Jane Actually

I felt … abandoned. I am sorry that the pressures of work make it difficult for us to talk. And I warn you that I see … I think it will only get worse before it gets better. And I am sorry that your occupation is a lonely one. Perhaps you should look for another job.”
    “I didn’t mean to sound so deprived. I see hundreds of people every day and that makes my job interesting. I just wish that I might … talk to them, well some of them. But I’m … I wouldn’t want to go job hunting again, not in this economy.”
    “Isn’t there something else you could do? A man like you …”
    “What skills do I have? I was a soldier longer than I was a carpenter. And though the military has uses for the disembodied … and a carpenter who can’t hold a hammer is useless.”
    “I only meant … you’re an educated man.”
    “No, I’m not. I only know how to talk above my station. Please Jane, I am content with my lot. Tell me about your job and about your co-workers.”
    This request was exactly what Jane feared, not that she hadn’t prepared for it, of course. She had already populated her imaginary workplace with all manner of endearing characters culled from the many professional people she had met recently. No, her real worry was that she was compounding her minor fiction into a full novel.
    “Well, I work for a woman named Melody who’s really a lovely woman, but she does think she knows the answer to everything and … well I shouldn’t tell tales out of school, but she sometimes takes credit for things she didn’t do.”
    “That is the purview of every manager,” Albert said. “Our lieutenant was forever doing that and the sergeant would complain he’d take credit for the sun shining up … for the sun rising in the morning.”
    “And then there’s the new girl, Mary,” Jane said and stopped when she realized her mistake.
    “I thought you were the new girl, Jane,” Albert observed.
    “I was the new girl, until Mary was hired.”
    “O ho, I sense some resentment.”
    “Perhaps a little, but you make me realize how fortunate I am to have a job and to have co-workers who are really very nice people. Thank you.”
    “But I’ve done nothing except complain about my own job. You apparently resolved your problems without my help, despite the deep frustration I detected in your email.”
    Had she a face, it would be crimson with embarrassment at this. “I fell prey to the curse of email. I wrote and sent it while still angry. And you still helped me because I imagined what I would say to you and what advice you would give me. And my imaginary Albert gave me very good advice indeed.”
    “Better than the real thing, no doubt,” he replied. “I think I’m jealous of this better me.” He would have expanded on this theme, but the man who’d entered the booth with the several pairs of trousers exited with no trousers but with his carrier bag noticeably heavier.
    “Oh, must dash. I’ve found my first shoplifter of the day. Please tell me when we can chat again. I don’t want another two weeks to go by without hearing from you.”

A new portrait
Creating a likeness of Jane Austen
    “M y lips might be a little fuller,” Jane told the artist, feeling quite weary. She wondered whether Mary conveyed her comment with the same weariness. They had been working with the artist for hours and it was clear Melody was losing her patience.
    “You’re not Julia Roberts, Jane,” Melody said with clear frustration in her voice. Mary had to agree to a certain resemblance between the actress and the portrait that was emerging. But she was acting as Jane’s avatar and kept her mouth shut, or rather she spoke only what Jane told her to say. Every day she was finding it easier to both speak for Jane and protect the author at the same time. She knew Jane’s patience was also wearing thin, but she did her best not to sound exasperated. That is until …
    “You have no idea what I looked like,” Mary said, speaking for Jane.
    Melody replied: “This looks nothing like Cassandra’s portrait. Oh, you did not just roll your eyes at me. Wait, Mary, did Jane tell you to roll your eyes?”
    “She … I only do … she only did what I tell her. If you say it looks nothing like Cassandra’s painting, then it is a marked improvement. Once there’s a cap and she adds some curls …”
    “Then it will look like Julia Roberts with curly hair wearing a cap,” Melody said with finality. “Argh! Why is this so