begin the official nattering.
Vignette had to hand it to Miss Freshell; she knew nothing if not how to natter. The six ruling Ladies’ Leaguers lowered their individual natters by a couple of notches in response. It was enough to indicate polite cooperation with her but not so much as to give the impression that any of these ladies took orders from Janine Freshell, just because she had written a few little romance books.
“Well, ladies, I am so disappointed that Randall’s stepdaughter, Vignette, has missed our refreshments. I can’t imagine what has detained her, as she was so eager for the opportunity to meet all of you. I’ll hope she arrives soon.
“In the meantime, I promised you a charitable donation to the Ladies’ Hospitality League, to help you to continue your fine work, and I’ll come directly to the point. I am hereby formally offering to you—as the officers of the league—ten percent of all of the proceeds from my next novel!”
Vignette heard delighted squeals from the excellent ladies. Miss Freshell tastelessly allowed the squealing to go on for an uncomfortably long time while she soaked up their gratitude.
With this financial gift for their underfunded organization, along with the prestige of having a book as the source of the funds, Vignette decided that these killer birds disguised as society ladies were as happy as if they had just found a pile of money worms.
“It’s going to take place right here in San Francisco, set in our present time, and use the exposition as the backdrop!” That set off a round of squeals so intense that it was hard to believe nobody passed out for lack of air.
Vignette was still locked in surprise. Generosity was not in Miss Freshell’s nature; Vignette was sure of that much. She had never seen the woman do anything without a damned good reason, and it always had to do with Miss Janine Freshell first.
The nattering increased. It was more intense now that it was fueled by the rumor of money. Flattery flowed. The women, it now seemed, had all read Miss Freshell’s last book. They
loved
it. Vignette thought that Miss Freshell sounded so grateful to be among such company that she wanted to slather them in butter and lick them all clean.
From that point on, her patience in the closet was finally rewarded. She could not doubt that what she overheard was far more blunt and truthful than what Miss Freshell would have presented, if she had known that Vignette was there. The Eastern Whore explained to the others that there was this one little, polite “condition” on the money offer. She needed their collective signatures upon a letter of support from the league, and she needed it to be addressed to her publisher. In it, she wanted them to remind the publisher that they would also be at the exposition for the entire ten months, and thus would be very interested in reading the book.
With their contacts at the exposition, they could even boost sales right there, if the publisher got it into print soon enough. Miss Freshell assured them that she could complete it in three months. She gave a pretty giggle and confided to the women that Detective Randall Blackburn was turning out to be an even better protagonist that she had hoped he would be, when she first arrived in this provincial little seaport. She assured them all that by the time she was finished with him, he would have no choice but to be her full-time escort, because he would be “too famous for police work!” Everyone laughed and nattered.
When it was all over at last and the women began to retrieve their coats, Vignette huddled back in the shadows with a much clearer idea of what the afternoon had been all about. The Eastern Whore had just used Randall’s house to host a meeting to bribe local power-women into boosting her career, while making a joke about the disastrous effect it would have on Randall himself.
Now all Vignette had to do was wait for the house to get quiet and for Miss Freshell to
Vignette had to hand it to Miss Freshell; she knew nothing if not how to natter. The six ruling Ladies’ Leaguers lowered their individual natters by a couple of notches in response. It was enough to indicate polite cooperation with her but not so much as to give the impression that any of these ladies took orders from Janine Freshell, just because she had written a few little romance books.
“Well, ladies, I am so disappointed that Randall’s stepdaughter, Vignette, has missed our refreshments. I can’t imagine what has detained her, as she was so eager for the opportunity to meet all of you. I’ll hope she arrives soon.
“In the meantime, I promised you a charitable donation to the Ladies’ Hospitality League, to help you to continue your fine work, and I’ll come directly to the point. I am hereby formally offering to you—as the officers of the league—ten percent of all of the proceeds from my next novel!”
Vignette heard delighted squeals from the excellent ladies. Miss Freshell tastelessly allowed the squealing to go on for an uncomfortably long time while she soaked up their gratitude.
With this financial gift for their underfunded organization, along with the prestige of having a book as the source of the funds, Vignette decided that these killer birds disguised as society ladies were as happy as if they had just found a pile of money worms.
“It’s going to take place right here in San Francisco, set in our present time, and use the exposition as the backdrop!” That set off a round of squeals so intense that it was hard to believe nobody passed out for lack of air.
Vignette was still locked in surprise. Generosity was not in Miss Freshell’s nature; Vignette was sure of that much. She had never seen the woman do anything without a damned good reason, and it always had to do with Miss Janine Freshell first.
The nattering increased. It was more intense now that it was fueled by the rumor of money. Flattery flowed. The women, it now seemed, had all read Miss Freshell’s last book. They
loved
it. Vignette thought that Miss Freshell sounded so grateful to be among such company that she wanted to slather them in butter and lick them all clean.
From that point on, her patience in the closet was finally rewarded. She could not doubt that what she overheard was far more blunt and truthful than what Miss Freshell would have presented, if she had known that Vignette was there. The Eastern Whore explained to the others that there was this one little, polite “condition” on the money offer. She needed their collective signatures upon a letter of support from the league, and she needed it to be addressed to her publisher. In it, she wanted them to remind the publisher that they would also be at the exposition for the entire ten months, and thus would be very interested in reading the book.
With their contacts at the exposition, they could even boost sales right there, if the publisher got it into print soon enough. Miss Freshell assured them that she could complete it in three months. She gave a pretty giggle and confided to the women that Detective Randall Blackburn was turning out to be an even better protagonist that she had hoped he would be, when she first arrived in this provincial little seaport. She assured them all that by the time she was finished with him, he would have no choice but to be her full-time escort, because he would be “too famous for police work!” Everyone laughed and nattered.
When it was all over at last and the women began to retrieve their coats, Vignette huddled back in the shadows with a much clearer idea of what the afternoon had been all about. The Eastern Whore had just used Randall’s house to host a meeting to bribe local power-women into boosting her career, while making a joke about the disastrous effect it would have on Randall himself.
Now all Vignette had to do was wait for the house to get quiet and for Miss Freshell to
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