Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [72]
“You’re doing great, sweetie,” she said. “I apologize for the down-home bullshit. The audience loves it.” She glanced over at Joy. “At least that one isn’t slurring her words today. I count my blessings. Now look, when we come back we’ll wrap this up, I’ll announce that everyone is getting a copy of the book, and you can get out of this freak show.”
“It’s not so bad,” Jane said. “I’m having fun.”
“I’m glad one of us is,” said Comfort. “Now sit down. We’re on again in ten.”
The second half of the interview went smoothly, at least as far as Jane could tell. The heat from the lights was really starting to bother her. Her skin was itching and she felt as if her makeup had hardened into a mask. When Comfort announced that everyone was getting a copy of Jane’s novel, Jane feigned surprise and beamed at the audience. It’s over, she told herself. Then she heard Joy speak.
“When we come back, chef Juan Fernandez will be showing us how to make quesadillas!” she shrieked. “Jane, why don’t you stick around and help us out with that?”
“Well,” Jane began. “I really ought—”
“Don’t you want Jane to stick around?” Joy shouted at the audience. “Wouldn’t that be greeeat?” They responded by screaming back.
“I suppose I could,” said Jane weakly.
“All right, then!” Joy said. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The show went to a break and the stagehands rushed the stage. Jane jumped up as someone whisked away her chair and another rolled a makeshift kitchen onstage. Someone put an apron around Jane’s neck and tied it in the back, and then she was shaking hands with a cranky-looking man in chef’s whites. That would be Juan, she thought as the man inspected the ingredients that had been laid out on the counter.
“What do I do?” Jane asked him.
“Stay out of the way, and when I tell you to, sprinkle cheese on the goddamn quesadilla,” Juan said, his voice heavy with irritation.
Jane huddled beside Comfort, who stood on Juan’s left while Joy stood on his right. “Showtime,” Comfort said as the stage manager once more counted down from the break.
Jane’s head felt as if it were on fire. Her scalp burned, and she feared that at any second her hair might burst into flame. She tried to look interested as Chef Juan explained the finer points of making a quesadilla, but she really had no idea what was happening. The various smells coming from the bowls on the counter were combining in her nose, making her ill. She felt like she might retch.
Then she heard a muted cry of pain and smelled something sharp and metallic. She looked over and saw that Joy, who had been slicing a tomato, had managed to cut her finger. A few drops of blood speckled the counter, and more was seeping from the wound on Joy’s hand.
Jane felt her fangs click into place. Her senses sharpened as the scent of the blood kicked her need into high gear. She felt herself being drawn toward Joy’s injured finger.
“Whoops!” Joy said gaily. She wrapped her finger in a dish towel. “It’s okay. It’s just a little nick,” she assured the audience.
Jane continued to stare at the blood. She could practically taste it. Her head was swimming. The lights above her felt like burning suns. Her skin was on fire, and her eyes ached. But all she could see was the drops of blood.
Then all of a sudden Joy was thrusting a bowl of grated cheese at Jane. She looked at it dully, then remembered what Juan had told her to do. Taking a handful, she leaned over and tried to sprinkle it on the waiting quesadilla. But the heat from her hands turned the cheese into a gloopy mess that plopped onto the tortilla and sat there like a recalcitrant toad. Chef Juan looked at it, then glowered at Jane.
“Okay,” Jane heard Comfort say. “Now we’ll put this in the oven.” She grabbed the baking sheet with the quesadilla on it and hurried it into the nonfunctioning oven behind them. Then she removed a completed quesadilla from the top rack and displayed it to the audience. “Doesn’t it look great?” she asked.
“I just loooooove