Pam tapped the rhythm of the Jewel song with her stiletto heal, listening to the soft clap of plastic on tile. After her chat with Jim beside the bar, she had felt the overwhelming need to escape somewhere quiet and replay the conversation. She’d often done this in the old days when he’d make a comment that cracked the door to his real feelings. She’d sit in silence and conjure every detail: the inflection of his gravely voice as it rolled over the syllables, the slight stubble on his chin that made her think of lazy weekends, and the way his eyes danced on her face as if to read a hidden meaning in the laugh lines or eyelashes.

Now she sat leaning against the French door on a terrace outside the ballroom lost in the same sense of nostalgia and longing.

He was flirting with her. She couldn’t get past it. The familiar rhythm of the conversation that they had built up over years of lust and denial that had all but faded away when he left her was back for tonight. Who knows why? Alcohol, the romance of the wedding, or her satin dress could have brought back the tiny glimmer of the man she once knew.

Slowly, carefully she relived their interactions in the past four hours.

After her talking head in front of the gift table, where she let America (or whoever was going to see the documentary) know that she was onto Phyllis about the wedding decorations, she scanned the chapel for a familiar mop of brown hair. She spotted him standing in a corner with Dwight, their heads bent close and his finger on his lip like he was thinking hard. She smiled slightly to herself as she recognized the stance he took when he humored someone, and strolled over to the pair with more bravado that she would have thought possible.

He saw her as she was closing in on them, about five feet away. His eyes widened, conveying the hilarity of the situation. Dwight was bent over muttering as he wrote in a small steno pad that she knew he carried everywhere (it said “Case Files, A Completely Public Account of Very Boring Things” a title that he had come up with the afternoon he read the Wikipedia article on reverse psychology).

Pam quirked her eyebrows, and Jim mouthed “Wedding Crashers” and winked. A plan was born.

The remaining five feet Pam half ran. She grabbed his elbow roughly, gave him a confused look, and said quickly “Jim, something odd is going on.”

Jim summoned the most curious look he could muster while trying to maintain a straight face. “Like what?” Dwight perked up, stepping to close to her for comfort.

“Well, I don’t know,” she looked around in mock uncertainty, “It’s just I heard Phyllis say that only about one hundred guests were invited, but doesn’t this look like a lot more than that to you?” She glanced back up at him, biting her lip.

He’d let himself forget how good at this she was, so when she delivered these lines with complete sincerity he let himself be properly nostalgic. It soon passed as he felt both of their gazes waiting for agreement. Dwight beat him to it though, “Oh Pam, you artistic types are so naïve,” He said through gritted teeth. “You and Jim are so weak.” He glanced around as if he could identify the crashers just by appearance. After a moment of silence he turned his attention back to Pam, “You posses a woman’s intuition. Tell me, did any certain individual look especially suspicious?”

“Yea…actually,” she looked as if this just dawned on her, “This guy in front of me asked me what the lucky couples name was.”

“Gotcha, sucker!” Dwight’s chest puffed out, “ASL?”

Now Pam was genuinely confused, “Excuse me?”

“Age, Sex, Location. It’s a chat room acronym.” Jim supplied with a barely concealed smirk.

“Pam, you need to educate yourself on twenty-first century lingo. Now, what is is ASL?”

“Um. He was a man as far as I could tell, he looked about forty-five and I don’t really know where he lives. He was about 5’11 and had brown hair, but-“

Before Pam could finish, Dwight interrupted “I’m on it!” and stalked away.

She turned towards Jim, who had a giant smile on his face, “Nice, describing half the people here.”

She smiled her toothy smile and explained, “Well, Phyllis has enough to deal with, with Michael in the wedding party. This will keep our hero busy until the reception starts.”

“Pam Beesly: Pranking for the good of Woman Kind. I never knew you were such a do-gooder.”

“I guess we are even then, I never knew you were a chat room fanatic.”

“I’ll admit I had some lonely nights, sexxii4u429 really gets me, you know?”

“Who gets you?” Karen strolled over and caught the end of the sentence.

Pam jumped on the opportunity to be a little cordial to the brunette, “Jim’s online secret lover. Sexxii4u429.”

Karen, catching on, turned in mock disapproval, “Jim if someone else is on your mind, then I should just give up now. Really, I can’t compete.” The words were delivered in a joking tone but they rang true to all three of them.

The silence was deafening. Karen’s eyes widened and Pam fidgeted.

Jim’s eyebrows shot up as if he was trying to figure out whether the apparent sub-text was intentional or not. To escape the increasingly awkward moment, Pam stated “I’m going to go talk to Kevin and Stacey, you guys have fun!” she said in a grossly cheery voice and turned around.

As she glanced back, she saw him mutter “What was that?”

They had danced. The cameras didn’t catch it though (which was lucky, considering their obsession to the smallest moments between the two of them), they were to focused on Uncle Al wandering around at a stop light. Pam had been chatting with Toby and his girlfriend (she was so happy for him) when Jim had gracefully asked her to dance.

She agreed, and here they were, swaying back and forth to a Jazz number coming over the loud speaker.

“Where’s Karen?” she asked, and immediately regretted. Really, did she have to ruin everything?

“Talking about New York City with Stacey. She lived there for a  couple of years in college.”

“Wow, I did not know that. How did she end up here, with Kevin of all people?” she was acutely aware of his large hands lying on her hips, offering a pleasant warmth.

“I didn’t stick around to find out. Came to find you.” His smile was a little lopsided, so she figured his new found boldness originated from a glass. Her palms were sweating a little as she clasped them behind his neck.

“I’m glad. I was having a very awkward conversation with Toby and Celina.”

“Awkward because….?”

“Oh, nothing. He just acts a little weird around me sometimes.” The conversation was veering off towards something she didn’t want to discuss right now, when things were going so good.

“Like he’s infatuated? I know you know what that looks like.” Ok, he was drunk. She’s never seen him this bold. “Come on, Pam, its ridiculously obvious.” His voice was tight with frustration, and what Pam didn’t dare to guess was jealousy.

“Well,” she said trying to keep the conversation light, “it looks like he got over me fast.” Some how, she didn’t think they were talking about Toby anymore. What was up with the subtext tonight?

“Probably not.” She heard him mutter, and took the opportunity to change the topic.

“Speaking of Kevin. I’ll give you thirty bucks if you convince him to do “Baby Got Back.”

“ I don’t know, Beesly. You probably shouldn’t bet against my persuasion skills when Kevin is involved.”

“Oh, yes. I forgot. He thinks you’re the bees knees.”

He gave her the lopsided smile again, “Did you just say ‘bees knees’? How old are you, sixty?”

“Sixty-seven and three quarters, thank you.”

“Your very welcome.”

The music cut off quickly as one of Bob’s groomsmen got up to make a toast. They took their seats at the round tables, and the moment was lost.

Then, when the party was in full swing she spotted him by the bar. She doesn’t quite remember what was said, but he last statement sent waves of shock and pleasure running through her, “ I know, and it is very cute.”

Back on the terrace, she smiled as the memory took a hold of her and let her hope for a few seconds before visions of a brunette in his arms grounded her firmly on earth.

Really, they were so cute together. The all-American couple. They’d be on a commercial for wedding rings or condoms. Who was she to-

“Hey.” she watched his silhouette amble towards her. In times like this it was not the sheer attraction she experienced when he was close by (the flushed cheeks, unsteady legs and racy thoughts included) that surprised her, but the knowledge that she could have once deluded herself into thinking that it was part of a normal platonic relationship.

            Once he took his (rightful) place beside her on the terrace steps, she noticed he was considerably less dressed than he was back in the ball room. His sleeves were pushed up to the crook of his elbows exposing the tight forearms she’d once been able to see all day. His hair was a little more tousled and the stubble across his chin hinted at a late night. All of this made up the almost ideal version of himself that Pam wasn’t sure she’d ever see again.

            He looked at her with eyes that smiled and handed her a small plate of cake. “Thought you might get hungry from all that non-dancing your doing.” He winked at her and propped his chin in his hands to stare at the garden of the reception hall.

            Giddy, she took the plate and grinned up at him, “It does work up quite an appetite. I don’t know how I survived without you.”

            “You and me both.” He muttered.

            As she relished the comfortable early spring breeze, the silence lured Pam into thought. She considered the odd place her life was in right now. She felt as if she was in between stages, floating. Like the sherbert that fancy restaurants pass around in between courses to cleanse the pallet. That is what she was doing right now, readying herself for something new and fresh.

            She could feel the warmth of his arm through the thin white cotton of his shirt, and could only hope that he was the next course.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the clamor of a squeaking door below their terrace and a small stern voice, “ D, we really shouldn’t be out here. Anyone could catch see us. Michael, Phyllis, or even Kelly. Like she would have anything to talk about, her always sucking on that temp.” She glanced towards Jim to find his wide, excited eyes a little more sober than they had been back in the ballroom.

            Before either of them could react, another voice joined in a calming tone, “Now Monkey. Don’t blame Kelly, she can’t refuse Ryan’s universal virility. He’s pure man.” Dwight paused for a moment to endure what Pam and Jim could only imagine was a death glare from ‘Monkey’. “Besides everyone’s in there drunk off of their ass-I mean butts.” Pause. “Derrières. Rear Ends.” A defeated sigh met their ears.

            Pam and Jim were stunned. Well, Jim more than Pam. Caught up in his own love sick situation, he didn’t know anything about the budding romance between Dwight and Angela, while Pam knew but didn’t really like to think about it actually existing.

            Jim elbowed her and mouthed (lip-reading always having been one of their strong suits), “What the Fuck?” 

            Pam bit her lip and raised her eyebrows mischievously. 

            “You knew?” he mouthed again, face contorting into curiosity and mock outrage.

            She just smiled.

            Slowly he leaned forward, and for a wild moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he whispered in her ear with that gravely male voice she had just been contemplating, “I’ll be taking my friendship bracelet back, you know.”

            After she recovered she pointed to her wrist and whispered “Sorry, I left it at home beside my girl-scout sash and my Little Orphan Annie Decoder Ring.”

            Just as he was in the middle of whispering “A Christmas Story references are not fair game when I am trying to un-best friend you, Bee-“ he was interrupted by Dwight moaning lightly.

            “Oh Monkey, why can’t we open up about our love to the office? Then we wouldn’t have to have these clandestine rendezvous all the time. In the Stairwell, in my Car, behind the 9x12 ultra-super bright white in the wear house right beside Roy’s desk... It gets tiring.” Something in his voice sounded tenderer as he whined at her, but that may have been because he wasn’t describing three ways to kill a man with a toothbrush and some sticky tack.

            “We keep the Warehouse. The lighting is good.” Suddenly it dawned on Pam why Angela’s desire to be in the warehouse had nothing to do with lighting. Before she could get properly disgusted, a muffled yelp was heard in the reception hall that sounded suspiciously like their Regional Manager.

At the sound of Michael’s desperate whoop, Pam and Jim heard scuffling and apologies from Dwight (including the words “safety officer” and “duty”) as he rushed Angela inside to see what was the matter.

            There was silence on the third story terrace as Jim raised his eyebrows at Pam, and she tried to look meek. Finally he said simply, “You knew. You knew and you didn’t tell.” He shook his head slowly to convey his disappointment, but the pleased smile on his face said otherwise.

            “There never seemed to be a good time?” he cocked his head to the side as if to say “That isn’t good enough, and you know it.”

            “Besides, it’s not like I walked in on them making out,” at this is grimaced, “on her desk after work. It’s just something that grew.”

            “Like a weed. Or depression.”

            “Ah, wit. I can see you’re no longer upset with me?” she gave him a look of mock-hope.

            “I guess, your very hard to resist when I have this much alcohol in me.” Again with the subtext, it was obviously contagious.

            “You don’t look drunk anymore.” She paused, wandering if she should mention earlier. “Not like on the dance floor.”

            “Well, you know what Kevin does to me Beesly.” He started to hum “Don’t Stand So Close To Me.” Of course he decided to dodge her gentle pry into the existence of his newfound kindness to her. With this much sidestepping, they were almost dancing, Pam thought.

            “I guess I misinterpreted your feelings for…” she trailed off, realizing that maybe they weren’t talking about Kevin any more.

            “Kevin.” He stated, reminding her of the status quo.

            Before she could say anything else, his phone jingled quietly. He gave her an apologetic look and extracted it from his pocket. Staring at the caller ID he said softly “Karen. Probably wondering where I am.”

            Aren’t we all, Pam thought. To avoid anymore awkwardness, she waved towards the door and said “I better get back in, don’t want to miss the bouquet toss.”

            “Would be a tragedy.” He said as he smiled and opened the phone.

            She took that as her cue, and stepped though the French doors back into the party. Breathing a complicated sigh, she found her seat next to Toby and his date and made small talk about the other wedding guests.

Some time later, after Jim had reentered the party and Toby was congratulating the bride and groom she glanced out a window and saw Roy walking to his car. About half way there, he looked up towards the building and gave a sorrowful look. Maybe I’m not the only one who expected something to happen tonight, Pam thought as she turned back to see the reception goers dwindling down to a few.

Her silk dress bunched up as she slid in her car, much to her annoyance. The smooth brown material hadn’t worked the miracles she’d conjured in the dressing room a month ago, but Pam figured you couldn’t remedy a situation this twisted with a couple of yards of cheap silk and a pretty hair do.

He’d noticed though, she told herself. The way his eyes traveled down her body on more than one occasion tonight had reminded her of a different time where she had taken these little displays of lust and longing for granted. When they were dancing his thumbs ran little circles on her hips and he tightened his hold on her just the slightest when they had talking about Toby’s crush. The hungry glances and not-so-innocent touches had all but stopped as he dug himself deeper in his relationship with a woman that Pam didn’t dislike as much as she figured she ought to.

Any other night, the hollow shell of her car and the songs of devotion playing on the easy listening channel would have driven her to the safe confines of her apartment and bad reality television. Tonight though, called for an escape of another kind, the kind found in a bottle.

She debated just stopping at the liquor store and picking up something for home, but she’d had enough of getting drunk alone this summer. She pulled into the parking lot of Poor Richard’s with a resolve she hadn’t felt in a long time. Tonight she was going to get drunk, and she was going to enjoy herself, damnit.

As she entered the bar, the musty scent and raucous laughter greeted her like an obligatory ‘hello’ to an old friend that you didn’t really even like that much. She hoped she could lose herself in the mess of sports fanatics and lonely drunks.

She saddled up to the bar, ordered a Miller Lite, and tried her damndest to identify the sports team playing on the screen. It wasn’t long, though that she lost interest in the TV and glanced around at her bar mates. Her first impulse was, always, to sketch anyone particularly interesting looking. The quiet older couple in the corner sitting close on the same side of the booth leaning towards each other would make for a wonderful charcoal, and the man passed out near the door with his head resting on the table top would be stunning with oil on canvas. But, tonight was for the other Pam inside of her, and quietly sketching the bar goers for scenes she would never lift from the napkin was just a little to “Dunder Mifflin this is Pam” for her current liking.

It wasn’t long before she noticed that the majority of the noise was coming from a large group of twenty-some things who appeared to be playing some sort of drinking game. They were all around her age, but the angle was wrong for her to spot anyone she knew.

Her little phone buzzed in her pocket.

Text message from her sister, Lisa, who had an achingly perfect marriage which showed when she used words like “love connection” not ironically. She just hadn’t been in the dating pool since about 1989.

Yes, actually! I found true love with a man, Mr. Miller Lite and Michael met his soul mate, Phyllis’s uncle Al.  

How very Jim-like of her to deflect with humor. Really, couldn’t she just suck it up and talk about it?

A few swigs and half-hearted glances at the screen later, her phone vibrated again,

 Sounds Hot. You scored on that one, hun. But, seriously, I’m not interrupting something with Mr. Halpert am I?

Did I not mention, Jim and I are making sweet sweet love in a broom closet at Phyllis’s wedding. Must have slipped my mind. Pam smiled a little to herself as she sent that off. If only, she thought.

Before another sarcastic comment could cause her phone to go into a frenzy, someone joiner her little corner of the bar.

“Hi. This isn’t taken is it?” A man stood next to her wearing what her sister would have called “college professor chic”. Corduroy slacks, slightly wrinkled blue button down, and a tweed blazer. With elbow patches. Above all though, Pam noticed something else. He was handsome. No, hot. He was hot. Dark olive skin with chocolate brown hair and a nice smile made up the image in front of her.

“No. No. Go ahead.” She gestured towards the bar stool next to her. Between Tall Dark and Handsome and Chubby Stinking and Passed out, she’d take the former.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but your pretty dressed up for Poor Richard’s on a Saturday night.” He smiled shyly.

“Yea, I must look pretty odd. A co-worker of mine got married, and there was just enough love and devotion in that situation to drive me to drinking.”

“No love connection?”

Pam spit out the gulp of beer in her mouth. The dark stranger’s eyes widened, and Pam realized she must look like a freak, spitting everywhere.

“No, no,” she started as she felt the blush filling her face rapidly, “My sister just said something like that…” His eyes widened playfully, painfully reminding her of someone she was determined to forget tonight.

“Well, I guess it’s expected at weddings.” He stated, gracefully ignoring the cheap beer he was showered in.

They talked for at least an hour before she noticed how drunk she really was. Champagne from the wedding, a few lite beers, and some expensive shots the stranger, Adam, had ordered for her worked to make her cheeks rosy and her inhibitions low. The problem, though, is that she is a flirty drunk.

It’s nice, she thought, to talk to someone who had no preconceived notions as to who she was. There was something freeing about the way he looked at her as if she were the answer to some ancient math problem, but that could just be the fact that  he’d had a couple of the shots himself.

She could do it, she realized. Sleeping with him would be so easy. She’d turn up the flirting, lean towards him and then invite him over. He’d accept, she thought, a little cocky. They wouldn’t even get to the bed, just end up going at it on her couch, like nervous teenagers. It would feel okay. Good, even.

But after an orgasm or two, dream-filled sleep, and the sun peeking through her curtains, she’d be back where she started.

In love and alone.

So, kept the flirting to a minimum and their conversation turned to the subject of work and family.

“Are you a teacher?” she asked, not thinking, after telling him the complete history of her time at Dunder Mifflin (omitting the juicy parts, of course).

“Yea. Well, sort of. I’m a student teacher.” He looked down at his empty beer bottle, suddenly shy, “I was a journalist, but last summer I figured out that I would much rather be lecturing a bunch of bored teenagers about punctuation and tenses.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“About as exciting as being a receptionist.” He raised his eyebrows playfully as he took a jab at her.

“Ouch.” She clutched at her chest in mock pain. After a moment of silence, she stated “Well, its not that bad sometimes. The people I work with are…” she trailed off as the group of people  in the corner gave a loud cheer, and started chanting unintelligibly.

She started again, this time louder, “Some of the people I work with are complete freaks.” The chanting grew louder, “Like, there this one guy who sleeps in the office every night, and he steals…everything.” She made a sweeping gesture, but her hand stopped midair as the sound of the rowdy drinkers escalated.

“Good lord,” Adam said as he looked over his shoulder, “Some people and there drinks, right?”

“Yea…” Pam stared at the group of men for a while before being goaded back into conversation by Adam.

“So, you were telling me about your work. The Freaks.”

“Oh Yeah. And, my boss, completely delusional. He thinks he’s Jim Carrey’s and David Blaine’s love child or something.” Ok, that didn’t even make since, Pam thought. Sounded good though.

“But, there’s gotta be someone normal in your office, someone you can connect to, right?”

            “No. Yea. I mean there’s Phyllis. And Kelly. And Karen.” She finished lamely, too scared to say the name she wanted. The name that her brain was screaming at her.

Then Pam heard it, “Jim, Jim, Jim, Jim, Jim…” It was like listening to a radio while you’re sleeping, the voices or music weaving into your dream, making themselves comfortable. The voice in her head wasn’t in her head. It was coming from the crowd of twenty-whatevers from the corner tables. “Jim, Jim, Jim, Jim…”

It was a chorus of the last thing and the first thing she wanted to her, in her inebriated state with the half-drunken stranger about to take her home and fuck her. She smiled lightly to herself as she thought of telling him about being drunk and hitting on random guys in a bar. He’d call them “poor unsuspecting victims” and she’d say something along the lines of “You’re right, I should warn them before I make a complete fools of myself and…wink my self into a frenzy.” Then he’d make a comment about how he didn’t appreciate sexual innuendo’s in the office and-.

Okay. She couldn’t do this anymore. Script conversations her head, like some crazed fan. It was just a little to Michael with “Threat Level Midnight” for her tastes.

So, she sufficed with watching a random bunch of strangers who had now ceased to sing his name.

Infact, they were clearing out, saying goodbyes. She watched as three or four of them gathered their unused jackets and called for taxi’s or loved ones for rides home.

“Pam?” Adam said quietly. She glanced at him for a quick moment, and found him with a concerned expression screwing up his good looks.

Shit, she thought. He’s probably been trying to talk to me.  “You okay?”

Just as she was about to reply that she was fine, she cast her eyes back to the corner.

The eyes that she had so often felt on her behind reception now stared openly at her from across an empty bar, completely nonchalantly. Like she was just some girl that he happened to find mildly attractive at a pub at one thirty in the morning.  He stood leaning against a table with his suit jacket no where insight and his shirt untucked fro his slacks.

She did the only thing she could think to do, she stared back, like some visualization of their entire relationship. Two people with so much space in between them, able to feel so close without actually doing any thing about it. Only instead of a half a dozen tables, crumpled napkins and empty beer bottles filling the gap, they had half a dozen missed chances, crumpled relationships, and empty words residing in the ever-widening space.

By refusing to move anywhere, they were saying that all of that was to messy to deal with, that it was too much. They, who considered themselves to be in love.

Really, they were cowards, Pam thought, not even registering Adam calling her name as she slid off of her stool and took her first step towards him.

New Guy

Shyness

Katy

Roy

I’m sorry I misinterpreted our friendship.

Pam, Jim transferred.

Merger

Karen

Distance

Obstacles were being pushed, cleaned, scooted, merged, as she slowly but surely closed the distance between them.

His flushed, stubbly face registered amused curiosity as she stared up at him with eyes full of conviction. 

Years later, both would claim they were the first one to close the final 6 inches between them. There would be playful arguments and made up details, but all of that was to come.

Now they were two people with lips desperately pressing against each other and hands clasped in hair and behind waists.

Neither one could remember it being this good last time, because, god damnit, they would have remembered.

There weren’t fireworks or lightening, but there was one thing. A long sigh of finally.

When air became an issue, they pulled away reluctantly with glazed eyes.

Pam was the first to speak, “Wish I wasn’t drunk.”

He laughed, “Kissing’s better when you’re drunk.”

“We would know. It seems to work for us.”

“I think we need to work harder.”

“As always.” She said, leaning in for another kiss, not even registering the fact that tat didn’t even make that much sense.

After a cab was called, drinks paid for, and the Karen issue settled (“We’re over. I want to kiss you like that, even when we aren’t drunk.”), they spent the rest of the night passed out on her couch promising to talk about things in the morning.

            They’d talk about it after aspirins and waters, but for now they were just comfortable to lay close and sleep.