"Oh, my GOD," he snorted.  "All this one is missing is a unicorn!  Totally
bourgeois.   This looks like a middle school gym art show."

Gil walked away from the painting hung at the end of the hallway.  He didn't
see Pam, standing just around the corner, watching him evaluate her
painting.

She sighed, and turned to walk away.  It hurt, hurt a lot, to hear her work
critiqued so derisively.  This wasn't the old "artsy fartsy" barb, either,
Gil was a bit of an art buff, and actually knew what he was talking
about....She felt herself starting to slump, to deflate, and then....she was
right up against a barrell chest, a gray shirt, a deep voice.

"Pammy, babe."   Roy.   The lover of her entire womanhood.   The "cool guy"
who saw beyond the ink stained fingertips and wanted her...HER.   She opened
her mouth to ask for comfort, to find the reassurance that she was every bit
as talented as she hoped.

"I'm glad you got a chance to try this out, Pammy."  He looked at her,
searching her face for the meek teenager she had been.  "But, aren't you
ready to come home?"

Home.   He didn't only mean their apartment, although he did mean that.  He
wasn't only talking about the "home" of their decade-long relationship,
although that, too, was part of the invitation.  He wanted her to come home
to her old self -- the Pam who sat shyly by, who was so glad that she was
so, so lucky that big, strong Roy loved her, even though she was the mousy
artsy girl.   For her whole adult life, she had been his moon, orbiting
around him, grateful for the chance to be part of his world.

She opened her mouth to say "yes, " but the sound wouldn't come.

"Roy."  It was like she was watching someone else say it.  "I am home."  He
looked bewildered.  "I am so, so sorry if I gave you the wrong idea the
other night."

"WHAT?"   This was so unexpected, he couldn't comprehend what he was
hearing.

She took a deep breath and continued.  "I am going on with this."   She
gestured towards her paintings.  "And, Roy...you are not my home anymore.
I'm so sorry.   A part of me will always -- ALWAYS-- love you....but, at
this point, I just know that we are not meant to be.....I was always
changing who I was to suit you...."

"But, Pammy, you don't have to do that....I've changed for you!"

"Don't you see?  I don't want you to change for me.  You deserve to be with
someone who is right with you the way you naturally are.   And, I deserve
that, too.  We just aren't right together."

"But, didn't you hear what the fruit said?"

There was a silence as Pam composed herself.  Her mouth formed a firm, hard
line.

"Roy.  I am not giving up on this because one individual didn't get what I
was trying to say with my art.  And I am certainly not going to let the
negative impression of a person I've met once before in my life determine
the course of the rest of my life."  She saw his shoulders sag and softened
a little.  "I'm so sorry I hurt you.  I never, ever wanted to do that.   I
just want you to know that I honestly believe that in the long run, you will
be so much happier with someone else."

He opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it abruptly.   He shook his
head, almost in disgust, but Pam knew it was really a veneer to cover hurt
and sadness and vulnerability and everything he found it contemptible to be.
  She smiled at him sadly as he spun on the heel of his work boots and
walked away.

"Wow.   I love this.   It's makes me think of unicorns, and I always loved
unicorns.   Collected them, in fact.   I wanted to decorate my college dorm
with them.....stupid roommate."   Pam turned, and smiled in spite of
herself.

"Hi, Michael."

It was dark, and the place had never seemed so quiet.   Pam sat alone on a bench, thoughtfully considering the largest of her paintings. It was a little bright, she mused....certainly not the sort of edgy creation her classmates (and probably Gil) preferred.  She closed one eye and tried to imagine a unicorn floating across the vivid sunset, and then laughed.   She  felt strangely satisfied, giddy, even. Despite the fact that her experimental "fine art" had not gone over well among the cognoscenti, but, somehow, that didn't seem that important to her.  Her small realistic sketches and watercolors had been quite popular.  Several had sold, and the teacher's comment that she would make a "fine illustrator or commercial artist" had actually felt really good, despite the way a few of her classmates snickered through their pierced lips. 

The strangest part of all of it was the fact that much of her perspective and peace came from the excellent advice and counsel of Michael Scott. 

"What kind of success do you really want, Pam?"  He'd asked in that strange, soft voice that Pam had hardly ever heard. 

"What do you mean?  I want to do well, I want to be a good artist.   I don't want to be just a receptionist my whole life, Michael.   I want to do something more special than that."  

He had nodded slowly.   "Well, Pam, being a receptionist doesn't make you not special, for one thing.  I know that it probably seems pretty dull sometimes, but I also know that a lot of people depend on you, and that you really are an important part of the Dunder Mifflin family." 

Yippee. 

"As far as your art is concerned, I guess I just look at some of the other stuff here, and I wonder where it's going.   I mean, maybe that's what people like to see in New York art galleries and stuff....but, honestly, that sketch you did of the flowers on the breakroom counter is really nice.....it's like the kind of thing you'd see in a really nice book, or on a card, or that you'd really like to have in your house.   Maybe that isn't "cool" enough for them," he gestured to one of the other students,who was standing next to a formidable sculpture made of rusted chainsaws and baby bottles, "but I also think you'd look terrible with a green mohawk." 

For $50, Michael bought the pen-and-ink of the flowers in the breakroom and Pam added her undying gratitude free of charge. 

And now, at the end of the show, the end of the day....and nothing had gone quite as she had planned.   Michael Scott's unexpected wisdom was only the tip of the iceberg.  She had (finally!) broken things off with the only man she had ever even dated, her work had gotten lukewarm reviews from the art world ("and I don't really care!" she marvelled.) ....and her best friend (justafriendjustafriend, she chanted to herself...) hadn't even showed up.  Pam sighed.   Jim was the biggest question out there in her life.   What did any of this mean?  He had been so cold to her since Phyllis' wedding...and she suspected she knew why.   If she was correct, well, she wasn't confused.  She was angry.

Suddenly, The gallery door banged against a cinderblock wall, sending a gust of cold February air rushing into the gallery.  Pam turned and smiled in spite of herself.

"Jim!"  she ran to the door.  "You're here!"

"Jim!" she ran to the door. "You're here!"

He gave her that crooked smile that always made her feel like a blushing, giggling eleven year old. "Did you think I'd miss the biggest event of the year for the Scranton Art Scene? What kind of uncultured clod do you take me for? Besides, I need to pick up my purchases."

"Purchases?"

"Yeah, I was actually here this morning before the show officially opened. I knew I wouldn't be able to come here until late, and I wanted to be sure I didn't miss it. But, I might have selected some fine art for my new apartment while I was here...."

Pam felt her cheeks getting sore and knew she must be smiling ridiculously hard. She impulsively grabbed Jim's hand and pulled him over towards the wall where most of her work was displayed. "Come on! I want to hear what you think of all this!"

He laughed and looked at the first collection, a set of four very small watercolors showing the progression of a flower in the bud as it burst into bloom. They were entitled, "Becoming (Thanks to You)" and Pam shivered a little knowing that she had done this particular project one afternoon when she was thinking very much of her friend Jim.

"Well," he smiled. "I hope that this is a masterwork, because this is the group I bought. I like it -- it really reminds me of you."

"If I could have picked one out for you, that would have been it." She said truthfully, and led him to the next piece, a giant canvas covered with paint, photographs, clippings, and text. "This one was an experimental mixed media piece...I'm actually really curious about what you think of this one."

It was a trick question. This piece was her least favorite, done in a despairing mood, overwhelmed, lost, and angry. It was a swirl of words and symbols representing Roy and Jim and all the demands that her family and friends placed on her last June. Roy had immediately recognized the symbols that indicated himself, and Pam had been surprised that he had picked up on the artistic symbolism so easily. He couldn't grasp the rest, though, and asked her if it was going to be his birthday gift.

Jim looked at the canvas and frowned. "I don't know, Pam. I'm no art scholar....I probably have no idea what I'm talking about....I know this can't be right....but....I don't know...this is just, well...it kind of makes me sad to look at it. It's crazy for me to say this, there is so much going on there, so it can't be right...but, it feels so lonely."

"That's exactly right, Professor." Pam smiled up at him. Of course. He hadn't seen himself in that piece -- he'd seen her.

"Um, Pam?"

"Yeah?"

"Um...you're still holding my hand."

"I know."

He smiled down at her, and she felt herself blushing, but firmly met his eyes with hers. But, then, a cloud passed over his face.

"Where's Roy?" He said the name like is was a profanity. The moment was gone. Pam dropped his hand.

"I don't know, Jim. He was here earlier, but left. He is having a hard time accepting that it's over between us...I hope he gets over it soon." Her cheeks were growing hot and she had to work really hard to steady her voice. "Where's Karen?"

"Home. She wants to go to some play in Philly tomorrow, so we are leaving early."

"I see." Plans. They had Plans. Just the thought of Plans made her feel a little small, a little ill, and more than a little alone. That one little notion of a shared Saturday in the city seemed so intimate, so special...She swallowed hard. She suddenly remembered the last time she had gone to a play, a weekend in New York with her mother. They had raced for the Subway and almost missed the train. Pam had sprinted down the platform and thrust her hands into the closing doors, fighting her way on to the train before it pulled away. If she closed her eyes right now, she was sure she would see those doors again, sliding shut before her, sending the train rapidly away, clattering down the track in the darkness of a subterranean tunnel.

"Jim." There was no questioning in her voice. Pam was not asking, she was telling. "I need you to know something."

"I need you to know something."

Her words seemed to hang in the air visibly, like a Renaissance Annunciation painting where calligraphy text literally flowed from the mouths of the Virgin Mary and Angel Gabriel.

Jim shifted nervously on his feet, his eyes darting around the room, trying to find rest on anything except Pam's face. For all his interior complaining about Pam's lack of communication, he found himself mortally terrified now that she was, in fact, going to speak.

"Last Spring." She started slowly, but firmly. There was no lilt of a question in her tone. "I know that I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I'm sure that other people would have handled that whole situation a lot better." And, of course, by "other people," she meant "Karen." Always Karen. Sleek, stylish, focused. Karen knows where she's going. Karen speaks her mind. Karen....Forget it. Keep moving.

"I know I'm not in any position to ask anything of you. But I do want you to know what it's like from my perspective." Jim just looked confused.

"Jim, I have kissed exactly two men in my entire life. Roy, and you. You both faced my rejection last spring. Roy stuck it out and tried to do whatever it took to win me back. After ten years together, we had a lot of shared history, and it meant a lot that he loved me enough to fight for me like that. I will never apologize for giving him another chance."

"You, on the other hand, took rejection, and left without saying goodbye. The next time I saw you, you wouldn't even go out for coffee with me because you had your FABULOUS new girlfriend and God forbid you even acknowledge someone who used to be your best friend." The shock on his face was obvious, and Pam had a moment of sudden satisfaction. In his way, he could be selfish, too. He had been so absorbed in his own pain, that he hadn't even thought that he had hurt her, too.

"I asked you out for coffee that day because I really wanted to see if we could have something....you know." She blushed and looked down at her feet. "Honestly, it's been killing me to see you and Karen together. She is everything I'm not. She's a WAY better catch than I am. I always thought you deserved better than me, and now you've got it....and I'm still not satisfied. I still want to be with you. I always have."

Jim looked up, his eyes shining. He shook his head with a look of utter confusion. "Pam.....I....I can't......"

Pam placed a single finger on his lips and smiled ruefully. "Don't say anything. I know more than anyone that this isn't the type of revelation that you can respond to right away. I'm not asking you to make any decisions or to give me any answers. But...I just needed you to know. And, I know that I'm not very good at explaining my feelings, so I hope you understand in some way."

Jim just shook his head.

It was like someone else had control of her body. Pam grabbed his tie, and pulled. Her lips were on his, and she kissed him as softly and passionately as she knew how. She tried to put every ounce of what was left unspoken into that kiss. When she finally came up for air, she opened her eyes and rasped, "Do you understand?"

"I don't think I do," he smiled wryly. "Perhaps you could repeat yourself?"

"Perhaps you could repeat yourself?"  He smiled broadly and moved to kiss her again.  And, he did.   Pam was lost in it for a moment, existing only in his rough cheek and soft lips, opening with hers.  His hands plunged into her hair and his long fingers gently stroked her scalp as his thumbs grazed her cheeks tenderly. Her mouth tingled and she found herself acutely aware of the velvety texture of his tongue.  She pressed forward and allowed herself for a split second to imagine all kinds of other things that perhaps he could do with those hands, that mouth.   And, then, she broke off the kiss. 

"Jim."   She said softly, her face flushed and glowing.  Her eyes rose to meet his.  He gave her a dazed, drunk looking smile.  "Jim."  more firmly this time.  His brow furrowed. 

"You need more time."  She said to him with a sad, understanding smile.   "Even if you don't think it this second, you do."  

"But..."


"Karen.   Roy.  Me, hurting you.   Everything.   You need to think about everything."   He nodded slowly.  Of course, she was right, and he knew it.  

"I am not going to ask you to tell me anything right now.   I just needed you to know -- because I guess you didn't know....but you just had to know....."

"Know?"   He looked utterly confused.

"I needed you to know that I love you, Jim.   If I can't be with you because you don't want me, I'll have to live with it.   But, lately I've been wondering if I'm just not with you because you don't understand how badly I want to be with you.....Now you know.   I am fighting for you.   Even if you decide to run off to paradise with Karen, I'll at least know I tried."

"I....."  He looked so lost.   She actually felt sorry for him.  "how can you be so calm?"

"Oh, I'm not calm.   Rest assured, I will be checking my voice mail every ten seconds from now until the end of time.   But, I am not going to put pressure on you.   I know that won't help anything."

A light crossed his face, and he looked like he finally understood a question long plaguing him.   "Pam.   I'm so sorry.   I didn't understand.....how hard it was for you.....I....I'm so, so sorry."   He hugged her clumsily, and turned to the door.   Pam stood silently and watched him go. 

When he arrived at his desk on Monday, there was a large bundle at his desk.   A quick look inside revealed the paintings he had bought at the art show, and a note from the artist.

Jim:

I am so glad that these are the paintings you chose.  I was thinking of you when I made them, you have a way of making me feel a little bit like the flower in the pictures.   I will wait for you until you tell me not to.   Just so you know.  

Pam.


He looked up at the reception desk and smiled with a wave of newfound shyness.   And then, the elevator opened, and Karen stepped into the office.  He felt himself blush --blush!--as he quickly looked to his computer screen. 

This was not going to be easy.

When Jim was a kid, his mom had a black cat named Sheba.   Yes, they had dozens of family pets, but Sheba, well, Sheba was Mrs. Halpert's familiar alone.   Among their motley collection of mutts and torn-ear calicos, Sheba was a rare beauty.  She was lithe and sleek, with slanting green eyes and a glossy black coat.  Once, when Jim's mother was sitting in the big chair by the fire, old Oliver crawled into her lap, with his rusty fur and odd puffy tail.  He closed his one sleepy eye in pleasure as his head got a rare lazy head scratch.   Sheba would have none of it.  She stalked into the room, and with one withering look, sent poor Oliver back to the basket on the hearth.  

For some reason, Jim had thought about Sheba a lot lately.

__________________________________________________

The day in Philly had been....well, it had been.  He hadn't been able to sleep very much the night before, and he found himself making lame excuses to Karen all day about his yawns and distracted glances to his watch.  He couldn't lie....but he couldn't exactly tell the truth, either, so his night of racing thoughts in front of the TV became a tale of a Sopranos marathon on HBO.   Which, he thinks, she seemed to buy.   But he couldn't be sure.  When he said he was too tired to stay at her place, she got a strange look as she licked her lips and nodded.  

"I will be over tomorrow."  It was not a question, nor an invitation.   It was a statement, a reminder of just who belonged to whom.   He was too confused and tired to say anything but, "OK."

____________________________________________________

He was staring at a football game but not seeing a thing when the knock came at exactly noon.  He sighed and walked to the door, making sure to note who was playing so that his wandering mind would have a good alibi.  She stood there at his door, and, surprisingly, lacked the accusing expression that had been her constant mask of late.  She lifted a shopping bag and waved it. 

"I brought lunch."   She smiled coyly.  "But, we'll see if you want to eat it."  her eyes narrowed and her pink tongue slowly glided over her upper lip.   He found found himself wondering if she had practiced that move in the mirror before she came over.  

"Oh.   Um....come in?"  

She pushed past him and walked into the kitchen, where she dropped the bag on the table.   She pulled a can of whipped cream out of it, and squirted a trail of it down her index finger.  She lifted it to her lips and pulled it into her mouth with a lapping tongue.   Her eyelids drooped, and she gave a satisfied murmur before she coated her finger again.  

"Want some?"   She held it out to him, her eyes meeting him directly.  Behind the practiced sensuality, he saw it -- a naked, insecure questioning.   "Where do I stand?" was all he could read in her eyes.  "Where do I stand?"

"I don't know."   he blurted, answering the unspoken question instead of the come-on.

She drew back as though he had insulted her.   "What?"  

"Um.....sorry."  He found himself coughing nervously.  "I think I'm coming down with something.   I really feel like crap."

"Oh!   Poor baby!   Lets get you into bed............"   And she shepherded him into his bedroom and slid next to him under the covers.   He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, tried to clear his mind again so that he could just figure this thing out......

But, before he knew it, her hands were on him, and her soft skin was all around him, and all he could do was close his eyes and let her...just let her.   But, when it was over and her hands were tight around him, he was left staring at the ceiling and wondering how something that most men would kill for could feel so empty and unsatisfactory.  

"So, " she said, using a tone he usually heard her use on cold calls to prospective clients.    "I am so excited about this party next week.   I mean, FINALLY, we will get out of this town and go to a REAL party with people who MATTER, you know?   I've got the most fab dress that I bought in the city last spring...you don't think that's too old, do you?   New York people are pretty particular, you know."

"I don't think they'll care if your dress is six months old, Kelly."   He said it without thinking, in a joking, teasing tone he wasn't sure she'd ever heard him use, not toward her, anyway. A bitter silence told him just how stupid an idea that had been.

"Jim.  I am going to this party with the big picture in mind, and I wish you were, too.   This is a phenomenal networking opportunity for both of us.  If we play our cards right, we could make some great connections.  And you know you have the talent to get promoted to corporate.   I don't understand why you aren't putting more effort into doing it.   At the very least you should appreciate me for doing it for you."

But, he thought....I never asked you to.   And I'm not even sure I want you to.   He grunted in the silence, an incomprehensible sound that defied translation.

"We really should make the most of this event, Jim."   We.   It was always "we" and "us" with her.  Their relationship seemed to him like a corporate merger, with a timeline and objectives to be marked off a list.   And he had followed the agenda faithfully up until now.  It was all part of his new, grown up self.   James Halpert, executive.  

"yeah."  He stared into the darkness, and wondered why he had a sudden urge to enter Karen and the details of their relationship into his contact management software.  He patted her shoulder.  "I'm sure you'll look great."   he said, truthfully.  "You always do, Sheb'"

"What did you call me?"

"What?   oh....um....I don't know.   Like I said, I don't feel well....must be delirious.  Sorry." 

"Oh.  Well.   I'll see you at work tomorrow.   I can see you don't really need much company tonight."   She rose abruptly, gathered her things, and headed for the door.   He knew that he was supposed to follow her, ask her what was wrong, follow the script, talk until dawn, until all was well again.....

"Goodnight" He rolled to face away from his bedroom door.  "See ya."   He pretended he didn't hear her sharp breath or the slam of his front door. 

When he finally slept, he dreamt of Oliver, the old rusty cat, purring and rubbing his leg as he stood in kitchen of his childhood home.

Monday came, as it tended to do.  But, as Pam got up, she noticed that she wasn't dreading the day as much as she was used to.  Surprisingly enough, she didn't even feel particularly nervous.   Although, the more she thought about her lack of nervousness, the more nervous she became.

"Why am I so calm?" she wondered.   "Obviously, when I get to work and I see Jim there, I am going to freak out, or develop Tourette's, or burst into tears, or.....or......

Her weekend had been solitary, and surprisingly productive.   She completed a full sketch series on Saturday, plus two watercolor studies she'd been fussing over for weeks.   She capped off the day by eating in a restaurant -- alone.  And she enjoyed it!   She even returned her over-salted and under-cooked dinner instead of suffering silently through the meal -- another first. 

She stood before the mirror in her slip and nylons, scrunching and blowing her hair dry, when she suddenly decided to try something new.   It was way too late in the morning to blow her hair out into loose waves, but....maybe.....She twirled her hair up into a loose twist, and clipped it into her usual barrette.  A few curls tumbled loose around her face and the nape of her neck.   She smiled at her reflection and reached for a knit shirt instead of her usual oxford and for a moment admired the way her neck and throat looked with the simple scoop neckline.   The skirt and cardigan were old and familiar, but she left her apartment with a spring in her step and a strong suspicion that she was actually quite pretty that day. 

She slipped behind her desk at 8:57 and started up her computer as she scanned the room for her coworkers.  Typical Monday, she thought -- it was just her and Angela.   The elevator dinged, and Pam turned to see Jim and Dwight stepping off the lift. 

"Good Morning Pam.   I trust that there have been no situations here this morning?"  Dwight asked somberly.

"No, Dwight.   No situations.  Although," she leaned over her desk and whispered conspiratorially, "I notice that both Creed and Meredith are late this morning.   Use this information as you see fit."   She leaned back in her chair and smiled.  "Good Morning, Jim.   Did you have a good weekend?"  She felt a little chill of pleasure at the sudden color in his cheeks, but then watched it all suddenly drain away.

"We went to Philadelphia.  It was wonderful.   Such a romantic old city."   Pam turned to look Karen straight in the eyes, planning on a defiant display of her own unwillingness to be meek and cowed.   Instead, she was suddenly struck with something that was a little like pity.   For the first time, she saw beyond the confident, seductive gleam in Karen's slanting green eyes.  There was something there behind all that, and it was something Pam recognized at first sight.  

"She's jealous.  And afraid."   Pam relaxed into a smile, willing herself to remain calm, registering neither excitement nor intimidation. 

"Yes, Philly can be really fun.  Nice to visit.   Too busy for my taste, though.   I guess I'm just a small town girl."   Pam shrugged and picked up her mug.  "Happy Monday, kids!" she chirped brightly and headed to the breakroom for her morning cup. 

And, as tempting as it was, she did not look back.

It wasn't fair. 

Her whole life, she had wanted--WANTED.  And oh, how she had tried.  But, it always seemed like there was someone else who got the object of her desire, someone else who didn't deserve it, who didn't WANT and TRY and FIGHT with half her dedication. She'd practice and train until her muscles screamed for mercy, and end up on the second string when a relaxed "natural athlete" waltzed in to tryouts.  Second chair clarinet, never mind that the first chair girl never did scales the way that she did, every afternoon without fail.  It was always thus, and it just wasn't fair. 

Take work, for example.   Karen wanted nothing more than to be a successful career woman.  From childhood she had imagined her grown up self as a confident and secure business woman, taking the big city by storm....like Mary Tyler Moore, but not at all silly.  Serious.   Karen was absolutely certain the the glow of her blazing success would immediately awe into silence any fool who laughed at her, who didn't see her dignity, her sophistication, her ultimate respectability.  

But work refused to be her time to shine.   She didn't get the MetLife management program that she wanted out of college, instead she got a sales position at a minor paper company.   People told her she was lucky, after all, so many of her classmates were bartending as they hunted for a "grown up job."  And, yes, it was a pretty good job, but not THE job, not the career that would turn her in to a confident icon, striding purposefully down Manhattan streets in Prada pumps, swinging an Hermes attache with a stern elan.  And then, to add insult to injury, she wasn't great at it.  Oh, she was good, but not great.   She worked her ass (a fine one, thanks to Atkins and thrice-weekly Pilates) off, refusing to waste time with silliness during the workday.  And, yet, it seemed that success constantly eluded her.   She would stay after work to polish her sales report, and then it would for some reason be wrong, just WRONG.  Her sales numbers were respectable, but never placed her at the top of the monthly chart. 

And then, there was the "networking," the "face time" that had been deemed lacking in her annual performance review.  The rest of the team at the Worcester office were all men, and they liked to play fantasy football and drink at a strip club after work.  Karen had thought she could use this to her advantage, by working when they fooled around.  But, it turned out, it only made them call her "ice queen" and they never gave her the good leads.  And that was when she decided.  

"Fuck this." she thought.  "I can't play their game.  But I have a game of my own that I never lose."  And she started smiling at the sales team leader a little wider, drooping her eyelids just the right amount when she leaned over his desk to show him her reports.  And, it wasn't so bad.   He was cute enough, and it turned out that she actually liked him.   And then, she *really* liked him.   And that was her mistake.

Things with Drake had ended badly -- very badly.  But, in the interest of company harmony, she had managed to get a transfer to the Stamford office, which had to be better.   It was close to New York, for one thing, and, for another, it was a far richer market than Worcester had ever been.   This time, she was prepared.   At the company picnic, she found a salesman from the Stamford office and it wasn't hard to get information from him.   A few smiles and praise of a cappella music earned her the valuable information that her new boss was VERY in to "Call of Duty" and his favorite movie was "Annie Hall." 

The next morning, Karen bought her first video game and 4 trouser suits. 

And, things had gone fairly well at Stamford.   She couldn't flirt her way out of trouble with Josh; he wasn't so much an ethical guy as he was one who could not be distracted from his intense love of himself.   Flattery usually went well, and her Call of Duty skills were of a value beyond price.  When she heard about the new guy transferring from Scranton (what the hell went on in SCRANTON, of all the God-forsaken places?)  she was skeptical.  And, frankly, when he arrived, he annoyed the hell out of her, with his goofy looks and silly jokes.   She made every effort to distance herself from him, as she knew that he could never be taken seriously by ANYONE, and that affliction was certainly catching. 

But, strangely enough, his first month sales numbers were the top of the office.   First month!   And, rumor had it that Jan particularly liked him, thought he had "upper management' written all over him.  And, if there was one person who Karen most envied, it was Jan Levinson. (No longer Gould, Karen didn't know anything about her ex-husband, but she liked to fantasize that he had lacked the ambition to keep up with his high-powered wife.)  And then, when she messed up, this Jim guy actually covered for her -- even when he could have capitalized on the opportunity to showcase his preparedness.   Ugh.  He was one of THEM -- the winners, the ones who always came in first.   He led in sales, never missed a report, but still goofed off all the time and acted about as professionally as a giant dog with a bandanna around its neck.

She hated him.   And oh, how she wanted him.

She cursed herself for being attracted to him -- he was so dorky and goofy and unsophisticated.  He'd grown up in a small town, gone to a Catholic college, and then gotten a job right down the street from his fraternity house.   She couldn't imagine him walking beside her on that Manhattan street.  But she could imagine all kinds of other places that she'd like him to be beside her.  And, if rumors were to be believed, there was about to be a massive downsizing;  it couldn't hurt to be attached to Jan's golden boy, could it?

So, she followed him back to Scranton (SCRANTON! she thought with disgust.  This had better be a stepping stone to Corporate in New York, she resolved.)  and the office he had left only a few months ago.   She figured this "small pond" would be just the place for her to finally become the big fish.   She fantasized about the small town rubes, impressed with her sophistication.   Jim had been so funny when he described his coworkers to her...they sounded like characters in a movie.   They wouldn't know what hit them when they saw her stride in the door.....But, then....nothing ever turned out as she had planned.

She struggled to make a sale.   Local business owners seemed completely unmoved by her $400 shoes and her professional air.   They all wanted to know where she had gone to school, and did she know any of their big customers.   She couldn't believe it when she went on a sales call with dowdy old Phyllis, who humiliated her with a ridiculous hairstyle and then showed up even her pride when it turned out that the hair was the key to the sale.   And Jim....Jim was slipping away.....Sure, she found a bond with him in laughing at the Scranton office weirdos, but beneath his jokes, he actually seemed to LIKE these people, and more than once she found herself on the receiving end of a strange look when she commented on their buffoonish boss or that absurd beet farmer that somehow managed to be the top salesman in the office....

And then, there was her.   Jim said she wasn't even interested in him.   And yet, he couldn't let her go.   And Karen knew it was happening again.  The receptionist, the mousy girl in the JC Penney cardigan and hair from 1986 had his heart, and she, the practiced, honed beauty who spoke flawless French (in more way than one, she thought to herself) was losing.  

Second again, she thought bitterly, as she methodically shredded her message slips, tainted with HER pretty artist's handwriting.   It was time for another transfer.

Stupid.

He felt big and clumsy and stupid.  

Roy sat in his living room -- used to be THEIR living room -- and stared blankly into the darkness.   He picked absently at the label on the bottle, and tried to figure out what had happened to screw it all up so badly.

What the hell could she possibly want from him?   Fucking hell.  Why did he even care?   He had WASTED the best years of his life on her, and now there was nothing.  NOTHING.   He had been the star athlete, the cool guy.  She had been the nobody, the art nerd.  Everyone said he was wasting his time sticking to just one girl, especially her, with her drooping shoulders and dreamy ways....and now, he wondered if they had been right after all.

Back then, he had thought they were all so wrong.  He didn't need the cheerleaders or the pink, fluffy class queens.  Honestly, they all made him feel nervous, and he couldn't stop staring at his dirty fingernails when they talked to him about their shopping and hair and cars and parties.  Pam was different.  She didn't care about his friends or their parties, or his junky car.  He relaxed when they were together.  She was the only girl he ever knew who made him feel smart.  She said he was funny, and she wasn't afraid to open her mouth and really laugh at his jokes.  When he'd joke with his brothers, she'd join in, pulling practical jokes and bantering in her silly way.   In turn, she thought she was lucky to have him, and most of their friends agreed.  Finally, he was the top dog.   After years of "practice harder, son, no junior varsity in this family" and "but Steve has a Trans Am!" Roy finally got to hear that he was the catch, the king. Sometimes, he wondered if he was the one who was lucky, but he was certain never to say it, never to let out that bit of information that would have exposed his weakness, he dependence on the girl who wasn't supposed to be good enough for him. Finally, he could relax and stop trying.



But now, he was knocking on the door of 30.  Nobody cared if he had been a high school hero or wrestling champ.   Now, he was just some manual laborer with a beer gut and a pickup truck.  The cheerleaders weren't smiling at him any more.   He had taken the years where he'd been the hot commodity, and given them to her, only to have her look up at him a week before their wedding and say "I can't." 


And now, he could see that she was lost, and she still stubbornly insisted that she could find her path alone.  He had heard her crying in her car one day last October in the parking lot at work.   She been talking on the phone with her mother, sobbing that she'd never been with another man and didn't know how to go about dating.   Well, he hadn't really been with any other women, either.   Sure, there had been the teenage drunken gropes, and a few nights out with the boys that he'd rather she never found out about....but he didn't know how to start over any better than she did.   Hell, he probably knew less.  She was out there, taking classes, improving herself, moving up.   And he was left right where he was, right where he'd always be.   He was Roy.  The big, oafish warehouse guy.   He'd been past his prime at 18.   And now, he was alone again. 

His eyes felt strangely hot and he found himself blinking very hard.   He tossed his beer bottle into the bin by the door, and reached for his flask of tequila.   It was going to be a long night.

Wednesday, 8:32 am

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Wednesday, 10:06 am

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Wednesday, 1:48 pm

One New Message:  Congratulations!   You have won a free trip to Florida and Walt Disney World Resorts!  Please call 1-790-<MESSAGE ERASED>

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Wednesday, 3:56 pm

All classes are cancelled for this evening due to inclement weather.   There are no makeup classes scheduled at this time.

Wednesday, 4:50 pm

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Pam kept a dutiful log all day of her home voice mail.  After all her coworkers had left for the evening, she printed it out in Excel on Dunder Mifflin Canary bond and sealed it in a number 10 envelope with a hot pink post it that read:  JUST SO YOU KNOW I WASN'T KIDDING.   HAVE FUN AT THE PARTY FRIDAY NIGHT.   I INTEND TO DRAG OUR COWORKERS TO POOR RICHARDS TO HAPPY HOUR (WHICH STARTS AT 4PM WHEN YOU BOSS-TYPES ARE AWAY.)  PAM.  She dropped the envelope on Jim's keyboard and headed out the door.

Jim didn't sleep well Wednesday night. He kept having crazy dreams about Karen, or Pam, or some woman whose face changed from Karen's to Pam's and back again. When he woke on Thursday morning, it was in a fog of nervousness. Pam had given him time and space to decide if he wanted to try a relationship with her....or if he wanted to stay where he was, comfortable in a relationship with Karen. Karen. She was a known quantity. She really liked him...it probably wouldn't take long before she said she loved him. She was beautiful and smart and the perfect woman to stand at the side of a man on the rise.....


But.


But.....


She wasn't Pam.


This was the simple fact that he couldn't let go. And that one, simple fact led him to the next one, which, surprisingly, was more of an awkward shock to him.

Jim hadn't been himself for months. Since Pam's Art Show, this fact had seemed painfully clear. He felt like a stranger in his own body. The car was new, the suits were new, the shirts were starched, the haircut cost five times what it used to....and he was like an alien in his own skin.

He woke up Thursday morning, staring blankly at the photo of Karen that sat next to his alarm clock. She had given it to him a few weeks ago, already framed, the expectation for display clear.. He had been.....awkward about that. It seemed like a weird gift, and where was he supposed to display it? He settled for next to his bed, figuring she had a right to be on his mind there, if nowhere else. Now, several months later, he found himself envisioning his reaction if Pam were ever to give him a framed picture of herself. His immediate thought was that he would put it on his desk so that he could look at it all day. His second reaction was to laugh at himself. Why the hell would he put a photo on his desk when the person in the picture was just five feet away?

He showered. He dressed. And, as he sat on his bed to tie his shoes, he lifted Karen's picture, and looked at it He smiled with something like affection, but not much more. And then, he silently placed it face down in his nightstand drawer. He'd find a better place for it tomorrow. Some place that allowed him to sleep.


*******************************************************************************

Thursday morning was a different sort of confusion for Pam. She had told Michael yesterday that she would be spending the day "well, you know...." giving him just enough information to be confused, but not enough to pretend he understood. It was a craft she had perfected over years of life at the DM front lines. What to do with her day of playing hooky? This was the mystery. After Wednesday, she just knew that she needed to disappear for a day.

It had started off innocently enough. She was proud at how well she was holding it together this week. But this would be the day that really tested her.

Standing in the kitchen, she couldn't help but overhear. The vent to the conference room was wide open and Karen was in there, giving a Talking Head to the documentary crew.

"This cocktail party is such a great opportunity. It will give Jim a chance to show the people that matter that he isn't some loser like Michael. We both will have the chance to get out of lame-ass Scranton, Pennsyltucky." She laughed, and Phil, the interviewer, laughed right along with her. The bastard. If he hated it so much, why did he stick with this project for three years running? She shook it off, knowing full well that Phil was mostly trying to win Karen's confidence, to get her to talk more openly....But, still, she felt strangely protective. And, in a flash, she had a second realization.

Jim would be protective, too.

She had been there all week, silently willing him to make a move. It was time to pull back, to leave him with his decision. After hearing Karen's Talking Head, she had a hunch that she would be better served by silence for a day or two, because, when left to stand on her own, Karen would pale in comparison to the wonder of the Pam. This felt great at 4pm on Wednesday. At 2 am that night, not so much. Pam paced the floor, wondering if she was making a mistake. Was it really a good idea to lay low while Karen would be in her element at that stupid corporate party, in some sexy dress and surrounded by adoring fans? Could Mousey old Pam Beesley afford to hide away in the face of that? She tried to shake off those plaguing feelings of inadequacy, but they just wouldn't go. By 6 o'clock, she was up and dressed, and by 9 she had dressed and eaten and was in the waiting room at "Looking Good All Over," a day spa she passed on the way to work. By 10 her pedicure was finished. By 11 her hair had been cut. And, by noon, she was sound asleep on the massage table.


***************************************************


When Jim arrived at work, he slid silently into his chair. Karen seemed to immediately appear at his side, her hands on his shoulders, her eyes questioning, always checking her status. Or, was that his imagination? He found it increasingly difficult to be sure of anything. She was talking about ...what? Oh, that damn party again. Couldn't she see that he didn't want to go? Why was she so excited? She wasn't even the one invited, if she had half a clue she'd be chalking this up as a favor to him, not an exciting romantic night on the town.

He regarded her dully. She was still talking, but he wasn't hearing. She sat, perched on the edge of his desk, chatting about her new dress or something. And yet, in his head, the repetitive drone of Pam's name grew louder and louder. Where was she, anyway? Why was he sitting here? And why was Karen waving a hand in front of his face?

"Halpert! You in there?"

"Uh, yeah. I just have work to do." He turned abruptly to his desk, pretending she wasn't there. He felt himself willing her to be gone, afraid that maybe she could even hear the ferocity of his thoughts. She rose, shrugged, and headed back to her own desk. He made it a point to watch her as she went, as though he had an obligation to ogle her, seeing as she was his girlfriend and all.

"For now," he thought, almost reflexively. And the litany of Pam's name swam in his head.


**********************************************************

Karen settled back in to her desk, and sized up the office nervously. The reception desk was empty because Pam had taken the day off, which had to be a good thing. She smiled a little and allowed her eyes to rest on Jim. He was tearing into a sealed envelope like it was Christmas morning. She watched him unfold a sheet of pale yellow paper that seemed to be printed with a spreadsheet and several doodles. He smiled to himself that big, secret smile that Karen almost never saw. It was the smile that wasn't hers.

Karen turned back to her computer and opened her email program. It would be a busy day. There were a few old friends she needed to contact.

Jim went in to work early on Friday, hoping to be in the Office before anyone else. This week's inability to focus had put him severely behind in paperwork, and he was hoping he'd be able to concentrate enough to finish it without the distraction of Pam or Karen. But, when he arrived, Pam was already there, dancing back and forth to the filing cabinet to a peppy Celtic-tinged song chirping from her computer speakers.

"Morning Jim!" Pam chirped a little too enthusiastically. She studiously avoided eye contact as she continued to bounce on the balls of her feet. God. They were alone together for the first time since the art show, and her carefully cultivated air of calm patience was fragile enough in a room full of coworkers...."I should have known better than to take a Thursday off. There is, like, a mountain of stuff to file and all the expense reports to copy, fax, and file, and then I need to redo the supply orders, which is stupid because we SELL office supplies, right? So why do I need to requisition petty cash for Post its....."

"Sounds like a high-pressure job, there, Pam. I don't know how you hold up." The wry, smirking voice came from the entry. Karen stood there, her hair already styled in a sleek updo for the party, and two large drycleaning bags were held in her left hand. She smiled slightly at Pam's obviously wounded look, and then glided over to Jim's desk. "I'm so glad you are here early, Halpert. We should get all the real work done before we leave today, but we should leave early in order to arrive at the best possible time. I knew you'd forget your good suit, so I picked it up, along with my new dress...." She held one of the garments up to herself and posed saucily. "Like it? I think it's professional enough, but still hot." She winked at Jim lasciviously, but when she turned to gauge Pam's reaction, the receptionist had turned back to the file cabinet, and was singing softly to herself along with the music. Karen shrugged, and, realixing she didn't have an audience, marched off to the annex without another look at Jim.

Jim opened his mouth to say something -- anything -- but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he tilted his head to one side and listened to Pam's off-key voice, defiantly merry in the face of the nastiness.

She said, "My work is like eating cold oatmeal...
Day after Day after Day after Day."
She said, "My work is like eating cold oatmeal,
Day after Day." And, she's right!

Jim smiled and strolled over to the fax machine, where he wordlessly started to staple Pam's large stack of collated documents. He made it a special point to sing along to the next verse, even secretly hoping that Karen might hear.

Drunk on Margaritas and full of food,
She said, "It's hard to be with one when you're in love with another."
Drunk on Margaritas and full of food,
She said, "It's hard to be with one when you're in love with another."

Pam looked up at him with thoughtful and smiling eyes. "Thanks for the help." She took the pile of stapled papers and walked back over to the file cabinets, turning to say over one shoulder, "I did mention that we'd be at Poor Richard's until late tonight, right? Because we will be."

Jim smiled and nodded. Karen emerged from the Break room with a purposeful stride.

"Hey, Halpert. I was thinking. Why don't we get a nice hotel room tonight and spend the weekend in the City? It would be so great to get some real food, some real culture, some real fun......Plus, you just KNOW we'll want to get straight into a bed tonight...."