Jane's Harmony (Jane's Melody #2)

by Ryan Winfield

She put the phone up to her ear again.

  “Thank you for your recent application. You have been selected to take a civil service exam. You can take the exam at your earliest convenience between the hours of nine a.m. and two p.m. at any of the following city locations . . .”

  Jane got out her pen and took down the addresses. She knew it was silly to get her hopes up, but having an actual next step to take was a huge relief.

  It was so difficult to tell the blocks of brick and stucco buildings apart that Jane passed by twice before she spotted the small monument sign:

  CITY OF AUSTIN

  DEPARTMENT OF HUMAN RESOURCES

  The door closed behind her, sealing out the sunshine and the birds, and it was quiet inside. Too quiet. Quiet in that strange and timeless way that only libraries and government buildings can sometimes be. There was an old letter-board directory on the wall that listed the civil service examination room on floor three. Jane rode the old elevator up, listening to the soft hum of the motors and the squeak of the cables over their pulleys.

  When she walked into the testing room, a woman sitting at an old metal desk looked up at her and asked in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper, “May I help you?”

  “I’m here for the civil service exam.”

  “Your ID, please,” the woman said.

  Jane opened her wallet and handed the woman her license.

  “How long have you been in Texas?” the woman asked, checking her sheet.

  “Just a few months now.”

  “You do know you’re applying for a position as a parking enforcement officer, I assume. The job requires knowledge of Austin’s streets and traffic laws.”

  “I’ve received two dozen parking tickets driving around looking for work,” Jane said, smiling. “Does that qualify me?”

  The look on the woman’s face when she handed Jane back her license made it clear that she was not amused.

  “You’ll need to go to the DPS office and get a Texas license. Here’s the civil service exam. I’m assuming you studied. There are number-two pencils and a sharpener on the table over there. Pick any desk and take as long as you’d like, as long as you’re done by two. But please don’t leave the room without checking in here first. Even for the restroom. And no cell phones or computers. Good luck.”

  There were two other people already taking the test on either end of the room, and Jane took an empty desk an equal distance between them so as not to appear rude. Then she filled in her name and birth date, and sat looking at the first question, wondering what on earth it had to do with civil service.

  Q. If you had three watermelons in one hand and two bananas and a coconut in the other hand, what would you have?

  Jane giggled quietly as she wrote, You’d have very large hands.

  Be serious now, she told herself, erasing the answer.

  She flipped ahead to see how many pages were in the test. Then she looked up at the wall clock—tick-tick-ticking away the seconds, one at a time. She sighed. She had a feeling this was going to be a long morning.

  The Department of Public Safety was packed wall to wall with unhappy patrons, and none of them appeared at all shy about letting it be known. Jane took a number ticket and found a seat. A woman with two crying children, bouncing one on each knee, looked at Jane and rolled her eyes.

  “You’d think they’d have more people working.”

  “How long have you been waiting?” Jane asked.

  “Maybe an hour,” she said. “But an hour with these two seems like forever.”

  Jane sat and waited and watched the clock, then waited some more. The woman next to Jane was eventually replaced by a man wearing sixteen layers of clothing, despite the heat. Fortunately, he was too busy conversing with himself, as he searched his countless pockets for something, to engage Jane. She heard drums on the street, and she looked past the man and out the window. Outside, a noisy group of protesters marched by with shotguns and AR-15s draped over their shoulders, waving enormous flags that read: DON’T TREAD ON TEXAS.

  When her number was finally called, Jane approached the counter and handed across her Washington driver’s license and the form she had filled out while waiting. The clerk asked her a series of questions and then waved her over to an eye test machine. Jane placed her face to the machine and read off the rows of letters as best as she could. She finished and looked up.

  The clerk handed her back her Washington license.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, “you failed the eye test.”

  “What do you mean, I failed?”

  “I mean you need glasses.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  He shrugged and hit the button to call the next number.

  “Let me try it again,” Jane pleaded. “Please.”

  He shook his head firmly.

  “Sorry, ma’am, no license for you today. Next!”

  “Oh, that’s cute,” Jane mumbled, tucking her license away in her purse. “No license for me today, huh? Who do you think you are? The soup Nazi of driver’s licenses?”

  She found Mr. Zigler in the warehouse behind the wheel of a forklift. He was racing one of his employees around an obstacle course made of beer cases. He pulled over and braked, then smiled down on her from the forklift’s seat.

  “Hi there, Jane. How’s our boy?”

  “He’s doing great. They’ve got him putting in longer days than even you did, so I don’t get to talk to him much. Plus, I can’t bring him lunch there, of course.”

  He switched off the idling forklift and jumped down.

  “Well, you know I’d never turn down lunch if you’d like to keep up the practice,” he said, winking. “I’m guessing you came by for Caleb’s check since he asked me to make it out to you.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m going to cash it and go shopping.”

  He led Jane to his office and went around his desk, then opened a drawer and handed her an envelope. Then he cocked his head and looked at her funny.

  “Is there something different about you?”

  “What do you mean?” Jane asked.

  “Did you change your hair or something?”

  “Oh God,” Jane said, removing her glasses. “I’m supposed to wear these when I drive, but I keep forgetting to take them off. It’s only been a couple of days.”

  “Well, they look good.”

  “You think so? I haven’t told Caleb yet.”

  “He’s the one who ought to be worried.”

  “Caleb should be worried? How so?”

  “What if you’ve been seeing him blurry all this time? Now maybe you put your glasses on, see him for the toad he is, and realize you’re really in love with me.”

  Jane made a show of putting her glasses back on and looking him over. “You are really handsome,” she said, taking them off again. “But I’m going to stand by my man, Mr. Zigler. Toad or no toad.”

  He grinned. “He’s lucky to have you.”

  They had said good-bye and Jane had turned to go when Mr. Zigler called her name. She stopped and looked back.

  “You used to sell insurance, didn’t you?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Twenty years.”

  Mr. Zigler waved his hand to take in the office. “I could sure use help in the sales department around here if the job market isn’t looking too good out there.”

  Jane knew his offer was as much out of kindness as it was out of genuine need for a salesperson, but that alone wouldn’t have made her say no. She’d just had too much pain in her life caused by booze to be out peddling it to bars for a living. It was a fine job for someone, just not her.

  “I appreciate your offer, Mr. Zigler. I really do. But I have an actual job interview tomorrow with the city of Austin.”

  “Congratulations,” he said, smiling at the news. “If they have any
sense at all, they’ll make you mayor.”

  “If they do,” she replied, “my first order of business will be naming a street after you. We’ll call it Harry Zigler Avenue.”

  His smile was so proud and so sincere, he looked to Jane to be fifteen instead of fifty-five.

  “You tell that man of yours we’re all pulling for him here. Shit. The guys are already running around saying they knew him when. And don’t forget to mention I’m expecting to hear my name in his acceptance speech when he wins. You tell him.”

  Jane sat in the Austin city hall lobby, waiting.

  She’d been waiting a lot lately, but then so had everyone else, it seemed. And who was she to expect special treatment? She was lucky to even be considered for the position. She took out her phone and checked her messages. Nothing from Caleb since his text early this morning. She read it again.

  Hi, babe! They put us on teams yesterday. Guess who my coach is? That lady who gave me a thumbs-down. Ha-ha! As the kids here say, FML! Apparently it means Fuck My Life. I should be home soon.

  She reread her reply to him, questioning it now.

  The bed’s lonely without you, but don’t hurry home for me. She’ll fall in love with you just like everyone does. Just be yourself and have fun.

  Jane had to admit that she had felt a twinge of excitement at the proposition of his leaving the show early, but she had tried to mask it in her text. She was torn between wanting him to succeed and wanting him home. She was only human, after all. She kept hearing Grace’s voice saying, You’re not responsible for your thoughts, honey. You’re only responsible for what you do with your thoughts, which ones you choose to ignore and which ones you choose to act on. Of all the crazy voices inside her head, it was always Grace’s she knew she could trust.

  “Mrs. McKinney.”

  Jane looked up at the woman addressing her. “Miss McKinney, but yes. Or Jane’s fine.”

  “Right this way then. Mr. Blanco will see you now.”

  She brought Jane back to a simple office, adorned with one photo and one plant. But in the center of the office, and standing out against the simplicity of its nearly bare walls, was a gorgeous carved-mahogany desk with matching chairs. Behind the desk sat a slender, olive-skinned man in a well-pressed suit. He stood and motioned with his hand for Jane to sit. When she had done so, he reseated himself and picked up a piece of paper from the desk and studied it.

  Jane watched him scanning the paper. He had dark, quick, intelligent eyes. His shiny black hair was touched with gray at the temples and it was slicked back against his head. Jane thought the look might work for Caleb, and she was trying to guess whether he used a cream or clay to style it when he cleared his throat to get her attention. He was still holding the paper in his hand, but he was looking at her. She blushed with embarrassment.

  “So,” he said, “you’re from Seattle.”

  “A little island just west of it, actually, but yes.”

  “You must be a fan of the Seahawks, then.”

  “No, not really. I don’t follow football much.”

  “That’s a shame,” he said. “I’ve picked them in the office pool to win the Super Bowl.”

  “That’s great. And I am a fan, of course. Especially if they go to the Super Bowl.” Jane laughed uncomfortably. “I mean, they’re my home team and everything.”

  “Are you nervous”—he paused to read the paper in his hand—“Mrs. McKinney?”

  “Miss McKinney. But please, just call me Jane.”

  He glanced at the ring on her finger. “Sorry, I just assumed.”

  “Oh, yes. I can see why you might. But not yet. No.”

  “No you’re not yet married, or no, you’re not yet nervous?”

  Jane looked at the ceiling, replaying the last question and determined to get it right. “Let me try again. Married? No, I’m engaged. Nervous? Yes. Very nervous.”

  “Well, I’m always a little nervous doing these interviews myself, if it helps.”

  “Yes, but . . . it’s been about twenty years since I’ve had an interview, sir.”

  “Please, Jane, call me Manuel or Manny.”

  “Okay, thank you. Manuel.”

  He set the paper down and patted it with his open palm. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. I’d much rather interview someone who’s out of practice because she’s kept a job for twenty years than some of the professional interviewees we get in here. And besides, your test scores were very good. Especially in language and communication skills, which are important. This is a people job. Some think it’s about writing tickets and raising revenue, but they are wrong. It’s all about the people.”

  “Thank you, sir. I mean, Manuel. I like people very much.”

  “Besides liking people, what made you want to apply to be a parking enforcement officer, Jane?”

  “Truthfully? I was paying a ticket online and I saw the link to apply. I’ve been looking for work in my field, but with everything changing in the health insurance world right now, there aren’t any jobs to be had.”

  “Do you blame the Affordable Care Act for this?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, it’s all part of it, I guess.”

  “And do you think this new law is good? Or do you think it is bad?”

  Jane bit her lip. There were two things she tried to get through this life without talking about, and those two things were politics and religion. And this fell under both, depending on who you asked. Still, he was looking to her for an answer.

  “I think time will tell,” she said. “But I will say this—I’ve spent most of my adult life working to make sure people have health coverage. And I’ve seen what happens to people who don’t. So I’m all for anything that leads to more affordable coverage, if it works.”

  “Even if it means you’re out of a job?”

  “Even so,” she said. “But as I said, we’ll have to see.”

  “A very good answer,” he said, nodding. “I see why the high scores in communication.”

  Jane smiled. “It’s all about the people, right?”

  “Yes,” he said, smiling back. “It is all about the people. And people are what the city of Austin is preparing for. You might have read that there’s a new speedway here in Austin. This fall we will be hosting Formula One racing for the second year, and we expect many, many people. That and our music and film festivals have been steadily growing. And more people mean more cars, and more cars mean more need to enforce our parking laws. Do you feel you know the downtown area fairly well?”

  “Yes, I do. And what I don’t know I’ll learn fast.”

  “And you have a valid driver’s license?”

  “Yes, sir. Fresh off the press just the other day.”

  “And can you drive a standard transmission if asked to?”

  “I might be a little rusty, but I’m sure it’ll come back.”

  “And you have no problem being on your feet for long periods of time, walking?”

  “I’m a walking fool. I’ll walk this city silly.”

  “And you have no complaints about working nights in the downtown area? Just on the weekends.”

  “I’m up late anyway.”

  “And who will win the Super Bowl this year?”

  “Why, the Seattle Seahawks will win, of course.”

  He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Good. You start Wednesday for orientation.”

  Jane was still so giddy when she got home that she didn’t even notice or care that the neighbor’s dog was barking. She ran into the apartment, kicked off her shoes, and jumped on the bed. There was no mirror, so she was bouncing and trying to take a photo with her arm extended when the bed collapsed on its frame and slammed onto the floor.

  “Oh shit,” she said, standing on the collapsed mattress with bent knees and outstretched arms like a mattress surfer
in some college comedy skit. Of course, the neighbor was now pounding on the wall to go with the dog’s barking.

  The picture she had taken showed only her feet and the broken bed, but she flopped down on the mattress to send it to Caleb anyway. The caption she sent with the photo read:

  Hi, babe. I’ve gained so many pounds eating chocolate since you left that I broke the bed. But the good news is . . . wait for it . . . wait for it . . . I GOT A JOB! Can you believe it? I know you’re super busy, but call me when you can. You’ll never guess what I’ll be doing. I love you.

  Chapter 8

  Caleb was hiding in a corner backstage, tuning his guitar, when the makeup artist finally found him. She hooked her hands on her hips and shook her head.

  “I’ve been looking for you. Didn’t you hear the call?”

  “Come on, is this really necessary? I’m a guy.”

  “You at least have to get some powder, unless you want to look all shiny on camera.”

  “I don’t mind if I look shiny.”

  “Well, the producers do, mister. So get up and let’s go.”

  Caleb followed her to her makeup chair, then sat and looked at himself in the mirror. He still wasn’t used to the highlights in his hair, and he hoped he’d never get used to the glamour lights and powder.

  The makeup artist brought her brush to his face. “Close your eyes and hold still, doll.”

  Caleb sighed and did as he was told. When he opened them again, Sean was standing in front of him, smiling.

  “Hey, roomie. Sure you don’t wanna borrow my eyeliner? It’ll give you that pop factor out there onstage.”

  Caleb laughed. “No thanks, Sean. There’s only room on the show for one vampire Avril Lavigne look-alike, and you’ve got the role all sewed up.”

  “Hey, Avril Lavigne is the shit.”

  “You’re right,” Caleb said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have insulted her by making the comparison. Or vampires either.”

  Caleb started to rise from the chair, but the makeup artist pushed him back down. Then she began styling his hair, carefully layering each piece and spraying it into place.