2
The clock turned to 5 o'clock and Pam was ready to go home and crawl in bed and wake up again after 100 years had passed. Jim grabbed his jacket, bag and coat and helped Karen into hers.
"So did we finally decide on Japan?" he asked.
"For a trip or for dinner?" Karen replied.
"I can't remember."
"Me neither," she said with a warm smile.
"Good night, Karen," said Pam before they left the office without a word to her. "And Jim."
"'Night, Pam," said Karen with a genuine smile and a nod. Jim waved pleasantly.
Pam was the last one in the office, except for Dwight, and she didn't want another lecture about mating animals. The last coat on the hook was hers. She put it on slowly and headed to the door.
She listened to one of those country songs about lost love and turned the radio off, listening to the pavement beneath the wheels.
This is my life. Just one long car ride, not going anywhere.
Scranton's best viewpoint, the declining hill, oversaw the small, gray river with the Wal-Mart, Home Depot, the mini-malls, the landfill for the tri-county area, new condos, and countless office buildings just like hers. She wanted to run the car right over the hill and into the river, crash and burn and give the local news something real to talk about.
Great. Now I'm suicidal.
The thought struck her as an almost humorless joke, but she felt the gravity of it. I don't want to be alive right now. She did what most people did who felt like that. She shut down slightly, insensitive to joy and pain alike.
She opened her apartment door and her mom was gone already. The sun was still out and filled her apartment with light and her mother's presence still lingered slightly in the apartment, filling Pam with a little comfort. A white envelope was sitting on her kitchen table with some cookies.
Pam bite into one—delicious, of course, oatmeal raisin—and opened the surprise. What would it be? A Denny's gift certificate? A photo of them together? Some cash?
She dropped her cookie. It fell to the floor in pieces and crumbs.
"I know you hate talking about this," said Karen. "But I want to talk about Pam and us."
Jim felt as though his digestive track had become mutinous and was endeavoring toward putting him in as much pain as possible.
"No, I get it," he said with a sympathetic tone, looking away and wincing. "Let's talk."
They sat in a small diner that was made to look Italian, but more like an American restaurant with Italian-flavored décor from Target. They sat a checkered-cloth table with a little fat, mustached chef as their parmesan cheese shaker. They were still wearing their work clothes.
"She was looking again at you today," said Karen, looking at her food. She picked at her salad. She was trying to get thinner.
"I think she was plotting revenge for the rubber bands I took," he said playfully. But she looked at him, not angry or indignant, but just God, do you have to be like that right now? "I mean, I don't know. We used to make eye contact a lot when I was at my old desk. It's probably just an old habit."
Karen looked at her salad, shifting around the greens, wondering if she should say what she was going to say.
"Eye contact? A lot? Why?"
Jim scratched his head and took a bite of pasta. They had decided on Italian.
"Did you hear me? Jim?"
"What? Sorry, I was chewing," he mumbled, hoping she would forget her question. But Karen was wicked sharp, which he admired about her.
"Just, why did you make eye contact? A lot?"
"I don't know. Just bored."
"Oh." They ate in silence for awhile. "I really like her. Honestly, she's funny, sweet. She could be my best friend."
"I know," he said.
Again, she didn't know how to interpret what he was saying. 'I know, she could be your best friend,' or 'I know she's funny and sweet, she is my best friend.'
"Want to rent a movie tonight?"
"Sure. Great idea," said Jim, slurping up a noodle.
"I've always wanted to see Edward Scissorhands. It's been on my to-do list forever."
"Mine too," said Jim with a small smile to his pasta.
Pam drew it out of the envelope.
BEASLEY/ PAMELA
29 APR 2007
Departing NEW YORK CITY
Arriving ROME/VATICAN CITY
Seat 17 A
"Mom!" she exclaimed out loud, horrified and ecstatic at the same time. A letter accompanied the ticket.
'Pam Dearest,
If anyone needs a vacation, I think it's you. This is for two weeks from now. That should be plenty of time to ask off from work. If not, you can give your crazy boss your two week's notice, but I'm sure he can't do without you.
I also have another ticket for you—for a bus that will take you to Florence, to a hotel there. The airline has your return ticket for three weeks later.
I hope you'll bring us back lots of paintings!
Love, Mom'
Pam stared. She would never imagine her mother so—infuriatingly wonderful—that she would buy her a plane ticket. It was true, she needed a vacation, not from work but from her personal life. She could paint in the beautiful gardens and she could visit art museums. She could find a little of herself that had dreamed about something like this for so long, with such a deep-seated yearning.
She knew she was going, but she felt an adolescent pang of indignity and desired independence. It wore off fairly quickly, and it was replaced by a sense of gratitude and love for her mother who was so well in-tuned to her wishes. And so blatantly opportunistic. The apartment was now open for three weeks and her parents could have a place to stay while their mold job was done.
Pam, in her horse-printed PJ pants, lied in bed and thought about art, imagining herself whirling around an ancient fountain, exploring old churches. She saw herself painting everything from flowers, to old nuns, to bicycles and shop fronts.
"Michael, can I ask you something?" asked Pam, the next day. She looked slightly nervous.
"Pam pa tam pam, of course you can!" he said, lilting his voice a little higher on the last syllable. He tapped his hands on his desk for emphasis. "Your problem is my problem."
"Actually, I was just wondering if I could take three weeks off after the next two weeks."
"Hmm," said Michael. "You know…that might be a little too long. I could see if you were having a honeymoon, you might want to have a little extra time, to you know. But you're not married. I don't want to give you all that time if you're just alone."
"Please? I think I really need to take this vacation."
"Here's the thing, Pam," said Michael, leaning forward. "You're smokin' hot and you have brains. You're irreplaceable, even by our equally hot temp. Maybe for a week or so, but not for three. Ryan has more important things to worry about than answering the phones."
"Like your dry cleaning?"
"Well, that's not…all he does," said Michael.
"If I could find someone to replace me for the three weeks, could you reconsider?"
"Only a carbon copy of you could do what you do, Pam."
"I might be able to get you someone pretty close to that."
"Hey Karen, could you come here?" asked Kelly. She had about twenty different hues of lip color taking up space on the table in the break room.
"Just a minute, I'm a little busy," said Karen.
"Hey, Pam?" called Kelly, clear across the office. "Can you come over here?"
"Sure," said Pam quietly, getting up and going over. She sat in the chair that Kelly gave her and Kelly started putting paint on her lips.
"What are you doing?" asked Pam.
"Giving you a makeover, silly," said Kelly. Her insistence was as unwavering as her practiced hand. "Well, just a lipover. All I have is lipstick, balm and gloss." She painted delicately with an astonishing accuracy that could only have come from hours and hours of practice.
"Okay, I'm here," Karen piped, standing in the doorway.
"Have a seat, I'm almost done with Pam," said Kelly. "Oh my God, look at her! Just look at her."
"You only did her lips," said Karen dryly.
"But what a difference! Her whole plain Jane look is out the window—I have to go with this. It's too much. Wait here." Kelly left them alone together to go off in the back past Toby's cubicle. Pam eyed the reception desk uneasily and listened carefully for the phone's ring. Pam and Karen sat uncomfortably together.
"They really do look great," said Karen. "Your lips, I mean."
"Thanks," said Pam after a hesitation, nodding but not smiling.
"Okay," said Kelly with an unshakably giddy grin. In her arms were little pots and plastic containers of powders and glitters of every shade imaginable. "Some day I'm going to organize these."
"I thought you said you only had lip stuff," said Pam as Kelly started attacking her with cream foundation.
"Well, you know, these are my emergency stash. Always be prepared, you know. Anyway, I think this will look really nice. I mean, I'm getting rid of the circles under your eyes, your colorless skin-"
"I see I'm not required," said Karen, getting up.
"Thanks anyway," said Kelly, not looking up. Karen glanced at them before moving back to her desk. "Gosh—who knew all this potential was under here? Pam, you have to be a bridesmaid at my wedding."
"Oh, you're getting married?" asked Pam.
"Well, duh! OH, you mean, like, right away? I meant down the line in time. I mean, I've got my groom all picked out." She gave a big, glossy smile to Ryan down the hall and waved. Ryan looked back in horror, as if a gorilla had just declared his love for him. He waved back hesitantly. "Anyway, of course I'm wearing white but my bridesmaids are going to wear baby pink. Won't that be so gorgeous? With little pink roses. Oh my God, look at you."
Kelly's hand finished with the eye shadow and she moved to pick up a hand mirror.
"Oh wait!" Kelly exclaimed before setting the mirror out of Pam's reach. She reached around and unclipped Pam's hair barrette, fluffing the half-up hair down. "Oh my God, you look totally different!"
She finally gave Pam the mirror. Pam looked at herself.
No one could call her not beautiful—her lips were immaculate, her eyes radiated color and light. The hair in her face gave her a sexy mystique that was previously never connected with Pam.
She looked at herself. That's not me. She thought the makeup made her look like someone whose whole personal value rested on the outside of her body. Enjoy looking at my face, that's all that's worth getting to know. No one would know how hard she laughed at Fargo, how much Mixed Berries was better than Key Lime Pie, or that when she looked at a pot of flowers, she was exacting different hues of the petals, wondering which pastels and mixes would best recreate the flowers' beauty.
Meanwhile, Kelly had ushered in Phyllis, Angela, Meredith and Karen again to look at her handiwork.
"Doesn't she look awesome!" Kelly exclaimed, her hands clasped to her chest, her face beaming. "I think she should wear it like that all day."
"Pam, you look really nice," Phyllis said with an approving smile.
"Thanks, Phyllis," said Pam, trying to peer through her hair to make eye contact.
"Hot," said Meredith briefly.
"It's rather unprofessional, don't you think?" asked Angela with an extenuated eyebrow arch.
"What do you mean? I do my makeup like that all the time," said Kelly, ready to have a showdown with Angela. But Angela was satisfied with just a disapproving look in both Kelly's and Pam's directions.
"So, are you going to walk around here like that all day?" asked Karen with a nervous half-smile.
"No," said Pam quickly, mirroring Karen's smile. "I'm going to wash it off, now."
"What?!" exclaimed Kelly. "No way, Pam—you look like a goddess!"
"Um," said Pam. "I just don't want to get, you know, unwanted attention."
"Ohhhhhhhhh," said Kelly, looking over at Michael's office. "Gotcha. Well, anytime, you know?"
"Thanks," said Pam. Karen watched as Pam went into the women's restroom.
Pam saw herself in the wide mirror. She relaxed her shoulders, leant her head back and admired herself, the woman with no man. Then she remembered the phones, washed her face, clipped her hair and got back to work.