Jane Goes Batty

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.

Chapter 22

“How nice of you to come,” said Byron as Jane 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