Hanging Hannah (9 page)

“
The
Goddess?”

“Yes! Goddess!”

A strange sensation washed over Jane—the feeling one gets when it appears possible that one might make quite a bit of money. But Jane and Holly's relationship over the years had been strained, to say the least. Why would Holly have done this for her?

“What's the catch?” Jane asked.

Holly made her pouty mouth. She tilted her head a little to one side, her Cleopatra hair swinging. “No
catch
, Jane. Really, I'm
très
insulted. I really felt you would be the right agent for her. Look what you've done for Carol.”

Jane felt a wave of guilt about all the bad things she'd thought about Holly all these years. “Holly, I . . . I don't know what to say. Except—well—thank you!”

Holly smoothed her hair, smiling as if to say, Now you've got it.

“How do you know her?” Jane asked.

“My parents have been friends with her parents for years. Goddess and I—we haven't been that close, but when she decided to do a book, she naturally came to me for advice. I'm her friend in publishing!”

Jane tilted her head in the direction of Mort Janklow, agent to the stars. “I'd have thought someone like that would have been more suitable.”

“No no no, Jane. If you think that, you don't understand the phenomenon that is Goddess. Goddess never does what's expected. Goddess never does what you'd
think
. That's what makes her—Goddess!”

Jane still wasn't convinced. “If she wants to do a book, and you, an editor at a major publishing house, are her ‘friend in publishing,' why don't you just sign her up? Why steer her to an agent when you could just buy her book?”

“Jane,” Holly said, her tone indicating that Jane should know better, “Goddess may be eccentric and outrageous, but she's a sophisticated businesswoman. Don't let the tender age fool you. She knew that even if she published with us, she'd need a killer agent, and she asked me to recommend one. And I did. You! Of course . . .” Her smile grew coy.

Here, at last, was the catch.

“. . . Of course, I would expect you—just as a courtesy, of course—to offer Goddess's book to me first and exclusively.”

“Of course,” Jane promised solemnly. She thought she understood the situation now. Holly knew Goddess wouldn't be satisfied until she had an agent, so Holly steered Goddess to Jane, whom she considered not a tiger but a pushover who would sell the book to Holly for a relatively low advance. This would be just like the scheming Holly. On the other hand, Jane
had
sold Carol Freund's book to Holly for big money, six figures . . . though for Goddess's book, that kind of money would be considered paltry. Yes, Jane's theory made sense. But if Jane really did sign Goddess as a client, really did handle her book, she'd prove Holly wrong. Jane
could
be a tiger.

“Holly, I don't know what to say. I'm stunned. She's the biggest star—”

“In the world!” Holly grabbed a rye bread stick from a basket on the table and crunched on it. “Where the hell is that waitress,” she muttered. “I'm
starving
.” She looked around, spotted the waitress, and summoned her with an upraised hand. They ordered quickly, and the waitress hurried away.

Holly leaned forward again, touching Jane's hand. “And Goddess,” she said, “is my big surprise for Carol's party! Dontcha just love it?”

Jane didn't think she just loved it. Carol's novel was a quiet story about people on a farm in Indiana during the Korean War. She didn't see how the outrageous avant-garde Goddess fit in.

“Do you think she's quite—appropriate?”

“Appropriate! Jane, as you just said, she's the biggest star in the world right now. Who
wouldn't
want her at their party? And she's agreed to do something
very
special for us—but I'll keep that a surprise. Besides, I intend to introduce you to Goddess at the party.”

Jane remembered that Stanley Greenberg would be with her. What would he make of all this? she wondered, not knowing him well enough even to guess.

During the remainder of the lunch, Jane toyed with her blinis and watched Holly carefully, trying to figure her out. By the end of the meal, Jane had decided her pushover theory made the most sense. Nevertheless, signing Goddess would be an incredible coup for Jane as an agent.

When they were out on the sidewalk, Holly suddenly grabbed Jane in a hug. “I'm so excited, Jane. This party is going to be a triumph for me—I mean for all of us. Remember, our offices, eight o'clock.”

“Got it.” Jane watched Holly hurry away down Fifty-second Street toward Fifth Avenue. It was a beautiful warm day and Jane decided to walk to the Port Authority. On Broadway in the mid-Forties she passed the Minskoff Theatre and stopped short. Mounted to the building was an enormous billboard. It was Botticelli's
The Birth of Venus
, except that it wasn't Venus rising from the sea on the half shell; it was Goddess, nude, stray locks of her famous waist-length light brown hair floating before her perfect body in strategic places. Draped around her waist and shoulder was a sash like a beauty queen's, and on it were the words
Goddess of Love
.

Jane stared up at the image for a long time. Goddess's eyes seemed to gaze down on her, as if she were about to tell Jane something.

Finally, Jane pulled her gaze away and continued west, shaking her head at thoughts of how Carol Freund's publication party might turn out.

The next morning, Jane stopped just outside the back door of her office building and took off her crown. Nick had made it for her. He had cut it from yellow construction paper, written “Happy Birthday!” across the front in black marker, and sprinkled gold glitter all over it. With a little chuckle, she shrugged, placed it back on her head at a jaunty angle, and entered the office.

“Mrs. Jack Benny has arrived!” she announced to Daniel as she burst from the back corridor into the reception room. She'd resolved this morning not to sulk on her birthday, and this was part of her plan.

Daniel looked up from his desk, where he appeared to have been drafting a letter in longhand. He looked gloomier than Jane could remember seeing him look. “Oh, hi, Jane.” He summoned a wan smile. “Happy birthday.”

“Boy,” she said, dropping dispiritedly into his visitor's chair. She removed her crown and tossed it on the desk. “You look as bad as I promised myself I wouldn't feel. Software got you down again?”

He allowed a little laugh. “No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He met her gaze gratefully, thought a moment, and nodded. She led him into her office and closed the door. They both sat, Jane behind her desk, Daniel in front of it.

“So,” she said, “my birthday's got you down, too, huh?”

“No.” He looked at her. He seemed not to know where to start.

“Something at home?” she ventured.

“Definitely. Last night,” he began, “when I got home from work, Laura was unusually cheerful. I thought she was even acting kind of strange.”

Jane waited. She had a feeling she knew what he was about to tell her, yet she hoped she was wrong. “She's not—”

He nodded as if reading her mind. “Pregnant.”

“Oh, Daniel.” Jane knew that Daniel and Laura had expressly agreed not to have a child yet—not this early in their careers, not before they were married, not when they each made so little money that they still couldn't afford to buy a house.

“How could this happen?” Jane said, then realized exactly what she was saying. “I mean, I know how it happened, but why?”

“That's what I asked Laura.” He looked down, embarrassed. “I tell you everything, Jane.” He met her gaze. “Laura reminded me of a night when she and I made love without using any precautions. It was just . . . one of those things. I was sound asleep; she woke me up . . .” He shook his head, as if unable to explain it any better than that. “The next morning, when I suddenly realized what we'd done—or not done, I should say—she told me not to worry. She said it was the wrong time of the month for her to get pregnant. Last night, when I reminded her of what she'd said, she just shrugged and held up one of those home pregnancy test things. She looked so happy. She said she guessed she'd been wrong and threw her arms around me. She said she felt wonderful.”

“And you don't, clearly.”

“I feel anything but wonderful. Jane, you know I didn't want a child yet. Neither did Laura, or so I thought. But I was wrong. When I even started to bring up the possibility of—well—stopping the pregnancy, she looked at me as if I'd committed the ultimate betrayal. I don't want to hurt her, Jane. So I said to myself, ‘I guess I'll just have to get used to the idea of a baby coming much sooner than I'd planned.' And of course I want the baby. So I put on my happiest face, hugged her back, and told her I guessed it was time to plan that wedding she's always wanted.”

Jane nodded. “Somehow I knew you'd feel that way.”

“Laura says I'm an old-fashioned boy, which is why she loves me so much. She says it's about time our engagement ended anyway, that she was starting to get embarrassed when her friends at Unimed asked her when our wedding date was and she had to say she didn't know.”

“And when
is
it?” Jane asked.

“We talked about that this morning over breakfast. Laura pointed out that neither of us has any family, so almost all the people we'd invite to our wedding would be our friends here in Shady Hills.”

“I never knew Laura had no family,” Jane said. “What happened to them?”

“Laura doesn't know. She was raised in a foster home. She no longer has any relationship with her foster parents and doesn't even like to talk about them. I'm not sure she even remembers much about them.”

“That's sad.”

“Laura sees no reason to put off the wedding any longer than necessary, especially under the circumstances. She suggested two weeks from Saturday. June 12. She's always dreamed of a June wedding. As far as I'm concerned, one date's as good as another, so I said fine, but I pointed out we'd better start inviting people—there isn't much time. Laura agreed.”

“Where are you having this wedding?”

“Laura wants it at Eleanor's.”

Jane was surprised. Eleanor's
was
the nicest restaurant in Shady Hills, but virtually all the wedding receptions in town took place at Hydrangea House.

“Not at Louise and Ernie's?” she asked.

“That would be the logical choice, of course. But Laura says in light of the recent—event there, that's out of the question. She says it's too grisly, bad luck, too grim.” He shrugged.

“I understand,” Jane said, feeling bad for Louise. She looked at poor forlorn Daniel, and her heart went out to him. She got up and went to him, taking him in her arms. “Congratulations. I know you'll be very happy. You already are!” She thought of the joy Nick had brought her, the comfort since Kenneth had been gone. She perched on the edge of her desk. “Know what I think?”

“What?” he asked sadly.

“I think you'll make a wonderful father. You'll wonder how you ever got along without that baby.”

He smiled wanly. “You think?”

Suddenly Jane sensed that something was still wrong, something more than what he'd told her. “You love her, don't you?”

He looked surprised. “I'm marrying her, aren't I?”

“You're not answering my question.”

The phone rang. Daniel reached across her desk and grabbed it.

Saved by the bell
.

He put the call on hold. “It's Pam Gainor.”

She was about to ask him if he'd like her to call Pam back so that they could talk some more, but he held the receiver out toward her, which answered her question. Clearly he'd said all he wanted to say. He left the office as she took the call.

After Jane had hung up from Pam, Daniel reappeared. “I wanted to show you the pictures from Nick's party.” He spread out the snapshots before her. She chose a decent shot of herself. Daniel studied the shots of himself before selecting one, though to Jane's mind he looked great in all of them.

“I'll send these on to Bertha,” he said. “Now, are we decided on our workshop topic?”

“Yes, ‘The Changing Face of Romance,' ” she said, already bored with the subject.

“All right. I'll write up a brief description, and also bios of you and me, and I'll send them to Bertha with the pictures.” When she expected him to turn and leave, he reached to his back pocket and brought out a small rectangular gift-wrapped box and a card. “Happy birthday, Jane.”

“You shouldn't have,” she said, and opened the card, whose front read
For My Dear Friend
. “Thank you, my dear friend,” she said, her eyes filling, and opened the gift. It was a fountain pen made of jade, slim and sleek. “It's beautiful. Thank you.”

He smiled and kissed her cheek. “You have those jade earrings. Now you have a matching pen!”

“What a great idea.” She placed the pen and card at the corner of her desk where she could see them all day, and surveyed the pile of work in front of her, trying to figure out what to do first. Before Daniel had reached her doorway, she looked up and watched him, her eyes narrowing, then shook her head in puzzlement.

 

Near closing time, Daniel invited Jane to dinner for her birthday.

“That's lovely of you, Daniel, but you've already given me a gift.”

“But I'd like to do more,” he said, and Jane could tell he really wanted to do this.

She smiled. “All right.”

“Great. We'll go to Eleanor's.”

Jane called Florence and told her she'd be late because a handsome young man was taking her to dinner. Then she and Daniel drove in his car to Eleanor's and were shown to a table in the back room, which overlooked the mill wheel and millpond.

“I hope I didn't shock you with my news this morning,” he said. “I mean, my getting so personal.”

“Personal! We're practically family, you and I. We
are
personal. No, you didn't shock me. Though I have had a few shocks lately.” Yesterday, when she'd returned from her lunch with Holly, she'd told him about Goddess.

“Yes, your new client,” he said.

“No, not just that,” she said coyly. “Your Jane has got a . . . date!”

“A date!” He looked truly pleased. “Jane, that's wonderful. With whom?”

“Stanley Greenberg,” she said proudly.

He frowned. “The cop?
Detective
Greenberg?”

“Yes,” she replied, now frowning, too. “What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. I'm just surprised.”

“Why?”

“He's not the kind of man I imagined you with . . . after Kenneth, I mean.”

“And what kind of man did you imagine me with?”

“Someone like Kenneth!”

She nodded. “I see what you mean. Kenneth was so literary, so urbane. And Stanley, as you so eloquently put it, is a cop.” She wagged a finger at him. “But you've got to understand something about women, Daniel. It's not qualities like being bookish and sophisticated that necessarily attract a woman to a man.”

“Are you saying you're attracted to Greenberg?”

She pondered. “Perhaps, yes.” Suddenly, at hearing her own words, she felt a wave of sadness wash over her. She'd never thought she'd say such a thing after losing her beloved Kenneth. She looked down at her water glass, trying to hide her feelings from Daniel.

“Jane,” he said gently, “I knew Kenneth, too. And I think it's pretty safe to say he would want you to have someone, someone new. Don't shut out happiness because of him.”

She felt a tear roll out of her eye and down her cheek. She wiped it away with her hand. “I haven't. Not consciously. Now that I think I
could
have a relationship with another man, I feel so . . . guilty.”

“You hoped for a relationship with Roger Haines,” Daniel pointed out, referring to Jane's ex-client on whom she'd had romantic designs.

“True, but it never got anywhere, and I think deep in my heart I knew it wouldn't. But this . . . This could be something real. He's a good man, Daniel, I can tell that.”

“If you like him, I'm sure he is.”

She smiled gratefully.

“You've been so lonely, Jane. You
should
have someone.” He laughed. “Watch out, though. If your mystery-writing clients find out about him, they'll be all over you for inside information.”

“You're right! I never thought of that.” She shook her head. “I'm keeping all of that for myself. And for you, of course.”

“What do you mean?” he said, suddenly serious. “That girl?”

“In the woods. Yes.” Now she told him what Doris had said to her Monday morning, and about meeting Doris and Arthur at the station yesterday so Greenberg could question Arthur. But she'd promised Greenberg she wouldn't tell anyone he'd shown her the cave, so she kept silent about that now.

Daniel seemed eager to change the subject. They spoke of the agency, of imminent sales and recent rejections. At ten minutes to eight, Daniel slapped himself in the forehead.

“I completely forgot! Laura asked me to pick up a sweater she left at Louise and Ernie's on Sunday. You know, in all the confusion. Would you mind if we stopped there on the way back to the office to get your car?”

“Of course not,” Jane said, and after Daniel paid the check, they walked out into the mild night.

Daniel drove right on Cranmore. They passed the Senior Center on the left, low and landscaped, and Jane thought of Doris and Arthur. From the village center, Daniel took Plunkett Lane, turning in at the inn's gate.

“It looks so pretty tonight,” Jane remarked as they pulled up in front of the porch. “Lit up like a Christmas tree.”

He led the way up the porch steps and knocked. Louise opened the door.

“Evening, Louise. Laura left her sweater here on Sunday and asked me to pick it up for her.”

“Yes, I have it. Come in. Oh, Jane, hello. Come in, dear.”

Jane followed Daniel into the foyer. She frowned. Daniel, instead of following Louise to wherever she'd put Laura's sweater, just stood in the center of the floor, Louise beside him. Jane opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a mass of people burst from the living room on the right and cried in booming cheerful voices, “Surprise!”

There was Laura, and Ginny, and Penny, and Doris, and Rhoda, and Ernie—and Greenberg, who was smiling and carrying an armful of red roses. He came forward, handed them to her, and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

Beaming with pleasure, Jane looked around at her friends. “I believe I'm going to cry.”

“Jane,” Greenberg said softly, leaning forward, “you already are.”