A/N: Hey guys, really sorry about posting the wrong chapter. Not sure how I managed to do that. Here's the real chapter 11.
The phone startled me. At first, I thought it was Roy calling again, hoping I would answer but when I glanced at the number, I didn't recognize it. Usually I let unknown numbers go straight to voice mail; this time I answered.
"Pam Beesly," I said into the cell.
There was a pause. "Uh, hey," a familiar voice spoke.
"Oh my god." My heart leapt into my throat and for a second I was too shocked to speak. "Jim?"
"Yeah," his voice sounded tense. "I, uh, meant to call someone at the museum. I thought you would be out at the festival."
"No, I mean yeah. I'm at the festival, this is my cell," I stammered. Hearing his voice again made me flustered and I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. "Uh, is there anything I can—"
"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean—" he said at the same time.
There was another awkward pause. Jim let out a nervous chuckle. I swallowed hard and shifted my weight uneasily. "Um, do you want to talk with some one at the museum or—"
"No, I just—" he stopped again and I gripped the phone tightly, waiting for him to speak again. "So, I guess you probably noticed there wasn't an article in the newspaper today."
"Yeah," I said lightly, trying to remain calm even though I was still shaky. "What's up with that?
"Well, I guess you could say there were a few…technical difficulties," he responded slowly.
"Technical difficulties?"
I heard a little sigh. "I, sort of, ran over my tape recorder," he mumbled quickly.
I put a hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh. The humor of the moment made me relax slightly. "You ran over your tape recorder?"
"Yeah, it was so stupid," he said, a bit of humor coming to his voice. "I must have dropped it last night and, yeah, it's completely broken."
"Nice," I teased.
"Well, it worked out alright," he continued, "my boss didn't have room for the article in today's paper anyway, so yeah— Oh, and I didn't get a photographer to come out, so no photos either."
I hadn't thought about it yesterday, but now that he had brought it up, I realized there hadn't been a photographer. "Some journalist you turned out to be," I said, still trying to be funny but the second it came out of my mouth I regretted saying it.
Jim didn't respond right away and I feared maybe I had pushed my joking too far. "Uh, so, I called to let you guys know we're coming back out there to get a few photos. Finish up the story. It won't take nearly as long—"
"We?" I asked. Did that mean Jim was coming back with a photographer in tow? The prospect of seeing Jim again made me giddy and I excitedly began pacing around the fountain. There was a low rumbling noise and some static cutting off his response. "Jim," I called into the phone. "Jim, are you still there?"
"Pam?" the voice was spotty. "Yeah sorry about that, I'm here."
"Yeah, so you were saying—"
"So, um, how is—"
"Sorry, go ahead," I said. We kept stepping on each other's sentences and I knew as long as we skirted around the topic of last night, the awkwardness would continue.
"Oh, um…" his voice was breaking up again, making it difficult to hear, "I just wondered how the festival was going today."
His question wasn't what I was expecting. I wanted to talk to him about the kiss but I didn't know how to bring that up and thought it best to play it casual for now. "It's alright," I said slowly, searching for something interesting to say. "Michael and I held a bird funeral."
"Really?"
"Yeah, he's still pretty upset over the whole Jan thing," I explained. "And he found this dying bird, so I bought him a little box for it and we buried it next to the bathrooms."
Jim let out a chuckle. At least we were able to still joke around. "Well, it's a good thing the article isn't done yet. Can't not mention bird funerals as an attraction to the festival."
"Yeah, maybe someone will find the bird's casket and use it in their art work," I jokingly suggested.
"Nice, Pam," Jim replied. "You know, if people like dead bird art you can make a career out of it."
"Right," I said slowly. "But, you know, we'd have to cage them up in case they escape."
"How would they escape if they're already dead?"
"They'd be zombie birds," I answered, stating the first thing that came to my head. He only laughed. "Come on, you never know."
"No, you're right, zombie birds, that is...very creative."
Zombie birds? What was I thinking? But right now, talking about zombie birds was better than not talking at all. There was another pause; I didn't know where to take it from there. "Well, I guess—"
"So, I—" he said at the same time. We both stopped, waiting for the other. "Go ahead," Jim said finally.
"Oh, I just—" Nothing came to mind; small talk seemed impossible to do so I played with the hem of my shirt nervously. "The venders have some really cool stuff out today," I finally stated.
"Like what?" he sounded genuinely interested.
"I got a new shirt."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, it's nice," I said. "Hand made, red, different cut than I usually get. I think it's time I retired those old pin-striped shirts."
"Reinventing yourself there, huh Beesly?" he asked.
I smiled, "Yeah, I—"
More interference came through the cell and I could no longer hear anything but static. I called out his name a few times but received no response. The single bars on my cell were all black, meaning I had a full signal so the interference must have been coming from his end. I paced around the fountain, hoping to get better reception but it didn't work. I was about to hang up when I heard Jim's voice, faintly.
"Pam, are you there?" he asked, though his words were choppy due to the signal.
"Yeah, I'm here," I said loudly into the phone. "Jim, you're breaking up on me."
"Pam?" Jim's voice sounded distant, but a little clearer. "I think that's better."
"Yeah, it is. Though you sound…far away," I replied pensively. The static suddenly left and then I heard nothing. "Jim?"
After a short pause, he replied. "Yeah, I'm here," he said softly, though the signal must have returned because he came in clear. "Actually, Pam, I—"
"Hey, Pam," I spun around to see it was Ryan who had interrupted. I tilted my head and gave him a stern look to signify I was busy, but he continued to talk anyway. "Yeah, the band is here and they want to talk to you. Oh, and I am so glad you finally agreed to go on that double date with Kelly and I. He's a great guy, he claims to be an artist or whatever…"
The minute Ryan began talking about the blind date my eyes widened. I knew Jim could hear everything he was saying and the last thing I needed was for him to know about my set-up. I waved my hand to shoo Ryan away. "Ryan, I'm a little busy right now," I said, bringing the phone slightly away from my face. Jim hadn't said a word and I hoped he wouldn't hang up.
Ryan didn't take the hint. "Come on Pam, live a little," he smirked. "He's totally your type. What's the deal? Kelly said you were interested."
I let out a sigh and rubbed my forehead, but instead of responding to Ryan, I began walking away. Unfortunately, Ryan followed. "Ryan, I'm on the phone," I snapped.
"Hey, Pam, you sound really busy," Jim said, his voice hesitant. "I should probably let you go."
"No, Jim, it's just-" I tried to explain.
"Actually, I really should get going," Jim said quickly.
"Oh, you have to go?" I didn't want to hang up.
Jim didn't answer immediately. "Yeah…"
"Alright," I said slowly.
"So…"
"Well…"
"Come on, Pam, hurry up," Ryan insisted.
Before I responded, there was more static on the phone. "Jim? Jim?" I pulled the phone away from my ear to see that the line had been cut. The call had ended.
"Jim?" Ryan asked with an odd look on his face. "Was that the annoying reporter from yesterday?"
I gave Ryan an intense glare.
"What?" he asked, not caring. I wanted to smack the smug look right off his face.
* * *
"Did you have to be so rude?" I asked as Ryan and I walked back to the pavilion. He kept his distance, trailing a few feet behind me.
"What are you talking about?" I knew he knew what I was talking about.
"I was on the phone, Ryan," I said, snapping my head back to give him another glare. "You don't interrupt people like that."
He gave me a blank look. "What's your point?"
I shook my head in disgust and chose to ignore him for the rest of our walk. Usually, I feel bad for him having to put up with Kelly's nonsense all the time but now I felt bad for Kelly for even being interested in the loser.
A few minutes later we arrived at the pavilion. Four middle-aged men, all of who were wearing mismatched bowling shirts, stood by the stage, waiting for me. There were two cases for guitars, but I saw no other equipment. The largest, baldest of the four came walking forward.
"Hi," he said slow and unsure.
"Hello," I said holding out my hand. He shook it lightly, his gaze wandering down to my chest. I withdrew my hand. "I'm Pam Beesly, head of PR."
"My name is Kevin Malone," the man said, his eyes still fixated on my cleavage. I crossed my arms over my chest and his eyes darted upward. "And we are Scrantonicity," he added.
Kelly came literally bouncing up, immediately locking onto Ryan's arm and tugging it. "They're here! They're here!" she cried. Ryan rolled his eyes at her. "These guys are the ones who came out to my Diwali celebration last year and they were amazing!"
"Thanks," Kevin said, giving a dopey smile.
"Have you guys played any other gigs since then?" I asked curiously.
Kevin looked off in the distance as if it were a hard question to answer. "Our pianist got married last week and we played at that."
"Really?" I didn't like the sound of that.
"Don't worry," Kevin assured me. "We have been practicing extra hard the last few days. We almost have a tenth song to add to our play list."
"You only have ten songs?" I asked, growing worried.
"Well," Kevin looked at me dumbly. "Yeah, but we can play all of them over again if you need to."
"I, um…" I didn't know how to respond to that. I started to think of possible back up plans for when this inevitably fell apart. "Um, so why are you guys here so early?" was all I managed to say.
Kevin didn't seem to understand. "What time were we supposed to get here?"
"Well, the dance doesn't start for hours," I explained.
"Oh," Kevin said confused. "Well, could we practice then? I think we could use the practice."
I groaned, "Great."
"Would you like to hear a demo?" Kevin asked.
I scrunched my nose. "Sure," I responded even though I feared how well it would sound.
The two guitarists set up their instruments. The first chord struck was so out of tune that it made my ears hurt. Cringing as they did so, the two guitarists started their own odd rendition of 'Don't Stand So Close To Me.' One guitarist was bad enough, but the two of them together, singing wildly off key was enough to send people running. I feared for the dance tonight.
Kelly on the other hand was thrilled. "Aren't they wonderful?" she said smiling broadly. "They do only The Police songs, though they'll do Jewel and Avril Lavigne if you pay them enough."
I rubbed my head in frustration. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did.
"Pammy?" I whirled around to face my ex-husband.
I let out an "Oh god." Roy was the last person I wanted to deal with today and I was shocked to see him standing there.
"You look really pretty," he commented, looking me up and down.
I folded my arms over my chest again and began to regret buying the shirt. "What do you need, Roy?" I asked tentatively, pulling him aside so we didn't have an audience. Although he had been calling frequently, I didn't know why and I was weary of getting in another pointless argument, especially in front of other people.
He looked tired, but otherwise calm. Other than the attempt of a beard he was growing, something he never tried while we were together, he looked well kept. Last time we spoke, he had been too drunk to carry on a conversation and I was convinced he hadn't had a shower for days.
"Um, can we talk?" he said. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that momentarily reminded me of what I saw in Roy in the first place and for a second I felt sorry that I had been avoiding him.
"I can't right now," I explained, trying to be kind.
"You always 'can't right now,'" he said. I could tell he was trying to hold on to his temper, though I knew it wouldn't last long.
"I'm at work, Roy, what do you want me to say?" I asked defensively, my own temper rising as it always did with Roy.
"I want you to say that you'll talk with me," Roy said, dropping the nice guy act. The vulnerability left his eyes and was replaced by a hardness I knew all too well.
"Well, I'm a little busy," I shot back. Even if I weren't busy, adding Roy to the stack of things I had to think about today was too much to bear.
"You always say you're busy," Roy said loud enough that the band members turned in our direction.
I looked over at them nervously. "Roy, you're making a scene."
He didn't care. "Maybe if you would just talk to me I wouldn't be yelling."
I put a hand to my lips and stared at the ground. I hated when he yelled, it always made me feel small. "I'm at work. You can't do this here, alright?"
"You're always at work or with your mom or not answering your phone," Roy said, his voice still strained, though he tried to keep it down. He knew that I had been avoiding him and that made him angrier than anything. "I even came to see you two days ago and you were no where to be seen. What is your deal? You were the one who said I needed to be more mature and now you're hiding from me like an child."
I didn't like being accused of being a child, not when Roy had acted like one through so much of our relationship but he did have a point, I was hiding. I wished more than ever that Jim were here so I could hide behind him again and make it all go away. I continued to stare at the ground and spoke as calmly as I could. "Roy, look, I have a lot of things going on right now but maybe after the festival is over, you and I—"
"I don't want to wait until the damn festival is over," Roy said, his voice rising.
"Don't speak like that to me," I said firmly, finally meeting his eyes to give him a hard look.
For a second I thought he was going to start yelling again but instead he gave me a dark stare. "This isn't over," he said, his voice low and harsh. His words sent a cold shiver down my spine and I was glad that instead of continuing the argument, he began to walk away.
Michael arrived at the pavilion, nodding at Roy as he left. "Oh, Pam, I see someone has paid you a visit," he said cheerfully. He was up to something and I wasn't in the mood to deal with another one of Michael's crazy ideas. "How is Roy doing these days? Do you miss him? You know, they have these body-sized pillows…"
"What do you want, Michael?" I asked. Michael was the last person I wanted to share my thoughts about Roy with.
"I ran into Jan. She wanted me to get you," Michael said cheerfully. "And she finally talked to me again, Pam. We had a whole conversation." He grinned mischievously at his fortune. "Hey, how did Roy propose?"
The memory surfaced all too clearly. We were just out of college, I was working as a temp in an office and he was working down at the docks. We had been dating for a few years at that point and he kept insisting that we move in together. At the time I said I didn't want to move in until we were engaged but looking back I realized I had greater doubts about the relationship even then. The argument about living arrangements had reached its height one evening in the parking lot of a Taco Bell. Resolution came with Roy simply suggesting that we get married. It took him a year to buy a ring and nearly four years to actually walk down the isle.
"Why do you want to know, Michael?" I asked, not really wanting to drudge up my past for him.
"I think I want to propose to Jan," Michael said simply. He looked proud of his idea.
"What?" I asked in disbelief.
"She's the one, Pam," Michael continued, looking wistful, "and when it's the one, you just know."
"Michael, you shouldn't propose to Jan," I informed him much to his distaste.
"I think I should. So do you have any pointers?" He was dead set on this idea. "You know, at first I thought I should just ask her over for dinner but then I got to thinking and maybe I should make it a public announcement. Maybe at the dance tonight, I can ask her in front of everyone and we'll get our happy ending."
I imagined the public humiliation Michael would go through if he actually decided to go through with the proposal. "I don't believe asking her to marry you is in anyone's best interest." He didn't realize this was for his own benefit. "Maybe you should just…buy her flowers instead."
Michael became flustered. "Why are you always doing that? I have a great idea and you shoot it down. Can't you for once be on my side?"
I let out a tiny sigh. "Michael, I am on your side, which is why I don't think you should ask Jan to marry you."
"Give me one reason she'd say no," Michael challenged.
I could think of twenty. "I just don't think you are there yet," I replied as nicely as possible.
"Oh, fine," Michael said scrunching up his nose. "If you want me to die alone then I'll die alone."
"You're not going to die alone, Michael." I couldn't promise that but saying it to Michael some how made me feel better as well.
"You know Pam," I could see the wheels turning in his head again as an idea formed. "If in thirty years we're both single-"
"No, Michael," I said swiftly, shuddering that he went there.
Michael grunted.
"Michael, what is it that Jan wanted?" I asked, trying to bring him back to reality. He gave me a strange look as if he had no idea what I was talking about. "Remember, you were excited because Jan came to talk to you? What did she say?"
"Oh," he responded, finally snapping out of it. "She called a staff meeting. Something about some important guy dying. I don't know."
* * *
Ryan, Kelly, Angela, Michael and I all bunched into the staff's tent where Oscar and Jan were waiting for us. Oscar sat against the table at the front of the tent while Jan paced a small circle in the grass. She held a cigarette in her hand but hadn't lit it yet. Instead, she waved it back and forth. "Where's Phyllis?" she asked after a moment.
Angela tilted her head and gave a firm look. "She's been gone all day. She obviously does not care about her job. Maybe you should fire her."
"I'm not firing anyone," Jan snapped, though I thought I heard a 'yet' under her breath. "Alright, I guess we'll have to do this without her. I'm sorry everyone but Ed Truck has died." We all stared blankly at her. Jan scowled. "So, I'm assuming none of you know who I'm talking about?"
"Was he that really old guy that founded the museum?" Kelly asked.
"The museum was founded in eighteen-ninety, Kelly," Ryan interjected. "Do you really think that the founder of the museum would still be alive?"
"Yes, he could be, Ryan," she shot back, putting her hands on her hips. "They're doing amazing things with medicine these days, don't you watch the news?"
"I watch the news every night," Ryan continued, "and thinking that a man would live over one-hundred and twenty years is stupid."
"Oh yeah, well, there was this lady who just died and she was one-hundred and seventeen, so it is possible."
"Can't you just admit that you're wrong?"
"You just want me to be wrong."
"Alright, stop!" Jan yelled.
"Ed Truck was one of our main benefactors for the museum," Oscar explained, pulling himself away from the table he had been leaning against. He rubbed his chin and I thought he looked much calmer than Jan. "He was a very rich man who contributed a lot to the museum, including much of the funding that went towards the festival. Last night he was tragically killed in a car accident. While we already sent our condolences to the family, we still have to think of the museum's best interests. Ed's estate is still up in the air since there isn't a will."
"Meaning we just lost our funding for the festival and the museum," Jan finished for him in a low voice.
It was silent for a moment and then everyone began talking at once.
"Oh my god, does this mean we have to close the festival down," Kelly started, "because I have put too much effort into this thing. How dare that man die and not give us any money. I can't believe this…"
And Ryan insisted on arguing with her. "Why do you always assume the worst? Can't you think of this as a positive thing?" They continued to bicker.
Angela made her usual snide comments. "You know I have been saying for years that we have to get more public funding instead of private. This was bound to happen, it was only a matter of time."
Michael wailed louder than anyone. "Oh, I can't believe this is happening! We're all going to lose our jobs! Why does this day have to be such a bad day? My horoscope said I would have happy news; this is not happy news. I feel like crawling up in a ball and crying…"
I tilted my head and glanced at Oscar who was still remarkably unruffled about the situation. He shrugged and shook his head. This was bad news for the museum, a huge blow. I wasn't sure how we could come out of it.
Jan, meanwhile, managed to light up her cigarette and take a few puffs before speaking again. "Quiet!" she said, though she was barely audible. "Quiet down!" she screamed again. Everyone turned her attention towards her. "I need everyone to calm down," she insisted, "because the last thing we need is a major freak out. Believe me, I already did that and it doesn't help anything. So, here's what we're going to do. Oscar and I are going to go back to the museum to see if we can work some of this financial mess out. In the meantime, we've got to get as many people out for the community dance as possible."
"Jan," Michael interrupted pleadingly.
"If this doesn't help the museum, I don't want to hear it," Jan snapped.
"I wanted to know if I could come with you. I'm awfully persuasive…"
"No."
"Please?"
She ignored him completely. "Kelly, Ryan, I want you to make up flyers and post them around town. Make sure you hit every business and tourist attraction in Scranton." Ryan and Kelly scurried out of the tent.
"What do you want me to do?" Michael asked.
Jan narrowed her eyes. "You can go help them," she said, mostly to get him out of her hair for a while.
"Oh, that'll be productive," Angela commented. "It's like putting a five-year-old in charge of a couple of two-year-olds."
"That's not helpful," I reprimanded. Angela rolled her eyes.
"Angela," Jan continued, "will you make sure the press is running advertisements for the festival, including the TV spots we made up last week?"
"Wait," I cut in, "isn't that part of my job?"
"I don't want to talk to those nasty reporters!" Angela complained. "Besides, Pam spent all day yesterday whoring herself out to the press."
"Angela," I exclaimed, shocked that she would say such a thing.
"Angela, go," Jan said, snapping her fingers and pointing towards the exit. I could tell her tolerance level had dropped to an all time low in the last few minutes. Angela groaned as she left. "Pam, it is part of your job but I need you to stay here and make sure the festival keeps running smoothly. I don't know if I'll be back for the judging but hopefully we'll be here for the dance."
"Oh, and by the way, I wanted to let you know that the Scranton Times is coming back out today," I said, figuring that any publicity at this point would be good.
"Back?" Jan asked, wincing. "Why would they be coming back?"
"I- uh- to finish the story," I stammered.
"Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it," Jan replied.
I nodded. "Is there anything else you need me to do?"
Jan thought it over for a moment. "Just, please, make sure everything goes right." She dropped her cigarette and stomped it out, then motioned Oscar to follow her. "I'll have my cell if you need me," she informed. As she and Oscar made their way out, Phyllis finally showed up. "Where have you been?" Jan asked sternly.
Phyllis blushed a little. "Oh, Bob and I—"
"I don't care," Jan interrupted. "Pam will fill you in on what's going on." With that, she and Oscar left.
Phyllis gave me a strange look. "I didn't think it'd be a problem to take the morning off," she said innocently.
"It's just been a really long morning," I explained.
"Oh, I see," she said softly. "Well, I'm glad I caught you, there's a reporter here from the Scranton Times who is asking for you."
"Jim?" I asked hopefully, thinking that seeing him again under any circumstances would make this day better.
She titled her head and gave me a curious look. "No, actually," she responded. My heart dropped. "It's a woman. She said her name is Karen Filippelli."
