Pam had her slippers on and her hair piled haphazardly in a lopsided ponytail on top of her head. She was halfway through her nightly routine of cleaning up after dinner. She washed her dishes by hand first, even though her apartment had a small dishwasher. She couldn't tolerate the length of time it took a single person, with no visitors, to fill up that white cubicle with enough dishes to justify running it. It was unpleasant for her to think about how long her plates had to sit there, wiped clean of her macaroni and cheese or grilled chicken breast or frozen dinner, before they actually got a thorough washing.


Next she wiped down every surface of her kitchen with at least a quick once-over. She enjoyed this routine; it seemed to put a comma between her afternoon and evening, and it gave her something to fill up the long hours she spent between getting home from work and going to bed.


The phone rang just as she picked up the dishrag that February evening.


She sighed, wiped her hands on a towel and clicked the phone on. She knew before she answered who it was. She knew it would be just about the only person who called her these days.


"Hi Mom."


And right away, Pam and her mother launched into what Pam thought of as that delicate mother-daughter dance of speech: saying not much of anything, but yet, saying so much between and underneath the words.


"Hi dear. What are you doing this evening? Staying out of the snow?"
*Are you alone again? Do you have plans?*


Pam peered out of the blinds. It was dark, and she looked across the street at the streetlight.


"It's not snowing here yet, I think it's supposed to start later. I was just washing dishes."
*I have a dishwasher but it gives me something useful to do, washing them myself.*


"How was work today?"
*Did you talk to him today?*


"It was fine. Really slow. You know how people are with snowstorms these days, a few inches of snow and the world comes to an end. Seems like people went home early today all over the state, for all the work that got done." *I sat at my desk and cruised the internet a little and played some Sudoku and solitaire. And no, I did not talk to Jim.*


"Hmm. Well, I'm glad you're home."
*It breaks my heart to think of you, alone again, washing your own dishes by hand. I know you're lonely.*


"Yeah, me too."
*Where else would I be, Mom? You know it's not my art class night.....*


There was a pause. A quick breath, and then Diane Beesly decided to come out with it.


"Hey, didn't you say that wedding is next weekend? Your coworker's wedding?"
*This could be a chance. At least a chance for you to get out of your apartment and do something enjoyable, something other than sitting at home in front of the TV.*


"Yeah, a week from this Saturday."
*Mom...please. Don't start.*


"That sounds nice. Do you know what you're wearing?"
*Are you going with anyone?*


"Well....I haven't really thought about it too much. I have that suit I wore in Derek's wedding...."
*The one that a woman 30 years older than me would wear, that my sister-in-law Jo picked out for me--probably to get me back for some slight I don't even remember....*


"...And my black dress. You know the one, I wore it to Justin's wedding last fall."
*And it's so old, I never liked it, and I don't look good in black. I only bought it because I was newly in my first 'real job' (what a joke that has turned out to be) and all the magazines said I needed an LBD: A Little Black Dress. So I got one, and I've worn and reworn it over the years even though I know it's not that flattering on me.*


"What about your blue dress, the one you wore in Lindsay's wedding a couple of summers ago?"
*It's out of season, but better than that black dress.*


"No."
*Oh, no. Please don't latch onto that....*


"Oh...... well, I thought you liked that dress...."
*What was THAT?*


Pam paused. "I used to, it's just...kinda out of style now. I'm not going to wear it....anymore."
*Great. You're on to me.*


"Oh. Well I thought it was really pretty on you."
*You must have been wearing that dress the night Jim spoke; that night back in May. Wow....you won't even wear it again....*


"Yeah, I don't know. I'm just....not going to wear it."
*Why don't I just tell you that Jim kissed me in that dress and I could never put it on again, and I could never get rid of it either, so it hangs behind my high school cap and gown...the relic that it is. A blue dress and a memory and that's all I've got of that night....why don't I just tell you that, and you can worry over me some more. And probably drive here through a snowstorm to bring me some brownies and brush my hair and give me a manicure...*


"Listen, I have a fantastic idea."
*Please say yes, please say yes, I know you need this.*


Pam's mother continued. "Why don't we go to Philadelphia this weekend, just you and I. A girl's weekend. We'll stay in a nice hotel and eat nice meals and go buy you a new dress. My treat."
*Please let me do this for you, Pam...*


"I don't know, Mom."
*I'm pretty comfortable sitting at home, in my PJ's at seven o'clock, watching stupid TV and trying to paint something. Anything.*


"I've been wanting to do it for the longest time, and the dress shopping is a perfect excuse."
*It's not working. Time to pull out all the stops*


"I really need a getaway myself. Such a doldrum-y time of year" her mother continued.
*I've almost got her.*


"...I don't know."
*Who says 'doldrum-y', other than my mother?*



"I mean......." Pam stammered.
*I have no excuse, so here we go.*


"I think we should do it, Pam. I really would like that."
*You're a good girl, and I just played the 'I need this' card, so I know you're hooked. I've got you-- reluctantly, but got you.*


"Okay, I guess."
*You got me. Dammit.*


"Fantastic! Let's plan on me picking you up from your work on Friday, and we can leave straight from there, OK? That will give us some time on Friday night, all day on Saturday, and we'll come home Sunday after brunch."
*Thank God. One weekend I don't have to picture you all alone in that tiny apartment again, one weekend I can be with you. And maybe, if I go into your work, I can catch a look at Jim and this Karen....*


"Alright, Mom. I guess a new dress would be nice. Thanks."
*Yeah, a new dress. So I guess Kevin or Michael or Toby or Stanley can admire it. Perfect.*


"OK, I'll call you with more details as it gets closer." She paused on the other end. And actually said what she thought, quietly: "I think this will do you some good, sweetie."


And Pam actually said what she thought as well. "Yeah, maybe it will. Thanks, Mom."


"OK, I love you. Be careful in the snow."


"I will, Mom. Love you too, talk to you later."


*We managed not to talk about Jim.*
*She's nowhere near getting over Jim.*

"Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam."


"Oh, it worked! Your dad programmed my cell....I can just find your numbers right on here and push one button, and it dials you right up!"


Pam smiled. Maybe this weekend wouldn't be so bad, after all. "Yeah, it's pretty cool, Mom. Cell phones, and all that."


"I know, I know, I'm about 10 years behind the technology. I'm an old lady, Pam, what can I say?"


"You're not an old lady. Where are you?"


"I have just gotten off the Scranton exit. I should be there in a few minutes. Are you ready to go?" *I'm five minutes from your office, and I'm coming up to have a look. So I hope you're not that close to being ready....*


"I have a few things to finish up here, then I'll be ready. Fifteen minutes? I'll meet you in the lobby."


Diane Beesly smiled. "Perfect." *You'll forgive me. You know I'm not that great at judging distance and travel time.*


*Thank God you won't have to see Jim. Or Karen. Or the awkwardness that is Jim and Karen, sitting right in front of me, day in and day out. Which would just give you more to worry about.*


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Jim tried not to listen.


He tried not to do a lot of things these days, and the trying had become easier, like second nature. He liked to think of it as a sophisticated, well-honed, now almost effortless system of ignoring. He ignored her when she was talking on the phone, especially when he knew it was personal, however rare those kind of phone calls were for her these days. He ignored the way her perfume smelled as she walked by: warm, quiet, feminine..... just like her. It annoyed him that he would come up with such adjectives for a woman's perfume, but he ignored the annoyance as well.


He ignored the fact that he catalogued what she wore every day, that he knew her wardroble probably better he knew Karen's. He ignored that he knew that she still ate yogurt but had branched out a little in flavors: she now sometimes ate those 'whips', which Jim had actually bought and tried (and hid under this other purchases in the cart). It was yogurt that was hardly yogurt, came in dessert flavors, and made him wonder how they could fill anyone's stomach, even the stomach of a woman.


He ignored the fact, the disturbing fact, that he had actually bought a yogurt labeled "whip" and flavored "Creamy Caramel" and eaten it, just to discover what new things she was doing these days.


He never stopped to consider how much effort went into the ignoring, or that he actually noticed and pondered these little things about her still and then, after the fact, had to find a way to excise this information from his head and heart.


And he never let himself go too far down the path of thinking about how he had to purposefully, mindfully attempt to remember the simplest things about Karen: what she was most likely to order in a restaurant, the shows she hated on TV, what she wore to bed, even. He could remember if he put his mind to do it, which he was trying to do with increasing frequency.


He thought that someday, it would work. Someday, he would automatically notice what Karen did, the littlest of things, and stop noticing what Pam was doing at every second of his horribly long, exhausting days.


He would not even try to imagine what would happen to him if he ever stopped trying to ignore.


So it was that he knew that Pam was on the phone with her mother; that he was straining to hear and yet, strenuously trying to appear nonchalant, uninterested; as though he was not listening, or not even hearing it at all. He could feel Karen's eyes back and forth between him and Pam, playing with her earring as she often did when she was suspicious (hey, I know that much. That's something, right?). He kept his eyes glued to his monitor, though there was nothing on it but a blank order document, while he strained to listen.


She was going away for the weekend with her mom. He had seen her bring in a small travel case along with her coat and purse that morning and quickly tuck in under her desk.


And that had been the focus of his day. Where was she going? And with whom?


He ignored the fact that he had been able to concentrate on little else for the rest of that long, unproductive day. Instead, for just a minute, he actually allowed the relief to wash over him. It was her mother, not a new love interest. Or an old one.


Then he tried to ignore the relief.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


She had managed to talk the security guard into letting her up unannounced. She shamefully used the fact that there was probably not a less suspicious-looking person in Pennsylvania: Diane Beesly with her string of pearls and her sleek, conservative hairstyle and her tan walking coat.


It hadn't been hard to convince him that she was Pam Beesly's mother and she would like to surprise her. So up the elevator, down the hall and, one pause with her hand on the door handle of Dunder Mifflin, into the office she went.


She did not have to fake her delight in seeing her daughter. Pam was facing her computer screen, phone in hand, concentrating on something on the monitor as she talked. She looked up--her mouth formed a perfect "O", her eyes opened in surprise-- and she went back to the phone. "Bill, I'm sorry. Can I call you back on Monday? I'll take another look at this and get back to you." She paused while Diane waited in front of the reception desk. "Yeah, that's fine. Thanks." She smiled as she hung up the phone and met her mother in front of her desk, grabbed her up in a hug. "Mom! I thought you said fifteen minutes; this was more like five!"


"I know, I guess I was closer than I thought." Diane smiled; the brightest, most genuine one she knew she had. *Buy it, Pam.*


*No way, Mom.* "Well, I'm glad you're here. It's been awhile....."


"HEY!" Michael came all but bounding out of his office. "Pam-a-lam-a-ding-dong, Pam-a-lama-Pam's Mom!" Pam wished she could give Michael the second try in real life that she often did for him in transferring his calls. "To what do we owe this great honor?"


"Thank you, Mr. Scott. I'm just popping in before Pam and I leave for the weekend."


"Please, it's Michael. That's fantasmic! Where are you going? A Hot Beesly Lady Convention?" Diane looked at Pam, eyes wide, speechless.


"Just to Philadelphia for the weekend, Michael." Pam spoke quickly, quietly. *Please don't tell him, Mom*


"Yes," Diane smiled as she continued,


*No Mom, please.....*


"Among other things, we're going to find Pam a new dress for the big wedding coming up next weekend."


*You have no idea that what is polite conversation in....ANY circle....is just fodder for Michael*.


"EX-CELL-ENT!!! Our little Pam has been working out, methinks....a halter would be nice. Or maybe a backless dress..............."


Jim got of his seat before most of the words had left Michael's mouth, getting to reception in a few long strides. "Hey, Michael, can I talk to you about something?"


Pam closed her eyes, briefly. And now, let's add Jim to this mix of general discomfort....


"Jim, you remember Pam's mom?" Michael was in his element, doing what Pam knew he would call "schmoozing", even though it was with mostly people he saw day in and day out. Diane turned to Jim, Jim turned to Diane and Pam's face turned, she thought, five different shades of pink.


But Jim seemed truly happy to see her, if a little self-conscious. "I sure do. Mrs. Beesly." He held out his hand with a smile.


How much does she know?


She took his hand. Her face was attractive and open and kind, with the same hint of warmth that Jim had always admired in Pam's face. But her eyes crinkled slightly, honing in. Watching.


She knows everything. Everything.


"It's good to see you again, Jim." They broke the handshake, and Jim found his hands immediately buried in his pockets. This was one of many habits he was trying to break, with some success, but not so much in Pam's presence. And not especially in front of Pam's mom.


And now Karen. "Hi, are you Pam's mom? Mrs. Beesly?" Karen has the right things to say. Karen can make this easier....or a thousand times worse. The palms in his pockets began to feel a little damp.


"Yes, and you must be......" She held out her hand, politely. But Diane Beesly already knew who she was, and she was already assessing, watching, feeling....knowing.


"Karen Fillipelli. I'm new here, well....fairly new. Jim and I came from Stamford together at the merger." Slick, thought Diane. Put-together. Beautiful, intelligent. And slightly cold.


"Yes, I heard about that." Diane smiled, but let those words hang in the air.


"Oh.......right." Karen replied. Diane continued smiling pleasantly while Karen pondered that comment; what it meant and how to go on from there. She usually didn't have to wrestle with what to say next. Jim and Michael and Pam stood by, somewhat at a loss as well, each thinking of how they were going to get out of this, but thinking a little too long. "Well, Pam has been so helpful to Jim and I through this transition. I mean, it's a transition for me, anyway" Karen finally said.


"Yes," said Diane. She tried to make her face look guileless, placid. "You're new here. But Jim was here before."


And that spurned everyone to action, talking at once:


"Mom, my suitcase is in my trunk, just let me......"


"Awk-waaard....."


"Mrs. Beesly, it was sure nice to see you again....."


"Yes, I know Jim was here before, but he and I................"


Pam and her mother were out the door in two minutes flat.

There were three times: only three, she would think, rather proud of herself, that Diane Beesly attempted to talk to her daughter about Jim that weekend.


One attempt was while they were on their the way to the city. Pam was quiet, and her mother knew that she was upset by the exchange between Karen and herself and by their quick and uncomfortable exit from the office.


Diane snuck looks at her daughter as she was driving on the interstate. Pam had always been quiet, but the air around her quietness had changed in the last few months. There was sadness now, as well as the warmth and compassion that had always emanated from her. And not just sadness: regret, resignation. Forlorn, was the word that made it's mark on Diane's heart when she thought of her daughter.


Pam was looking out the window, her hands clasped quietly in her lap. But as Diane watched, she could see her twisting and turning them from time to time, worrying those hands together. And though she was driving, she was astute enough to pick up on the tiny wrinkle of worry between her daughter's brows.


Time for honesty. Finally.


"Pam.....I'm sorry."


Pam sighed, every so slightly. "It's OK, Mom."


"I'm not sure that it is, and I'm sorry if it's bothering you. That's my biggest regret." Diane paused. "But I'm not sorry that I said that to Karen."


"Mom......."


"Honey, she knew exactly what she was saying, and wasn't afraid to say it in front of you, myself, Jim, Michael.....anyone."


Pam continued to look out of the window, watching the barren, lifeless February landscape pass by. She was almost glad that it wasn't June with it's green vibrancy. She could relate to February weather. She thought about the colors this scene would require: tans, greys, browns. Perfect. Exactly how I feel.


She was lost in her thoughts for a long time, and finally realized that her mother was waiting for a response. She sighed again. When had conversation starting taking such a huge effort on her part? "Maybe. But all she really said was that she and Jim had come together from Stamford, which is actually.....true. So, you know....not that big a deal."


"Were they together, in Stamford? Do you know that for sure?"


"There's very little I know for sure, Mom. I know they're dating. I know they've been dating for a couple of months at least, now." Time to end this, to salvage what little of this weekend that can be salvaged. "I know that on his first day back I asked Jim out to coffee, and he turned me down."


Pam turned to the window to draw patterns on the dew that collected there, as she had when she was a child. Her mother strained to hear her voice. "I know that later that day, in the parking lot, he told me he had started seeing someone."


Diane knew she should let that drop. She knew Pam intended for her to let that drop, as well. "And what did you say to him, when he told you that?" She didn't expect an answer, not especially the one she received.


"I told him that it was fine; he can do whatever he wants. That we're friends. That we'll always be friends." She was still tracing patterns on the window.


Diane sighed, her fingers gripping the wheel momentarily. This particular attempt at conversation about Jim, and Pam's broken heart, was finished. Finished, for now, but nowhere near being resolved. This is much more complicated than I thought. And I already thought it was pretty complicated.



*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*



The second time Diane attempted what she had come to think of as The Jim Conversation was the next day, dress shopping.


"Wow, Mom. How many dresses do we have in here, like two dozen? And they all look wrong on me."


"No they don't. How about that red one? With the halter straps?"


"No red halters at a wedding with my coworkers. Even if it does look OK on me."


"How about that champagne colored one? The long one?"


"Too bridesmaids-y. And it washes me out."


"O...kay. What about the black strapless one? It fit you nicely."


"I look horrible in black. And I already have a black dress."


"Well.....you have a lot of dresses here. And a lot of colors, but no blue." Diane looked at her. "Why don't you try some blue dresses? Blue.... looks so nice on you." Nicely done. That wasn't too obvious.


"OK, Mom. I'm not buying a blue dress, and we both know why. And I know it makes me all kinds of pathetic, so you don't need to remind me of it. So....let's just go back out there, or to another store, and find me a dress I can wear."


Pam didn't care for the raw pity she saw on her mother's face, but she understood it. "We'll find you a dress, Pam. Not a blue one."



*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*



The last time was on the way home, just before they parted ways. Pam had to admit that they had enjoyed a relaxing time together, and that she had needed this getaway. The long conversations over glasses of wine, mostly about memories and growing up; the great meals; even shopping for the dress had all been a welcome break, giving her a chance to unwind from tension she didn't even know she carried from day to day.


"Mom....you were right. I needed this." She turned to her mother. "Really....thank you."


"It was fun for me, too, and I needed it as well." *I really needed to see how you are doing, and I'm not encouraged by what I saw. But I'll be darned if I'm going to let you see it.*


"Mom....listen. Don't worry about me, OK?" She turned fully to look her mother in the eye as she parked in the lot of Dunder Mifflin, where they had left Pam's car for the weekend. "It's going to be fine....it is fine. I'm really...." She shook her head. This was not coming out right.


"I'm really over....." Pam continued. *I can't say it. I can't say it--and you know I can't say it, and now this is how our weekend ends.*


Diane grabbed her daughter in an awkward hug over the console, her lap cutting painfully into the steering wheel. She held on anyway, clinging to Pam, trying to make one last attempt to say all that couldn't be said. Finally she whispered "No, you're not. And I don't think you're meant to be, yet."


Pam broke the hug, as Diane knew she would. "OK, Mom." She smiled, sadly; it took a great effort. "Thanks again. I had a really great time, and we even found me a dress." *And it's not blue.*


"Love you, Pam. Take care. I'll be calling." *It's not blue, but I think it may do the trick anyway. Yes, it will do.*


"I know you will, Mom. Love you too." She was halfway out of the car, leaned over before she shut the door. "'Bye, Mom." *I'm really beginning to loathe this parking lot.*

It's all the same.... the flowers, the table settings, all of it. Just like at the ceremony.


Pam gave her coat to the attendant and made her way into the reception hall. She was trying to remain lighthearted and, if possible, even enjoy herself at Phyllis' wedding. She had done pretty well so far, she thought. But the effort it had taken was starting to wear on her a bit. She clasped her stole around her shoulders, grateful that she and her mother had chosen an outfit with such a handy accessory, giving her something to do with her fidgeting hands.


"Pam!" Kelly was waving at her a few tables away. "You're at a table with me and Ryan, over here!" Pam made her way to the round table. Kelly might actually be a nice diversion.


"Are you alright?" Kelly asked, but then continued, "this must be so awful for you."


"What do you mean?"


"Well, this was supposed to be YOUR wedding."


"Oh, um......no. That's um.....that's actually fine."


"There's no way it's fine, I'm sorry." Kelly continued, shaking her head. "If I were you I would like, freak out, and get totally drunk, and tell someone I was pregnant."


"OK, a lot of good ideas. Thanks." Kelly is a terrible diversion. How am I going to get through this?


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Jim was waiting at the bar for a drink when Pam approached.
(".....A year has passed since I wrote my note....") Kevin sang.


"Hey," he greeted her. And as usual, Pam greeted him back with "hey."
("...But I should have known this right from the start......")


"When are we going to get to see some of those famous Beesly dance moves?" He asked her. I would love to dance with you......
("..Only hope can keep me together.....")


She chuckled back, "I'm pacing myself...." You're with Karen. I can't dance with you, so I'd rather not dance at all.


"C'mon, get out there, give the people what they want." What I want......
("....Love can mend your life.........")


"Oh, I'm such a dorky dancer."


"I know, and it's very cute."
("....Or love can break your heart.....")



*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*



Longing. Sadness. Regret.


Pam' s looking at me, and I swear I can read all of that, and more, written all over her face. Is it because I'm dancing with Karen? She was looking right at us....


No....I thought I knew her, at one time. I thought I was so right, and all I would need to do is open up to her.


I was wrong then. And I am probably wrong now.


She's walking out. Good God, look at her shoulder against that brown wrap she's wearing. I never knew brown could look so....


Why is she walking like that? She's skittering out of here, folded up on herself.....


.... I've never seen her walk like that.....


....except the time, in that grey sweater.....


.....The day she asked me out to coffee, the day I came back from Stamford, and I turned her down. I watched her--she wrapped her arms around her middle and......


.....she walked out just like that.


Because I turned her down for coffee.


Because I'm dancing with Karen.


No. There has to be lots of times she walked with hurt written all over her.....


....with Roy, for sure, when he said something stupid, which was often.....


...but then she just got mad, or frustrated, and that never looked like THIS.


Karen is talking to me, I have to smile down at her. "Ummhmmm". I have no idea what she is saying. I don't care either, because I'm thinking of another woman's gorgeous shoulder and whether or not her damned posture is telling me what I think it is.


I have a woman in my arms, my hands on her waist, she is smiling and beautiful and available-- and I don't care.


Jim sighed, though inwardly. Karen didn't even notice.


Enough.


He closed his eyes, took a breath. Enough.

......It's really over.
I mean, I always knew it was over. I knew when he turned me down for coffee, I knew when I saw her rub his back, hand him gum, when he told me in the parking lot that he had 'sorta started seeing someone'. I knew when I talked him into encouraging her to move two blocks away from him.


No.....I guess I really didn't know. I guess.....I kinda held on to some kind of hope, however fragile. However unlikely.


Dear God, it hurts to breathe right now.


But he saw me looking at him, I know it was written all over my face. He knew what it meant--


I walked out. He didn't come after me, he was dancing with Karen. I didn't walk out so that he WOULD come after me....I just had to get out of there.....but the old Jim would have come after me.


It's over.


I have to get out of here, I have to go home. Now.


.......And here comes Roy.


He looks nice, he is looking at me the way I wish Jim would. Like he really cares about what I think, like he really wants to please me. Like he really did, as he just said, want to marry me.


Like he loves me.


Jewel. It used to be 'our song'.


"I know. I gave them twenty bucks. Wanna dance?"


No. Yes. I don't know.


...I know I don't want to be alone.



*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*



I have to find her.


Jim waited out that entire song with Karen. He normally had no opinion of "Fields of Gold", a song he considered not great, but harmless....but now he was cursing every single verse. She was still looking up at him and smiling, flirting, and he muttered at what he thought was probably the right times. She seemed not to notice. He wondered how it was that he could have even thought they were so right together, when he was standing here holding her, pondering when he would be able to break it off not tonight, for sure and she was completely unaware of the turn his thoughts had taken.


Finally, finally, the band lit into a more upbeat song. Jim led Karen off the dance floor, held her chair for her as she sat down. She was laughing at something Toby was saying. He leaned over, asked her what she would like to drink, and excused himself to get it.


Right. Such a gentleman.


He started by looking near both bars. She wasn't there. He checked the coatroom, entered the reception hall via the door furthest away from Karen, scanned the crowd. It was never difficult for him to know Pam's whereabouts—he knew in any situation, in any mix of people, exactly where she was at any given time. His senses seemed to follow her even when his eye didn't.


She wasn't there.


And now, Kevin's band was playing "You Were Meant For Me." Jewel, no less. How does Jewel fit in with Scrantonicity?


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Jim stood again at the bar, waiting for a drink.


And he saw her, he saw the flash of her pink coat. She was past him, walking toward the door......


Holding Roy's hand. Leaving, with Roy.


But there it was, exactly as he suspected: that bent over, huddled up posture. She was not looking at Roy, she was not smiling at Roy, she was bent over as if to ward off a blow; shoulders bowed, head down.


Because she thinks I have rejected her.


Because that's how she looks every time I have rejected her.


This isn't about Roy......it's about me. Maybe it's always been about me......


And the word ripped it's way out of his lungs, past his throat and into the heavy, warm air like a knife: "PAM!" He was already walking toward her, already seeing stars behind his eyes, already feeling his heart pound through his suit jacket, his stomach pooling into a puddle at his feet. It was too loud- there were too many people- Kevin was beating his drums and Jim had a visceral need to take those drumsticks and shove them down his throat. She wasn't going to hear him and it would ruin everything, it would change everything...................


"PAM!" She stopped. And she turned to look at him.

Jim was almost to them now. He was running on pure adrenaline and a surety that coursed through his veins: he had to stop her. The words continued to rip out of him almost of their own volition. His voice was ragged, even to his own ears. "Don't leave with him."


Pam and Roy seemed frozen, hands still clasped. Had Jim been looking, he would have seen the rage brewing on Roy's face, but Pam was all he could see. "Don't do this, Pam. This is not......" He swallowed. Quieter, "This is not what you want."


Pam's eyes widened; there was a look there he had never seen. "I don't think you know what I want, Jim." Her voice was quiet, shaky.


He was breathless; still running on that adrenaline. I stopped her. It's enough.


"I know you don't want this." Shock was all over Pam's face, but he read the truth of what he had said on it. He read it as it took root, as the shock was replaced with awareness.


"HALPERT!!" Roy was thundering, now. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" People were looking, conversation stilled, and Jim was suddenly glad that Kevin was still beating those drums after all.


"She doesn't have to do this." Jim's voice was much quieter, but deadly solid.


"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!" Roy dropped Pam's hand momentarily, jabbing Jim in the chest with one beefy finger. "She's coming with me. STAY OUT OF IT!"


Roy stepped toward the door again, grabbing at Pam's hand. One tug, gentle. Another tug, not so very gently.


It was the third tug that was more forceful, that pulled at her arm almost painfully, that did it. That brought it all back: Roy, prom, homecoming, brochures, art programs minor league hockey games I'd get on that if I weren't dating you we're not dating we're engaged c'mon babe Kenny waverunners cousin's truck moving Poconos tub basketball c'mon let's go c'mon let's go c'mon let's go c'mon let's go........................


She dropped his hand, turned to him.


"No."


Jim almost collapsed with relief. I stopped her. It's enough, for now.


And then he felt Karen next to him.


Roy was still thundering, now at Pam, as he struggled to get that hand back. "C'MON, PAM!! We're getting out of here!"


She was not afraid. Maybe she needed to be; they were definitely causing a scene, Roy had never been angrier. But she was resolute. "No, Roy. I don't want this.”" She swallowed once. "I can't do this again."


Roy turned his attention from Pam and made one, rage-induced lunge at Jim before every man in the vicinity leapt to action, trapping his arms and wrestling him to the ground.


Pam chanced one glance back at Jim through the mayhem.


He was looking down at Karen. She was pulling at his arm, and he was looking down at her....still. Still looking at Karen.


Nothing had changed.


Something left her soul; she could feel it. Something drained out of her-- how was it that no one could see this? How was it that Jim was standing there looking at Karen, and Roy was being held on the floor by about six men, and the drums were still pounding and the music was still playing and she was still standing, still standing....and her whole world had just exploded itself all around her?


There were no tears, yet. She ran out, blindly got into her car, blindly drove home, let herself into her apartment, closed the door and sank into a puddle at the doorwell.


After a half hour spent staring at the wall opposite the door--wide-eyed and tearless- she rose, curled up on the couch and fell into an immediate, dreamless sleep.


Her first thought when she awoke the next morning, still wearing her pink coat and her brown dress and her pumps, was: He doesn't want me anymore. But he doesn't want me to be with anyone else.

There was usually comfort in routine, but not that day. She got out of her dress clothes, hung up the brown dress and stole behind the blue one. How many dresses am I going to collect that I can no longer wear? She showered, put clean pajamas on and sat in front of the TV with the remote, her damp hair piled on her head.


She clicked around; there was nothing on any channel that would stop the barrage of thoughts:


I almost left with Roy.


A cooking show. Valentine marathon: all desserts.


Jim was right about one thing, I didn't want that. I just....didn't.


A show about what you're not supposed to wear. They're telling a woman in sandwashed overalls not to wear tights with loafers. Oops.


As if it matters what I wear, as if it ever did.


A movie with a soundtrack full of soaring violins. Synthesized violins.


Yeah, right? I need another reason to cry, some overdone movie. A woman's movie, no less.


A pre-game football show.


This is what I would have been doing at Roy's: trying to keep quiet during the game and planning what to make for brunch. And acting as if I cared about either. Well, maybe not today.....maybe he still would have been on his best behavior for a little longer, but it wouldn't have taken long. Look at last night. It didn't take long for Old Roy to come out.


Bridget Jones' Diary: The Edge of Reason.


Perfect. That's just....perfect.


He doesn't want me anymore. But he doesn't want me to be with anyone else.


And Pam felt it all come crashing down on her. She curled herself even tighter on the couch, put her head on her knees and let the tears come.


Some time later- Pam could not have said if it was minutes or hours- the phone rang. Pam ignored it; it was either her mother asking about the wedding, or....Roy.


Not Jim, though.


He doesn't want me anymore. But he doesn't want me to be with anyone else.


No message. Fine, go away. I don't want to talk anyway.


She rose from the couch, got up to make some tea. She felt hollow, older in every possible way. The tears had not relieved her; they had not brought her the release they so often did.


The phone rang again. She considered checking the caller ID, but almost immediately decided against it. Four rings, then:


"Hi Pam, it's Mom. I guess you're not home? Well, call me when you get a chance. Talk to you later."


Pam took a sip of her tea and settled back on the couch with it. She considered eating something, but knew that she had nothing in the kitchen that would go down. It's an ice cream day. And that's probably all I will eat.


And there's the phone again...Mom!! I'm OK. I'll talk to you later!


She snatched the phone off the counter, checking the ID box. Roy.


"Hey, Pam, pick up the phone OK? I just want to talk to you." There was a pause. "I know you're home, so just pick up." Another pause. "I really want to give us another try, Pam...and I think you want that too, right? Or at least you did last night before......well. Just call me."


That's it; I have to get out of here. I'm going....anywhere. Taking my cell phone, but turning it off.


Pam blindly got clothes from her dresser, shoved her feet in socks and shoes and reknotted her hair. The phone rang again as she emptied and rinsed her teacup. It rang twice while she grabbed her coat from the hallway closet. It rang three times while she put it on; four while she grabbed her purse and cell phone.


The machine picked up.


"Hey, Pam...it's Jim. I'm not sorry about last night. I'm not sorry that I stopped you from leaving with Roy, because I know you didn't want that. I know you're probably really, really angry at me right now anyway, but.....please call me, OK?" There was a pause. He continued more quietly: "I would love to talk to you. Take care."


Pam put her hand on the doorknob, opened the door, and closed it almost noiselessly behind her, just as she always did.



*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Sunday, around noon, and she had nowhere to go, nothing to do...she drove to the mall. She wasn't a leisure shopper; she didn't mind it, but would never choose to shop for nothing in particular, as Kelly seemed to so every weekend. And sometimes, not on the weekend.


She wandered aimlessly through the stores, picking things up, putting them back. Money was tight as it was, she could little afford an extra splurge on clothes or other doodads. Not even decent new shoes. I'll have to stick with my loafers, even if the experts say they're wrong.


Finally she found herself standing in front of the movie theater. She didn't want to see a movie, but the thought of sitting quietly in darkness for two hours, where no one could bother or even see her, appealed to her. She bought a ticket, randomly selecting from a list of choices.


She watched movie after movie that day. She didn't laugh, but sometimes cried during parts she knew were not remotely touching or sad, and often fell asleep in the middle. At the last matinee the usher had to rouse her awake: "Miss? Sorry, the movie's over." She rose, went back out into the lobby and bought a ticket for the next movie, and also a large soda. She hadn't eaten all day. They don't have ice cream at movie theaters, so I'm out of luck there.


Somewhere in the middle of the last showing of the day, close to 10:00, she made the decision not to go into work the next day. She knew that it was so important, so vital to swing her feet over the side of the bed each morning; to put those feet one in front of the other and let the mundanity of life surround her until, someday, she felt like even a shadow of the woman she used to be. Or maybe, the woman she never was...but knew she could be.


But not tomorrow. She could not do it tomorrow. She was going to take one more day to get her bearings, to figure out exactly where she was going to go from here. One more day to collect herself before her art show on Tuesday.


Just as quietly as she had left, she let herself into her apartment. She was in no hurry; she took her coat off slowly, dropped her purse and keys on the counter, slipped off her shoes and socks and thought again about maybe eating something. Finally, after eating a few crackers, she looked over at her answering machine.


Eight messages. Her mom, Roy, Jim....how many times had each of those three called her back?


She never even considered checking. She went to her bedroom, changed quickly, climbed into bed. And once again dropped into a dreamless, exhausted sleep.

He walked into the office: exhausted, yet wired, ready to finally do something to get her attention...and she was not there.


Of course she's not here today.


Of course she's not sick. She is maybe broken, but not sick.


She had not returned any of his four messages the day before, each one more concerned than the last. And at 8:00 that evening- when he had finally determined that he was, indeed, absolutely pathetic and ridiculous- and had driven over there to knock on her door for 15 minutes- she had not answered.


She hadn't been there. He could feel that she was not even there.


And of course, Jim thought as Karen walked through the door, here was something to just make his day that much better.


I deserve her wrath. I deserve every bit of what she's about to dish out.


And of course here she comes, her coat is not even off , yet she is coming right over....


"I'm just here to tie up some loose ends and pack up my things." Jim looked carefully at her, at the hardness that she was trying to portray, though her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. "I've already spoken to Jan; she's letting me take my remaining vacation days this year and will reassign me after I come back."


"Karen......"


"So get on with it, Jim. I'm not going to be the one stopping you from going after her this time." And he knew he deserved her anger. "As if I ever were, when it comes down to it."


There was nothing to say to that, no answer that he could give that would begin to say how wrong he had been to involve her; how sorry he was. But he had to try. It was time to do things right, finally.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To: Karen Fillipelli
From: Jim Halpert

Karen,

Involving you is the biggest regret I have in my life so far, and I mean that.

It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, and I'm sorry. I know that doesn't make up for much, if anything, but it's all I've got.

You're a great person, a great woman. I wish you the best, and for you...it's not me.

I know someday you will believe that too.

Jim
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------




She responded almost immediately.




------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


To: Jim Halpert
From: Karen Fillipelli

Jim,

Gee, thanks. And I think I already do believe it, Jim....that you're not the best for me, being that you were in love with another woman all the time you were dating me, and all.

It's one day after you broke up with me, OK? You should expect some bitterness.

Good luck with Pam.

Karen

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


He had not called her all that long, horrendous day. He texted no less than three times: "call me on my cell"; "thinking of you"; "how are you?"; and of course got no response. He emailed her home account with repeats of his text messages: call me. I want to talk to you. Please get in touch.


Nothing. He knew he was every bit as desperate as to drive over there and knock on her door again, but would not allow himself to do it.


A couple of times that day his dismay and confusion bubbled up into anger at her. She turned HIM down; she rejected HIM. She called off her wedding, and never let him know.


And then he'd remember Pam. It was Pam. Pam, for whom asking him out to coffee was her equivalent to him saying "I'm in love with you." He remembered her awkward flirting in the break room: "REM cycle". She was insecure and vulnerable, at best; why had he not considered that when she took even the smallest of steps toward him?


And that posture, her shoulders....he couldn't get the image of her folded over on herself in the grey sweater, in that brown satiny dress. In her pink coat, leaving with Roy.


I stopped her. It's enough, for now.


I hope it's still enough.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


He was restless, uneasy that evening after work. He fixed dinner but only picked at it, throwing the rest down the disposal. He opened a beer but it turned his nearly empty stomach, so he dumped that down the sink as well. He turned on the TV only to stare at the screen unseeing, turning over every possibility in his mind, every avenue of perhaps opening up some line of communication with her.


He sat slumped over, elbows on his knees, fingers running sporatically through his hair. I'm so worried about her. And I need to talk to someone about her.


I can't bother Mark about her anymore. Plus, he's a married man now.....


My mom will just get frustrated with her. She never understood why Pam didn't love me right off the bat...that's just a mother.


....a mother.


I could contact Pam's mom. Mrs. Beesly. And tell her that I'm worried about Pam. And......just tell her. I could just tell her.....


Even as he dismissed the idea it had taken root. Even as he discredited it, he knew he was going to do it.


I've got nothing left to lose.


He poured a half of a glass full of whiskey- a leftover groomsman's gift for being in Mark's wedding the previous year.


Liquid courage. Just enough to take the edge off.


And he dialed information. "Yes, Bob Beesly............."


"I have no listing for a Bob Beesly."


I'm shaking just as badly as the first time I ever asked a girl out, and it's the information lady. This is a new low.


"OK, Robert Beesly?"


"One moment please."


Jim took the number down, trembling, relief washing over him.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


After a quarter of the glass of the whiskey was down, Jim picked up the phone, looked at the numbers as if trying to solve a complicated puzzle, and set the phone down again.


I'm a man grown. Pick up the damned phone, you pathetic fool.


So before he could change his mind, he picked it up, dialed the number, and focused intently on the speck of potato chip on his counter as it rang once, twice, three times......


"Hello?" It was her dad. It's not supposed to be her dad.


"Uh, yes. Is ummm....is Mrs. Beesly there?"


Jim could feel Pam's father's scowl down the phone line.


"Can I ask who's calling?"


"Yes, this is a friend of Pam's."


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


"Who is it?" Diane mouthed.


Bob Beesly shrugged, and whispered back as he covered the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand. "Says he's a friend of Pam's. NOT. ROY."


Inexplicably to Bob, Diane smiled widely, took the phone, and left the room.


"Hello?"


"Mrs. Beesly? It's Jim Halpert......from Pam's work."


"Yes, hello Jim."


He paused long enough that he knew it had grown uncomfortable. "I, ummm. I was wondering if it would be alright with you if I sent you an email, Mrs. Beesly."


She smiled, but tried hard to make it sound like she wasn't smiling quite so hugely. "Yes, I think that would be OK."


"Oh. Oh, great....I just need your email address."


"Bob and I share an account." She could almost feel Jim furrow his brow, hear him tinkering with whatever glass he was holding. "But just put my name in the title, and I'll read it this evening. If that's what you were planning to do."


"Yes.....that would be great. Thanks....thanks so much."


She gave him her address and hung up the phone. She made herself sit next to her husband and watch TV for an hour, put her nightclothes on and washed her face, and began her new cross-stitch for a neighbor's baby before she went to the computer.


Diane Beesly was a woman of great restraint when she wanted to be. And sometimes, even when she didn't. She had waited nearly two hours to make her way to the computer in Bob's office. She thought there needed to be a special award for that kind of maternal patience.

To: Bob and Diane Beesly
From: Jim Halpert

Mrs. Beesly,

First of all, thank you for allowing me to email you. I'm sorry if this is....well, maybe just weird. But, I really need to do it, and you seem to get that, so....thank you.

And then, just so we're clear: I am in love with your daughter. Loving her is so much a part of me that I'm beginning to believe that I simply always will. I'm old enough to know that it doesn't mean she loves me back and it's no guarantee that things will work out, especially given what happened this past weekend (I'm getting to that in a minute). And I've told myself that a thousand times and it doesn't seem to matter....loving her is just who I am, Mrs. Beesly.

Anyway......

I don't know if you have talked to her or what she's told you, but at our coworker's wedding this past weekend....well, here's what happened and then I'll fill you in a little bit. The long and short of it is, I realized that maybe Pam has feelings for me, but I was almost too late....she almost left with Roy. I stopped her though. I didn't really stop her, I just....asked her not to leave with him. I told her I didn't think that this was what she wanted, and she seemed to understand that and went home alone. I could say more, but out of respect for you, Pam, and even Roy--I will not. I will say this....it was a bad scene. I'm sorry to tell you that but I think you should know.

I also realized that it was a mistake for me to be with Karen. There were a lot of reasons I thought it wasn't a mistake....but those reasons were wrong. And again out of respect for you, Pam, and Karen I won't go into details there either.

So here's where we are. I'm broken up with Karen. Pam, as far as I can tell, is not with Roy. And yet, she will not speak to me. I've hinted that I want to be everything to her.....I was beginning to think that this was what she wanted too, but she is very closed off to me right now. I'm worried about her, Mrs. Beesly.....really worried. I don't want to pry if you think it's not my place. That's not what this is about. But I just wanted to say, please check up on her, and please know that I never, ever wanted to hurt her. I know I did....and I've been hurting too.....but I never meant to. I hope you believe that.

That's all. This is long and rambling and probably makes no sense, but I needed to say it to you. Well, say it on email, anyway. Thank you, thank you, if you read this all the way through.

Jim

To: Jim Halpert
From: Bob and Diane Beesly

Jim,

Go to Pam's art show tomorrow night, even if she acts as if she doesn't want you to be there. Look for her in her artwork. See if you can find her in her artwork. If you can't, look for yourself there. If you can't find that either, then...tell her how you feel (I know-- you already did that. Sometimes it takes more than once, Jim. It's not fair, I know. It's her turn, and I know that too. But if you love her as much as you say you do.....and I absolutely believe that you do.... then you know her well enough to know that sometimes she needs a second chance).

If you can find the strength to give yourself to her one more time, you will also be giving her back to herself.

I have faith in you, and in my daughter. And as you say, we're both old enough to know that there are no guarantees, ever. But I have a good feeling about you and Pam.

I'm pulling for you, Jim.

Love,

Diane Beesly

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Jim read the words over and over, printed them off and laid them on the dresser as he stripped off his clothes, carried them into the bathroom and read them while he ran the water. Set the words on the counter, got into the shower and let the hottest water he could stand pour over him like a cleansing, like a blessing. He laid his palms against the tiles and let his tears flow until the water ran ice-cold.

Jim was at work early on Tuesday. He wanted to be settled at his desk when Pam came in, prepared to see her. And hopefully, to be able to somehow let her know at least, at the very least, about Karen.


Pam was earlier. He actually stopped momentarily in his tracks on his way in the office, but covered quickly. He didn't look her full in the face yet, and it wasn't even necessary, just as always. He could feel her from past the reception desk and all the way over to his.


Exhaustion. Sadness. Resignation. Hollowness.


He turned on his computer, set his bag under his desk, and settled into his chair while his monitor buzzed to life. And couldn't wait one more minute; he turned his chair to look at her.


She was staring at her monitor as well, typing, concentrating. Her skin was nearly translucent, and her cheeks actually looked considerably more gaunt than they had just a couple of days before. Has she eaten anything since?


He watched her for a long moment; he knew well that she could feel it. She could see, even, that he was staring at her. But she resolutely refused to look at him.


Finally he spun his chair back around. Coward. You could go right up there, speak to her right now. He thought about that.


Later.



*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*



To: Angela Martin
From: Pamela Beesly

Angela,

Where is Karen today?

Pam

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


To: Pamela Beesly
From: Angela Martin

I have no idea. God help me if I made it my business to keep track of everyone's sick days in this office. Suffice it to say: SOME of us get sick quite frequently.

Angela

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


To: Stanley Hudson
From: Pamela Beesly

Hi Stanley,

Where is Karen today?

Pam

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To: Pamela Beesly
From: Stanley Hudson

She quit.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


To: Stanley Hudson
From: Pamela Beesly

Why? Do you know?


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


To: Pamela Beesly
From: Stanley Hudson

I have no idea, and I have work to do . Thank you.

Stanley

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To: Toby Flenderson
From: Pamela Beesly

Hi Toby,

Why did Karen quit?

Pam

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


To: Pamela Beesly
From: Toby Flenderson

Hi Pam,

She is taking some accumulated vacation days, then Jan is reassigning her. That's really all I can tell you, for confidentiality purposes. I'm sorry, Pam.

Toby


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*



I'm not that desperate.

Yes, I am.



*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

To: Michael Scott
From: Pamela Beesly

Michael,

Why did Karen quit?

Pam

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Pam knew it was going to take awhile. Michael was at his desk, on his computer, probably preparing some appalling presentation for Ryan's business school class that afternoon. Or, perhaps checking some symptoms on Web MD. It's about time for him to come down with something again. He wasn't always very consistent about checking his email when he was playing on his computer.


She chanced a glance at Jim, finally grateful for his new desk, for him facing away from her. She noticed that he was working. He was actually....working. And he looked as if he were concentrating. But his shoulders were slumped and there was tension in them.


He doesn't want me anymore, but he doesn't want me to be with anyone else.


And just like that, just as if he were leaning over her desk, as in the days before: forearms slung over the counter, sleeves rolled up, leaning his long frame bent almost double to get as close to her ear as possible, she heard it. She actually heard his voice-- low, gravelly.


I do want you. I always have.


She paled, looked up. He had hardly moved-- there he was, sitting at his desk, still working. He had not left it to come to reception, he had not leaned over to speak in her ear.


And yet, she had actually heard his voice.


She bounded out of her chair, leaving the springs squeaking conspicuously. She nearly raced to the break room That's it-- I'm losing my mind to do something, anything: use the bathroom, splash water on her face, get a cup of tea. Sit at the table and pretend to read the paper, try to get the fragments of what was left of her mind put back together.


She settled on the ladies room. It would be a safe haven, from him.....but not from Kelly.


"Oh my God, Pam, you look horrible! Wow, I have some concealer in my purse for that complexion. Your circles are actually kinda pink.....weird. Hey, did you have a nice long weekend?"


"No....not really."


"Oh my God, how did I forget? That scene at the wedding was SOOOOO romantic. I swear it was like a movie, Pam. OhmyGod I would SOOOOO die to have two guys fighting over me. Weren't you just......."


"No, Kelly. They weren't fighting over me. Well, maybe Roy was, but not Jim."


"He so totally was! Haven't you heard about Karen?"


But the door of the restroom had already started to swing shut. She would use the bathroom later; it was time for a cup of tea after all.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


To: Pamela Beesly
From: Michael Scott

You know I am Jim's friend. Friends don't kiss and tell. OK, I would never kiss Jim, that's just......yuck. Geesh. Friends don't kiss and tell secondhand.

Michael

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



To: Michael Scott
From: Pamela Beesly

Oh. I was just thinking that you, of all people, would be in the know about everything around here. I mean, you are a good boss--people confide in you and all.

Thanks anyway,

Pam

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To: Pamela Beesly
From: Michael Scott

Yes, people do confide in me. And since I'm so close to both of you, I will tell you this, but you can't let on that I told you. It's a secret.

Jim broke up with Karen this weekend. So she left. Now we're down to just Andy from Stamford.

Michael



*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*



She stared at the words for a long time, read them over and over, sneaking glances at the back of Jim's neck. The tension was still there. She let her glance skitter away before he felt it and turned in his chair.


Maybe it shouldn't, but this changes things.

Maybe he does want me after all.

Maybe I'm not completely crazy, yet.



*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*



Jim grabbed his sack lunch and made his way to the break room. He hadn't been in the mood for pranks, and he hadn't been in the mood for sports chatter with Kevin and Toby, or reading the paper, or cruising the internet, even. So he had actually had one of the most productive work days he had experienced in a long, long time.


He sat, and he waited for Pam. She was a woman of routine, and ate her lunch at almost the same time every day, even though they all could choose their own lunch time.


He ate his sandwich; it was tasteless. When is food ever going to taste good again? He glanced at the paper, not even reading the words, but just skimming them for the basics and staring at the pictures and captions.


Finally he made up a reason to go back to his desk. She was still sitting at reception. It was time. He stopped at her desk, resting his hand on the counter.


"Hey," he greeted her softly "you're eating today, right?"


She was still quiet, still subdued. But that sense of hollowness seemed gone, at least. He didn't even try to hide that he was staring down at her.


"Yeah, I'm just going to eat at my desk. Making up for yesterday, and all that." She shuffled some papers on her desk, needlessly, Jim knew. "I have to leave a little early to get to my art show, so I'm working through lunch."


I'm giving nothing away there. I want to see it tonight-- I want to see her when she doesn't expect me. See through this facade she's putting up. "Find her in her artwork", as her mother said.


He wanted to lean down, to see if he could read a little more in that face that seemed just a little less pale than this morning, just a little more hopeful. He wanted to see if he could make her smile again, make her laugh. She's not ready for that, and neither am I. Not today, not yet.


Well, maybe just one smile. If I can coax it out.


"That reminds me of third grade." He smiled down at her, softly. She's not completely blowing me off, not yet. It's something.


She frowned a little, considering, and he imagined kissing that tiny worry line between her delicate brows.


Let's not go there, please. Focus, Halpert............


"What do you mean?" It's good to talk to him this way, it feels like me again. Like us.


"You remember, eating at your desk in school? Sometimes it was supposed to be a punishment, but we always secretly loved it." His smile turned to a grin as he felt her warm to him.


Her own smile started in her eyes, and finally reached her lips. He knew it was an honest smile, if a little fragile. "Isn't working here like third grade?"


"Absolutely. I mean, we have the uptight lunch lady....." Pam stifled a grin as Angela walked by, "the one that always piled the green beans in those little cups, but skimped on the tater tots." He smiled down at her, continuing. It felt good, it felt almost like old times.


"And we have the bumbling principal, the one all the teachers know secretly fell into the job because his father-in-law is on the school board. The one who is fairly good with kids because he's a big kid himself." She was nodding subtly, thinking of that.


"We don't have recess, though." She countered.


He tapped her desk. "No, but we have parties, lots of class parties. Sometimes even with cellophane-wrapped popcorn balls." She giggled. It was the best thing he had heard in a very long time, so he decided to go for it.


"And we have puppy love crushes, of course." She gasped, though very quietly. "And some that aren't just crushes." He smiled at her, tapped her desk a couple more times and went back to his.


That's enough, for today. I'll see her tonight.

There were no nerves, which surprised him. He didn't know why that was, but he was grateful for it as he walked into Pam's art show.


The gallery was still full of artists and patrons, though there were only fifteen minutes left before the show closed. They were milling around, conversing quietly with that air of seriousness that Jim always noticed at events of culture. Shouldn't fine arts be more joyful? Shouldn't it sound more like a 'Sixers game?


He walked through the displays, glancing at the artwork but looking intently for Pam. It seemed a maze of paintings and drawings; one leading into another somehow, taking him on what seemed to be a purposeful course.


He found her at the end of it, standing quietly, gazing at her own artwork and worrying her bottom lip in her teeth.


She looks near to tears. And no one is here. Where is everyone?


He knew it was selfish and he knew it was wrong, but he stood for a moment where he knew she couldn't see him, just to watch her for a little longer. It made him smile, how mindfully she was trying to look like an artist, with her purple turtleneck, smooth side ponytail, and black jumper.


She's an artist even when she's not thinking about it. Doesn't she know that?


Still, there were no nerves. Hands in pockets, he came up slowly from behind her. Quietly: "Hey."


She turned, her surprise at seeing him written all over her face. "Jim," she breathed, as if she was convincing herself that he were really here. He smiled down at her.


"So....." he said, "here it is." He stood, hands still in pockets, turning toward what was displayed before him. He could feel her next to him, twisting her hands, looking down at them. He was looking at her artwork, but he wasn't seeing it. Instead, he was trying to find a way to keep his hands in his pockets, to settle himself so that he would not pull her into his arms, put his chin on the top of her head, and hold her until this vulnerability and hurt that he could feel pouring out of her finally dissipated.


It took a moment, but he was well-practiced in suppressing his urges and reactions when it came to her. His vision cleared, and he focused on her work.


A stapler. A coffee cup. A vase of flowers. Their building. A bowl of fruit. A tall red brick building. Jim realized that he didn't know much about art, but he could tell that these were reasonably good renditions. They were realistic, decently executed.


And soulless.


He looked a little longer, a little more closely at the painting of their building, their parking lot. So much there, but nothing in her painting. Not her, and not him, and certainly not them-- just a cold reproduction of the actual structure. Even the sky in that painting looked cold.


He would have stood there for a long time, searching. But she spoke. "They're not really......." She seemed to falter, to hesitate over her choice of words. He couldn't look at her now. He wanted to just hear her. "They're not really who I am. They're just paintings."


He nodded his head. "Yeah."


Thank God. He's not going to patronize me.


She wrinkled her brow, considering. "I don't really know how to.....do that. I don't know how to put....myself....in my work." She shook her head, searching for the right words.


He nodded his head again, peering closer at the vase of flowers. "Yeah." He was starting to lose focus on her artwork, starting to focus on her, though he still did not look at her. "I know who you are, though." She went stock-still beside him. But he continued.


"And....I know who I am, when I'm with you, even though I've never really been....with you." He paused, looked down at his feet for a moment, then dared a glance at her. She was wide-eyed; her eyes did not leave his face. If I were an artist, I'd make a thousand paintings just of those eyes......


He looked back at her artwork. There were still some remnants, no matter how much he didn't want there to be, of a dark parking lot and a blue dress and her talking on his phone in the empty office. He had to take a moment to gather his courage. But he continued again,


"Just being around you makes me a better person, Pam. A better man." He hesitated. "Maybe you could find a way to paint that." He wished he were better with words, had all the right ones to say, but he continued anyway. It was important to finish this thought. "Because you're the only one who ever could."


The world shifted again, only this time it was full of colors and textures, lines and shapes-- she saw her art exploding behind her eyes, felt the materials under her fingers and the canvases under her hands as it flowed from her, and from him, and found life and form through her brush strokes.


It was the genesis of her artistry, of her real artwork.


She finally looked at him. Unbelievably, she was still standing, and he was looking down at her, waiting. Smiling, a little bit. "Yes...." she muttered. "I could paint that."


And she watched him as that answer satisfied him, as he smiled and turned back to her paintings. And she finally understood.


That little bit of something--a simple sentence, open to interpretation, has satisfied him.


Because that's all I have ever been able to give him, ever, though he means everything to me--


"Me too...."


"You have no idea....."


She closed her eyes. Courage. Honesty. Just like Gil and Oscar said.


She reached down to his forearm, bare with his sleeves rolled up, just like she liked them. She pulled his hand out of his pocket and set it in her own palm, tracing patterns along his fingers and the back of his hand with her fingertips. "I'd start with your hands," she began, "because they're beautiful. Maybe that's wrong to say about a man's hands, but they are." She covered his large hand with her own palm for a moment. "And they tell so much about you, did you know that?" She traced more patterns along them, as Jim closed his eyes and willed himself to stay silent and motionless, steady. But she didn't see it; she was still concentrating on those hands. "It's a start. Because I'd never be able to draw your face."


Courage. Honesty.


She looked up at him. It put her off, it made her hitch her breath, the way he was looking at her. But she continued; she would not be afraid, this time. "There are too many expressions on it. I know a lot of them, but I don't think I know them all....." Keep looking at him. Don't look away, don't look down. Courage. ".....yet."


"No," he finally answered, "....not yet. But you will."


Honesty.


Give him the words. All of them.


"I'm going to paint what I love, who I love..... what I know. Who I am." She swallowed, but did not falter, did not look away. "So I'm going to be looking at you quite a bit from now on, and I'm going to be painting us. Because I'm the only one who ever could."

Pam had finally nodded off, near dawn. But Jim still could not sleep, and he was afraid that his restlessness would keep her from getting what little sleep she could before they started their workday.


He wandered a bit aimlessly around his apartment, made some coffee, and booted up his computer.

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To: Jim Halpert
From: Diane Beesly

Now it's my turn to apologize in advance. I just can't help myself, Jim, and you don't have to answer if it's too private for you.

But, did you go to Pam's art show?

Love,

Diane Beesly

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To: Diane Beesly
From: Jim Halpert

Hi Mrs. Beesly,

I did. I didn't find Pam or myself in her artwork. But she tells me that will be changing very soon. I believe she is inspired to begin painting from her heart. And from mine.

I'll see you soon. And....thank you.

Love to you,

Jim

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