Jack picked up one of the folding stands and moved it to the pile underneath the alcove as he thought about his job. Target-Not-Target wasn't so bad; there were small pleasures to be had and the atmosphere was spacious and open without actually being so, a comforting illusion that broke down under excessive scrutiny. However, his interactions with one man earlier that day had filled him with a deep and utter longing to work outdoors. Nothing else was acceptable, or indeed worthwhile. He'd spent the remainder of his shift mired in an uncomfortable brew of hope and depression.
A short Asian woman approached the van where Jack was working and asked a question that he couldn't quite hear.
"Just a moment," he called out as he finished moving the last stand from the back of the van. "Okay, what was that?"
"My husband, is lost, Buckland Target," she said through a thick accent.
"You need directions to the Buckland Target?" Jack clarified.
"Yes."
"Okay, let's go over to the computer there and look up a map." He led the woman to a computer sitting on a desk in the corner. She plopped down into the chair and studied the login screen.
"I can enter number?" she asked.
"Uh, well, no," answered Jack as he leaned in to enter his own login information. Before he could reach the keys, the woman had typed in a string of letters and submitted them, granting her access to the site. Puzzled, Jack noticed for the first time that she was wearing a red vest indicating that she was a Target employee. Slightly annoyed, he returned to his work.
After a time he noticed someone else sitting at the computer.
"Who's over at the computer?" he asked one of the managers.
"Oh, I hired someone to do data entry. I was getting sick of it," she explained.
"I could've done that..." murmured Jack, slightly incensed.
"Oh, I didn't know you wanted to."
"Well...I do like manual labor..." he said, thinking about his job again.
Meanwhile, Juno had made great strides in her own personal journey. Although initially branded a social outcast, she had overcome this obstacle and ingratiated herself with friends that appreciated her quirky, if slightly dark, personality. The other actors in the troupe now accepted her with a firmness that she had been too afraid to ever hope for, and her relief was palpable despite her attempts to mask it.
The troupe was bonding in the woods, garbed in full native costume, which was a misleading term in this case: the majority of the "costume" consisted of full body paint with only small scraps here and there for the sake of decency.
As everyone laughed at the antics of the chubby fellow who'd apparently appointed himself comedian, Juno exchanged brief eye contact with the handsome young man across the circle. It was too early in her story for her to know, but she was destined to fall in love with him, and he with her. As the jokes and bantering died down, Juno stood up on a log and began an inspirational speech extolling in a dryly frank and endearingly personal way the virtues of love and friendship, at least insofar as youthful experience had informed her.
During the intervening time, Jack had gone to the ice cream parlour to engage in a little light gambling, and also to eat ice cream. They were just finishing a session, and Jack was counting his winnings as the participants prepared to leave.
A mousy-looking individual sidled up to Jack and mumbled, "If you stick around, there's twenty dollars in it for you." Jack glanced sidelong at the man and nodded slightly.
So as not to arouse suspicion among the remaining gamblers, Jack made as if to leave. He reached the door then turned around, passing the last stragglers as they headed out.
"It's raining. Can't eat ice cream outside," he explained, giving his cone a conspiratorial lick for good measure.
Once the parlour had mostly been vacated, the mousy man told Jack of several letters that evidenced confusions and conspiracies surrounding Juno's future relationship with the handsome man. They involved a third party, a distant relative of Juno's with benign intentions that somehow would unintentionally bring minor ruin to her life. Slightly worried, Jack followed the informer back to his apartment where they listened to an answering machine recording of someone singing a showtune about the disastrous love triangles and inevitable complications that were to come. The mousy man cheerfully sang along with the tune, but Jack recognized it as an ill omen; somebody else knew...
