The actress was holding a glass of red wine in her hand and talking to a handsome man with dark hair and a solid build.
“Is that Tucker Mack or Riley Bannister she’s talking to?” Jane asked, throwing out the names of the actors she recalled were playing the two male leads.
“Tucker Mack,” said Lucy. “That’s Riley over there.” She pointed to a man who was in every visible way slightly less than Tucker Mack. He was slightly shorter, slightly thinner, slightly younger, and slightly less dark. However, he was arguably more handsome.
“He’s playing Charles,” Lucy said. She sighed. “He’s my movie husband.”
“Your what?” asked Jane.
“My movie husband,” Lucy explained. “You know, when you pick one guy from the movies who you would want to marry? I also have a TV husband, a music husband, a sports husband, and a book husband.” She looked at Jane. “You and your girlfriends never did that?”
Jane was about to say that no, they never had, but then she remembered something. “Well, I did have rather a crush on William Pitt the Younger when I was about fifteen or so.”
Lucy looked at her. “You’re joking. William Pitt the Younger?”
“He was prime minister,” Jane said defensively. “He had lovely eyes. Also, he worked to abolish the slave trade. I imagine that’s more than you can say for your imaginary husbands.”
“You’re probably right about that,” said Lucy. “But Riley Bannister has a cuter butt.”
Jane peered at the young man, whose backside was facing her. “I must agree with you on that point,” she said. “So that means Mr. Mack is playing Jonathan. I believe he’ll do admirably as a villain. He has the eyebrows for it.”
“Then we have Cecilia Banks,” Lucy continued. “She’s Minerva.” She indicated a thin girl with olive skin and short black hair that reminded Jane of the style popular with the flappers of the 1920s. She resembles Josephine Baker, Jane thought, her mind briefly flashing back to a raucous evening spent with Baker, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and a trio of French modernist painters. How that girl had loved to laugh.
Cecilia was talking to another young woman who was her opposite in coloring, having unnaturally blond hair and skin like milk. The blonde was smoking a cigarette, and Jane could smell its acrid fumes from across the yard. “And she is?” she asked.
“That would be Chloe,” said Lucy.
“Chloe who?” Jane inquired.
“Just Chloe,” Lucy answered. “Like Madonna. Or Cher. She’s a pop star. The pop star at the moment.”
“She can’t be more than seventeen,” said Jane. “Can she act?”
Lucy shrugged. “We’ll find out,” she said. “This is her first movie.”
“Tell me she’s playing a small part,” said Jane, watching the singer toss her cigarette butt into the grass and regarding the girl with dislike. “A very small part.”
“Barbara Wexley,” Lucy informed her. “So not all that big. Besides, isn’t Barbara supposed to be something of a troublemaker?”
“Well, yes,” Jane admitted. “Still, a pop singer?”
“She’ll put butts in seats,” said a male voice.
Jane and Lucy turned to see Ant Doolan standing behind them. As always, he was holding his camera. “Chloe’s a real piece of work,” said Ant, taking a handful of potato chips from a bowl of them on the counter. “Just between us, I wouldn’t be surprised if she pulled a Richie on us.”
“A Richie?” Jane repeated. “Is that a film term?”
Ant laughed loudly, potato chip crumbs dropping from his mouth. “Leslie Richie,” he said. “You know, she was the rising star of Hollywood a few years ago. Won an Emmy. Was on the cover of every magazine in town. Dated one of them Italian princes. Only she got a little taste for the nose candy and vodka. That’s not a big deal—most of them do—but she got out of control. Six trips to rehab in two years, but it never stuck. One night she and her boyfriend got into a fight and he beat her head in with her Emmy.”
“What a delightful story,” Jane remarked. She glanced out the window at Chloe. “I hope she won’t come to quite so unfortunate an end.”
“Probably not,” said Ant. “She doesn’t have an Emmy. Anyway, Cecilia is the one with the talent. That girl is pure magic. Wait till you see her on set. Unbelievable.”
Jane heard genuine admiration in Ant’s voice and was surprised by it. He seemed all too typically jaded by his life in Hollywood. Yet Jane could tell that he really was moved by Cecilia Banks, and not from any lecherous motivations. It would be interesting to see what the girl could do with her character. It’s too bad she isn’t playing Constance, Jane thought. She was not at all confident that Portia Kensington could do the role justice.
“At any rate, Chloe will bring in the teenyboppers, and they’ll come with their mothers,” said Ant. “Besides, it doesn’t really matter how bad she is. They can fix all of that in editing.” He looked at Jane. “So where’s the can?”
“Can?” Jane asked.
“Bathroom,” Ant explained.
“Of course,” said Jane. “It’s down the hall, on the right.”
Ant took another handful of chips and walked away. Jane looked at Lucy. “Remind me not to eat anything he’s had his hands near,” she said.
The ding-dong of the doorbell broke through the sounds of the party. Jane left Lucy in the kitchen and went to see who had arrived. She was pleased to discover that it was Ben Cohen and his daughter standing on her doorstep.
“I’m afraid it’s all going to be a bit casual tonight,” Jane said as she welcomed them inside. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” said Ben. “The more the merrier.”
“You must be Sarah,” Jane said, extending her hand to the little girl.
“And you must be Jane,” the girl replied, taking Jane’s hand and shaking it firmly.
“You mean Ms. Fairfax,” Ben said, correcting his daughter.
“Why?” asked Sarah. “She didn’t call me Ms. Cohen.”
Ben looked at Jane and shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe his child’s impertinence.
Jane laughed. “It’s all right,” she said. “As long as you don’t mind me calling you Sarah.”
Sarah grinned, revealing a neat row of teeth with a single gap where one of her incisors had fallen out. “I don’t mind,” she said.
“Wonderful,” said Jane. “Now why don’t we go into the kitchen and see about getting you something to eat. I hope you like hamburgers.”
“I love them,” Sarah told her. “Is there corn on the cob too?”
“There just might be,” said Jane, winking. “And apple pie.”
As Sarah darted ahead, Ben took Jane’s arm and stopped her. “Are Walter and his mother here yet?” he asked. “I can’t wait to see what Miriam is like.”
“I’m afraid you won’t get the chance,” Jane told him. “They aren’t able to make it.” She felt a little guilty telling the rabbi an untruth, but she wasn’t in the mood to discuss her and Walter’s relationship. She would tell him later what was really going on. Once I figure it out myself, she thought glumly.
Ben smiled kindly. “Another time, then.”
He knows something is up, Jane realized as Ben continued on into the kitchen. She was amazed at the man’s ability to pick up on the feelings of others.
In the kitchen Sarah was talking to Lucy, with whom she had apparently already made friends.
“Daddy, there are movie stars out there,” Sarah exclaimed, pointing out the window.
“Is that right?” said Ben. He looked at Lucy. “I’m afraid I’m not really up on my movie stars.”
“You’re not missing anything,” said Lucy. “By the way, I’m Lucy Sebring.”
“Ben Cohen,” said Ben.
“Ben’s the rabbi I’ve been meeting with,” Jane reminded Lucy. To Ben she said, “Lucy is the manager of my bookstore. More important, she’s my best friend.”
“An enviable position to
have, I’m sure,” said Ben.
“It has its moments,” Lucy joked. “Would you like something to drink? We have soda, wine, beer—pretty much everything.”
“A beer would be great,” said Ben. “Thanks.”
“And how about you?” Lucy asked Sarah.
“Ginger ale,” she answered immediately. “Please,” she added when she noticed her father watching her.
“One beer and one ginger ale,” said Lucy. She opened the refrigerator and handed a bottle to Ben and a can to Sarah.
“Wow. Great service you have around here,” Ben said to Jane.
Lucy laughed and tucked a stray length of hair behind her ear. Ben leaned against the counter and popped the cap from his beer. “So, you manage a bookstore. Who are some of your favorite authors?”
Jane, who was opening another bag of chips, suddenly felt a tingling down her spine. She looked around, half expecting to see another vampire standing there. But only Lucy, Ben, and Sarah were in the room. Sarah was sitting on the floor playing with Jasper, who was busily snuffling about looking for any dropped food that might be lying around. Then Jane’s gaze moved to Ben and Lucy.
Around both of them there was a slight rippling in the air, barely noticeable. Tiny sparks, infinitesimal and glittering like diamonds, swirled and spun. Jane’s skin tingled with millions of electric pinpricks. For a moment she had no idea what was happening. Then it hit her.
They’re attracted to each other, Jane realized. But how was that possible? They’d just met. Surely she was imagining things.
“No, you’re not.”
Byron’s voice startled her. She looked at him. “I’m not what?” she asked.
“You’re not wrong,” Byron whispered. “They’re falling in love. Well, they’re interested, at any rate. But it’s looking pretty sparkly.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?” asked Jane, annoyed.
“Relax,” Byron said, smiling mischievously. “I’m not reading your mind. Although I can if I try very hard. I just saw the expression on your face, saw the energy field around those two, and made a good guess.”
“Energy field,” said Jane. “Is that what that is?”
Byron nodded. “Your powers must be getting stronger if you can see it. Congratulations.”
He picked up a bottle of red wine, poured himself a glass, and started to leave. Jane grabbed his elbow.
“Wait a minute,” she said, dragging him away from the kitchen. “You mean I can see when people are falling in love?”
“Falling in love, really angry, in despair,” said Byron. “Overcome by lust,” he added, taking a deep drink from his glass and winking at her.
“What a lot of bother,” Jane remarked. “I’m not at all sure I want to be able to do that.”
“Oh, you don’t have to,” said Byron. “You can learn to turn it off. But that will mean more practice. Until then, don’t be surprised if you see this sort of thing now and again.”
Jane sighed deeply. “Just when I think I have one thing mastered, another rears its ugly head.”
“I would hardly call falling in love ugly,” Byron remarked.
Jane glanced back into the kitchen, where Lucy and Ben were still surrounded by a cloud of sparks. “You’re right,” she told Byron. “It’s beautiful.” Suddenly she realized fully what was going on. “Lucy!” she exclaimed. “And Ben!” She grabbed Byron’s hand. “It never occurred to me,” she babbled. “I mean, I never thought …” She couldn’t form a complete sentence. “Lucy,” she said. “And Ben. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Byron warned her. “It could be temporary.” He watched the electrical storm surrounding the two humans. “But that is a pretty spectacular display.”
Before Jane could respond the doorbell rang.
“Who could that be?” Jane said. “Everyone who could possibly be here is already here.”
She walked to the door. As she approached it her skin began to tingle again. She stopped, waiting to see if the sensation ceased. It didn’t. She took a few more steps toward the door and the tingling increased. Whoever was waiting behind the door was feeling something incredibly strong. But what? She had no way of identifying the specific emotion.
For heaven’s sake, I’ve only been able to do this for ten minutes, she thought.
The bell rang again. Jane reached for the doorknob but found herself afraid to turn it. Her fingertips rested against it, the electric sparks of emotion coursing through the metal and up her arm. The feeling was more intense than the one she’d gotten from Lucy and Ben, and somehow less pleasant.
There was a sharp, impatient rapping on the door. Jane hesitated a moment longer and then opened it, revealing a petite woman whose closed fist was coming toward Jane with great purpose. It stopped just short of hitting her in the face.
“Sorry,” the woman said. “You weren’t answering.”
The woman was thin, with pale skin and black hair that was pulled into a tight chignon. She was wearing a smartly tailored skirt and jacket—also black—and a scarlet silk blouse open at the neck. Her shiny black leather pumps had heels that meant business and added another three inches to her height. Small, perfect pearls adorned her ears. Her eyes were impossibly blue.
“Hello,” Jane said tentatively. She was distracted by the aura of particles emanating from the woman. They were moving rapidly, as if agitated, and they were as scarlet as her blouse.
“You wouldn’t come to me, so I came to you,” the woman said, her pert red lips forming what would only very generously be called a smile. Something about her voice was vaguely familiar, but Jane was unable to place it. She was feeling slightly sick. Then it came to her.
“Jessica,” she said weakly.
Chapter 13
Jane was trying to have a conversation with Julia Baxter, but Jessica’s presence beside her was distracting. The editor was holding a glass of white wine (Of course she likes white wine, Jane thought) and talking animatedly about one of Julia’s previous films.
“And I thought what you did using the Laundromat as a symbol for Victoria’s need to wash away her sins was brilliant,” she said.
“How perceptive of you to notice that,” Julia said.
“I noticed that as well,” Jane said.
Julia and Jessica looked at Jane as if she were a child who had just interrupted the grown-ups.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” Jane said as she used the opportunity to escape. She went outside and took a seat on one of the chairs on the deck. A moment later Cecilia Banks sat in the chair beside her.
“I just wanted to tell you how much I like your novel,” she said shyly.
“Thank you,” said Jane. “An author can never hear that too often.”
“I’m not saying that in the Hollywood way,” Cecilia said, smiling. “I actually did read it.”
Jane laughed. “I take it your co-stars haven’t?”
Cecilia shrugged. “I’ve found that most people in L.A. think of books as scripts with too many words,” she said.
Jane liked the young woman’s sense of humor. “And I find that most editors feel the same way,” she said.
“It must be wonderful being a writer,” said Cecilia.
“Not always,” Jane said. “But sometimes. When you’re working on something you love. I imagine being an actress is the same.”
“I thought so too,” said Cecilia. “Now I’m not so sure. I can’t say I love most of the things I’ve been in. But I think this will be different.”
Raucous laughter caught their attention, and they both looked across the yard. Chloe was talking to Tucker Mack, who had his arm around her waist.
“I understand this is her first film,” Jane remarked.
“Yes,” said Cecilia.
Jane looked at her. “You sound doubtful,” she said.
“Do I?” said Cecilia. She paused. “I suppose I am,” she admitted. “This afternoon we were talking about
our favorite films and she said hers was Beverly Hills Chihuahua.”
Jane grimaced. “Really?” she said.
Cecilia nodded. “And that’s not the worst part,” she continued. “She said she couldn’t believe they’d taught the dogs to move their mouths like they were talking.”
“She didn’t,” Jane said, laughing.
“I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was all done with computers,” said Cecilia.
“That was very kind of you,” Jane told her.
“I suppose,” said Cecilia. “I think underneath all that makeup there might be a nice girl.” She glanced at Chloe, who was nibbling Tucker Mack’s ear. “Maybe.”
“There you are.” Jessica’s voice was like ice water on Jane’s mood. “Let’s talk about your book.”
“We were,” Cecilia said. “I was telling Jane how much I like it.”
“Oh, that book,” said Jessica, pulling up a chair. “I don’t care about that one. I’m trying to pry a new one out of her. But she’s determined not to give me what I want.”
Cecilia raised an eyebrow, then looked at Jane. “I’m sure it will be wonderful,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I should go back to the hotel and study my lines for tomorrow.”
“You’re an actress?” Jessica said. “I never would have guessed.”
Jane was unsure how to take this remark, but she could tell Jessica meant it to be an insult. Cecilia, however, reacted with grace. “Given the usual opinion people have of actresses, I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. She smiled at Jane. “Good night.”
“Good night,” said Jane. “It was lovely meeting you.”
“It was lovely meeting you too,” Cecilia replied, pointedly not addressing Jessica.
As Cecilia walked away Jessica said, “Now we can have an actual conversation. So, what are we going to do about this book of yours?”
“I’m working on it,” Jane lied.
“You’ve been ‘working on it’ for a long time,” said Jessica, using her fingers to put quotes around her words.
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