Chapter Six

She ached to hear his voice. She longed to stare at the right side of his beautiful face as she sat at reception and he sat at his desk. She wished more than anything that she could take back everything she had said that night. She had even called him. But she never got a response.

As Pam sat at the reception desk, way past the end of work, she couldn't help wondering, for the millionth time, what Jim was doing right now. Was he thinking about her? Had he moved on to another girl? The mere thought of another woman in his arms made her stomach turn.

She knew that the voicemail may have been too much. She knew that it would probably make him uncomfortable. But, amidst all this, she also knew the brain behind Jim Halpert, and she knew that it wasn't like him, at all, to not return the call. Maybe her message had freaked him out. With every day that passed by, she felt even worse when she checked her work phone, cell phone, and home phone for messages and found no sweet, rich, and gentle voice that belonged to the man that she…

"Night, Pam," Kevin said dismissively as he walked past, snapping Pam out of her reverie.

"Night." It was a half-hearted farewell, as usual, but everyone around the office had learned to expect that kind of communication from her now.

Michael came up to the semi-circle desk, wearing his coat. "What time is it?"

"20 past 5."

"AM or PM?"

Pam internally rolled her eyes. Michael's most recent exploit included a day of pretzels, sugar, loud music, and drooling. It had been a long day. "PM," she told him. Then she remembered the faxes. "Oh, these came for you. Contracts? Brent Koselli?" Michael still seemed a bit hazy from the sugar rush, so she reiterated. "This is a huge sale."

Michael stammered, "Yes. Right. Good." All while slowly inching toward the door. Honestly, Pam though, I can do his job better than he can…

With a final sigh, Pam realized that she couldn't hide out in this hellhole forever, and sooner or later, she'd have to go home and face an empty, quiet apartment. She gathered her things, and got up to leave.

When she was halfway to the door, the phone rang. Thinking she had nothing to lose, Pam stared at it for a moment, and then answered it.

"Dunder Mifflin."

"Uh, hey."

"Oh my god." Probably the stupidest thing she could say, but it was all she had. Was this real? Was it really him?

"Hi," Jim said awkwardly.

"Hi," Pam repeated, still at a loss for words. A million thoughts were rushing through her head. Nothing could have prepared her for this.

Jim gave some excuse about Kevin's extension, fantasy football, but Pam wasn't really listening. She was still overcoming the initial shock of hearing his voice. Get a grip on yourself, she yelled to her mind.

He had asked something. "Uh, sorry, what?"

"Why are you still there?"

"I had to work late. Jan's making me keep a log of everything Michael does all day." She was thinking quickly, trying to keep words coming out of her mouth so that she had a distraction from fainting.
"Wow. Do you think you could send me a copy of that?" Classic Jim. That little crack made her feel right at ease. She suddenly had a notion that he was right in front of her, leaning casually on the reception desk, smiling sexily at her, like he had done so many times. God, how Pam ached for him.
"Yeah, totally." She smiled. Wow. It felt like those muscles were rusted, she hadn't done it in so long. Okay, come on, keep talking. "So..." she said.
And then that awkward moment where they both spoke at the same time. Pam started, "Do you...", while Jim began, "So…"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Go ahead." Always the gentleman.
Pam stammered to find words. "Uh, no, I um. Everything's pretty much the same here."
"Oh, good."
But she didn't want to lie. "A little different…" In fact, it had been a lot different. She wanted to say so many things. Why did he go? How could he do this? Why hadn't he ever called her back? Why did he make her feel like an idiot? She chose something relatively simpler. "What time is it there?" Shit. As soon as she said it, she rebuked herself for it. Idiot.
"What time is it here?" he said, jokingly. "Um, we're in the same time zone."
"Oh, yeah. Right."
"How far away did you think we were?"

The ultimate question. It had to be asked eventually. Even though he probably didn't mean it in that way, it needed to be addressed. So she answered in the best way she knew how. "I don't know. It felt far." It said so much, while saying so little. Pam commended herself.

"Yeah."

There was a pause. She could feel that he understood. A little moment passed, while they sat in a sort of comfortable silence. But it wasn't awkward anymore. Suddenly Jim broke the stillness.
"I have a question for you."
It sounded sincere. Pam knew the time would come when she would have to answer his questions. So she braced herself. "What?" she breathed.
"How many words per minute does the average person type?"

There he was again, old Jim. Well, they could always save the sincere conversation for later. She decided to play along.
"I type 90," Pam stated, proud of this small accomplishment in her pot of many failures.
"Shut up. Mavis Beacon doesn't even type 90."
"It's true."
"Okay, well what's the average?"
"70? How many do you type?"
"Forget it. I was just about to brag but forget it." She could tell he was being shy, and knew exactly what cute facial expression he was wearing so far away. There were a lot of little things she knew about him.
"Come on. Tell me."
"No."
"You have to tell me now."
"65. Okay, no need to laugh."
As much as she wanted to mock him about it, she figured it was best for now to stay on the best terms possible. "No, that's… respectable."
"Respectable?"

Soon, the conversation was flowing as easily as ever. Being in the office made Pam feel even more like he was really here. Time was passing quickly, and before she knew it, half an hour had gone by, and still, their discussion continued. Pam wanted nothing more than to keep talking to Jim, keep hearing his voice. It was all she had.

"So okay. I'm watching the movie, by myself..."
"Right." He seemed to be hanging on her every word.
"Because I just wanted a relaxing evening at home..."
"Okay."
"And, I'm freaking out."
"Yeah."
"That movie is so scary!"
"I know!"
"But I'm holding on because I keep waiting for Sandra Bullock to show up."
"No way. How do you confuse 28 Days with 28 Days Later?"
"Because I got it at Blockbuster and they don't put the pictures on the box." It was a terrible plight that this Blockbuster constantly put her in.
"No, you're making this up!"
"Would I make that up?" she asked, challenging him.
"Yes. Fancy New Beesley would make that up. New apartment, new stories." Hmm, she thought. Fancy? Maybe so. She decided that she liked the nickname.
"Oh, yeah, in my fancy new apartment. I have one bedroom, one bathroom, and a closet."
"And how many kitchens?"
"I have one kitchen."
"Wow, you got totally taken for a ride Beesley. Most apartments these days have like three."
"Three kitchens?"
"Yes! How are you going to cook every meal of the day in one kitchen?"

Suddenly, Ryan and Dwight walked into the office, startling Pam. They both went to their desks, with expressions of satisfaction on their faces.
Confused, Pam asked, "Hey, Ryan, are you okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah." He grinned. That was weird.
"Pam?" Jim said into the phone.
Speaking to Ryan, she said, "Um. Okay, bye."
Listening into the phone again, Pam heard Jim say, "Oh, yeah, I should, I should, I should probably go too," even though he sounded like he didn't.
"No, I was um..." she tried to redeem herself, but couldn't find a quick explanation. So she gave in. "You have to go?"

And suddenly, it was awkward again. "Yeah, uh, well."
Trying not to sound to clingy, Pam said, "No, I should probably go too."
"Okay," he said, obviously trying to keep her on a little longer.
"I mean… yeah." She didn't have anything left to say.
"Yeah." He seemed to understand. "Bye Pam."
"Bye Jim." And then she hung up the phone. And went home.