Jane's Harmony (Jane's Melody #2) (9 page)

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

C
aleb 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.

“Sean, why are you still here? This is awkward enough without you standing there and staring at me.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to get inside your head. Get an edge on you in the competition.”

“Sean, we’re not even on the same team. We won’t compete against each other unless we both make the live show. And I highly doubt either of us will. No matter how much you might look and sing like Avril Lavigne.”

“I don’t sing like Avril Lavigne.”

“I thought you said she was the shit.”

“If you have to keep talking,” the makeup artist said, “could you at least sit still?”

Sean stepped up closer and lowered his voice. “Say, how are things on your team?”

“They’re fine, Sean. Everyone’s just trying to make it to the next round.”

“Is there anyone you’re particularly worried about?”

“No, not really. We’ve only had group rehearsal once. And I try to focus on my own performance.”

“Well, okay, then, but maybe what about Jordyn? Have you talked to Jordyn?”

Caleb saw the look in his eyes and realized why Sean was over here harassing him. He decided to play with him a little.

“Jordyn who?” Caleb asked.

“You know—Jordyn from New York. What’s she like?”

“You mean Jordyn-with-a-
y
?”

“Shit, Caleb, how many Jordyns are there on your team?”

“Just the one, I think.”

“Then I meant her,” Sean quipped.

“Okay, sure,” Caleb shot back. “What about her again?”

“Has she said anything to you?”

“Only that she’s not into dudes who wear eyeliner.”

“Just forget it,” he said, turning and storming off.

Caleb grinned and watched him go. Sean hadn’t quite left the makeup and dressing area when he called back.

“And everyone knows chicks dig eyeliner.”

After he had disappeared, the makeup artist looked at Caleb in the mirror.

“He’s right,” she said. “Chicks do dig eyeliner on a guy.”

Caleb just shook his head.

When Caleb stepped out onto the stage, everything in his head went quiet. Quiet and white. It had always been that way. It didn’t matter to him whether he was playing for passersby in the street, a bar full of drunken music lovers, or a reality TV judge backed up by a crowd of fake fans in a Hollywood studio soundstage; once he plucked the first chord, the result was the same. He wasn’t playing for anyone, he was playing for everyone.

He sometimes imagined a great mythic cloud passing by overhead and in the cloud was every story ever told and every song ever sung. And if he was lucky, he got to reach up into this cloud and pull something down and shape it in his own way and show it to someone so that they might see for just one fleeting but magic moment the greatness that they themselves were capable of. Then he’d strum the last chord and his song would drift back to join the ether from where it had come. And he was just fine with that. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Listen up,” the producer shouted from the edge of the stage. “This isn’t being broadcast live, but we have a full afternoon and we’d like to get this filmed in one take. Those of you in the audience, please pay attention to the applause sign. It’s very important that you cheer at the right moment. And for our artist . . . let’s see . . . Caleb, right? Caleb, you need to let a few beats pass after they call action. Don’t play right when the
curtain lifts, okay? Just a pause to set the mood. And do the same when you finish the song. You can react naturally to the applause, of course, but don’t look too happy to be through with the performance. Stay in the moment. Got it?”

Caleb nodded that he understood, even though he wanted to walk off the stage. And he probably would have if he hadn’t been worried about disappointing Jane.

The producer called for the set to be readied and the partition dropped in front of Caleb, blocking him off from the audience and the judge. He stood alone with his guitar, listening to the producer bark out his final orders.

Caleb had known before he came that these reality shows were mostly scripted. But now that he had looked behind the curtain, he saw that they weren’t just scripted, they were total bullshit. He actually felt relieved that he’d probably be going home. There were eight artists on his team, and by the end of the week, only four would remain. He didn’t have a lot of hope for himself, considering his judge had already given him a thumbs-down.

Caleb heard the director call, “Action!”

Then he heard applause as the partition lifted away on its cables, revealing the crowd. He looked into the lights and listened to the applause, and he knew that this was what every musician dreamed of. And hadn’t he secretly dreamed of it too? But not like this. Not with phony fans and an LED sign that told them when to cheer.

He pushed these thoughts from his mind and looked to the crowd for inspiration. He hadn’t decided yet which of his songs to sing, but when he glimpsed a woman in the front row who reminded him of his aunt, his fingers moved, striking a familiar melody in a minor key.

“This is for everyone out there who has lost someone,” he said. “Especially if that someone happened to be a soldier.”

Then he sang.

They came in full dress

But you already knew

They handed you the letter and left

But no medal could comfort you

Another hero lost

Another coffin draped in red, white, and blue

Now you stare into the past

Remembering love that was true

I know today you hate the sun

Oh, it pours down love

Love on everyone

But it slips beneath your blinds

Onto memories you rerun

The letters you meant to write

But were never begun

You cry, Give me rain instead

Or even snow

Cold to numb my pain

A flood to drown my sorrow

’Cause if you’ve ever lost true love

The person you knew was the one

Then I’m sure you know

What it’s like to hate the sun

Now the sun
’s turned to rain

And everyone’s gone

They left with their condolences

And it’s just you here alone

Oh, the sweet love you made

The promise of years yet to come

But even the best memories fade

Just like the sun

I know you used to hate the sun

But now rain pours down

Down on everyone

It drips from your gutters

Onto the memories you rerun

The letters you meant to write

A
nd should have begun

You cry, Give me pain instead

Or even sorrow

A wind to blow away the rain

A ray of hope for tomorrow

’Cause if you’ve ever lost true love

The person you knew was the one

Then I
’m sure you know

What it’s like to miss the sun

You finally visited today, Auntie

I know you were there

I saw you put your ear to his grave

I wonder what you heard

You decided love isn’t gone

You said, It’s right here with me

You knew your heart was his home

And always will be

I know you used to hate the sun

Oh, it pours down love

Love on everyone

It drips into your heart

A
nd onto the memories you rerun

The letters you meant to write

And have finally begun

You cry, Give me peace instead

Anything but tears

Warm memories to keep

Faith to pass the years

’Cause if you’
ve ever lost true love

The person you knew was the one

Then I’m sure you also know

Love just keeps going on

The audience was quiet when he finished—too quiet. They stared at him, and so did the judge, but no one was clapping.

“Cut!” the director yelled.

Then the producer appeared at the edge of the stage. “Damn it!” he shouted out to some distant sound booth. “Why didn’t you throw the applause switch?”

“Sorry, boss,” a voice from the booth said. “I got wrapped up in the song and forgot.”

The producer shook his head. “Get someone less sentimental to run the sign this time. Okay, people, let’s do it over. Caleb, perfect pause. So let’s do the same thing again. Just take it from the top.”

Caleb shook his head. “I can’t do it again.”

The producer had half turned away, but he heard Caleb and spun back around. “Excuse me?”

“I said I can’t just play it on command.”

“Why not?”

“I felt it, but now it’s gone.”

“But that’s your job, son.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have a real hard time in this business if you can’t perform when you’re asked to. This isn’t some art house gig where you get to call the shots, pal.”

“I can probably play you something different.”

“Fine,” he said. “I don’t really care what you play.”

“No,” the judge said. “I don’t want another song.”

Everyone turned to look up at her in the judges’ box. So this is it, Caleb thought. She’s not even going to wait for the eliminations to send me home.

“Why not?” the producer asked.

“Because that one was perfect,” she said, smiling at Caleb. “Let’s just reshoot the applause, can we?”

The producer threw up his hands. “I guess so, sure. Caleb, do you think you could stand there and look like you just played the song again, or would that be too much to ask too?”

Caleb nodded that he could. Then he watched as they got everyone back in their places like so many set pieces in a play. When the director called action again, Caleb strummed the last chord, the sign lit like it was supposed to, and the crowd went wild with the kind of applause that seemed slightly tone-deaf, given the song he had actually played. But this wasn’t his show, so whatever.

After depositing his guitar backstage, Caleb rejoined his group in their assigned section to watch the remaining artists he was competing against perform. He had hardly sat down when Sean leaned his head over Caleb’s shoulder from the seat behind.

“Nice work, guy. Really nice.”

“You think so?”

“I sure wish I could write shit like that.”

“Thanks,” Caleb said. “That one still cuts deep for me.”

“I could tell. Anyway, screw the producer. The judge liked it, so that’s good news for you.”

“You think she liked it enough to pass me through?”

“I’m thinking so, man. Although I could guaran-damn-tee you there’d be no doubt about it if you’d listened to me and worn a little eyeliner.”

“What’s with you and the eyeliner, dude? It’s like you own stock in Maybelline or something. Next thing you know, you’ll be trying to get me to put those disks in my ears too.”

“They’re called gauges, man. And they’re the shit.”