"Michael, are you alright?" Pam asked as she and I came to Michael's side. He was still standing forlorn in front of the fortune-telling machine. "Is there any thing we can do for you?" She rested one hand on his shoulder.
"I have to find her," Michael said suddenly, breaking away from Pam's grasp. "I have to find Jan."
"I think she may a need a few minutes to cool down," I suggested, eyeing the five-thousand dollar fortune-telling machine. I believed Jan might need a more than a few minutes, but Michael wasn't content to wait that long.
"No, I have to fix this," Michael said as he sprinted in the direction that Jan had left. Pam called out to him, but he was already long gone.
"Should we stop him?" I asked.
Pam shook her head. "He pulls this all the time and Jan, somehow, manages to forgive him. But five-thousand dollars? I think it may be best to let her deal with that." She gave me a lopsided smile. "So, what did that fortune say, anyway?"
She didn't seem angry any longer. I had a hard time judging if in that moment earlier she was annoyed the fact that other people were watching or just with me. I wanted to ask, but she hadn't mentioned it, and even if she was sweeping it under the rug, I didn't dare upset the balance we had now, so I let it go.
"Um, 'everybody hurts sometimes'," I replied. She tilted her head, not sure if I was joking or not, but before I could say more, a man I hadn't seen in ages came walking forward.
"Jim Halpert," he said, clapping me on the back. "How goes it?"
"Christian, hey," I said, happy to see an old friend and colleague. I shook his hand.
"What are you doing here?" He asked, "I don't believe I've ever known you come to an art festival in your life."
Pam gave me an odd look, wondering what the statement meant, but instead of acknowledging her look, I answered Christian's question. "I'm doing a major story on the art festival," I explained. "Josh wants full coverage, so I'm here all day."
Christian shook his head, but didn't look entirely convinced. He had worked at the newspaper for years and was well aware that art festivals weren't usually front page news. He moved on, noticing Pam. "I see you've met the lovely Mrs. Anderson," he said, taking Pam's hand and giving it a suave kiss. "Whom I had the pleasure to meet last year at the festival."
Pam wrinkled her nose, much like she did yesterday when I called her by married name. "Beesly now," she said, holding up her left hand to show a ring finger void of a ring.
"Oh really," Christian replied sympathetically. "How long ago?"
"Six months," Pam replied, but she wasn't interested in talking about the divorce. She was more interested in how we knew each other. "So, you and Jim are friends?"
"Oh yeah," Christian said, throwing me a smile.
"Christian worked as the editor for the Scranton Times when I first started," I explained. "That is before you got that prestigious gig up in New York. Writing for an art magazine, can't be bothered to deal with us lowlifes that have to report real news."
"Yup, I've moved on to higher and better things," Christian laughed, "But we do have stories don't we? Pam, back when Jim interned, he and a few of the other newbies used to stay and help me finish the final layout before the paper went out to press. Ah, those were great times, running around, getting everything in before the deadline. All of us taking turn making questionable dinners in that small basement kitchen. This guy could make the best grilled cheese sandwiches I've ever had. If you ever want gourmet grilled cheese, he's your guy."
"Really?" Pam raised her eyebrows, interested.
"Sure," I said, "They weren't half as good as Murray, who made us all burritos."
"Don't be modest," Christian insisted. "Murray's burritos were store bought anyway. All he did was heat them up."
"I guess I'll have to try out these famous sandwiches," Pam said amused.
"Well, I do make ham and cheese and tuna if you want a choice," I added.
Christian let out a laugh. "Do you remember your first story? The night that we were nearly up all night because you were late turning your article in."
"Oh right, the hockey game," I recalled fondly. "The first story I had all to myself and I couldn't turn it in because the game didn't finish until early the next morning."
"What was it, four, five overtimes?" Christian asked, rubbing his chin. "And we had to wait until that stupid team finally pulled their goalie-"
"And it was over in five seconds," I finished for him. "That was a good game."
"That was some amazing grilled cheese at three in the morning," Christian complimented. "Better than that pizza Johnson tried making. To this day, I still don't know what that brown stuff was."
"That sounds crazy," Pam said, wanting to be apart of the conversation. "It figures it would be hockey holding you up. I can't stand hockey." Christian and I both shot her a look. "What?"
"Do you have a hockey story?" I asked curiously.
"It's stupid, really," she said, rolling her eyes. "Um, I went on this date with this guy, one time, to a hockey game. Well, a minor league hockey game and not only did he bring his brother on our first date, but he left me at the game and didn't come back for me until I called him two hours later."
"Oh no," Christian let out.
"He sounds like a real winner," I added sarcastically.
"Well, it was a long time ago," Pam said. "It doesn't matter any more. I don't go to sports game any more, though. Not on first dates anyway." I noticed her thumb played with a non-existent ring on the third finger of her left hand. Her ex had been that date, I was almost positive of that.
"Don't feel bad," Christian sympathized with her. "I once had a date that threw up on me while we were stuck at the top of the Ferris wheel. I still can't ride them without feeling a bit nauseous myself."
I let out a little laugh, "Yeah, I guess we all have our disastrous first date stories."
"Well, speaking of dating," Christian said turning towards me. "Jim how's the pretty little brunette you danced around for ages. Did you ever get around to asking her out?"
My eyes grew wide the moment Christian brought her up. I had not anticipated the subject of Karen and I could feel Pam's eyes boring in on me while she waited for me to speak. It was bad enough that Katy had been around, still around, bringing up Karen seemed unbearable. I wanted to avoid talk about my recent ex-girlfriend as much as possible. "You know, she's fine. She asked me out eventually, but we're not- we aren't dating any longer."
"You too, huh?" Christian asked, disappointed to hear of the demise of the relationship. "Well, I'm glad to say Lucy and I are celebrating our thirtieth next month."
"That's great," I said a little too enthusiastic. Any subject was better than going into detail about my love life. "How wonderful for you guys. So, Christian what are you doing here anyway? Just visiting or-"
"Oh right," Christian look as though he forgot he was even at an art festival. "Actually, I'm here to do a little write-up for the magazine. Not something they usually go for, but since it's my home town and all, they said it'd be alright."
"Really?" Pam's eyes grew wide with excitement. "That means mention of the festival and our local art work will be in one of the biggest art magazines in New York."
"That's awesome," I commented, genuinely happy for her opportunity.
"What's more," Christian continued, "if anyone at the magazine likes what they see, we could ask artists to bring their stuff to New York as well as getting some of the art people in New York interested supporting the museum here. Help encourage it to grow, I think."
Pam looked shocked, "I don't even know what to say. The museum could totally use that kind of publicity right now. And to find someone interested in a private donation? I mean, that would be amazing. We want to build a wing onto the museum, so if you know of anyone, I mean anyone, who's willing to support us than I can't thank you enough."
"Well, let me write up my story first, then we'll take it from there," Christian said.
"You know," I said, feeling the need to throw my own two cents in. "I've been here for two days and I promise you, Christian, that they have a lot to offer. So, I doubt you'll have a problem finding someone who would like to help them out."
Pam gave me a grateful smile. "Um, is there anywhere you want to start? Any kind of art you'd like to see first?"
"Actually, I would speak with your director." Christian state. "Jan Levinson still, right?"
"Yes," Pam answered right away. "I don't know where she is, but let me try calling her. She usually has her cell on."
As Pam searched for her cell phone, Christian noticed the fortune-telling machine behind us. "What is that monstrosity?" he asked.
"Oh, that's a five-thousand dollar box that spits out R.E.M. lyrics for a quarter," I deadpanned.
Christian shook his head, "This isn't how they're raising money is it?"
"No, no," I said quickly. "Please don't make any judgments based on this thing. It was, apparently, a dumb mistake."
"Oh, I won't," Christian assured me. "I've been well aware how SIA conducts business and for years I've thought they've made a lot of dumb mistakes." We both watched as Pam made the call on her phone. She paced back and forth a few feet away. As she did, Christian leaned toward me and asked in a lowered voice, "Is she seeing anyone now? I have a colleague whose son is about her age."
I froze at the question, my breath literally stopping. "I, um, don't think she is. I mean, she hasn't told me anything, but we've just met, so I wouldn't- know."
Christian studied me for a second. As much I as I tried to hide my thoughts, Christian read me like a book. "Have you asked her out yet?"
I was taken aback by his bluntness, "I asked her to come out and watch me play basketball and she asked me to waffles at the festival this morning, but neither worked out."
"That's not asking her out," Christian informed me. "So, what's stopping you?"
"I don't know," I replied honestly. Up until this point, asking her out wasn't exactly a conscious thought. I had spent all my energy just trying to be near her.
"Well, you better do it soon," he advised. "A girl like that, she'll get snatched up quick. And Jim, she's one of the good ones."
Pam snapped her phone shut to rejoin us. "Well, I can't get a hold of Jan at the moment," she said. "She must not have her phone on." Christian wasn't listening; he was too busy silently nodding for me to ask her out on a date. I shook my head at him, thinking that it really wasn't the appropriate time to ask anything. "What?" Pam asked, now feeling aware that we had been talking about her.
"Nothing," I replied hastily. "Why don't we go walk around and find Jan? She's got to be around her somewhere."
Pam gave me a strange look, but went with it. "I'm sure she hasn't strayed too far away, if you don't mind walking, Christian."
"I don't at all," He said, giving me a disappointed look.
We walked a few yards when a strange noise, sounding vaguely like moaning, came from behind the big oak tree we were passing. "Oh my god," Pam said, shock in her voice. "That sounds like Jan."
I wanted to know how she knew that, but Pam didn't wait for me to ask any questions. Instead, she went behind the tree and gave out a shriek. Christian and I joined her, stunned to see Michael and Jan, pushed against the tree, locked in an embrace. Jan, noticing our presence, pushed Michael away as fast as she could, but Michael held on firmly, trying to kiss her neck.
"Oh my god," Jan said when she saw us standing there.
Michael pulled away and gave us a sheepish grin. "Jan, I think we're at threat level midnight."
* * *
"Christian, hi," Jan said in that high false voice of hers. She began patting down her hair, a large chuck of which managed to escape the bun it was in and drape down her left side. Her blouse had been untucked and her top buttons were undone, revealing a bit too much of her lacy black bra. She held out her hand for Christian, who shook it uneasily. "I knew you were coming out maybe tomorrow," she began to babble. "Or Thursday, but I hardly expected to see you today."
"Um, tomorrow is Thursday," I interjected automatically. "It's only Wednesday." She shot me a nasty glare and I decided now was not the best time to correct her mistake.
"Jan, I don't believe we were done," Michael butted in. His hair was looking just as messy. His clothes weren't quite as unkempt, but he did look as though he had been rolling around in the dirt.
"Not now, Michael," Jan said, keeping the plastered smile on her face.
"But Jan," Michael whined again.
"Michael, this is Christian," Jan introduced, "He's the very important art journalist that came in from New York, don't you remember me talking about him? Christian, you remember my assistant Michael Scott? You'll have to forgive him, he's not- very well trained."
"Hello, Christian," Michael said, stepping up to Christian and grabbing his hand, even though Christian didn't offer it. "Yes, I am Michael, and I'm sure you know my lover, Jan Levinson."
"Oh," Jan groaned rubbing her head.
"Ew," Pam said disgusted.
"Pam, how can you be grossed out by that?" Michael asked offended. I believe we were all appalled at the image we had just witnessed. "The love between a man and a woman is a very beautiful thing. And Jan has the most beautiful-"
"Michael, please that is inappropriate," Jan scolded quietly. "We talked about that, remember?"
"But Jan, you-"
"No, Michael, not now," Jan said, trying to keep what little dignity she had going for her. "We want to make a good impression here."
Christian began to explain what he had told Pam and I earlier. Jan listened to him intently, but had a hard time concentrating with Michael interrupting every few seconds to interject an odd remark or off hand comment. She tried to swat him away, as if he were an unwanted insect, but no matter how hard she tried, Michael kept stepping in. Christian did his best to ignore Michael, but didn't know how to compete with someone who needed constant attention every second.
Meanwhile, Pam was still having a hard time comprehending what she saw. "I just don't believe it," she whispered to me. We stood a few feet away and kept our voices low. "I mean it's Michael and Jan." She scrunched her nose and shook her head, as if to rid herself of the image.
"You guys really didn't know?" I asked, thinking that it made complete sense coming from an outsider's perspective. It answered a lot of questions I had about Michael.
"No," Pam responded. "I mean, there has been a lot of speculation as to why Jan keeps him around all this time, but none of us entertained the thought-" She couldn't finish the sentence.
"That they might have a secret relationship going on," I finished for her.
"Yeah," she continued. "I mean, how does one even come back from that?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said, contemplating her words. "I guess once you go down that road with someone, it's hard to get back-"
"No," Pam shook her head. "How can Jan come back from hooking up with Michael?"
I laughed at my misunderstanding, "Yeah, I don't know about that."
"She used to know better," Pam said, as we watched Jan pull a cigarette from her purse and lit up, much to the distaste of Christian. "I mean, I know she's been having a hard time lately, but what is she doing?" I didn't have an answer for her.
"You know what Christian," Jan was saying, "why don't we continue this in a more private location where there are less distractions."
Christian didn't look like he was interested in being alone with Jan, "I'm sure we can work this out here. I just need a few recommendations of artists and-"
"Jan, I would require you to be alone with me as well," Michael said, not letting up.
Jan took a long drag on her cigarette, "only if it's work related, Michael."
"It is," he assured her. "I'd like to discuss how lovely you smell today."
"How is that work related?" Jan snapped.
"You're here at work," Michael informed her.
"You know what, maybe now isn't the best time," Christian said, looking for anyway way to escape the uncomfortable situation. "I'm in town for a few days, I can come back later."
"Michael," Pam jumped in, knowing that if Christian left, he might not come back. "Why don't you come with Jim and I? We need, uh, your expertise." She grabbed at Michael's arm, pulling him away from Jan and Christian.
"Right," I added going off her lead. "Let's let Jan and Christian have some private time and you can help me with my article."
"Oh, that's great. I would love to be your expert," Michael said. Jan looked relieved to see him leaving, but although Michael was thrilled at being called an expert, he still had a few things left to say. "Jan, I am going with them now, but when we get back I would like to discuss the future of our relationship. I think I've made it perfectly clear where I stand and it would be nice if you did the same."
"Nothing is going to happen again," Jan replied quickly, to get Michael off her back.
Michael wasn't satisfied, "Why? We've done this on multiple occasions and you've always seemed fine then. Are you scared? You're just scared. You should do what I do when I'm scared-"
"Michael, go with Pam," Jan insisted. "We'll discuss this later."
"You always say that," Michael said loudly, attracting the attention of a few people walking by. "I want to know now. I think I deserve the respect I give you and I want a commitment Jan. No more fooling around, I want a commitment. Quit playing games with men's hearts."
"Michael, I am so tired of having this same argument," Jan said, throwing her cigarette on the ground and stomping it out. She reached in her purse and pulled out a second one. "We have been going in circles for over a year now and quite frankly, I'm tired of fighting this fight. You know what, I'm glad it's out in the open now, because I don't think I could handle much more of it. So, you know what Michael, it's over. Over. No more sneaking around, no more lies, I'm done. You are welcome to stay on as my assistant if you want, but our relationship will remain on a professional level, do you understand that? Now, Christian and I have some important business matters to discuss. Business matters that could be potentially beneficial to the well being of this museum, which it really needs, ok?"
Pam and I exchanged looks. We were both a little in awe that Jan had the gumption to break-up with Michael in the middle of the art festival. Michael seemed to be a bit to swallow, but Jan wasn't acting any better.
"Ok," Michael replied. "But why do you want to end this. We are good together. Can't you see that? Please don't do this."
"I will talk to you later," Jan said soundly.
"But Jan-"
"I will talk to you later." Jan grabbed Christian's arm and escorted him away from the scene. Michael called out to them, but Jan ignored him, marching away before anyone else stopped to look. Michael wanted to go after them, but Pam and I restrained him, both us grabbing one of Michael's arms to stop him. He struggled a bit, but not enough to break free.
Eventually, Michael sat down on the ground, under the big tree and began to cry. "What did she mean, Pam? What did she mean by that?"
Pam and I sat down on either side of him. "I think she just needs a little space," Pam explained, attempting to console him. "And she's looking out for the museum and her job right now."
"But she said she would talk to me later," Michael said. "What did that mean? Do you think she wants to get back together?"
"I think that meant she'll talk to you later," I suggested.
Michael let out a loud groan, "Oh, it's the end of the world."
"I don't think so," I said, patting him on the back. "I'm sure there are other, better women out there for you than Jan."
"No, there's not," Michael cried. He shoved his head unexpectedly into Pam's shoulder and began to moan louder. Pam lightly placed an arm around him, not sure how to give him comfort. "I have to do something. I have to do something to win her back."
"I think Jim's right," Pam said softly. "Maybe you want to move on."
"I don't want to move on," Michael continued. "She was hot. And smart. And I loved her. Sometimes she said she loved me. Sure, she is crazy sometimes and she doesn't like to cuddle after sex, but she's the one, I know it."
"Do you really know that?" I asked doubtful.
"I have to do something," Michael said, pulling away from Pam and wiping the tears off his face. "Have to make a gesture. I have to show her I love her." Michael stood up. Pam and I quickly followed.
"I don't know if that's the best idea," Pam said concerned.
"Yes it is," Michael insisted. "I know what I want to do."
"Um, Michael, let's wait a bit," I offered. "Pam and I can stay with you for a little bit if you want."
"No, I have to do it now. A big gesture." A smile grew on Michael's face as he formed a plan. "I know exactly what will get her attention."
"Michael, are you sure-" Pam began.
"I know what I'm doing," Michael said firmly. "Either you're with me or not, but I'm going to need some help."
* * *
"Do you have any idea what Michael is up to?" I asked Pam as we followed Michael. He was nearly running, so we were doing our best to keep up with his pace.
"I never know," Pam replied.
Michael stopped when we reached the pavilion, where the basket weaving was still going on. "Wait here," he cried.
"Michael, we've got things to do," Pam reminded him.
"Please, Pam," Michael begged. He had a bit of desperation in his eyes and Pam gave in.
"Fine, but you better be quick."
Twenty minutes later, he came back huffing and puffing, holding a cassette tape in his hand. "Pam, you know how to work the sound system right?" He asked hopefully.
"Yeah, but Michael, I don't know if it's such a good idea," Pam responded worried. She looked to me for support.
"Michael, I don't think you need a sound system to say anything that might need saying," I told him.
"If you can't help me, I'll find someone that will or I'll do it myself," Michael threatened and we knew that he was serious.
At the front of the pavilion, next to the raised stage, was the sound system equipment and Michael began to punch buttons. Watching Michael fiddle with and possibly damaging expensive equipment was enough for Pam to help him out. I stood behind them and watched as Pam got the tape ready and reluctantly gave Michael the microphone. As Michael climbed on the vacant stage, Pam threw me a look, which told me she was helping him out against her better judgment.
"Hello, everyone here at this wonderful festival," his voice registered through the speakers and echoed around the park. The microphone squeaked making everyone in the vicinity jump. The basket weavers, who were currently using the pavilion, stopped their demonstrations to look at him along with a handful of confused people passing by. "I am going to sing a song. It is dedicated to my amazingly hot boss, Jan, who is also my girlfriend. Jan, if you're out there, please come sing this duet with me."
Pam's mouth dropped and I let out a little laugh. Jan wasn't present, but Angela, Phyllis and Kelly found their way to the pavilion to watch a desperate and energized Michael.
"What is going on?" Angela demanded. "Michael didn't schedule any time at the mike. Pam, aren't you going to stop this?"
"Michael's trying to apologize to Jan," Pam explained.
"What, for the five-thousand dollars?" Phyllis asked.
Pam shook her head, "No, because apparently, they've been dating for about a year now and Jan just dumped him."
Phyllis and Angela both let out a little gasp. "Has the woman lost her self respect?" Angela judged.
Kelly had a different take. "Oh my god, is he going to sing for Jan?" Kelly cooed, "That's so romantic. I can't believe Michael could do something romantic. Usually, I think he's such a loser, but I can't believe he's trying to be so romantic. I wonder if dating Michael is why Jan is so sad all the time."
"Look, I promise to pull the plug if Michael gets too carried away," Pam assured them.
Michael had Pam push the play button and I recognized, because I had a roommate who listened to too much Dolly Parton while we lived together in college, the first few notes of 'Islands in the Stream'. It was the karaoke version, so Michael had to fill in the lyrics himself. He was a horrible singer, completely off key, much to the chagrin of the crowd, but he had so much earnest in his voice I couldn't help but feel a little bad about his abysmal attempt.
He was able to get through the first verse just fine, but when he began to sing the girl's part in falsetto and stumble during the second verse, I couldn't help feel a little bad for him. I hated to see anyone struggle with humiliation, especially because of a girl, so I went on stage with him and joined in. The moment I opened my mouth, Michael turned to me happily and sang louder than ever.
I can't sing. I don't ever attempt to either. And normally I try to hide my truly dorky side from public display, never wanting to embarrass myself in front of a crowd like this, but I saw Pam standing off to the side, grinning proudly at me, and I lost the self-conscious feeling I normally get. As the refrain came in, I relaxed a bit more. Michael and I, feeling comfortable on the stage, began to move around a bit. Some may call it dancing, but it was really two idiots making fools of themselves on stage. The more Pam laughed, the more I poured myself into that song, and I didn't care if the whole festival, most of who had swarmed over to the pavilion, was watching. Michael apparently didn't either and we ended the song with much less grace than we started, our arms around each other, searching to hit the final note.
Michael had tears in his eyes as the crowd cheered. Even the basket-weavers, who at first felt rudely interrupted, seemed to be delighted by the performance. They called for some sort of an encore, but that was enough for me. Michael announced that it was a one time occurrence, but he'd be back next Tuesday to do stand-up and hoped that Jan, wherever she was, would forgive him. Jan never arrived and I was never sure if she even heard us, possibly busy in her meeting with Christian, but he gained a few points in my book.
Kelly was clearly impressed, "Michael you did so wonderful," she complimented, climbing on stage to give Michael a hug.
"Oh, well, it was nothing," Michael said, though he loved the attention the crowd was giving him. "And I don't see Jan, do you think she heard it?"
"Let's go find her," Kelly suggested. "The whole thing was super romantic and Jan just has to forgive you now. So what if you bought a hideous fortune telling machine. If a guy had the guts to stand up in front of everyone and sing, I'd take him back."
As Michael was getting attention from the Kelly, I snuck off the stage to be with Pam, who was standing on the far side of the pavilion. "That was incredibly sweet of you," She said, clearly impressed, "I don't know many people that can make Michael seem less of an idiot." I shrugged my shoulders in an attempt to keep my modesty.
Phyllis came over to us beaming, "Pam, I didn't realize you had such a sweet boyfriend. I didn't even know you were seeing someone." She said kindly.
Pam immediately tensed, "Oh, no, Phyllis, he's not- I mean we're not-" She paused to collect herself, obviously flustered by the mistake. I, however, was amused by it. "Jim's just here to be a reporter."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Phyllis's face fell, mortified by her mistake, "I didn't mean to imply anything, I just saw you guys together all day, and I just thought- Well, I didn't think an article on the festival would take that long?"
"Don't worry about it," I said to her, even though Phyllis remained apologetic for her mistake.
"I can't believe Michael did that," Angela cut in. "I would never embarrass myself with such a pathetic attempt for approval." I might have been insulted if Angela hadn't been sneering the entire time I've known her. "I think all matters of relationships should keep under wraps. It is no one else's business."
Pam looked up at me a little surprised. "I think Angela's the one with the secret boyfriend," she whispered to me.
* * *
Pam and I stayed at the pavilion to check out the basket weaving. The women hosting the demonstration have a club where they get together, chat, and make baskets every week and sell them at events such as this art festival mostly for charity. I have never been interested in basket weaving and probably never will be, but I followed Pam around as she checked out the different designs. I've never spent much time thinking about it, but now that I had a chance to see it first hand, I was amazed at the intricacy that was involved in creating the baskets. Each one was hand made, and used a variety of materials and designs to make-up one basket. No two baskets were the same and such a painstaking process that I had a new respect for the people that did these crafts. Besides the baskets the women were making there were tables filled with already made baskets for people to purchase.
As we walked around, Pam discussed the art of hand-made crafts and how they were represented in the museum. I had to admit that I didn't find it that interesting of a subject, but hearing Pam talk so passionately about the subject made me want to learn more.
Basket weaving was open to anyone who wanted to try it. Pam asked if I wanted to try, but I declined, stating that watching was more than enough for me. I was never that good at hand made crafts anyway. I did, however, get a few quotes for the article I was writing along with a few compliments about my singing.
"Not only is your article is going to be, like, ten pages long," Pam teased, "But it looks like you may have a new career oppportunity."
"Well, before I was a journalist, I did moonlight as a cocktail waitress slash lounge singer," I joked back.
She gave a little laugh as we approached one of the tables filled with already made baskets. She picked her way through them until she found one that she liked. "Oh my god, how cute is this?" She cooed, holding up the basket that caught her attention. It was a tiny, round picnic basket, only large enough to hold a few snacks. The wicker had been painted a light teal color and there were tiny gold and silver beads that outlined the circumference of the basket. A flowery pattern decorated the handle. "You could store a couple of sandwiches and juice boxes in here and go for a walk in the woods or something. I love it." She loved it until she saw the price tag. "Fifty dollars? I guess hand made picnic baskets don't come cheap," she said, placing the basket down where she got it.
"Why don't you ask one of the ladies to hold on to it for you," I suggested.
"No, it's alright," she replied, waving her hand at it. "I don't need it that badly or anything. I mean, how often do any of us go on picnics?"
I thought about picnics and taking Pam on one as we walked along further. I imagined a few places I could take her, secluded places in the woods, I would bring a blanket and wine and she could bring her basket with a small lunch. While I was lost in my daydream, Pam found a few less expensive baskets that she contemplated purchasing, but none of them she liked more than the one she had found earlier.
We hadn't made it too far before she checked her watch and found that time had passed quickly. "I didn't realize it was so late," she said with a little disbelief.
"Why, are you needed somewhere?" I asked, not ready to give up our time together.
"Yeah, we usually have out daily staff meeting in about ten minutes," she explained. "I mean, she could be in her meeting with Christian, but still I have to go."
"Go ahead and go," I insisted, not wanting to detract from her job.
"Are you sure?" She asked, a little hesitant. "Are you done here? I mean, do you have enough for your article?"
"Oh, no," I assured her. "You said something about a speech this evening. I wouldn't want to miss that. So, go ahead and go. I'm sure I'll find plenty to do in the mean time."
She nodded, "Alright, so, maybe we can meet back up by the fountain in the middle of the park?"
"Yup, sure." I replied. She told me she see me in a little bit and took off away from the pavilion.
After Pam had left, I initially thought I would leave the pavilion to seek out the art that I hadn't seen yet. But then I thought about the small basket she had been looking at before, and picnics and Michael's insistence on grand gestures, so I decided to seek it out. I toyed with the idea of buying it to make the fantasy a reality, but then I relented, thinking maybe it was too strange a thing to do, so I figured I'd just ask the woman who was selling it to hold on to the basket until Pam could afford it. Or I could talk the woman down to a lower price.
I went to the table where we saw it and searched around, but didn't see the basket anywhere. I looked a little harder, the second time removing all of the other baskets off the table, but found no trace of the teal basket Pam had found. At a nearby table, a slender, older, gray-haired woman next to a cash box asked if she could help me. I explained to her about the basket, stating that I wanted to purchase it for a friend of mine. She told me kindly that, unfortunately, it had already been sold to a blonde woman and her daughter a few minutes earlier. She pointed in the direction she had left.
I began to search for the woman who bought it. I had walked around the pavilion once, eventually catching a glance of the basket before I noticed the woman. Sure enough, she was a blonde woman, twice as old as me, accompanied by a dark-haired teenager. They were about to enter one of the art tents when I caught up to them.
"Excuse me ma'am." I said, tapping the older woman on the shoulder.
She turned around and gave me an odd look. "Do I know you?" She asked. The daughter smiled a little.
"No," I said carefully, "Well actually, I'm Jim Halpert, Scranton Times." I figured giving them the old pitch might make the situation seem a little less odd. "I'm doing an article on the art festival and was wondering if you minded if I interviewed you for the paper." I pulled out my tape recorder to get her quote.
The woman looked at me strangely, "Um, I don't know if I want to talk to a reporter."
"Come on, Mom," the girl said. "It's not going to hurt anything. If she doesn't want to can I talk?"
"Sure, if you want to," I replied.
"Fine," the mom said a bit resigned, "I'm Carol and this is my daughter Melissa."
"Hello, Carol and Melissa," I said in my friendliest voice. "What brings you to the art festival today?"
"I love art," Melissa jumped in before her mom could say anything. "And I've been begging Mom to take me for ages, but she doesn't like art. She sells real estate."
"Melissa," Carol stated embarrassed. "I do not hate art."
"Well, then why don't you ever want to come to my art shows?" Melissa asked.
"You know, it's great that you're here today," I interrupted, figuring it best to avoid conflicts between the mother and daughter. "You know the museum is trying to raise money for a new wing."
"I know, which is why I dragged mom out to see the skits earlier," Melissa informed me. "I'm bringing a bunch of friends back tomorrow for the dance and stuff. My best friend Jessica couldn't come today, but she'll totally be out here tomorrow."
"Cool," I said. "So, are you an artist yourself? I mean, there's a lot local artists in the show."
"Yeah, I do art," Melissa replied coolly, "I draw mostly, but I like photography as well."
"Did you make that basket your mom has?" I asked, pointing to the one in Carol's hands. "I know they have the basket weaving up at the pavilion now."
"What, that tacky looking thing?" Melissa asked. "No, I did not make that."
"It's a gift for my sister," Carol explained. "She likes home made gifts and I think she'd like it."
"It's ugly Mom," Melissa insisted. "There's a way cooler one that was all black…"
"Well, if you like that one better, maybe I can buy this one from you," I suggested.
"No, I don't think so," Carol said.
"How much?" Melissa asked automatically.
"I'll give you double," I said.
"I'm sorry, are you really a reporter?" Carol asked.
"Yes, I really am," I said, though I had no proof on me. "I just really like that basket."
Melissa looked very interested though, "Why do you want it so bad?" she asked curiously.
"So bad-ly," her mom corrected. "And I'm sorry, I don't think we'll be selling it."
"It's for my mother," I shot out quickly. "She loves this color and her birthday is tomorrow, so I thought it'd be the perfect gift."
"Dude, you are such a bad liar," the girl said, raising her eyebrows.
"Um, what?" I asked confused.
"I totally saw you dancing around on stage with that old guy," she continued. "You guys can't sing at all."
"Melissa," Carol cut in. "You're being rude."
"No, mom, he knows it." She said, and then turned back to me. "Yeah, and you were talking to that girl afterwards. I'm not stupid, I can tell when a guy likes a girl."
"Uh," I wasn't sure how to respond, she had completely called me out. "Fine, my friend really likes that basket. She wanted to get it, but didn't have the money, so I thought I'd give it to her as a present."
"Is she your girlfriend?" she asked.
I titled my head, "Not yet," I said honestly.
The girl smiled, "Come on, Mom, the guy is trying to be romantic. I wish some guy would do something like that for me." She gave her mother a pleading look. "It's not like Aunt Mary will know the difference between this one and some other one we pick out, anyway."
Carol gave me a stern look, "You're really going to pay twice as much for this basket?"
"Yes," I said confidently, as I fished my pockets for a wallet.
"Alright," she said a little unsure.
I didn't have any cash on me, but after we walked half way around the park to find an ATM, the exchange was made. Afterward, Melissa leaned over to me. "Put some fun inside jokes in it, she'll love that." She whispered before taking off with her mom. "Good luck, dude."
I was hoping it would work, although I wasn't sure how I was going to present it. I wasn't even initially going to buy it and now I spent twice as much as the original price. But it would make Pam happy and that was the point. I started envisioning the suggestion the girl made, putting multiple personal gifts inside the basket and giving it to her for birthday or Christmas. And then it hit me. I had no idea when her birthday was and Christmas was still months off. I suddenly felt strange holding this basket. Was it too much too soon?
I walked towards my car, thinking I'd keep it in the trunk until I decided what to do with it. If I chickened out on giving it to Pam, at least I would have a great gift for my mom or sister at some point.
* * *
In the middle of the park, there stood a fountain. A big silver, circular fountain, layered like a wedding cake, each tier having jets of water spray up in an arch. The fountain was unique because it had been constructed over the stream that wound its way from the north part of the park to the south. An old wooden footbridge rested a good ten feet down stream from the fountain, its only real purpose being aesthetic value since the stream could easily be hopped over. Pam waited for me on the bridge. She faced the fountain, arms resting on the railing, back turned towards me. One foot bounced against a wooden panel.
I silently came beside her, resting my weight on the railing in the same manner that she did. She said nothing, her eyes remaining fixed on the scene sprawled out before us. Dusk had finally come, the sun barely under the trees to our left. The tiny, white lights that illuminated the paths had only recently flickered on. The festival was still very much alive, the buzz of chatter and the occasional trickle of laughter floating around us. In the distance, two little girls played with a ball as their mothers watched happily. Behind them, a group of college age kids exited one of the tents, deep in discussion. I wondered, briefly, if they had come to any of the same conclusions about art that Pam and I had made the day before. Two of the kids, a boy and a girl, broke away from their group to steal a playful kiss. The scene gave me a warm feeling inside.
I turned towards her, examining her profile. I wanted to- I wanted to say so many things, yet my mind was blank. I could say things about art, or the festival, or my article, but they would just be words. In truth, I had been having a hard time focusing on my job all afternoon, my head clouded with all of these other thoughts. Thoughts that had nothing to do with art, or the festival, or my article. Just of her. I was grateful that I had remembered to bring the tape recorder because at some point that evening, I would have to return home and assemble some sort of story out of the mess of interviews and information I had gathered. And it had to be good, because I didn't want to disappoint her.
Her gaze broke away from her surroundings. She became aware that I was focused on her and turned towards me, resting one elbow on the railing. She held an eagerness in her eyes and parted her lips, slightly, as if to comment on some observation that she had made, but said nothing. Instead, she tilted her head and gave me a smile. Not the glowing, energetic smile I had become so preoccupied with over the course of the day, but a sweet, gentle smile, unlike one I had seen before. It was warm. It was welcoming. It was waiting.
I was falling for her. I had fallen for her. I knew that now, very well aware that after only two days, I was pretty much gone.
A soft breeze rustled through her hair and I suddenly felt the longing urge to touch it, run my fingers it through, feel it on my skin. I would not be able to stop my hand, however, and I would continue to gently trace her face, her cheek. Then I would kiss her. It would be soft and sweet and-
I licked my lips unconsciously as the thoughts swirled in my head. I realized I was getting ahead of myself and I should start simple. Start by asking her out. But the task of just that posed to be much a harder problem that I had anticipated. If there were a perfect time to ask, a perfect opportunity, this would be it. The words were caught in the back of my throat, dying to get out, but there was a block there. I couldn't say anything.
It hadn't been this hard before. I knew I could be charming when I wanted to be, and although my track record with women could hardly be called substantial, I had never had this kind of trouble. I thought back to the others. There was Sarah, of course, but that felt like a million years ago and so innocent and childlike. It had been hard to ask then, but that didn't seem to hold the same weight as it did now. Katy had been easy to ask, but there wasn't much to hold on to there. And Karen. But Karen did the asking then. And there were a few others, scattered in between, but none of them made me feel how I felt now.
No, asking then wasn't nearly as hard as asking now. Now was different. The woman standing before me was amazing. She was warm and kind and funny and intelligent. She challenged me in a way those other women hadn't and yet at the same time she was such an easy person to be with. And there was the connection. A connection that ran deep between us, that sparked the moment I met her, and I knew she felt as well.
But it was fear that held me back. An unrelenting fear that had frozen my body and fueled the nagging, doubtful voices in my head, making me afraid to take the chance. The battle raged on, my mind going through all the reasons for and against asking, all the old insecurities arising. My head was screaming, even if my voice was not and as we stared at each other, I wondered if she was having the same battle.
Reason versus emotion. My head against my heart. You've only just met, you barely know her. I know her enough. You're at work. It's inappropriate. It stopped being about work a long time ago. She's recently divorced. A marriage. You've barely sustained any kind of relationship. They weren't worth it. I would have worked harder had it been worth it. How do you even know this one is worth it? I just do. Then what's the real question plaguing you? I don't know. You do. What if she says no? Right, what if she says no? She won't say no. She pushed away before. There were other people watching. What if she says no?
There was no use thinking about it any longer. Rational thought was gone and the only voice left repeated in a quiet chant: Just do it, just do it, just do it, just do it. The window for the perfect opportunity would be closing soon. I had to speak, form any kind of words before the moment slipped by. Or I didn't have to ask anything at all. I could show her how I felt. If I just leaned over and gave her a kiss, she would let me. I could see it in her eyes; she was waiting.
Pam shifted her weight and my heart began to race. My palms were sweaty, but I was gearing up to do it. My breath became heavy, but I had almost broken my self-imposed paralysis. Pam began to turn away. I leaned in.