My idea was to gather as much information as possible to form a well-rounded article featuring all aspects of the festival. I explained to Pam that I could interview quite a few people, local artists, community members, employees of the museum, then sit in on the activities, write a short review, and give preview of what the festival had to offer. Pam liked my idea and we set out to do some interviews before the local theater group, The Scranton Players, performed their skits at the pavilion.
Lucky, or maybe not, for us, we ran into Jan and the man she was arguing with earlier as we were headed out of the Food Tent.
"Wow," Jan said elongating her vowels. "You're back today. We must have had some effect on you." I couldn't tell if she was happy to have me back or not. She remained very tense.
"The Scranton Times is doing a feature story on the festival," Pam explained.
"Interesting," Jan responded, looking at me strangely as if surprised that I would be doing the story.
"Oh, the newspaper," the man said. "What a great way to tell everyone about the festival. Where's the camera guy? You have to get a shot of me and Jan. Or maybe just me. People have told me I have a very filmable face." He nodded and shook his head to demonstrate.
"Jim," Pam said, "This is Michael Scott, Jan's assistant. He does Chris Rock impressions."
"Oh, thank you, Pam," Michael said, as if he complimented her. "Yes, they are wonderful impersonations. Universally well known. Well, universally known around Scranton. Would you like to hear one?"
"Michael, stop," Jan cut him off just as he started to reenact one. "Pam, the theater group is here, so can you please help them set up."
Pam had a worried look on her face, "Ryan came to get Kelly to help with that a few minutes ago."
"Well, they weren't at the pavilion when I walked by it," Jan said.
Pam groaned, "Oh no."
"They're probably doing it," Michael said bluntly. Pam, Jan, and I stared at him, each of us with equal looks of disgust on our faces. Michael thought we didn't know what he meant, so he elaborated. "You know, making sex. Having sex. They're doing the nas-tay."
Jan clenched her fists in anger, "Michael, please." Michael giggled, obviously a graphic image in his head. "Pam, find Ryan and Kelly and get over there."
"Alright Jan," She said. She turned towards me, "Um, why don't you get a statement from Jan and meet me over at the pavilion, ok?"
"Sure," I said. She took off, leaving me with a still chuckling Michael and an irate Jan. "So, would you like to give me a quote or…"
Jan began speaking before I could get the tape recorder ready.
"Yes, this festival has been put together by the finest employees our museum has," she talked as if she were reciting lines from a play, using a higher, falsely friendly voice. "The museum has been a wonderful addition to the community for the entire time that it has been here and I hope that people who enjoy coming to our museum, enjoy art, or just want to get out of the house for a while will stop on by. We are currently trying to raise money for a new wing on the museum and the festival helps us reach that goal. Art enriches our lives and our souls. I hope to see everyone here." She frowned when she was done.
Michael had been watching interestedly and when Jan had finished her quote Michael jumped to my side, eyeing the tape recorder. "You know I was on TV once," he informed me.
"When was that?" I asked. I had no idea why Michael felt it relevant to tell me such information, but he was amusing if nothing else, so I let him continue, much to Jan's chagrin.
"When I was a kid, there was this show called 'Fundle Bundle'…"
"Michael," Jan scolded him as if he were a child, "I'm pretty sure that Mr. Halpert has plenty of interviews to get to."
"I can still take a quote from you if you want, Michael," I said, although Jan glared at the suggestion so I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do.
"Yes, I have a quote for you." Michael stated, smiling grandly. He began to talk even before I was able to turn back on the tape recorder, "My fellow Scrantonites. I suggest, no, demand that you all come to the annual Scranton art festival. It is the best art festival that you will ever attend in your entire lives. If you do not come, I will go to each of your houses individually and make you, because it is your duty as citizen to come to this art festival. This is not a threat, but you have one day."
"Oh, Michael," Jan groaned, rubbing her head.
Michael continued excitedly, "If you don't want to come for the art you should at least hear my comedy routine. I am an excellent comedian. Did you ever hear the one about the guy that goes to the cheap prostitute?" Jan whacked him on the arm. "Oh," He whined, grabbing his arm. "You didn't have to hurt me."
"Enough," Jan silenced him and he looked at her with hurt eyes, "Come on we have work to do." I heard her mumble, "I need a cigarette," as she walked away. Michael tailed her, babbling continuously about becoming famous after being interviewed by one newspaper.
I made my way over to the pavilion, thinking that if all the interviews turned out as strange as Michael and Jan's it might not be publishable, but it would be very entertaining. I found Michael mildly bearable, but I could see why Pam (and Jan) would be so easily annoyed. I suppose I would be too if I worked with him every day, though, I did work with Dwight, so I felt my tolerance for people was much higher than most.
My train of thought stopped when I saw Pam pacing next to the pavilion. She was talking into a cell phone, a serious, worried expression on her face. My first instinct was to find out what was wrong and comfort her. I really didn't want anything to be wrong, but it conflicted with my desire to have her in my arms. The memory of yesterday's encounter with her ex floated to my mind and I felt a longing ache to hold like that again. I shook my head. I was at work; I should be of thinking professional things.
Pam noticed me standing in the distance and waved me closer, which I did. She listened intently to the party on the other line, nodding along, occasionally inserting the appropriate response. I heard a female voice, but it was too soft to pick up what she was saying.
"Well, mom, why don't you just talk to him about it," Pam said, rolling her eyes at me as if to apologize for keeping me waiting. "I mean, I don't think dad knows…" Her voice cut off as the voice on the other line picked up again. "Alright, mom, we'll have to discuss it later," she interjected. The subject seemed to change as Pam's face grew relaxed, "Yeah, yeah, that's not today, that's tomorrow. I'll let you know about that, but I really don't think I'm going to win, there's a lot of great artwork in the show."
I wondered if she was talking about her own artwork and if so, how I could get her to show it to me.
"Mom, I have to go, there's a reporter waiting for me," she said hurriedly, though I didn't mind waiting. I motioned to her that it was alright if she continued to talk. "Yes the same one from yesterday," she said slightly flustered. "Mom, I'm not going to-" She began to blush a little and turned away from me, lowering her voice. "He's standing right here, ok. I've got to go."
A smile crept up across my face as I thought about the possible conversations she and her mom had about me last night. I had to imagine she said good things if her mom inquired about it again.
She had said goodbye to her mom, then shut her phone and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm sorry about that," she said as if it were a big deal. "My mom. I mean I love my mom, but she likes to chat sometimes and-" She let the sentence die. "How the interview go with Jan and Michael?"
I let out a laugh, "Well, uh, probably how you would expect it to go. Michael started the interview by threatening everyone if they didn't come and ended in an inappropriate sexual joke."
All the seriousness from the conversation with her mother melted away and she broke into a grin, "Yeah, some how I'm not surprised about that. I have to warn you right now, we're all a little crazy like that. So, are you up for the challenge?"
"Oh yeah," I assured her. "I plan on doing this all day long. I mean, I want the readers to be left satisfied and smiling."
* * *
Pam and I grabbed a couple of seats near the back of the pavilion just before the skits were to start. While we waited, Pam explained to me that the Scranton Players had composed original pieces for the festival and that they had worked for a couple of months to put it together. There was a small fee to watch the skits, the proceeds going towards the museum. Pam told me that I didn't need to pay because I was press, I but I gave the few dollars anyway to show my support.
The theater troupe was composed of mostly teenagers and college students, with a few adults there to supervise. They have been a community organization for over thirty years, putting on plays and skits for the community on a regular basis. My sister had been apart of The Scranton Players back in high school and I had seen a few of their productions, but I hadn't been to a performance since then.
There were five skits all together. The first one was about a male virgin who tried desperately to impress his friends. I thought it was a rather adult subject for a bunch of kids to be putting on, but it got the most laughs of the afternoon. The second one was about a washed up drummer attempting to play in a teenage rock band. I doubted I would ever be able to wash the horrifying image of the middle-aged, beer-bellied actor dancing around in his underwear out of my brain. The third one was about rival ice skaters joining together to win a gold medal. I could have sworn I saw Will Ferrell do something like this once. The fourth one was about an engaged couple taking counseling from their minister.
"Oh my god," Pam said as the fourth one ended. She thrust her forehead into my arm, "I officially died of boredom from that last one."
"It wasn't that bad," I said concentrating more on her head on my arm than on a critique of the skit. "Sure it was a little cheesy, especially at the end, but-"
"What priest has a ten-year-old following them around?"
"Ok, so that was a little weird."
"What's the last one?" She asked, leaning over to look at the program I had in my hands. "Flonkerton: The story of an Icelandic Paper Company," she read aloud. "I wonder what Flonkerton means."
"Oh, that means boxes of paper in Icelandic," I came up with quickly.
"Really?"
"I have no idea," I admitted with a smile. She playfully punched me in the arm. "Hey, it could, you don't know."
I had to admit, I was a little skeptical about how interesting a story about an office would be, but it was by far the best skit that was presented that afternoon. The humor was sharp and the characters were intriguing, though if I had one complaint, it was how the skit ended.
"Um, so that was a bit dark," I observed, turning to Pam to see her reaction.
Pam looked like she agreed, "Yeah, I mean that manager guy, what a jerk. I don't think it's funny to fake fire someone, even as a prank. He was too mean spirited. And his sidekick was a jerk too."
It was cute how annoyed she looked, but the characterization of the manager wasn't what I was referring to. "No, I mean the ending. This guy is in love with the girl forever and she obviously feels the same way, but when he tells her, he gets rejected. And that's it. What kind of ending is that?"
She squirmed a little in her seat. "I thought it was realistic," she said slowly.
"What?" I asked surprised to hear her answer that way.
"Yeah, I think I actually got that." She said continued, "I mean the guy was asking to change her whole life around in a matter of seconds. It can be really scary to do that, I actually felt for her."
"Ok," I said, thinking about it. "But I still say she should have stopped him from walking away. She could have at least told him she needed time."
Pam looked uncomfortable, "He didn't give her time to say that. And sometimes it can be really scary to make a decision like that so quickly. I mean, I can't fault her for being human."
"She should have told him she loved him or at least felt something, because obviously she did," I said resigned. "What he did took a lot of courage."
She scrunched her nose, "Yeah, I know, but I don't think life is black and white, Jim." She gave me a lopsided smile.
"I don't know," I said taking a deep breath. "Sometimes I think it is, only we have a tendency to complicate it because it seems too simple."
* * *
"Alright, you're stuck on a desert island and you can only have five movies. What would the be?" I asked. It had been twenty minutes since the skits had ended and we were still sitting on the chairs chatting while the community theater group picked up around us so that the basket weavers could take their place. We hadn't mentioned art or the festival once and I had no desire to point that out to her.
"What?" Pam asked, "How is this even relevant to your interview?
"It just is," I replied. "I mean, do you realize how much your favorite movies say about you?"
"Yeah, I'm sure you ask your interviewees this all the time," she challenged.
"Quit stalling."
She sat back and thought about it for a moment, "Alright…'Legally Blonde'."
"Seriously, Beesly?" I responded in mocking disbelief, "You're going to spend all of eternity with 'Legally Blonde'?"
"It's a good movie," she protested.
"Yeah, sure," I agreed sarcastically, "if you're island is full of teeny-boppers on a Saturday night."
"Fine…fine," she laughed, "I take it back."
"I mean, the people really want to know who the real Pam Beesly is, so let's not short change them with fluff."
"I think you're taking your job way too seriously," Pam responded.
"Well, yeah," I commented, "I mean, if I didn't, tomorrow's headline will read: 'Museum PR Girl Gets Inspiration from Blonde Airhead'. And the people just won't take you seriously any more."
"That headline is way too long. How long did you say you worked at the paper?" She joked. I rolled my eyes, but smiled. "Alright, hmmm…'Fargo', 'Edward Scissor Hands', 'Dazed and Confused', 'The Breakfast Club', 'The Princess Bride', and…"
"Nope," I interrupted, chuckling at her miscalculation, "That's your five."
"Wait, no," She protested, "I haven't told you my all time favorite."
"I'm going to have to change the headline…"
"I have to add my all-time favorite."
"'Museum PR Girl Gets Inspiration from Blonde Airhead': Doesn't know how to count to five."
"Suck it, Halpert."
I raised my eyebrows, "Can I quote you on that?"
"Hey Jim, I didn't know you were going to be here." It was Katy, looking as chipper as she had been yesterday. The humor quickly left the situation.
"Yeah, I'm, uh, doing an article on the festival," I said, wishing that she hadn't interrupted.
"Wasn't that what you were doing yesterday?" She asked, pulling up a chair to sit next to Pam. Pam sat on the edge of her seat looking ready to take off first chance she got.
"Um, yup," I replied, trying to come up with a way to get out of this but nothing was coming to mind. "I'm just doing a big article."
"Oh, that's so cool, you never mentioned that yesterday," she said. "You know, you should come check out my purse table. I can give you my own personal interview."
"Uh, well…"I stammered.
"You know that's not a bad idea," Pam interjected. I looked at her a bit in awe. "Because I have things I should be doing and you guys should- I mean, Jim, you can get interviews with people who are selling other things and yeah." I could tell Pam's tone was forced.
"Why don't you come with us Pam," I suggested.
Pam stood up, "No, I have things-"
"Come on, she's got things to do," Katy said, literally pulling me by the arm. I gave Pam an apologetic look, but she said nothing as Katy dragged me off the pavilion.
I liked Katy alright, I did. She was sweet and kind, but had almost no personality or depth and taking her out to coffee last night had been as dull as the few times I went out with her in college. Katy was a good person and I wished there was an easy way to tell her I wasn't interested.
Katy's purse table was nestled in the middle of the booths set up for selling handcrafted merchandise. A plethora of purses lay nicely arranged on the table. Katy went behind it and began presenting me all the various types of purses she and her mom had made. They were nice purses, but I had a hard time focusing on the excruciating details that Katy was presenting me.
I saw Pam out of the corner of my eye and my attention was immediately off Katy and her purses. Pam was standing a few booths down, looking at a collection of cat figurines. She looked my direction, but when she caught my eye, her head jolted the other way.
I turned my attention back to Katy who was chatting cheerfully about the red leather purse in her hand. As I watched her, it dawned on me that Katy's favorite movie was 'Legally Blonde'. I remember her telling me that once. I smiled at the irony.
* * *
I left Katy not long after, stating that I needed to get back to my job. She was nice about it, but I think she was aware that I wasn't interested. I got a short quote from her and left her booth after an awkward goodbye. Thankfully, she didn't ask to go out to coffee again.
I made my way to the booth where Pam inspecting a small, black cat figurine in her hands, twirling it slowly. Her gaze shifted towards me, our eyes met for a split second before she returned to examining the figurine.
"Angela, I had no idea you made these," Pam said, to the tiny blonde woman behind the table. She placed the black cat figurine down and picked up the white one that sat next to it. "They really are beautiful."
"Thank you Pam," Angela said with a forced smile, "But will you please stop touching? You're getting finger prints all over them." She snatched the figurine out of her hand, placing it in the open spot amongst the rest of the figurines.
"Oh, I think they're lovely," a heavyset woman standing next to Pam said, adjusting her glasses to examine a leopard print one.
"No one asked you, Phyllis," Angela said in a harsh tone, tearing the figurine out of Phyllis's hand. "Can I help you?" she asked curtly as I came up behind Pam and Phyllis.
"I'm Jim, from the Scranton Times, I wondered if you'd like to answer a few questions for an article I'm writing."
"Weren't you here all day yesterday?" she asked snidely.
"Um, yes."
"Oh, I'd like to answer your questions," Phyllis said, a bright gleam in her eyes, "I'm one of the curators…"
"Phyllis, you are assistant curator," Angela reminded her. "Don't think you can answer for me."
Phyllis's face fell, "I just thought since you are busy selling your trinkets-"
"They are porcelain cat figurines," Angela said upset, "How dare you call these precious collectors items trinkets."
"Well," Phyllis said, "They look just like the ones Bob and I found at a flea market."
"Phyllis!" Angela snarled offended.
"Phyllis and Angela are our curators," Pam explained to me. "They pretty much decided whose art is on display and organized all of the tents."
"So, do you guys want to mention anything about the process of choosing which pieces of art were included in the festival?" I asked, getting me recorder out to tape their answers.
Angela gave her answer first, "We scrutinize and debate over every piece of work that gets submitted, going through a precise and thorough process, which weighs the pros and cons of each artwork. The collection we have on display, we feel, is the best representation of the well rounded talent the community has to offer."
"Actually, we just picked the ones we liked," Phyllis said with a grin. She winked at me in a way that made me feel slightly uncomfortable. I could see that this amused Pam.
"And you do art yourself?" I asked Angela, avoiding Phyllis's lingering gaze.
"Yes." She said flatly, not wanting to elaborate on the cat figurines.
"Ok, thank you ladies for you time," I said politely.
"So, do you want to walk around the booths a little," Pam asked.
"Sure," I said. We left Phyllis and Angela, and headed down the rows of booths. I deliberately picked the direction away from Katy's purse table. "So, the curator makes cat figurines. That's interesting."
Pam let out a small laugh, "Yeah, she's been making them for years. It's what she hands out for Christmas gifts every year. She's, like, a crazy cat lady. But I don't really blame her for having another hobby. We're all a little nervous about our jobs?"
"Really?" I asked. We continued to walk past the booths but didn't stop to look at anything.
"Yeah, We-" She stopped to look up at me. "Can I talk to you as a friend and not as a reporter?"
"Sure. Yes, definitely." I said, elated to have her think of me as a friend.
"The museum is hurting badly," she explained. "With the economy hurting as bad as it is, there isn't much money left for the arts, you know? Last year, I think around the end of October, you know before the holiday season, Jan had to lay off fifteen people. So, I think a lot of us have little hobbies on the side to bring in some money."
"Oh, makes sense," I said, understanding the money pinch. It wasn't like the newspaper was flourishing either.
"I don't know if it'd be such a bad thing if they let me go," she said, "I mean, I need a job and they're not going to because they need a PR person, but I don't know, sometimes I think it would give me the fresh start I need."
"Do you know what you'd do?" I asked, genuinely interested.
"You know, I often think about how I'd leave, but I never get to the after part. Maybe I'd go somewhere else." She gave me a lopsided smile. "Do you know what you would do, if you didn't have job?"
"Oh, I'd go to Maryland," I said, mostly because it was the first thing that popped in my head. It was not a subject I thought about often. "Because I love soft-shell crab and the ocean."
"So, what's stopping your from going?" She asked curiously.
"I don't know," I stumbled. My life was so content in Scranton that it never occurred to me leave and at this moment, Scranton was the only place I wanted to be.
"Well, I've never been to the ocean," Pam admitted.
"Really? Never?"
She shook her head, "I want to go before I die. There and the Grand Canyon. And Europe."
"You know, the Grand Canyon is just a big hole in the ground," I joked.
"Have you traveled a lot?" She asked.
"A little," I wasn't a world traveler, but I had been to my fair share of places. I got the impression, though, that Pam had spent most of her life in Western Pennsylvania.
Pam's eyes grew wise with excitement, "And, I really want to live in a house with a terrace."
"Why's that?"
"This is going to sound stupid, but I read it in a book when I was a little girl and it always stuck me," She explained. "But there aren't any in Scranton, so I'll have to find a place that has one."
"That doesn't sound stupid at all."
Pam shifted uneasily, "So, um, that Katy seems like a really nice girl," she said attempting to sound casual.
"Oh yeah, she is," I replied not interested in discussing Katy, but amused that Pam brought it up.
"She's awfully perky," she commented mostly to herself. "So are you guys dating or something? I mean, how was coffee?"
"Coffee was alright," I answered smiling. "We're not dating. She's just an old friend."
"Oh," she replied, a smile tugging on her lips.
* * *
"Hey Pam," a man who would later be introduced to me as Oscar Martinez said, "Do you mind coming with me for a second."
"Um, sure," Pam replied. "What's up?"
"I think you're going to need to see this," Oscar said.
Pam and I exchanged looks as we followed Oscar to a corner of the park. Standing in an isolated patch of grass was what looked like a fortune telling machine. The bottom half was made of wood, but it was banged and kicked in several places. The top half held a mannequin, dressed as a fortuneteller, wearing moon and star patterned silver and purple garments, an eye patch and a sadistic smile, sat in front of a crystal ball. The mannequin was encased in glass, which was lined with royal purple velvet. The whole thing stood a good ten feet tall.
"Oh my god," Pam said in disbelief.
"Is that art?" I asked, not exactly sure why something like this would be sitting here all by itself.
"That is not art," Oscar responded disgusted. "I have no idea what it's doing here, which is why I came to get you."
Pam approached it hesitantly, walking around the whole box to inspect it. "It's plugged in," she said, holding up the cord in the back. "And look, there's a slot to put in money. It's like one of those games you find at carnivals."
"Or in the movie 'Big'," I suggested.
"Did you authorize anything like this?" Oscar asked perplexed.
"No," Pam said, coming back around to join us. She looked up at the machine and tilted her head. "Is that a man or a woman?"
"Um, it does have a mustache," I observed.
"Yeah, I'm still not sure," Pam said squinting her eyes.
"I don't think that's what we need to be concerned with," Oscar said, clearly annoyed. "What is it doing here?"
"Maybe we put a coin in and tomorrow we'll be grown-ups," I joked. Oscar was not amused.
"Who in god's good graces decided to create that?" It was Angela, who stood a few feet behind us with her arms folded across her chest and a frown on her face. "I did not authorize that."
"I think it's sort of unique," Phyllis, who was standing beside her, commented.
"It's not art," Pam and I said at the same time.
"Thank heavens for that," Angela sneered.
Phyllis walked up to the machine, "Do you know what it does?"
"We're still trying to figure out why it's here," Oscar answered.
"Well, I don't think it would hurt to try," Phyllis said, fishing her pockets for a quarter. When she found one, she placed it in the gold slot located just below the glass.
The machine gave a loud pop, causing us all to jump back. Black, gold, and silver lights began flashing from the top of the glass casing. The mannequin's hand began to rotate over the crystal ball, which had lit up a light violet and spun slowly. The mannequin's eyes glowed a deep red and it's jaw opened and shut repeatedly. A strange and ominous tinny music flowed out of the machine. The whole show lasted a good ten seconds before shutting off and a small piece of paper fluttered down into the hole below the coin slot. We were all a little shocked at the freakish display.
Phyllis reached for the paper and read it aloud to us, "It may be the end of the world, but everything will be fine. Is that supposed to be a fortune?"
Angela rolled her eyes, "Are we really supposed to believe anything that comes out of a tacky slot machine and is based off of magic used by the devil?"
"I do not think this should stay here," Oscar said, trying to rein the conversation back to something practical.
"Whose ugly ass sculpture is taking up space at our festival?" Kelly had come to join the group, followed by a disheveled Ryan. "No wonder it was placed out here in the middle of nowhere."
"It's not art," Phyllis, Angela, and Oscar stated at the same time.
"What is it?" Ryan asked with a look of distaste.
"Oh, it tells fortunes," I said with a smile. I was finding the whole situation rather amusing.
"Oooo, fortunes," Kelly squealed. She pushed her way past Pam and I to get to the machine. "How does it work? Do you have to ask it a question? Oh, Ryan, maybe it will tell us how many babies we'll have."
Ryan became red with embarrassment, "Kelly, it's a stupid machine. It's not going to tell you anything."
"How do you know that? You haven't tried it," Kelly sneered.
"Are you going to tell me you haven't ever seen one of these things?" Ryan asked.
Kelly ignored the question. "I need a quarter, Ryan."
"I don't have one."
"You always have one."
"No, I don't."
Kelly was insistent, "Yes you do. Remember, I told you that you need to always need to keep a few quarters on hand just in case it's a dire emergency and I am forced to get a tampon out of those machines in the bathrooms, not that I ever want to be using a tampon from a public bathroom, because seriously, yuck. I mean how gross are those things."
Angela shot her a look of disbelief. "I do not think it's the appropriate time to be discussing such things."
"You know, I can think of a good fifty other things that we probably should be doing," Oscar said with a sigh.
"Ryan, give me a quarter," Kelly wined, holding out her hand. Ryan finally gave in and pulled a quarter out of his pocket. "Yay!" Kelly said as she slipped the quarter in the slot.
"Um, so is this what work is like for you all the time?" I whispered to Pam while the light show went on for a second time.
Pam stared up at me seriously. "I would like to tell you that this is a one time weird occurrence," she said shaking her head, "But it's not."
"Huh, and I thought I had seen strange things on the job," I stated.
"You have no idea."
"Oh, here it is," Kelly sang happily, waving the small card at everyone. "There's the progress we have found a way to talk around the problem. Building towered foresight isn't anything at all. Um, what the hell does that mean?"
"I told you it wasn't worth it," Ryan said with a smug smile.
"Oh, whatever, give me another quarter I want to try it again."
"No," Ryan argued. Kelly and Ryan began to fight over a quarter. Oscar tried to intervene, but to no avail, which resulted in another snarky comment by Angela. Meanwhile, Phyllis was debating, aloud, the sex of the mannequin. Soon, all five of them were talking at once.
"I think I'm going to try out the machine, get my fortune," I said, ignoring the growing commotion.
"That thing is obviously a cheap gimmick," Pam said.
"Yeah, but it's fun," I gave a shrug and fished my pocket for a quarter. The light show went on again, no one really noticing because they were still too busy arguing with each other. The tiny card came down and I picked it up, reading it to myself. Take comfort in your friends, because everybody hurts sometimes. What the hell, I thought, were all these fortunes just snippets of R.E.M. songs?
"What's it say?" Pam asked, trying to read my expression.
"Oh, nothing," I said casually, clenching the card in my hand.
"Let me see," Pam said, trying to make a grab for it. I pulled my hand out of her reach. She pawed for it again and I deliberately kept it away.
"It's really not that interesting," I insisted.
She smiled and tilted her head at me. "Then why are you hiding it?"
I shrugged and she let out a laugh. She reached for it again and this time I outstretched my hand over my head. I was a good foot taller her than her, which it made it impossible for her to get it. She tried anyway, jumping a few times for it laughing as she did so. When she couldn't reach it, she stood on her toes and placed on hand on my chest to get better leverage. I could feel her warm hand, through the thin fabric of my shirt, over my heart. She continued to reach for the paper, her arm sliding against mine, her fingers almost able to grasp it, giving one more effort, but unable to reach, she lowered herself, resting her other hand on my chest for support. A strong tension replaced the playfulness of the moment. I lowered my arm, instinctively sliding it around her waist to pull her closer to me. I could feel the heat from her body and I knew she could feel my heart begin to race. I looked into her eyes, wanting to know if she felt the same rush I was experiencing, but she turned away nodding at Phyllis who had been watching us.
"Jim, let go." It didn't register the first time she said it. "Jim, please, let go." There was a bit of panic in her voice and she used her hands to push away from me.
I released her. "Pam, I'm sorry-," I stammered, though I couldn't say that I really was. She walked towards Oscar, a frown on her face. I wish I could take back whatever I had done to make her pull away, but I wasn't even sure what that was.
"What is going on?" asked a stern voice. Everyone became quiet as Jan neared the group. "Why is my staff huddled around a single exhibit when there are other things that they should be doing?"
"It's not art," a few people mumbled.
Jan, for the first time, looked at the machine. "Why the hell is there a crappy fortune telling machine at my festival?"
"Oh, it's here." Michael came forward, looking as a gleeful as a kid in a candy store.
"Michael, are you the one that ordered this?" Oscar asked.
"That would explain it," Angela scoffed.
"Does it work, has anybody tried it?" He asked, going right up to it to examine it. "Quick, somebody give me a quarter." Jan looked too steamed to even comment.
"Michael," Pam said, using a soft voice, "why did you get this thing?"
"Oh, it's like in the movie 'Big'," Michael explained. I smiled with content and gave Pam an 'I told you so' look, but she shook her head with disapproval. "Not only is it fun, but it would earn some money for the museum. Now I need a quarter."
Ryan thought it over, "at most it would earn, what, a couple hundred dollars in change?"
"How much did this cost?" Oscar asked hesitant to hear the answer.
"Um, five thousand dollars," Michael said, not as enthusiastic as he was before.
"Five thousand dollars…" Oscar repeated in disbelief.
Kelly let out a vicious laugh, "You spent five thousand dollars to rent a crappy fortune telling machine? What a moron."
"Well, you see," Michael stammered. "Rent isn't exactly the right word."
"Oh, Michael," Pam said with a sigh.
"Where did you get the money?" Oscar asked. He was looking rather ill.
"From the budget," Michael answered defensively. "I saw that we had a little extra saved up so I decided to use it."
Jan was absolutely livid. "You used the money that we had earmarked for this spring's Impressionist show on a beat-up, oversized toy?"
"Um, no," Michael responded.
Jan let out a yell and stormed off, too angry to deal with the situation at that moment. The rest of the group began to disperse in low spirits, eventually leaving only Pam, Michael and I with the machine. Michael was facing it, looking sad.
"Jim, will you do me a favor," Pam asked. Whatever strangeness had occurred between us was trumped. "Will you please not mention this or anything possibly damaging to the museum in your article?"
"I won't," I promised.
"Thank you," she replied.