People needed an appointment to get seen by Clare, but Pam was willing to wait standing outside her office all night to get to talk to her in person.

It took her more than two hours of driving just above the speed limit. On the radio her iPod played all the songs she'd labeled as comfort music and she would pause her loud, slightly off-key singing only to take long sips of coffee.

Well past 10 pm, all the windows of Clare's office were completely dark but one, and Pam crossed her fingers inside the large pocket of her hoodie, wishing that the late night hours of her agent hadn't changed and this was not just the building's janitor.

"Who is it?" Clare's hoarse voice made her jump and then sigh in relief.

"Hi Clare. It's Pam," she said. "Beesly?" she added after several seconds of silence on the other side.

"What the fuck are you doing in New York?" Clare barked, making her take a full step back.

"I kinda need…" the anger, the indignation she had been fueling up during the drive, seemed to have just vanished. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Can I come in?"

"I hope you didn't mess it up," Clare grunted, and the door buzzed and Pam made her way inside the softly lit lobby.

Instead of taking the elevator, Pam climbed up the stairs, two at a time, repeating her main arguments as a matra. Not specified in my contract. Confused instructions. Manipulative. Unethical.

She needed to sound reasonable if she was to convince Clare to talk to the producers and try to renegotiate the terms of her contract. She knew this was by far a very remote possibility, but she needed to try.

Clare was standing in the open door to the office, arms crossed and frowning. Without a word, she took a step aside and Pam entered the small waiting room. The agent took one of the hard seats and gestured to Pam to occupy the one in front of her.

"Don't you have to film tomorrow morning?"

Pam nodded.

"You're going to have the mother of dark bags under your eyes you'll need to cover." She said, taking out a cigarette box from the front pocket of her jumper, and a lighter. "I don't even want to consider that you might be thinking about not showing up tomorrow," she pointed the cigarette at her and Pam decided not to mention the fact that, yeah, she had been considering calling in sick.

Clare took some time lighting her cigarette and taking a drag. Pam was pulling at her sleeves, feeling smaller and weaker by the second.

"Shoot," the agent finally said.

Pam took a deep, calming breath. "Production is changing stuff. They are giving the crew and Roy instructions that weren't previously discussed with me and they are expecting me to act without knowing them."

"That's called improvisation," Clare arched an eyebrow and spoke with the flat voice of somebody stating something very obvious..

"I know but-"

"And it's in your contract." She pointed out.

"I know but-"

"So this better not be the reason why you're here."

"Well, it is!" Pam's hands closed into fists. "Because this is not just improv. They are playing dirty with the other people. The office people, I mean. They are making us do stuff for them to react… to do stuff…" it sounded lame even to Pam's own ears.

"That is called prompting and that part was in your contract as well." Pam could see Clare was losing the little patience she had.

"Yeah, I know, but it's different." Pam huffed in frustration. "Roy almost punched one of them in the face today."

"Really?" Eyebrows raised, for the first time, Clare looked mildly interesting. "Why?"

"According to Roy, production asked him to be jealous of one of the salesmen in the office. So he sort of waited for him to get close to me and then he burst in, and I have to say it looked very convincing. I bet the other guy was scared."

"Well, finally something that might look interesting in that show of yours, good for them."

"But it's wrong! I didn't know about it! And Jim never knew Roy hitting him was a possibility, or that it was all acting either!"

"Jim?"

"He's a salesman," Pam said.

"So, production has you engaged to Roy, and then Roy throws a fit because he wants to mark his territory in front of the entire office, which apparently is what his character is supposed to do, right?"

Pam bit her lip. "Yeah… something like that."

"Then I don't see the bloody problem!"

"They didn't tell me they were going to do that!"

"They didn't need to. If they wanted you to act surprised, well… better to surprise you, right?"

Pam rolled her eyes. "That's what Roy said. He wasn't supposed to tell me it had been orchestrated either, but he did."

"Well, talk to him instead of driving all the way here. He's your neighbour."

It was too frustrating, because it all made sense. In a cold, detached, matter-of-fact sort of way. Pam found herself looking at the floorboards.

"Don't you think it's unethical?" Pam finally asked.

"It's in the goddamn contract you read and signed!"

"Not unethical to me," Pam huffed, "to the people inside the office."

"You just told me, that person never got hit. It was just an act."

"Yeah, but he didn't know! For him the risk was real. The fear… that was real too."

Clare looked at her for a long moment, her cigarette dangling from her wrinkled fingers, apparently forgotten.

"And that's the only thing real?"

"What do you mean?" Pam blurted out.

Both women stared into each other's eyes. Pam, trying to understand the reason behind Clare's sudden interest.

"Why was Roy jealous to begin with?"

"Well… because this other guy was close to me or something like that…. Apparently it looked like he was touching me or something, according to Roy."

"Funny how you don't seem to be bothered by that particular thing."

"By what?"

"By the fact that a stranger was standing so close it looked as if he was touching you. In some places they called that 'molesting', you know," she seemed to remember the cigarette and took another drag.

"It's not like that at all! He's not a stranger. He's just… friendly. It didn't feel wrong."

Again, Clare just looked at her. Back it came that small and very annoying feeling she got in Roy's car. The one that had grown slightly bigger when she was looking at her notes. It hit her in full force. Jim was not only his friend. Not anymore. She was genuinely, real-life interested in one of the subjects of the documentary.

They didn't need to put that on writing in her contract, because it was obvious it was absurdly wrong.

"My suggestion to you," Clare finally spoke, her piercing eyes never leaving hers. "Go back to your car and back to that town." She stood up and Pam followed. "Be sure you've got enough concealer at home. Get as much rest as you can." Clare opened the door, and pointed at the dark corridor with their head. "Show up to work tomorrow and start acting like a fucking professional. Capisci?"

ooooo

'Action'

"Hey, babe."

"Hey, Pam. Calling as you asked." Roy's voice sounded slightly amused.

"Sure, lunch sounds great." Smile. Happy voice. "You coming up?"

"Ok, gotcha. I'll go get you out of there around noon."

"You're the best," and this time she almost meant it.

Jim, of course, had listened to the call. She had made sure of being just loud enough for her voice to carry, and as she looked back to her monitor, she risked a glance at his desk just in time to see him looking away at his own monitor.

It sucked. Just as it sucked when she answered his morning "hey!" with a mumble. Or when he approached her desk and hastily she stood up to go the bathroom.

The long drive and the night filled with nightmares had given her an idea. Not one she particularly liked, but the only one that had a chance to work without speaking to Jim and, of course, without failing to her contract. It was going to be hard but she could not, in clear consciousness, keep on making believe she was flirting with Jim, just to get a couple of minutes of TV attention. It was not fair to him, and he would never forgive her to make him look like a love struck boy in front of other people.

The next day was not easy, nor the one after that, but eventually the smiles over monitors ceased, as did the lunches together or the silly questions he would ask. Jim's visits to her desk became just the ones needed for copies or messages. At first she could swear he looked crestfallen, but he never said anything and she chose to believe it was all the same for him.

If the network noted something, they didn't tell her, and after a couple of long weeks without incidents or instructions, Pam started feeling at ease. Bored out of her skin, but at least in a sort of peace with her conscience.

Her only fear was that summer was a month away and that meant filming was about to end and the camera crew would leave them during three months. She wasn't sure if that would be for better or worse. Pam was starting to get tired of the constant acting but, if she was to be honest, she didn't really trust herself to keep on being distant and cold to Jim if there was no mic hovering over her head.