Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [7]
“By the way,” Lucy said as Jane took off her coat and hung it up, “you might want to take a look at today’s paper.” She nodded to the copy of the Daily Inquirer, which was open on the counter.
Jane picked it up and scanned the front page. “Meade College receives endowment from retired state senator?” she asked, reading the lead.
“Below that,” said Lucy.
Jane looked. “Brakeston Lady Beavers advance to district playoffs,” she read.
“Give me that,” said Lucy, snatching the paper from her. She began to read. “‘Noted author Melodie Gladstone was found wandering down Main Street early this morning after police received calls from several concerned citizens. According to Officer Pete Bear, one of two officers who responded to the scene, Gladstone appeared to be intoxicated or perhaps under the influence of an unknown substance. Gladstone is the author of the bestselling Waiting for Mr. Darcy and was in town for a reading at Flyleaf Books.’”
Lucy flipped the page. “There’s a picture,” she said.
Jane looked at the shot of Melodie Gladstone. She was in the street, flanked by the two police officers, each of whom gripped one of her arms. Her hair was a rat’s nest, and her eyes were ringed with mascara and eye shadow. Her face wore a lost expression, and her mouth was slightly open.
“Good heavens,” said Jane. “It looks as if they’ve caught a rabid raccoon. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that they’d had her stuffed and mounted on the wall at the station.”
“You drove her back to the hotel,” Lucy said. “Did anything happen?”
Jane shook her head. “I dropped her off and went home,” she replied. “Although now that I think of it, she did say something about wanting to get a drink.”
“Well, I’d say she got more like six or seven drinks,” Lucy commented. “Just wait until this story gets out. Little Miss Perfect is going to lose a lot of readers.”
“The poor dear,” said Jane.
“Yes,” Lucy agreed. “I weep for her.”
The two exchanged a glance, and Jane detected a hint of satisfaction in Lucy’s eyes, but they said nothing more. Then Lucy went back to work. She was opening boxes of books that had arrived in the morning’s UPS delivery. This was one of her great pleasures, seeing the new titles come in. Her enthusiasm for them almost always made Jane feel better. She herself had become somewhat resentful of newly published books—much as childless women sometimes regarded new mothers and their infants with a mixture of jealousy and despair—and it was nice to see that someone was still excited by them.
“Oh, look,” Lucy exclaimed, reaching into the first box. “Jane Austen paper dolls. They’re adorable. This will be perfect for the Austen section.”
“Austen section?” Jane said, looking up from the bills she had picked up from the counter and was sorting through. “What Austen section?”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “I told you last week,” she said. “I’m going to put together an Austen section. You saw how popular that Gladstone book is. Just look at all the other Austen stuff we have. Besides her own novels we have novels about her. Then there’s The Jane Austen Cookbook and the bios and the collected letters. Oh, and I just read in Publishers Weekly that someone has written a Jane Austen self-help book.”
“A what?” Jane asked sharply.
“Yeah,” said Lucy. “It’s about figuring out which Jane Austen character you’re most like and then developing a life plan around that personality type. It’s called Will the Real Elizabeth Bennet Please Stand Up. Deepak Chopra wrote the introduction. Anyway, it’ll be huge.”
Jane gritted her teeth. She’d hoped the ridiculous cookbook