioning for her to come with him. Jane stood up.

“Break a leg,” Kelly said, squeezing her hand. “You’ll be great.”

Jane followed the staffer down the hall. As they turned a corner they ran into the Tuckers being escorted back to the greenroom by someone else. “Are we famous now, Daddy?” Ted junior asked his father as Jane passed them.

“We’re at commercial,” the young man told Jane as he led her onto the set. “We’ll be live in ninety seconds.”

The Comfort and Joy set was decorated to look like a living room. The two hosts sat on a couch, while their guests sat in the armchairs positioned across an oval coffee table. Jane was put into one of the chairs and someone came from behind and attached a microphone to her blouse.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Joy, who was closest to Jane, said. Jane looked at Comfort, who rolled her eyes in sympathy.

“And we’re on in five … four … three …” Somewhere to Jane’s right someone counted down to the return of the show.

“As y’all know, I’m a readin’ fool,” Comfort announced. Applause erupted from the audience, but Jane was confused. Comfort sounded like another person, as if she were playing a character.

“Today it is my pleasure to introduce you to Jane Fairfax,” Comfort continued. “Jane’s book is called Constance. Now, I don’t want to say this book is better than getting some lovin’ from my man, but I was up all night and my husband was asleep next to me.”

The audience roared its approval. Comfort’s voice was getting on Jane’s nerves. Worse, her ears were beginning to ring and she felt herself begin to sweat.

“Comfort, I have to agree with you.” Now Joy was talking. Her voice was almost monotone, robotic and distant. “I think this book is maaaarvelous.”

“Jane, tell us how you came up with the idea for this novel,” Comfort said.

A camera swung toward Jane and she looked right into its blinking red eye. A production assistant motioned soundlessly for her to look at Comfort and Joy instead. Jane turned her head and looked at Comfort’s smiling face.

She started speaking, but she didn’t hear what she was saying. Her words sounded like the mumbled ramblings of someone speaking through a pillow. She found herself staring at Joy’s head. It was bobbing up and down as Joy apparently agreed with whatever Jane was saying. Jane saw Comfort’s mouth open and close as she asked a question, and she heard what sounded like the buzzing of bees as she answered. She heard herself laugh, and in the distance the audience laughed back. She had no idea what she’d said. Don’t forget to smile, she told herself, and pulled her lips back in what she hoped looked like confident enjoyment.

A bead of sweat ran down her back. Why was she so hot? A change in the light caught her eye, and she realized that she was sitting directly under the studio lights. Brighter than normal, they were also hotter, and her sensitive skin was reacting badly to the increased temperature. Already her hands were reddening, and she knew the rest of her would soon follow suit. She put her hands in her lap, trying to cover one with the other to slow the burning.

When finally they came to a commercial break, Jane waited for the all-clear from the stage manager and stood up. Joy remained seated while an assistant fixed her makeup, but Comfort stood up and came over to Jane.

“You’re doing great, sweetie,” she said. “I apologize for the down-home bullshit. The audience loves it.” She glanced over at Joy. “At least that one isn’t slurring her words today. I count my blessings. Now look, when we come back we’ll wrap this up, I’ll announce that everyone is getting a copy of the book, and you can get out of this freak show.”

“It’s not so bad,” Jane said. “I’m having fun.”

“I’m glad one of us is,” said Comfort. “Now sit down. We’re on again in ten.”

The second half of the interview went smoothly, at least as far as Jane could tell. The heat from the lights was really starting to bother her. Her skin was itching and she felt as if her makeup had hardened into a mask. When Comfort announced that everyone was getting a copy of Jane’s novel, Jane feigned surprise and beamed at the audience. It’s over, she told herself. Then she heard Joy speak.

“When we come back, chef Juan Fernandez will be showing us how to make quesadillas!” she shrieked. “Jane, why don’t you stick around and help us out with that?”

“Well,” Jane began. “I really ought—”

“Don’t you want Jane to stick around?” Joy shouted at the audience. “Wouldn’t that be greeeat?” They responded by screaming back.

“I suppose I could,” said Jane weakly.

“All right, then!” Joy said. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The show went to a break and the stagehands rushed the stage. Jane jumped up as someone whisked away her chair and another rolled a makeshift kitchen onstage. Someone put an apron around Jane’s neck and tied it in the back, and then she was shaking hands with a cranky-looking man in chef’s whites. That would be Juan, she thought as the man inspected the ingredients that had been laid out on the counter.

“What do I do?” Jane asked him.

“Stay out of the way, and when I tell you to, sprinkle cheese on the goddamn quesadilla,” Juan said, his voice heavy with irritation.

Jane huddled beside Comfort, who stood on Juan’s left while Joy stood on his right. “Showtime,” Comfort said as the stage manager once more counted down from the break.

Jane’s head felt as if it were on fire. Her scalp burned, and she feared that at any second her hair might burst into flame. She tried to look interested as Chef Juan explained the finer points of making a quesadilla, but she really had no idea what was happening. The various smells coming from the bowls on the counter were combining in her nose, making her ill. She felt like she might retch.

Then she heard a muted cry of pain and smelled something sharp and metallic. She looked over and saw that Joy, who had been slicing a tomato, had managed to cut her finger. A few drops of blood speckled the counter, and more was seeping from the wound on Joy’s hand.

Jane felt her fangs click into place. Her senses sharpened as the scent of the blood kicked her need into high gear. She felt herself being drawn toward Joy’s injured finger.

“Whoops!” Joy said gaily. She wrapped her finger in a dish towel. “It’s okay. It’s just a little nick,” she assured the audience.

Jane continued to stare at the blood. She could practically taste it. Her head was swimming. The lights above her felt like burning suns. Her skin was on fire, and her eyes ached. But all she could see was the drops of blood.

Then all of a sudden Joy was thrusting a bowl of grated cheese at Jane. She looked at it dully, then remembered what Juan had told her to do. Taking a handful, she leaned over and tried to sprinkle it on the waiting quesadilla. But the heat from her hands turned the cheese into a gloopy mess that plopped onto the tortilla and sat there like a recalcitrant toad. Chef Juan looked at it, then glowered at Jane.

“Okay,” Jane heard Comfort say. “Now we’ll put this in the oven.” She grabbed the baking sheet with the