Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [36]
“Nick Trilling,” Kelly repeated. “I’ve got a meeting to get to, but I wanted to tell you what’s happening.”
“Thank you,” said Jane. “I must say it’s all a bit surreal.”
“Think of it as a dream come true,” Kelly said. “I’ll talk to you soon, Jane.”
Jane hung up. A dream come true, she thought. That’s not always a good thing.
She thought back to her dinner with Walter and Byron and to what had happened afterward. That night she’d remembered everything vividly. The secret visit to his house on the shore of Lake Geneva. The loss of her innocence. The pain that followed. It had all come back to her. Her death and resurrection. Her declaration of love for Byron once he’d explained what she now was. His callous dismissal of her affections, and her shameful return to England.
The worst of the memories was of having to leave Cassie. Staging her own illness and subsequent death over the course of a year was difficult, but she had managed it with the help of a sympathetic physician recommended to her by another of her kind, several of whom she had met seemingly by accident, though she now suspected that Byron had told them about her. Leaving Cassie had been almost unbearable. For months she had done nothing but weep and wish herself truly dead.
It was this loss for which she couldn’t forgive Byron. For now all she wanted was to tell Cassie about her book. Her earlier work had all been published anonymously, her identity known only to a small circle of friends. Fame had come after her death. She knew Cassie would be thrilled for her and would be more excited even than Jane was that she would finally get to hold a book with her name on it in her hands.
She had managed to avoid Byron for several days, and he had not called upon her. She assumed he was busy with his work, and was relieved to be free of him, if only temporarily. She had forced herself to feed so that she could be rid of the residual fogginess caused by their encounter, driving to a town an hour away and, assuming the identity of a weary housewife, asking a pimple-faced bag boy at the Price Chopper to help her to the car with her bags filled with corn chips, salsa, and lite beer. She had eaten quickly and left him to sleep it off beside a Dumpster in the parking lot, his head resting on a box of day-old donuts. Now she felt more or less herself.
“Hey. Whatchya doing?”
Lucy’s voice startled Jane, who spun around in her chair.
“Sorry,” Lucy said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to let you know that we’re officially out of Mark Twain finger puppets. Should I order some more?”
Jane rolled her eyes. “I think not,” she said. “Don’t we still have half a dozen Tennysons to get rid of?”
Lucy leaned against the desk. “Yeah,” she answered. “But the Austens are almost gone. Mr. Hunky bought one yesterday.”
“Who?” Jane asked.
“The new guy,” said Lucy. “Brian George.”
“He was in yesterday?” Jane inquired.
Lucy nodded. “When you went to the bank. I think he has a crush on you,” she added.
“What?” Jane said, a little too loudly. Had Lucy really noticed something between the two of them? The thought horrified her.
“He said the puppet looked just like you,” Lucy explained. She squinted at Jane. “Now that you mention it, you do kind of look like her,” she said.
“Rubbish,” said Jane. “All middle-aged Englishwomen look alike. Anyway, no more puppets. It was a fun idea, but I think we should stick to books.”
“I guess that puts the kibosh on the Little Women action figures,” Lucy joked. “Pity. I was looking forward to the Beth doll with real scarlet fever action.”
“Out,” Jane said, pointing to the door.
Lucy cackled evilly and scurried out, leaving a laughing Jane behind. Lucy reminded her a bit of Cassandra, always looking for the fun in things. It was no surprise that Jane was so fond of the young woman.
She was about to get up when the phone rang. Thinking it might be Nick Trilling, she picked it up.
“Good morning,” Walter said.
Jane felt a twinge of guilt as she