Jane Goes Batty

so precipitously,” she said. “There was a bit of an emergency.”

“So we heard,” said Jessica. “Listen, I spoke with Kelly and Julia, and everything is set. Shirley will work on any changes Julia wants in the script, and you’re free to write that novel I’ve been waiting for.”

“Well, you seem to have it all worked out,” Jane said sharply. Now that Jessica had laid all her cards on the table, Jane no longer felt compelled to adhere as strictly to rules of polite conversation as she normally would. Besides, she intended to call Kelly as soon as she could and straighten things out.

Jessica smiled. “I guess I have,” she said. “Isn’t it wonderful when everything works out for the best?” A chirping sound filled the air, and Jessica reached into her handbag. “Excuse me,” she said as she removed a cellphone. “I need to take this.”

The editor walked off, leaving Jane and Shirley alone. As soon as Jessica was out of earshot Shirley said, “I’m really sorry. I had no idea that Jessica did all of this behind your back. I never would have agreed if I’d known.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” said Jane. “I really didn’t want to work on the script anyway. And she’s right that I need to get this book written. Maybe it really is all for the best.”

“Don’t count on it,” Shirley said.

Jane looked at her, surprised. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Shirley snorted. “Jessica edited my first book,” she said. “I didn’t even have an agent then. I sent the manuscript in blind. Anyway, Jessica bought it. I was so excited. I thought this was going to be my big break.”

“Wasn’t it?” asked Jane. “That book did very well.”

“It did,” Shirley agreed. “And do you know how much I was paid for it?”

Jane didn’t want to ask. She assumed the amount was obscene.

“Five hundred dollars,” Shirley said.

Jane gasped. “But surely the royalties made up for that,” she said.

Shirley shook her head. “It was a work-for-hire contract. No royalties. Jessica told me it’s what all publishers did with first-time authors. What did I know? Until then I’d only ever published in my garden club’s newsletter.”

Jane was appalled. “What did you do when you found out she’d lied to you?”

Shirley shrugged. “I didn’t find out until the book was on the bestseller list and another writer friend asked what I was going to do with all the money coming in. By then the damage was done. But I got myself an agent and a new editor.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you still friends with her?” said Jane.

“Oh, we’re not friends,” Shirley said. “I trust her about as much as I trust a rabid dog. The only reason she hooked me up with this project is because I know a few things she doesn’t want her husband to know about.”

“You’re blackmailing her?” Jane said, thrilled by the prospect.

Shirley laughed. “I prefer to think of it as making her pay for her sins,” she said. “Our deal is that at least once a year she finds me easy work for big money. Working on scripts. Ghosting celebrity bios. Whatever. In return I don’t send her husband a certain set of photographs I had a private detective take of her and someone who isn’t her husband in room 1287 of the London Hilton.”

Jane shook her head.

“I know,” said Shirley. “I’m supposed to channel my anger into my work. Can I help it if I prefer good old- fashioned extortion?”

Jane laughed. “It isn’t that,” she said. “I just can’t believe someone as horrible as she is has a husband.”

This time Shirley laughed along with her. When they were through Jane said, “How come you’re telling me this? Aren’t you afraid of your secret getting out?”

“I can read people,” Shirley said. “You’re one of the good ones. You won’t say anything. Besides, I feel bad taking this job from you. I figure it’s a trade. I take your job, and you have information that could ruin my life. Seems fair to me.”

“As I said, it’s not really important to me,” said Jane. “I just don’t like being bullied, especially by someone who resembles a praying mantis in heels.”

“I can always get you a set of those pictures,” Shirley said, grinning.

“I might just take you up on that someday,” said Jane, watching as Chloe emerged from a trailer and stormed toward the set. “Right now, though, I have to do some babysitting.”

Chapter 18

Keeping an eye on Chloe proved to be more difficult a task than Jane had anticipated. She had assumed that the actress would be before the cameras for most of the day, making it relatively easy to know where she was and what she was doing. However, she had failed to take into account the enormous amount of time between shots when the actors were doing absolutely nothing. Five minutes of acting were followed by half an hour of fussing with hair and makeup, worrying about the angle of the sun, trying to locate wayward assistants (everyone had an assistant, even the assistants), and trying to coordinate the half dozen pedestrians, bicyclists, and dog walkers who were required to move in and out of the frame while the actors spoke their lines.

In short, it was all very tedious, and Jane quickly became bored. This was a disappointment to her, as she’d expected the making of a film to be endlessly thrilling. She said as much to Chloe during one of the breaks, while the two of them sat in Chloe’s trailer and Chloe chain-smoked a pack of Marlboro Lights.

“I know, right?” Chloe said as she lit a new cigarette from the butt of the one she’d just finished. “I thought the same thing about making records. But you know what you do? You stand in this glass box and sing the same line two thousand times. You don’t even sing a whole song at once. You know my song ‘Primitive,’ right?”

Jane nodded, although she had no idea what the girl was talking about.

“I recorded that in, like, four different places,” said Chloe. “Mostly on the tour bus between gigs on my last tour. And the parts that Monkee Bidness raps? He did those over the phone from jail.” She inhaled, then blew the smoke out in one long blast. “This is pretty much the same.”

“Then how do you stay in character?” Jane asked her.

Chloe looked perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“Your character,” said Jane. “Barbara Wexley.”

“Is that her name?” Chloe said. “It just says Chloe in the script. How did you know what she’s called?”

“I wrote the novel,” Jane told her, trying to mask her shock at the girl’s ignorance. “The one the movie is based on,” she added when Chloe seemed not to understand her meaning.

“It’s based on a book?” said Chloe. “No wonder my agent wanted me to be in it. It will make me look smarter.”

Smarter than what? Jane wondered. She decided to abandon the topic of Chloe’s ability to remain in character despite constant distraction. Unfortunately, the only other topic in which they both had any interest was a more painful one.

“You probably have all kinds of questions about what it means to be—like we are,” Jane said.

Chloe lit another cigarette, her fourth in half an hour. “Not really,” she said. “I mean, what is there to know? You bite people and drink their blood. How hard can it be?”

“Well, that’s a good question,” said Jane, relieved to have found an opening. “It’s easy to think of feeding as simply—”

The sudden appearance of Byron in the trailer startled her, and she stopped talking.

“Now that is cool!” Chloe exclaimed. “How do you do that? Show me.”

“Later,” said Byron. “Right now we have more pressing matters to attend to.” He looked at Jane. “We’ve found Ned,” he told her.

“Where?” Jane asked.

“At the train station,” Byron explained. “He was heading to Montreal.”

“Ned,” said Chloe. “He’s the one who made me like this.”

Byron glanced at Jane. “You didn’t tell her yet?”

“I was getting to it,” Jane said.