1
"Hi, mom," Pam said weakly into the receiver.
"Pam, sweetie," her mother's electronic voice cooed through the earpiece. "How are you holding up?"
Pam felt herself sink slightly deeper into the couch. Her living room was dark and only the light from the streetlamps leaked through her blinds and cast sallow stripes onto the carpet. The silence was crushing, as though she were sinking farther and farther to the bottom of the ocean, the pressure imploding her.
"Mom," she felt herself say before she tightened the muscles in her face to keep from sobbing uncontrollably. A few tears squeaked by and gasped quietly. "So much stuff happened today, so many things-"
"Oh, Pam, should I come over there?"
"No, Mom, it's okay. I'm okay." The dead silence after her speech began pressing hard against her chest.
"All right, go slow. What happened first?"
"Remember when I told you that Roy and I broke up?"
"Uh huh. Oh, sweetie, I am still so sorry."
"I—I didn't tell you what he was like, though. He got so angry when I told him about Jim and me that he threw his beer bottle at a mirror."
"Oh no, he didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No, Mom, I'm fine, but today at work he came in-" Pam gasped slightly, remembering how about every unpleasant emotion that existed had converged at the moment—the spike of jealousy as Jim and Karen spoke together, the anger of seeing Roy, the shock as he said Jim's name, and the general embarrassment of feeling naked in front of the whole office as her personal affairs were thrust into the faces of her coworkers after the pepper spray cleared. "He came in and tried to attack Jim-"
"Oh my Lord-"
"-and Dwight, he works in sales, sprayed him in the face with pepper spray, and it was all over before I knew it-"
"And Jim and everyone was fine?"
"Yeah, no one was hurt, except Roy."
"Is Roy all right?"
"Yeah, he was okay." She paused. "He was fired."
"What a day."
"We had coffee after work and talked it over. Mom, I—I'm never going to see him again," Pam said in a higher voice, sniffing. She swallowed a sob.
"I didn't think he was able to do something like this," Pam's mom replied. "I don't like it, but it's for the best, I think."
"I know—I know," Pam sighed, but the cold still surrounded her. As aggressive as he was, Pam knew his big, warm arms, what his smile was like when it was only for her, the rare, special moments that got her through the evenings with him. And he was gone.
"Are you sure you're okay alone?"
The question struck Pam harder than intended. Pam's lip quivered and her eyebrow furrowed.
"Sweetie?"
The streetlamps flickered. Pam drew her flimsy jacket closer to her, pulling the zipper closer to her chest. The absolute stillness killed any comfort she might have had at that moment.
"Pam, I'm coming over there."
"Mom, it's okay."
"I'm coming, don't try to stop me. See you in a half hour." The line went dead. At first, Pam was slightly annoyed at her mother's presumption, but as she stood up, the sounds of the couch's springs echoed loudly off the wall and the thought of spending tonight alone crept inside her like a cockroach and died a smelly, disgusting death in her chest.
Pam turn on a lamp and grabbed a magazine, walking over to the chair. She felt the modest fear of a young woman alone at night, like the girls in horror movies. But not so much a monster—more her own future that she feared above all else.
Maybe I should get a dog—or a cat, she thought offhandedly. The thought electrified her suddenly. What if she ended up like Angela, with her cats? She quickly snapped on the television to chase off the thoughts.
A "Magnum, P.I." rerun, a documentary about polar bears, "CSI," and the local news were on. She watched the local news.
"-local cabbage farmer gives us his professional opinion: 'This new tax on fertilizer won't cripple the industry—God knows we'll always have cabbage—but out-of-state prices will be an arm and a leg, mark my words. At least the good people of Scranton won't have to worry about the rising cost of cabbage-"
The TV flicked off, leaving a fuzzy light behind it. Pam dug her fingernails into her scalp, feeling more trapped in that room, on that couch, than she had ever felt in the conference room during one of Michael's lectures or on a Friday, sitting at her desk waiting for 5 o'clock.
She wept openly now. She gasped heavily for air as she was bombarded by the notions she had been holding off valiantly all day.
He doesn't love me. He doesn't love me anymore.
She saw it all. She saw him push Karen out of the way as Roy lunged. He didn't even look at her.
How will it all be okay?
And everyone watching—sometimes she thought everyone in the office knew that she loved him. And if they didn't know before, they certainly did today.
He doesn't love me.
It was as if it had all been a horrible joke he had played on her. Was he capable of something that cruel? She hadn't thought Roy would ever hurt anyone—but, no, Jim wouldn't do that. But he clearly he hadn't loved her as much as she'd loved him. He'd quickly forgotten her after he was out of visiting range.
She thought about herself, Karen and Jim, and Roy. She'd give anything to feel Roy's arms around her right now. If her mom wasn't coming over, she'd be a little too tempted to call him.
That's not really who you want to call.
As if she needed to fantasize about Jim holding her, comforting her. She felt so wrapped up in him that she couldn't breathe, only cry uncontrollably.
Everything flooded her. She quieted, drowning and helpless. She heard the door to the garage open.
"Sweetie?" her mother's voice cut through the menacing silence. "Oh, Pam!" She dropped her coat and car keys on the floor and came to hold her.
"Mom," Pam cried, throwing her arms around her, burying her head into her hair like a little child.
"The mold is going to take three weeks to remove," Jill Beasley said, scrunching up her nose as she poured orange juice. The seven-thirty sun shone through the window, lifting Pam's spirits that were fragilely repaired by sleep. "Apparently it's what's causing your dad's asthma, and according to the website, it's life-threatening."
"Gosh," said Pam, surprised. She chewed meditatively on her Pop tart. "Do you want to stay here?"
"I don't think you have the room for all of us," Mrs. Beasley said thoughtfully, looking around. Pam shrugged in agreement. "Although I would love to. I'd hate to stay in a hotel for three weeks."
Pam would have suggested giving up her apartment to stay at Roy's, but that wasn't really an option now.
"That sucks, Mom."
"Language, sweetie." Jill Beasley said.
"Sucks, sucks, sucks," Pam said with a small smile. "It's not a bad word anymore, Mom. I have to go to work now, okay?"
"I'll probably leave around two, so I won't see you when you get back from the office. Unless you need me, then I'll stay."
"That's okay, Mom, I limit my breakdowns to four a year." Pam pinned her hair back as always and pulled on her long, warm white coat. "I'll see you sometime soon."
"Bye, Pam," her mom called as Pam walked down the hall.
"Have a good day, Mom."
Pam sat behind her the reception desk.
"Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam."
"Blah, blah, blah, Dwight Schrute, please blah blah blah?"
"Could you hold, please? I'll put you through." She set the phone down and watched Dwight receive his call. She couldn't help but let her eyes slide to the right just a little and stare at Jim's back. He never even turned around anymore to give her one of his glances that they'd share about twenty times a day. They'd say a million things with their eyes—I'm bored, I'm hungry, Want to mess with Dwight?, Michael is such an ass, my brain hurts, I hate my job, I hate today, I know!, I have a secret that I'll tell you, I have something I really need to tell you, I have a secret I'm not going to tell you, I love you. The last one sometimes got lost in translation.
She would look at the bow of his shoulders as he hunched over his desk.
She'd never really found him extremely attractive—actually, when she was in high school, she'd never looked at guys like him. There had only been the teenage gods, the athletes. And Roy had been her Hercules, well-muscled and well-mannered in front of her parents, the football star, who had picked her, Pam, his mortal Megara. She had always thought of herself and Roy in the Disney sense of the myth, with the happy ending, with herself becoming a goddess, somehow ascending to the Olympus of life with him. However, it was turning out much more like the original Greek myth.
But now, she was letting herself—at least, while Karen was in the bathroom and the cameras were turned away—let her eyes glide over his back. Granted, his starched shirt didn't allow much, but she imagined his back to be delicately and finely lithe, not bulging. She imagined running her fingers through his thick, long hair.
Karen came back into office and Pam quickly shifted her eyes to the nearest thing—Dwight. She stared at him, watching as he put down the phone and began writing something down. Karen sat down with her own business. Dwight looked up, as if he had sensed her looking at him. Pam gave him a quick smile before looking away. She looked at her computer screen. She pulled up a picture of the David to occupy herself.
Was there any human form more beautiful? Michelangelo had given him the faraway look on his face that was echoed by male models ("damn, I am pretty" &c., &c.), such an honestly conceited look that Pam envied their simple happiness. Wouldn't it be better just to be arrogant and happy than nice and miserable? She let her eyes roam over his calves, his thighs, his chest. It was all perfect. She looked at his face. It seemed like Jim's. She closed her eyes and tried to erase the resemblance, but it wouldn't go.
"Hey, Pam," said Jim, standing at her desk, bending slightly.
"Oh! Hi," she said, surprised and blushing.
"I was wondering if you had extra rubber bands?"
"Yeah, of course." She quickly leaned to one of the bottom drawers to get the bag.
"What are you looking at?" he bent over the desk, looking at her computer screen. She'd forgotten to minimize. His eyes lit up with mischief. She playfully dreaded but wanted him to make whatever smartass thing was going to say. Gotta curb that porn addiction, Beasley. Or something. But he just gave her a weak half-smile and a generic nod. "Art. Nice."
"It's Michelangelo's David," said Pam, nodding enthusiastically.
"Yeah," he said, no longer leaning in towards her. He had his weight on his heels, nervous, as though he wanted nothing in the world but to get away from her. She pushed the bag of rubber bands toward him. "Thanks." He walked back to his desk. She watched him go, watched his body move. Why was she so concerned with his body today?
Karen had been watching her watch him. Pam smiled guiltily and ashamedly at Karen as she redirected her gaze back to her screen. Karen did not smile back.
At lunch, Pam didn't leave her desk as she usually did. She ate alone, grateful that Michael left her alone after only two ribbings about how antisocial she was becoming. First, she calls off her wedding, and now she won't talk to anyone? Actually, I just want to be alone right now, Michael.
Karen came right up to Jim at 12:15.
"Hey, I want to ask you something."
"Okay."
"You know that trip I was talking about?" Karen asked, touching his arm gently.
"Yeah, you've been talking about it for weeks."
"Well, not weeks," she said, smiling at him. "But today I renewed one of Andy's biggest accounts. We're going to have enough to go on that trip really soon."
"Where do you want to go? Sandals, Jamaica?" Jim asked. Pam had to bite her spoon to keep her from snorting in her pudding.
"No, stupid," she laughed. "I was thinking—I don't know, Montreal?"
"Come on, just because you can speak Canadian doesn't mean you need to show off," he said with a goofy smile.
"I—I wasn't trying to show off," she said uncomfortably.
"No, I meant—Montreal sounds great," he replied, looking to Karen's left somewhere. About four seconds later she realized he was joking. "Let's go to Montreal."
"Well, what about Brazil?" Karen asked, crossing her arms. "I don't speak Brazilian."
"Wherever you like," he said, kissing her cheek. "Meanwhile, we have to figure out what country's food we're going to have for dinner tonight."
"God bless…China," Karen said, unwrapping the egg roll she had brought for lunch as they began to walk over to the break room.
Pam finished off her yogurt. Her mother had packed her lunch today with a turkey sandwich. God Bless Turkey, she thought. Jim might have found that funny. Who knows.
"Pam, I have something I need to say to you," Dwight said bluntly, coming up to the reception desk. Jim and Karen paused to watch. Dwight's forehead was furrowed, his face in overdrive trying to achieve a look of utmost seriousness. "I know you have female urges, and I understand. But we must remember we are humans and we are above the animals. I am in a relationship right now with another woman and your sexual overtures to me are unwanted."
Karen looked bewildered while Jim looked as though he were to explode laughing.
"Dwight, I never-"
"No, I know you never did or said anything, but in the wild, the pheromones and the stares that you are thrusting at me would be enough to initialize a mating procedure. As for me, I am like the artic wolf. I choose but one bitch, and there is no room for you."
Jim bit his lip, his eyes riveted on Pam.
"Wow," Pam said softly. "Gosh, Dwight. Whoever she is—she must be an unbelievable woman to be able to handle you."
"She is," Dwight said solemnly, closing his eyes for a moment. "I know that after you broke up with your fiancé, your first tendency is to throw yourself into the arms of the next man you see."
Pam couldn't help but dart here eyes to Jim quickly, then back to Dwight.
"But you are not a deer. You can't just mate with the Beta after your Alpha is dead." Dwight held her hand as though he were lecturing an alcoholic. "But believe me when I say there is a forty-point buck out there for you."
"Thanks, Dwight," said Pam, nodding gratefully. "But don't worry about me. I'm sure I'll get over you—someday."
"That's the spirit," said Dwight, walking away to inspect his throwing stars.
Jim and Karen looked at Dwight, then back at Pam. Pam's smile was threatening to burst out of her tight lips. Jim took a step toward her, but Karen stopped him.
"Oh my gosh—what about Switzerland?"
Pam felt her heart fall. He wasn't going to say anything. Not even smile at her.
"Yeah," he said, looking away from Pam. "Then if we play Call of Duty, I can be neutral."
"It would be a good way to cover your sorry sniper-toting ass."
"There should be a diplomat character in that game. I could have ended World War Two before we even got to the next level…"
They walked away.
Pam prayed silently that her Mom was still at her apartment.
"Hello?"
"Mom, it's me," Pam said, biting her lip.
"How's your day going, sweetie?"
"Horrible. Jim's not the same…Nothing's the same. I'm the one that needs to change. I'm just—stuck."
"Well, how're you going to get unstuck?"
"I can't," she said. "I can't quit. Maybe I could transfer, but I don't know…"
"Hm. Well, maybe this will get you through the day. I have a surprise for you when you get home, okay?"
"Okay, Mom," Pam said. She looked over at Jim through the window. There eyes connected briefly. "I love you."
"Bye sweetie." Jim still looked at her, his sandwich halfway in his mouth. "Love you too."
They disconnected at the same time.
