writer?“ Angela’s interest was piqued slightly. “What do you write?”
The honest answer would have been “The first 104 pages of a story that might, with enormous good luck, turn into a novel sometime within the next decade.“ But Jane didn’t get a chance to say anything.
Shelley leaped in. “I’m sorry, Jane. I know I’m not supposed to talk about it, but I can’t help myself sometimes.“ She turned to Angela and said confidentially, “Jane’s not allowed to reveal her pseudonym. Contractual reasons, you know. But I think it’s all right to tell you that she had two novels on the best-seller lists last year and then, of course, there are the scripts—“
“Scripts? Novels?“ Angela said hungrily.
Jane smiled modestly at Shelley. “Now, now. You’ll give me away if you’re not careful.“
“Would I have read anything of yours?“ Angela asked. She pulled up a vacant lawn chair and sat down alarmingly close to Jane. “Oh, I wouldn’t know—“
“Rosamunde Pilcher! I’ll bet that’s who you are. No, she’s English, isn’t she? Will you tell me if I guess?“
“No, I’m sorry. I really can’t reveal any more,“ Jane said.
“ - and these scripts of yours? Are they based on your own novels? Have any of them been produced?“
“Have any of them been produced?“ Jane said archly to Shelley and they both laughed merrily at the absurdity of anybody asking such a naive question.
“Let’s just say it’s no coincidence that this movie is being made in Jane’s backyard,“ Shelley said.
Jane gave her a “look-out-you’re-going-too-far“ glance, and said to Angela, “I’m not officially involved in this production at all. Really.”
It was almost obscene the way Angela’s thoughts chased each other greedily across her otherwise lovely face. Here, she was obviously thinking, is somebody of power and influence who could not only get me a plum role, but maybe write one for me.
“ Tell me about yourself, uh... Angela, was it?“ “Angela Smith. Yes. How nice of you to know my name. And yours is... ?“
“Jane Jeffry. Legally, that is,“ Jane said with a coy laugh that caused Shelley to make a noise like a seal barking.
“Sorry,“ Shelley said. “I think I inhaled a bug.“
Jane had to look away from her to keep from
bursting into seal barks herself. “So, Angela, you don’t look like you’re too upset about Jake’s death,“ she said, plunging into the heart of the inquisition.
Angela looked taken aback, but by now was so eager to ingratiate herself with Jane that she had to respond. “Oh, but I am. Jake Elder was a legend. The business just won’t be the same without him.“
“That’s odd,“ Jane said. “That you’d see it in those terms, I mean. I had the impression that you had a more personal relationship with him.“
“Oh, no,“ Angela said, tossing her hair. “Not that Jake didn’t want it that way, but no. I had enormous respect for him, of course. You can’t help but respect people who have mastered their craft—“ A respectful, puppyish look at Jane with this pronouncement. “But there wasn’t anything really personal between us. I believe Jake may have wanted—well, to help me along some. He felt I had talent, you see. And wanted to see me succeed.“
“That’s odd,“ Shelley said. “I thought I saw you having an argument with him yesterday.”
Angela gave Shelley a look that ought to have made her skin come up in blisters. “It was just a little disagreement about his method,“ she said. “Nothing at all.”
Jane got a faraway look. A faraway “scriptwriter“ look, she hoped. “Disagreements are the heart of fiction,“ she said meaningfully. “The very bone and meat of stories. Tell me all about it.”
Angela looked like a butterfly pinned to a board. “It was nothing, really. Jake just wanted to help mea little. There was another extra who was supposed to do a scene with Miss Harwell yesterday and she got sick. Measles
The honest answer would have been “The first 104 pages of a story that might, with enormous good luck, turn into a novel sometime within the next decade.“ But Jane didn’t get a chance to say anything.
Shelley leaped in. “I’m sorry, Jane. I know I’m not supposed to talk about it, but I can’t help myself sometimes.“ She turned to Angela and said confidentially, “Jane’s not allowed to reveal her pseudonym. Contractual reasons, you know. But I think it’s all right to tell you that she had two novels on the best-seller lists last year and then, of course, there are the scripts—“
“Scripts? Novels?“ Angela said hungrily.
Jane smiled modestly at Shelley. “Now, now. You’ll give me away if you’re not careful.“
“Would I have read anything of yours?“ Angela asked. She pulled up a vacant lawn chair and sat down alarmingly close to Jane. “Oh, I wouldn’t know—“
“Rosamunde Pilcher! I’ll bet that’s who you are. No, she’s English, isn’t she? Will you tell me if I guess?“
“No, I’m sorry. I really can’t reveal any more,“ Jane said.
“ - and these scripts of yours? Are they based on your own novels? Have any of them been produced?“
“Have any of them been produced?“ Jane said archly to Shelley and they both laughed merrily at the absurdity of anybody asking such a naive question.
“Let’s just say it’s no coincidence that this movie is being made in Jane’s backyard,“ Shelley said.
Jane gave her a “look-out-you’re-going-too-far“ glance, and said to Angela, “I’m not officially involved in this production at all. Really.”
It was almost obscene the way Angela’s thoughts chased each other greedily across her otherwise lovely face. Here, she was obviously thinking, is somebody of power and influence who could not only get me a plum role, but maybe write one for me.
“ Tell me about yourself, uh... Angela, was it?“ “Angela Smith. Yes. How nice of you to know my name. And yours is... ?“
“Jane Jeffry. Legally, that is,“ Jane said with a coy laugh that caused Shelley to make a noise like a seal barking.
“Sorry,“ Shelley said. “I think I inhaled a bug.“
Jane had to look away from her to keep from
bursting into seal barks herself. “So, Angela, you don’t look like you’re too upset about Jake’s death,“ she said, plunging into the heart of the inquisition.
Angela looked taken aback, but by now was so eager to ingratiate herself with Jane that she had to respond. “Oh, but I am. Jake Elder was a legend. The business just won’t be the same without him.“
“That’s odd,“ Jane said. “That you’d see it in those terms, I mean. I had the impression that you had a more personal relationship with him.“
“Oh, no,“ Angela said, tossing her hair. “Not that Jake didn’t want it that way, but no. I had enormous respect for him, of course. You can’t help but respect people who have mastered their craft—“ A respectful, puppyish look at Jane with this pronouncement. “But there wasn’t anything really personal between us. I believe Jake may have wanted—well, to help me along some. He felt I had talent, you see. And wanted to see me succeed.“
“That’s odd,“ Shelley said. “I thought I saw you having an argument with him yesterday.”
Angela gave Shelley a look that ought to have made her skin come up in blisters. “It was just a little disagreement about his method,“ she said. “Nothing at all.”
Jane got a faraway look. A faraway “scriptwriter“ look, she hoped. “Disagreements are the heart of fiction,“ she said meaningfully. “The very bone and meat of stories. Tell me all about it.”
Angela looked like a butterfly pinned to a board. “It was nothing, really. Jake just wanted to help mea little. There was another extra who was supposed to do a scene with Miss Harwell yesterday and she got sick. Measles
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