"Yes, yes, yes! Harley that's—no, don't touch my hair—fuck, ah!"
Harley grinned when Pam's hands finally relinquished the vice grip on her shoulders. She extracted her fingers, licking them clean before Pam surged forward for a passionate kiss.
"What time is it?" Pam breathed against her lips.
"I don't know," Harley admitted. "But I've always wanted to fuck a pretty girl in a closet before her dad's funeral."
Pam laughed, pushing her away to slide off the shelf she'd been perched on. "It's a pantry, Darlin'. Hand me my phone."
Harley did as she was told, Pam's phone telling her it was 2:54pm. "We should get going, fix your shirt," she said, slightly distracted as she checked for any missed messages. There was only one, from Kate Kane, of all people. This can't be good, Pam thought before she even opened it. Sorry I didn't give you more of a heads up. Desperate times. I'm sorry.
"What?" Harley asked in response to Pam's expression. "What is it?"
"Something that was meant for someone else, I assume," Pamela said, locking her phone without replying and helping to button Harley's shirt to an appropriate level. Once she was satisfied with the blonde's appearance, they exited the pantry…quickly realizing the kitchen wasn't as empty as they'd assumed.
"Ma'am," the housekeeper greeted with a nod as they emerged together.
Fuck. "That was—I'm sorry you—,"
"None of my business," she assured, stopping Pam mid rambling apology. "Though, you might benefit from a bit less leg."
Pam glanced down at her dress, which remained bunched around her upper thigh. In two quick movements all was well, their debauchery far less obvious. "Thank you."
Harley went to take her hand for the walk from the house to the family cemetery, but Pam shook her head, "Not now," she instructed.
Pouting, Harley tucked her hand into her pocket instead.
The funeral service was solemn, silent, and uneventful. The Eulogy was delivered by an old friend of her fathers, which Pam would have considered sweet had said friend been less creepy towards her during her teenage years.
Both Pamela and her mother threw a handful of dirt onto the casket after it had been lowered into the hole in the ground, neither with tears in their eyes, though Lillian's affect had lost some of its sharpness, replaced with a temporary despondency that lasted until the ceremony was finished and the grave had been filled with dirt.
The caterers had set up in the courtyard behind the house, so all the guests headed that way afterwards. As they walked, Pamela craned her neck to get a closer look at someone she thought looked awfully familiar.
"A little overboard on the blush, don't you think?" Lillian was now beside her. "This isn't Texas."
"No need to resort to ugly stereotypes, Mother," Pamela said, losing sight of the man she'd been tracking. "Beautiful ceremony, though. I'm sure daddy would have felt just as inconvenienced at having to attend as he did every other social function."
"Without a doubt," Lillian agreed, something approaching a smile gracing her lips.
"I've never seen a dead person so dressed up," was the compliment Harley chose to offer from Pam's other side. "He didn't even really look dead."
Pamela and Lillian turned to Harley in unison, each offering their best what's wrong with you expression.
"Anyway…" Lillian continued, choosing not to verbally acknowledge Harley. "Have you had the chance to do any mingling?"
"Not really, I was a bit preoccupied with the burying of my father," Pam told her, stopping at the 'small bites' table to grab a mini quiche. "Besides, I maintain zero interest in conversing with daddy's stuffy work colleagues and your overbearing 'friends' who claim they're proud that their daughter is head of the PTA."
"Well, lucky for you, I invited some of your old friends as well," Lillian was waving at someone Pam couldn't see from her vantage point…until the crowd parted and he emerged with that kind, though somehow reserved smile that Pamela recognized.
"Alec," Lillian greeted. "I'm so glad you could make it. I'm sure the trip up from Louisiana was a tiresome one."
His black tie was loose around his neck, resulting in an effortless, Sweet Home Alabama aesthetic that Pam knew made certain girls swoon. He approached them with a barely noticeable limp, his skin tan against his fair hair, features aged by sun exposure. "I'm grateful for the invite, Ma'am. Any excuse to celebrate a great life and catch up with old friends." His attention shifted from Lillian to Pam. "Speakin' of which, if it isn't the one who got away. Pam Isley, as I live and breathe."
Pam knew he was joking, but it was obvious Lillian didn't, so this was going to backfire wonderfully. "Alec Holland," she smiled, wrapping him up in a friendly hug. "I read your last article in Nature Ecology and Evolution. A truly fascinating hypothesis."
He chuckled, subtly tussling his hair. "Oh, that old thing?"
"Alec is a prominent researcher at the forefront of his scientific field," Lillian announced like this would be impressive news to Pamela. "With a PhD."
"I have a PhD, Mother," Pam pointed out.
"Yes, well, I just mean he'd make a good provider…for whomever is lucky enough to one day be his wife," Lillian smiled at him, though that was all clearly for Pamela's benefit.
Pam laughed. "I'm sure the dedicated study of wetland ecology in Louisiana swamps is a lucrative pursuit."
"You should see my shack," Alec joked. "I have a motorized skiff with my own private tie-post."
Lillian was losing, and that was obvious to everyone, which brought Pamela great joy. And then, as if she truly was one of God's children, a female voice broke into the conversation.
"Honey, have you tried this candied bacon? It's to die for."
Alec took a step back, putting his arm around the bacon enthusiast's waist to pull her into the circle. "Pam, you remember my wife, Linda. And Linda, this is Pam's mother, Lillian."
Oh, Pam remembered, alright. "Linda," she greeted, before Lillian had the chance to. "From Brown?"
"From Brown!" the pretty blonde confirmed, smiling from ear to ear. "I was so sorry to hear about your father, but what a great little reunion this is."
Lillian really should have just walked away by this point, but she evidently insisted on seeing her defeat through to the end. "I didn't know you were married, Alec."
"Yeah," he smiled. "For a few years now. We dated on and off after Brown, then our post-graduate studies took us to different parts of the country, but miraculously we reconnected at a conference a little while back."
Pam was chewing on another mini quiche with extreme satisfaction. "What a beautiful love story. And how interesting to see you two together. I mean, I feel so blessed to be part of both of your journeys to self-discovery. Alec was my experiment, I was clearly Linda's…how wonderful that we all came together—I mean, that it all came together."
Lillian was walking away now, that had been the last straw. Pam watched her go before taking Harley's arm and pulling her into the circle—she'd been happily munching on appetizers on the outside up until this point. "This is my girlfriend, Harley. Harl, this is Alec and his wife, Linda. Some friends from college."
"Hey," Harley smiled, wiping her hand on her pantleg before shaking both of their hands. "Nice ta meet you."
"Wait a minute…" Alec narrowed his eyes, like he was trying to place her. "I know you. You're Harley Quinzel. You're that boxer."
Harley's eyes lit up at being recognized twice in two days. "I am!"
"We saw something about you on ESPN. Or SportsCenter, maybe," Alec told her. "I thought I recognized that painting from somewhere. Is that incredible house where you're living now, Pam?"
Pam smiled, trying to ride that careful balance between an outright brag and faux self-deprecation. "Turns out that, unlike noble pursuits of science, drug testing boxers can be rather lucrative."
Alec laughed, telling Linda, "I guess you hitched your skiff to the wrong tie-post."
"We all make mistakes," Pam's tone was playful. "Some with harsher consequences than others. But anyway, it was so good to see you two. Glad you're well."
"You too," Linda agreed, taking Alec's hand. "And again, we're sorry about your father."
Pamela thanked them with a smile, releasing them to go get a plate of actual food. She sighed wistfully, looking for her mother among to guests to really solidify her victory, but then Harley was saying, "For real, this bacon is nuts!...get it, Pammy? Cuz it's got these nuts stuck to it?" and the moment was lost.
"I fucked both those of those people in college, in case that wasn't clear," Pam said, suddenly missing Selina for the kudos she would have received.
Harley's mouth was full. "No, yeah, I got that. I'd do it with them too. I mean, I'd probably enjoy doing it with him more than you did, but—,"
"I'm sure," Pam kissed her on the forehead. "I'll be right back. Stay out of trouble in the meantime."
"You got it, Red," Harley promised, saluting her.
With a sigh and a shake of her head, Pamela started for the back door of the house, remembering she'd left her cellphone on the kitchen counter and realizing she should probably keep it close to her in the event that someone from work tried to contact her before the Lance vs. Brown fight, which was set to start in about two hours.
She spied it right where she'd left it, and it vibrated in her hand immediately after picking it up, alerting her to missed notifications. 15, to be exact. A combination of texts, emails and missed calls from Selina, Barbara, Bruce and a few other unknown numbers.
Selina: This is a clusterfuck, Pam, did you know about this in advance?
Barbara: Hey boss, I'm getting a lot of requests for comment. Do you have something pre-written or do you want me to think something up?
Bruce: Pamela, we need to workshop our response here. Call me back.
Pamela had no idea what was going on, but her brain was already switching to damage control mode. She called Bruce, only having to wait two rings before he picked up.
"What's going on?" was her first question, failing to offer any other form of greeting.
Bruce didn't seem to mind her brusqueness. "Firstly, have you seen the interview?"
"What interview?"
"Is that Pam?" she heard Selina's voice in the background. "Tell her I'm about this close to scheduling her a female circumcision."
"Put me on speaker," Pamela demanded. "What the fuck is going on? Was there an inconsistency with someone's test?"
"No, you walking HR nightmare!" Selina was yelling. "Your married fuck-buddy decided to tell Luke Fox about your fucking affair, and then that cock-suck Jared went on ESPN roundtable, outed you and Harley, and then had the audacity to call it a 'systemic problem' at WBA."
"It's a PR disaster," Bruce summed things up.
It was then that Pam remembered the odd text she'd received from Kate earlier. Oh, that fucking bitch. Pam had to think quick, but the rage clouding her thought process was making things a bit difficult. "I'll handle it. I'll call Kate, just—,"
"No!" Selina repeated, closer to the receiver now. "You will not call Kate under any circumstances. We're going to have to launch some bullshit investigation into your conduct, comb over every athlete's test history, and I'll bet you anything the Olympic Committee will be up our ass the entire time because they use the same motherfucking protocols and—,"
"Hey!" Pamela shouted, her voice echoing in her mother's empty kitchen. "Get a hold of yourself, Selina, Jesus Christ. Kate, Harley and I are all consenting adults. I did nothing illegal and my protocols and reports are air tight."
"Well, we'll have to see if the Olympic Committee agrees…" Bruce's tone was far calmer than Selina's, which was somehow more infuriating.
"I worked for them, you idiots. You poached me from the USADA. I wrote the protocols for this entire industry," Pamela was gripping the edge of the counter, trying not to clench her jaw too painfully. "I will conference with Barbara, we'll come up with a statement, and I'll give Fox the exclusive after you've approved it. Does that work for everybody?"
"Fine," Selina snapped. "Fuck! I can't believe she's trying to strong-arm me like this."
Pamela was too busy planning her response to unpack Selina's statement.
"We're sorry to bother you about this during your father's funeral," Bruce's words filled the dead space in the conversation. "I wish this could have waited until tomorrow, but we obviously need to get ahead of it."
Pam was wearily massaging her temples. "I understand. I'll deal with it."
Barbara was not the first call she made after she hung up, however.
"Hey, listen—,"
"No, you don't get to 'hey listen' me," Pamela snarled into the receiver. "I want a simple explanation. Why would you purposefully set this monumental shit-storm upon us?"
"I really shouldn't be talking to you right now, Pam," Kate's voiced was hushed. "It's like I said in the text: desperate times."
"Fuck you, Kate," Pam really needed to get that out of the way before she could move forward. "Now, what are you talking about?"
Kate sighed on the other end of the line. "I am sorry, Pamela. I am. But Selina was going to bump me from the title fight. I needed a bombshell so I could stay in front of the cameras."
Pam ran down a quick mental checklist of all the ways she could poison Kate without authorities ruling her death a homicide. "Why did you have to name names? Why did you have to say it was me with me?"
"That's on Selina," Kate told her. "I'm sorry Pam," she repeated. "But I have to go." And then she was gone.
Pam took a deep breath in an attempt to slow everything down, though it was quickly becoming clear this was already out of control. "OK," she said, out loud, although she was the only one within earshot. "You're fine. I'm fine."
Opening her text thread with Barbara, Pam fired off a quick Draft something for me, text. I don't want it to be an apology, that makes me sound like a predator. Say I'm away at my family home mourning my father's death, that this feels like an extreme violation of privacy, and that I'll make myself available for official comment on Monday.
Barbara responded immediately. Should I say Harley is there offering moral support?
I'm not sure, send both versions to Selina and see what she thinks. She's technically PR.
Barbara: we'll handle it. This isn't the #MeToo moment they want it to be.
Right, keep me in the loop. Pam's fingers paused on her keyboard. Thank you.
The backdoor opened behind her, and Pamela knew it was Harley without having to turn around, as she was fairly certain Harley was the only woman here not wearing heels.
"Hey, I made you a plate of the healthiest lookin' stuff I could find," Harley slid the plate in front of Pam on the counter. "Figured you were probably pretty hungry since you didn't really eat anything last night or this mornin'…" she trailed off once she got a closer look at Pam. "You OK?
Pam briefly studied the plate of food before fully acknowledging the other woman. "Do me a favor and don't answer any calls or text messages today, OK?"
Harley raised a questioning eyebrow. "Uh…OK…how come? Is it, like, what your dad would have wanted?"
"No," Pamela laughed, relieved for reasons she couldn't explain. "I'm in trouble, Harl."