AN: I don't know how I feel about this chapter... I wrote this pretty quickly. Like, five seconds after I wrote Chapter One. So, I don't know about it. But hey, if it's crap, I can just edit it later. (:
DISCLAIMER: Same thing as Chapter One, with a big ol' "Please don't sue me!!" added onto it.
Pam—
If you email me one more time asking if I've heard from that radio station yet, I will call them and tell them I don't want it. I'll say Pam Beesly (the office mattress) is in love with none other than Dwight Kurt Schrute, Beet Farmer Extraordinaire. I'll tell them they have hot, kinky beet sex with only toys made from beets, and that she is pregnant with his children. They're expecting quintuplets, which they will add to their family of twelve children. They raise their children to be ninjas, and even the youngest can throw a ninja star like a pro. Pam spends her time making beet soup, beetloaf, beet pies, beetdogs, beet ice cream, and producing children. However, one of her children attacked me with a numchuck recently and I cannot go. Please give it away.
Your Beet Child's Victim,
Fat Halpert
Pam giggled as she re-read his email quickly. Jim could always make her laugh, even when she was having a crappy day. Like right now.
It was almost midnight, and Roy still wasn't home. He had told her he was going out with Darryl and some guys for a beer after work, but Pam was starting to worry. How long did it take to get a beer? One hour? Two? Three at the most?
It had been seven hours. Pam sighed, bringing her knees to her chest. She was at her desk, compulsively checking her email and reading all about Carnival cruises. Her work clothes were in her laundry basket, and she wore her favorite flannel pajamas.
She hit the 'reply' button and quickly wrote a response.
Jim—
You so wish your children could attack people with numchucks. Besides, if I was with Dwight, you'd be with Angela. I can just see Mr. Angela Martin with his nineteen towheaded children walking to church in a straight line, then coming home to their forty-seven cats. I only have seventeen kids, and my home smells like fresh beets, not cat pee. So suck it.
Your Beet Lady,
Mrs. Pamela Schrute
PS: I think I just threw up a little writing that!
PPS: And it's been four days since they called! I'm getting worried!!
She clicked send before she could change her mind, and then went back to reading about Carnival's spa treatments. A few minutes later, her inbox alerted her she had a new email.
Pam—
Excuse me, but Angela and I have only eighteen children, and we exactly 100 cats. All of our spawn are named after people or events in the Bible or famous Christian leaders. And our house smells like Righteousness.
Your Bible Cat Guy,
Mr. Jim Halpert
PS: Wait… My name doesn't change when I marry. Oh well.
Pam smiled, happy to see he was awake, too. At least someone was there to talk to her.
Jim—
Sure. What're your kid's names? What're your cats' names? Hmmm? That's what I thought, Mr. Cat Pee Man.
Your Beet-Smelling Housewife,
Pam-a-lam-a-ding-dong
Suddenly, Pam heard some noise outside her apartment. Cautiously, she tiptoed to the living room and peered out to the driveway. There, she saw three big men stumbling towards her door. She froze, wishing Roy were here. Or Jim. She was in her flannel PJs with three big, burly guys she didn't know coming to her house after midnight.
"Pam!" she heard a voice call. Pam looked through the peephole and instantly recognized Roy, Darryl, and Phil from the warehouse. Relieved, she opened the door a crack.
"Hey Pammy," Roy said, his words slurred. She noticed how he was leaning on Darryl for support, and how his eyes were extremely red. "We're gonna hang out here tonight."
"No, you're not," she said, glaring at the drunken man. "Where've you been?"
He waved his hand, unconcerned. "Out," he answered.
"Out," Pam repeated, her voice developing and edge. "Out where?"
"Hey Pam," Darryl cut in, "we went out for some beers and forgot the time. It won't happen again." He unhooked Roy's arm from around his shoulders and held him steady. "Sorry, Phil and I gotta go."
Pam nodded as they walked away, and then turned her attention to her fiancée. "Come in." She opened the door wider, and Roy stumbled in, crashing on the couch.
"I'm tired," he declared drunkenly. Pam scowled.
"Roy, do you have any idea how worried I was?" she asked, sitting down on a nearby chair. "It's past midnight and you're just getting home. Couldn't you have called? If you were going to stay out late, you could've at least told me. I was about to call the police!" She sighed and ran her fingers through her loose curls. "I mean, what's going to happen when we're on the cruise? What if you don't make it on the boat? Huh? What's going to happen then?"
Roy covered his face with his hands. "I'm sorry, okay?" he responded, not sounding the least bit sorry. "We lost track of time."
Pam snorted. "Sure. Whatever."
"Yeah sure," Roy bellowed, sitting up. Pam recoiled a bit on instinct. "Just fucking trust me, Pam. I'm not going to do anything. I'm a big boy, got it? Don't be so damn worried all the time. Let me do my own thing."
Pam hung her head, deciding to be defeated. "Sure. Okay. I did worry too much. But call me, okay? I got scared. I didn't know where you were."
Roy nodded, his eyelids drooping. Pam gingerly touched his cheek, and he smiled, then got up and went to the bedroom.
Pam turned back to her computer. A window quickly popped up, telling her she had a new email.
Pam—
Alright, fine. Here are their names, in order from oldest to youngest:
John, Paul, Luke, Rebekah, Charity, Constance, Matthew, Hannah, Sarah, Prudence, Mark, Noah, Moses, Nathan, James, Abraham, Benjamin, and Joseph.
And our cat's names are (in no particular order):
Sparky, Sunshine, Angel, Chico, Kitty, Joy, Kissy, Choo Choo, Ash, Daisy, Rose, Geranium, Delilah, Broccoli, Streamer, Confetti, Gummy Bear, Nutcracker, Christmas, Easter, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Lent, and Jeremy.
The rest are all named Sprinkles, with numbers corresponding to when we got them. For example, Sprinkles 35 is the 35th cat we got that we named Sprinkles.
Your Awesome Cat and Kid Namer,
Jimmy Boy
She shook her head, surprised at the great lengths Jim went to carry out a joke. She felt a little smug that he always went to far lengths to make her laugh. Not Katy, but her.
Jim—
Wow. You have way to much time on your hands. Anyway, when were you planning on telling me this, huh? Pretty big secret to keep from your best friend.
Your Offended Beet-Smelling, Ninja-Star Throwing Best Friend,
Pamela Morgan Beesly
This time, Pam didn't even have time to read about Carnival's shiatsu massage when Jim's email came.
Pam—
I was planning to tell you Friday, but now the surprise is ruined. I had a cake and confetti and a stripper gram and everything. Oh well.
Your Awesome Naming Best Friend,
James Daniel Halpert
Nest Friday. Next Friday was Casino Night, Michael's spring fundraiser. When Pam had heard the theme a week ago, she had liked it. Which scared her just a tiny bit.
Jim—
A stripper gram? Now I am disappointed. And anyway, next Friday's Casino Night. I'm wearing this dress I wore to my roommate's wedding. It's blue and shiny and fancy. And I got this pretty clip, so I'm going to do my hair up all pretty. Okay. Girl moment over. Anyway, why are you up so late?
Your Curious, Girly Friend,
P-Beez
Pam—
I'm up late because the radio station is taking forever to email me the details, and I have a certain friend who won't stop bugging me about it. And that dress sounds cute. Wow, that sounds really gay.
Your Possible Bi-Curious Friend,
J-Halp
PS: Your rapper name is way cooler than mine.
Jim—
Maybe we should call Dwight. I'm sure he wouldn't mind a threesome. Get Angela into it, too.
Your Perverted Best Friend,
Peesly
Pam stared at her computer screen. She couldn't believe she just wrote that. However, instead of hitting the backspace button, she accidentally hit 'send'.
"Shit!" she whispered, watching the little envelope icon fly into the pixilated mailbox.
Pam—
Woah there, Kinky Beesly. I don't know about you, but Dwight and Angela foursomes aren't at the top of my To-Do List. I have 'Stab Myself Repeatedly in the Eye with a Rusty Fork' before that. But hey, after I do that, sure.
Your Equally (if not more so) Perverted Friend,
Jalpert.
Pam blushed. Leave it to Jim to take the awkwardness out of a situation.
Jim—
Ha ha. Funny. Anyway, is it dorky for me to be excited about Casino Night? I really can't wait to show you my Poker skills. And I gotta practice for the ship! I'm going on a cruise!!
Your Excited Friend,
Kinky Beesly
Pam—
Yes Pam, you ARE going on a cruise. Great that you've joined us here on Earth.
Your Friend,
Jim
Pam lifted her eyebrow, confused. Jim's last email was more nasty than teasing. What had she said?
Just as she was about to write an apology email, a new message appeared from Jim, forwarded from what looked like Rock 107's corporate email address.
Dear Mr. James Halpert and Ms. Pamela Beesly,
You have won Rock 107's 'Jingle, Cruise, Rock!' contest, and have won an all-expenses paid cruise on Carnival cruise lines to the Southern Caribbean! Attached is your cruise tickets and information. Rock 107 had paid and booked your cruise tickets, and they are nonrefundable and nontransferable. They are in your name, so no one else may use your tickets. Rock 107 is not liable for any sudden changes in cruise status, or any lost, stolen, or broken items. You hereby release Rock 107 from any liability at all concerning your flight, cruise, belongings, or person. Any excursions you must pay for yourself, along with all food and drinks. You must also book and pay for your own flight. Rock 107 will only pay for food and beverages from the cruise ship's restaurant and 'Lido Deck', not including drinks from the bar. If a cruise is cancelled, Rock 107 will pay for a different one within 48 hours.
Have fun!
Pam reread the email two more times. She was going to the Southern Caribbean. With Jim. Not Roy.
"Crap."