The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [384]
“What do you think of him?”
“Oh, he’s fine,” I replied noncommittally, sitting on a chair and thinking of babies while Lola tried on one bra after another, each of which she seemed to love to bits until the next one. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I rather like him in a funny kind of way.”
“Does he like you?”
“I’m not sure. I think that’s why he ignores me and makes jokes about my weight. Men always do that when they’re interested. It’s called subtext, Thursday—I’ll tell you all about it someday.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, “so what’s the problem?”
“He doesn’t really have a lot of, well, charisma.”
“There are lots of men out there, Lola, don’t hurry. When I was seventeen, I had the hots for this complete and utter flake named Darren. My mother disapproved, which made him into something of a magnet.”
“Ah! What about this bra?”
“I thought the pink suited you better.”
“Which pink? There were twelve.”
“The sixth pink, just after the tenth black and nineteenth lacy.”
“Okay, let’s look at that one again.” She rummaged through the pile, found what she wanted. “Thursday?”
“Yes?”
“Randolph calls me a tart because I like boys. Do you think that’s fair?”
“It’s one of the great injustices of life. If he did the same, he’d be toasted as a ‘ladies’ man.’ But, Lola, have you met anyone who you really like, someone with whom you’d like to spend more exclusive time with?”
“You mean—a boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
She paused and looked at herself in the mirror. “I don’t think I’m written that way, Thurs. But you know, sometimes—just afterwards, you know—when there is that really nice moment and I’m in his big strong arms and feeling sleepy and warm and contented, I can feel there is something that I need just outside my grasp—something I want but can’t have.”
“You mean love?”
“No—a Mercedes.”
She wasn’t joking.1
It was my footnoterphone.
“Hang on, Lola—Thursday speaking.”2
I looked at Lola, who was trying on a basque.
“Yes,” I replied, “why?”3
“The safe side of what?”4
“I see. What can I do for you apart from answering questions about pianos?”5
I wasn’t busy. Apart from a Jurisfiction session tomorrow at midday, I was clear.
“Sure. Where and when?”6
“Okay.”
Lola was looking at me mournfully. “Does this mean we’ll have to miss out on the gym? We have to go to the gym—if I don’t, I’ll feel guilty about eating all those cakes.”
“What cakes?”
“The ones I’m going to eat on the way to the gym.”
“I think you get enough exercise, Lola. But we’ve got half an hour yet—c’mon, I’ll buy you a coffee.”
21.
Who Stole the Tarts?
My first adult foray into the BookWorld had not been without controversy. I had entered Jane Eyre and changed the ending. Originally, Jane goes off to India with the drippy St. John Rivers, but in the ending that I engineered, Jane and Rochester married. I made the decision from the heart, which I had not been trained to do but couldn’t help myself. Everyone liked the new ending but my actions weren’t without criticism. Technically I had committed a Fiction Infraction, and I would have to face the music. My first hearing in Kafka’s The Trial had been inconclusive. The trial before the King and Queen of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland would not be as strange—it would be stranger.
THURSDAY NEXT,
The Jurisfiction Chronicles
THE GRYPHON WAS a creature with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion. In his youth he must have been a frightening creature to behold, but in his later years he wore spectacles and a scarf, which somewhat dented his otherwise fearsome appearance.
He was, I was told, one of the finest legal eagles around, and after Snell’s death he became head of the Jurisfiction legal team. It was the Gryphon who secured the record