Jerry was in a bad mood. His door slammed seven times in the past twenty minutes, not that Jane was really keeping track. The story was that he had the big guns on his case about upping the circulation and not doing enough to keep the advertisers happy. Some days she hated being part of the corporate machine. Her in tray was bulging with letters, and Roger from the mail room popped round to let her know that the Citizen Jane Fan Club, as he called it, needed its corner cleared out, pronto.
The day Jane told her father she would be studying journalism and psychology, he shut himself in his study until after dinner. Her mother pleaded with her to reconsider the commerce route and follow her father's footsteps, but she was resolute.
"If I'm going to be spending the rest of my life working, I at least want to enjoy it."
Her brother righted things in her father's eyes when he enrolled to become an accountant three years later. It didn't surprise her when her father proclaimed her brother wise and forward-thinking while announcing, over potato salad and beef wellington, that all was right in the world again.
The sound of Jerry's palm connecting with her desk made Jane jump.
"Where is your copy?"
"I'm working on it, Jerry." She pointed at her typewriter and the quarter page covered in ink.
Jerry pulled the page out and held it aloft, squinting.
"'Dear Citizen Jane, I think my husband is cheating on me with my best friend. What do I do?' Really, Jane, there must be more interesting problems than this one."
"There are. I'm starting with that and then ending with a letter from a man who dreams about eating his dog."
Jerry snorted. "I'll put an ad for dog food next to it. That should keep the knobs upstairs happy." Her copy landed on the desk under his palm. "I want to see the rest of it before lunch."
"Yes, boss."
When he looked around, he saw the whites of his staff's eyes as each one hoped he would not pick on them next.
"Back to work! News stops for nobody, you know."
Jane placed the page in her typewriter and twisted the barrel. There was no letter about a man and his doggy dreams, but she was not above inventing interesting problems for her column. Last week she wrote an answer to a kleptomaniac who had a fondness for taking toilet paper from his company's communal bathroom. The week before, there was the grandmother who confessed to having feelings for her best friend's son. Thanks to her psychology background and penchant for being liberal with the truth, she could keep Jerry happy and still answer genuine queries, like the one before her.
The concept of Citizen Jane had been her idea. When she approached Jerry about a job, he told her they weren't hiring. She knew they were hiring, they just weren't hiring women. So she spun a tale of how having a human interest section - a weekly agony column - would make people want to linger over their morning coffees long enough to find out the answers to all the questions they were too scared to ask. At first she had weirdos writing in for advice on where to bury a body or how to change a tyre, and she handled those with aplomb. But, later, when people began to talk about her witty replies and wonder who was behind the moniker at office water coolers around the country, readers began to trust her with all sorts of secrets. In a small way, it made Jane feel powerful.
Most letters were predictable and dealt with matters of the heart. Some asked for business advice (and she would call on her father to help in those cases) while others wanted reassurance that they were doing the right thing. In Jane's experience, most people asked for reassurance because they hoped that she would not contradict their decision. At times she had to read between the lines to work out what they wanted to hear, and then she would pen a candy-coated reply that went for the jugular.
Hitting the space bar until she found her spot, she began to think about how she could formulate her standard answer in a fresh way. The crux of her advice to the woman with the cheating husband was simple: cheating is never about sex; it's a lack of emotional connection. If the wife felt that she could reconnect with her husband, then perhaps the marriage could be saved. If not, she was better off cutting her losses. Either way, it was a bitter pill to swallow. She read over her response, satisfied that it had enough wit and mercy and hit the return key three times to work on the next letter on the pile.
Dear Citizen Jane
I think that my best friend is in love with me. We're in the same running team and I caught him staring at me in the showers. I care for him, but only as a friend. What do I do? I don't want to hurt him.
Not in Love
Jane stared at the letter. She had a friend like that too. His name was Ernie and they were neighbours. After listening to Ernie's confession of undying love, Jane broke his heart. They had only ever been friends in her eyes, yet now, years later, she sat at her desk in the noisy newsroom and felt an ache surging in her chest. Some days being the agony aunt was difficult; some problems hit a little too close to home. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat and began to type.
Dear Not in Love
It seems that the real question here is not about unrequited love but friendship. Since your friend has not confessed his feelings, it will be important for you to go on having a platonic relationship despite your suspicions. Many years ago I too was in your position and, owing to my insensitivity, I lost my friend. What I learnt from the experience is that love can take many forms; if we can move past the erotic and romantic, then our friendships will be richer. When, and if, this changes for you and your friend comes clean, be honest, yes; but also be tactful. My guess is that he knows you don't feel the same way. Whatever happens, try to remember the reasons why you became friends in the first place. If you can cling to that, then you both win.
Citizen Jane
"Are you crying?"
Jerry's face appeared above her typing.
"No." She sniffed and rubbed her face while chiding herself for becoming too emotionally involved in her readers' lives.
"Don't be hormonal. I hate hormonal women." Then his expression softened. "Come to my office in five minutes."
Jane kept her eyes on the keys and nodded. What had come over her? Ernie had not crossed her mind in years. For all she knew, he was knee-deep in nappies and living with his wife in the suburbs. Spilt milk and all that. When Jerry moved away, she risked a glance at the clock that kept watch over the newsroom. She let it count down the minutes and, when thirty seconds remained, crossed the floor to Jerry's office. He was waiting. Well, actually pacing and smoking his cigar.
"Sit, Jane."
There was a pile of paperwork on the only available chair. She nudged it to the floor while Jerry shut the door. He perched on the desk opposite her.
"I need a favour."
Jane began to sweat. Jerry never asked anyone for anything. He usually told them what to do or took what he wanted.
"Yes?"
"I'm having a problem. I mean, my friend is having a problem and he could use - uh - an outsider's perspective."
"I'm all ears."
"Strictly between you and me?"
"Off the record." She did the scout's salute.
Jerry moved to the window. Blue smoke wafted over his head. "My friend has been working in his job for twenty-five years. It's a good job; he enjoys it."
"Even if he shouts a lot."
He continued as though he hadn't heard her. "But about a week ago he found something that made him question everything. It's about his boss. It's proof of corruption on a systemic level. So far he has managed to shield his staff from the truth." Jerry turned to her. "As he faces pressure from above, he's finding it harder to live with his conscience. Part of him wants to come clean but he risks losing his job if he does." The cigar hissed as he stubbed it in the ashtray. "So. What do I tell him?"
Jane wished she were behind her desk. It was far easier to write down her advice than to be forced to spew wisdom on demand.
"Leave this with me, Jerry. I'll finish the copy you want and bring you an answer by lunchtime. OK?"
He looked tired. "Yes." He waved her away.
It took another twenty minutes to finalise her column. She kept making mistakes, so the page Jerry would eventually read looked as though Tipp-Ex had paid her to leave crusty smudges over her mistakes. Two cups of tea later and she had nothing. Jerry would need her answer in fifteen minutes. She stared at Darla, two desks down. Darla was a living example of multitasking: doing her nails, having a telephonic conversation and sipping her coffee while popping her gum.
"Listen Leroy, would it kill you to be honest with me when I wanna know how my ass looks in jeans? Don'cha know I just wanna look good for you?"
Jane ripped open her desk drawer and retrieved two sheets of white paper. Darla was drawling away as she typed. For ten minutes she heard, saw and felt nothing but the rising lines of typewritten letters in front of her.
Jerry was about to take another bite of his egg and mayo sandwich.
"Copy is ready. Like I promised."
"You're late. I said before lunch. I'm eating already."
"That's because your clock is fast. I'll swing by later to pick up the corrections."
"Did you, uh...?"
"It's on the second page." The door clicked shut behind her. She felt light-headed and hungry. She supposed being a crusader for the truth would make anyone work up an appetite.
Jerry smeared the second page with his mayonnaise thumb. The answer made him stop chewing.
Dear Sticky Wicket
The trouble with secrets and intrigue is that they become a kind of emotional cancer that eats away our integrity. If you feel you can keep quiet and still live with yourself, knowing what you know, then there is no problem. If not, my advice to you is to come clean. Purge yourself of the information you have. Whether it's to your padre, your peers or your attorney, honesty really is the best policy. If you don't, the consequences may haunt you. Yes, there is a great risk involved. But the greater risk is staying silent and allowing the injustice to continue. I have a sneaky suspicion that your staff will support you every step of the way. Do what you know in your heart is the right thing.
Citizen Jane
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