Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [62]
Lucy said. “You’ve had a thousand years to learn how to wear makeup.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” said Jane. “I just never saw much use in it.”
“Well, you should have,” Lucy said. “You look amazing.” She picked up a hand mirror and held it in front of Jane’s face. “See?”
Jane had been stunned by her new hair; now she was equally amazed at the transformation her face had undergone. It was still her, just a new and improved her. Best of all, she wasn’t all tarted up like some courtesan.
“I was afraid I was going to look like Marie Antoinette,” she told Lucy.
“The bird-shit-facial look went out a few years ago,” Lucy teased.
Jane touched her face. “I had no idea I could look like this,” she said. Then, to her immense surprise, she began to cry. “I had no idea,” she said again.
Lucy put her arms around Jane. “You’ve been a lady for two hundred years,” she said softly. “But somewhere along the line, you forgot how to be a woman.”
Jane laughed as Lucy tried to keep a straight face. “That line is worthy of Bulwer-Lytton,” said Jane. “But I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you.” She dried her eyes with a tissue Lucy produced from a pocket. “I’m never going to be able to do this on my own, you know.”
“It’s really not that difficult,” Lucy said. “Now, let’s see what you have in that closet.”
“Wait a minute,” Jane said. “Just sit with me for a little bit.”
Lucy sat back down on the bed. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Not wrong,” said Jane. “Just a little overwhelming. It really has been a long time. For everything. But now I’m a writer again. It’s all happening so quickly.”
“You didn’t think it would, did you,” said Lucy.
Jane shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “I sort of … well, I gave up hoping.”
Lucy hesitated a moment. “Have you really not … been … with anyone since Byron?”
“Oh, I have,” said Jane. “I mean, I’m no Marie Duplessis, but I’ve had a number of affairs of the heart.”
“Affairs of the heart,” Lucy repeated. “In other words, you haven’t had sex.”
“Don’t be vulgar,” Jane said primly.
“Not even with other vampires?” asked Lucy.
“Especially not with them,” Jane said.
“You never talk about any of that,” Lucy said. “Why not? Don’t you have any vampire friends?”
Jane gave a little laugh. “You make it sound like a garden club,” she said. She thought for a moment, trying to decide how much she wanted to say. It was not a topic she was particularly comfortable speaking about. “I did associate with others,” she said. “For the first fifty or sixty years, I found it pleasant to be with them.”
“Were there a lot of you?” Lucy asked. “Are there a lot of you?”
“Not so many,” said Jane. “But at that time we banded together more than we do now. I did have friends,” she continued. “Some of them you’ve even heard of. And no, I’m not going to tell you who they are,” she added before Lucy could ask. “One of the rules is that we don’t expose one another unless it’s absolutely necessary. Anyway, when you first turn, you want to be with those like yourself. It’s comforting. But over time, I found that beyond what we are, we had little in common. I spent less and less time with the others. For the last hundred years, I’ve had virtually no contact with that world.”
“Until now,” said Lucy. “Until Byron showed up.”
“Until Byron,” Jane agreed. “But I’m not doing this for him,” she added. “I’m doing it for me.”
“And maybe a little bit for Walter?” Lucy teased.
“Don’t ruin a lovely moment,” said Jane. She took Lucy’s hand. “You really are very special to me,” she told her. “I hope you know that.”
“I do,” Lucy said. “And you’re special to me.” She stood up, pulling Jane with her. “Which is why I’m going to make sure you don’t wear anything tragic on national television.”
Chapter 22
She looked out into the garden. There, by the rose bushes, stood the figure of a man. He looked up at the window, unmoving. Was it Charles? She tried to make out his features, but the rain obscured them. She ran down the stairs and through the kitchen door. Her feet slipped on the wet