A Midsummer Night's Scream

check deposit forms,“ Jane said.
    “With your sense of humor, I know I’ll love your book,“ Ms. Bunting said, neatly writing her address on the back.
    “Now I have to tell Tazz,“ Jane said.
    She found Tazz sitting in an audience chair wearing a lighted magnifying mirror on her head and repairing a tear in the hem of one of the costumes. She put the dress aside and took off her headgear. “You look like the cat that ate the canary. So happy.“
    “I am. I have a neat secret that I’m only telling you and Ms. Bunting. I’ve just sold an historical mystery today. I worked on it for years and I have a head start already on the next one. I’m really feeling smug.“
    “And so you should. And maybe you can help me. I’ve always meant to write a book about being a costumer. I think a lot of people would like to read it. I’ve made notes. How about you write it up for me and we share the profits evenly?“
    Jane felt as if she’d been slapped upside of her head. She thought for a moment and said, “I wouldn’t have the time to do that. Making notes is just a starting point. Writing it is what counts. You need to write it yourself if you care enough.“
    “Oh!“ Tazz said. “So sorry you feel that I imposed on you.“ She snatched up the dress and put her lighted magnifier back on her head. As Jane got up to leave, Tazz added, with clear sarcasm, “Congratulations.“
    You won’t be getting a free copy, Jane thought, close to tears.
    When she returned to the workroom, the snacks were being set up. Ms. Bunting was putting her needlepoint paraphernalia away. “Oh, my dear. You look as if you’ve been kicked in the head. And you were so chirpy earlier. What’s wrong?“
    Jane told her about her brief, annoying conversation with Tazz.
    “I almost warned you not to tell her. Now I wish I had. She’s a strong-minded, bossy young woman. She told me—quite gratuitously—that I needed to gain some weight or pad my bosom.“
    “No, you don’t,“ Jane said, shocked at this example of rudeness.
    “I told her it was none of her business,“ Ms. Bunting said.
    “I more or less told her I couldn’t be bothered to write her book for her.“
    “Good for you! Forget her. There will be others who want the same thing. A free ride and a full share of the profits. I can’t tell you how many aspiring actors of both sexes have demanded that I make sure they get the part they want. I tell them
    I’m an actress, not an agent. Go find an agent and pay them for their help if you’re any good at this. They never ask me again.“
    Shelley came out of the small kitchen and announced that snacks were ready, and when she saw Jane, she asked, “What’s wrong?“
    Jane quickly summarized her conversation with Tazz.
    “No! What a hell of a nerve, if you’ll forgive my language, Ms. Bunting.“
    “I said almost the same thing. In the arts, especially, everyone thinks you’re a public charity and owe it to them to help them. Mediocre singers want good singers to teach them for the sheer joy of it. I know graphic artists whose local grade schools expect them to decorate their blackboards just because they should contribute to the public welfare. And some of them actually do it. Poor dolts.“
    Tazz didn’t speak to or look at anyone while she picked up her snacks and took them back to her seat in the theater to eat alone. Jane took a teaspoon of everything and pronounced it slightly better than okay. Shelley nodded her agreement. “Out of all I’ve tried, only one was superior. I’ll probably hire them for Paul’s next employee dinner. Now, Jane, run on home and dress up. Forget Tazz. She’s not the nice person we thought she was. We were simply misled.“

    *

    Mel picked up Jane, saying how glamorous she looked in emerald green as he opened the door of his red MG for her. “You sounded so excited this afternoon. Why aren’t you now?“ he asked as they started out.
    “I’ll tell you when we get to the restaurant. Somebody hurt my feelings. I’m almost over it. I’ll talk about it once more, then cast it out of my mind.“
    When they reached the most elegant restaurant in town, the owner himself showed them to a lovely private booth. Mel ordered wine, the maître d’ showed up next to welcome them, and a waiter snapped open huge napkins and flipped them on their laps.
    Mel leaned forward, gestured for her to hold his hand, and said, “Tell me.“
    Jane recounted her conversation with Tazz. Mel frowned