"--kidding me? May, at the latest."
"Well, all I can say is that they'd better hook up before we go on hiatus, or there'll be hell to pay with the network."
Jim Halpert rounded the tail of the black van, jingling his keys and pulling his coat closed against the wind. "Hey, guys."
Leon the cameraman and a short, middle-aged black woman were sitting in the open door of the van, smoking. "Hey, Jim." Leon gestured at the woman. "Have you met Stella Dickinson? She's one of our editors."
Jim nodded at her. "Nice to meet you. I'm--"
"Jim Halpert," she said. "I know."
There was probably very little about his life at the office these two didn't know. It made him uncomfortable to think about it. Jim looked at the black equipment cases piled around the open door, at the two of them puffing smoke into the cold evening air. "Going home?"
Leon waved his cigarette. "Dead battery. We called Triple-A, but they can't get here for another half hour. So we're taking it easy."
Jim nodded. "Yeah. And you're blocking my car." He leaned against his car, parked in the space between the van and the fence.
"Oh, sorry," Stella said. "We thought we'd be out of here before you left."
"Damn. And on Friday night, too," Leon said. "You got a date with Karen?"
Jim looked from one to the other. Their faces were blank, neutral. Too much so. He felt as if he were the butt of some joke he had not yet figured out. "No, actually. She's in New York this weekend. Which I think you guys already knew."
The older woman nodded, flipped her cigarette butt in a fiery arc to land in a puddle of snowmelt. "Yeah, Leon. Don't you remember her talking head?"
Leon nodded. "Oh, that's right."
Are they teasing me? But why? Jim opened his car door and tossed his messenger bag inside. He closed the door and leaned against it, facing the crew members. "So. How's it going with the documentary? You guys written your Emmy acceptance speeches yet?"
"Not quite," Leon said shortly. He glanced at his watch. "Damn. Where's that tow truck?"
Jim smiled. "Looks like you're the one with the hot date."
Stella snorted. "Him? He's a geek. I'm the one who's late to pick my kids up from daycare. And they charge extra per minute after 5:30."
Jim looked up at the lowering sky. "Pretty socked in. Looks like snow pretty soon."
Leon swore softly, running a hand over his goatee. "Stella, call Triple-A again."
This might just be the opportunity he was waiting for. Jim crossed his arms, hugging himself against the cold. "I might be able to help you out."
Stella looked skeptically at him. "How so?"
"I have jumper cables. If all you need is a jump start, I can get you on your way."
Leon straightened. "Hey, man, that would be great! Thanks!"
Stella cocked her head, watching Jim.. "Wait a minute, Leon. I know that look. What does he want?"
Leon subsided. "Oh."
These guys know me way too well, Jim thought. "Look, all I'm asking for is a little peek."
Stella and Leon gave one another I-knew-it looks. "Look, Halpert..." Leon began.
Jim held up a hand. "I know. Contracts. Non-disclosure agreements. Secrets. I know. You can't show any of your footage to us poor guinea pigs." He heard the edge in his voice and ignored it. He was past caring what they thought of him. Too tired. "If you want to sit and wait for Triple-A, go ahead." He glanced up at the dark skies again. "'Course, if it starts snowing like I think it's going to, you might have a long wait..." He straightened, walked to his trunk, keying the electronic release. When the lid popped up, he rested one hand on it and looked at them. "What's it gonna be? Your call."
Leon looked at Stella. Stella looked at Leon. Leon scratched his goatee. "Will it affect the pool?" he asked in a low voice.
"So what?" Stella glanced at Jim. "What about some footage from when he was ... you know. Away."
Leon looked at Jim speculatively. "Give him a chance to catch up, you mean?"
Catch up on what? Jim wondered.
"Is that fair? If we let him catch up, shouldn't we let her..." Stella trailed off.
Leon half-smiled. "All's fair in--"
Stella held up a hand. "Not a word to the others."
Jim looked from one to the other, puzzled at this cryptic conversation.
Leon shrugged, looked at Jim. "You realize you can get us fired."
"But I won't. No one will know."
Leon looked at Stella. "Backup reel?"
"Yeah," she said, speaking to Leon but narrowing her eyes at Jim. "But which one?"
"What's your current edit?"
"That Diwali thing," she said.
Leon thought a moment. "Should be ... safe enough."
Safe? Jim thought.
Stella nodded. She hoisted herself to her feet and reached into the van, drew out a black vinyl zippered bag. She opened it, sorted through some shiny discs. "Okay, Halpert. You get one glimpse, and only one. And if I get fired for this, I'll come back and set fire to your car."
Jim smiled and reached into the trunk for his jumper cables. He suddenly felt as excited as a kid on his birthday. "I'll be very discreet."
Leon looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah. We know how ... discreet you can be," he said dryly. He held out a hand.
Jim wondered what that meant, even as he handed over the thick cables and his keys. "Okay."
Stella came up to him as Leon went around to the front of the van and popped the hoods on both vehicles. She held out a DVD in a paper sleeve. "This is gold, Halpert. It's from that Indian party they had a few weeks before you moved back down here. It's just the raw footage, in no particular order, unedited. Now, the audio may be crappy, 'cause I haven't synchronized the tracks. You may get some static, or some conversation overlapping from the crew--"
Jim almost grabbed the DVD out of her hand. "Whatever. It'll be fine. I appreciate this. And I won't tell anyone. Or show it to anyone else."
Stella looked at him, squinting, sizing him up. "I trust you, Halpert. Couldn't say that for anyone else in this zoo. But you're a regular guy. So don't screw me over on this."
"I won't."
Leon's head appeared, peering around the front of the black van. "Hey! All set here!"
Jim tucked the DVD into his overcoat pocket and went to start his car.
* * *
Leon flicked the turn signal as he paused in the exit of the Dunder-Mifflin driveway. Beside him in the passenger seat, Stella was already lighting another cigarette.
"You think this will do the trick?" she asked around the butt.
Leon shrugged, gave the gas pedal a nudge and drove into the street. "I hope so. Otherwise this damn thing will drag out until next Christmas. And I've got fifty bucks riding on it."
Stella blew a blue cloud of smoke and looked at him. "Only fifty? What a wuss."
"Whatev. I just hope this is the kick in the pants that mook needs."
Stella nodded, peering through the windshield. "God knows those two need a nudge."
Leon snorted. "Nudge? Man, those two need a freakin' bulldozer."
* * *
Jim breezed into his apartment, tossing his tie in one direction, his messenger bag in another. He used the remote control to turn on his television and his DVD player even as he was shrugging out of his overcoat. He retrieved the DVD from its pocket and tossed the coat over a chair. He thought about changing before he watched the video, but he couldn't wait. He slid the DVD into the tray and sat back to watch.
The main menu was about as plain vanilla as it could get: a list of scenes. Unfortunately, they were listed as numbers, such as "02:22:01:14 - 02:25:21:22". What the hell did that mean? At first it looked like military time, so that first one would be 2:22 AM, but what was that last set of numbers? And anyway, who would be shooting video of his office mates at two in the morning? Jim shrugged and clicked on the first "scene".
He was looking at Kelly and Ryan standing in front of Pam's reception desk, talking. A counter in the lower right hand corner of the frame was running numbers: he recognized the 02:22:01:14 sequence from the title. Ah, he thought. Hour, minute, second and ... frame? He clicked Pause and the counter froze at 02:22:31:02. Yeah, must be frame numbers.
Was that a ... dress ... on Ryan? Jim blinked and hit the Pause button again. There was no sound, but he could see that Ryan looked extremely uncomfortable. Kelly was fussing with his collar and giggling. With a sudden rumble, the sound kicked in, too loud. Michael was coming out of his office and saying, "Nice dress, Ryan."
Jim watched in fascination as the rest of the scene played out. Diwali? What was that? He paused the video, went to his computer and Googled the word. It took him a couple of links, but finally discovered that it was a big party. Okay. Parties were right up Michael's alley. Apparently he'd decided to make everyone go to this Diwali thing.
Jim clicked through a few boring sequences of people wandering through the office: Angela discussing some accounting trivia with Kevin, Ryan on the phone to (apparently) a stockbroker, Michael sniping at Toby over some insurance memo. He'd never really thought about how much sheer volume of footage the documentary crew must have been going through every single day, just to mine the few nuggets of interesting stories. He wondered what a final version would look like; would it show his day as being as stupefyingly dull as it was, or would it look more interesting than it was? No wonder Stella smoked.
At any rate, it was clear that this was footage from the Scranton office shot when he was in Stamford. He felt a bubble of anticipation; all of this would be totally new to him. A small, vain part of him was disappointed because he would not be able to watch himself on TV. Why had Stella picked this footage to share with him? Why not, oh, the Christmas party?
Well, he had wanted a peek, and here it was. Might as well see the whole thing. He went back to the menu and hit "Play All".
While the DVD played through the first few minutes he'd already seen, he went to the kitchen for a beer. When he got back, the first person he saw on his screen was Pam. He hit the pause button. There was a tight feeling in his chest.
Caught off guard, her eyes were sad. Her hair was up as usual, but her cheeks looked pale, and there was a hint of bags under her eyes. She looked as though she had not been sleeping well. He knew the feeling.
She was talking to Kelly. He turned up the sound. "I don't really have anyone to go with," Pam said.
"Well, go with Dwight," Kelly said. "He's single, too, right?"
"Yeah, totally single," Dwight said. "100% available."
Jim stabbed at the Pause button again. Was Dwight asking Pam out? Good God. And she'd never said anything. He took a long swig of beer, trying to drown the feeling of panic in his belly. Did he really want to watch any more of this?
Yeah, he did. He hit Play. The screen went black as the DVD transitioned to another segment, and then he recognized the break room. Kevin asked, "Are you guys going to this Indian thing tonight?"
"I dunno," Roy said. Roy? "Who's, uh, who's going?"
Kevin let a smile creep across his doughy face. "Mmm. You mean like, is Pam going?"
Jim scowled. He finished the rest of the beer, watching Angela's snotty remarks about monkey brains and Michael's earnest attempt to deflect it. He wondered if Pam and Roy had gone to Diwali together. Then he wondered if he really wanted to know. And why. It wasn't his business any more, was it? Not that it had ever been.
Jim was so preoccupied that he paid little or no attention to the first half of Michael's presentation on Indian culture in the conference room. God knows he'd sat through enough such meetings that he could turn off the sound and relive dozens of similarly yawn-inducing meetings. The camera mercilessly recorded his bright chatter, the expressions of terminal boredom on Toby's and Ryan's faces. But then Michael held up a little colored booklet and the camera zoomed in and Jim dropped his (empty) beer bottle on the floor. Was that a ... sex manual?
The light dawned. He'd heard whispered rumors of this meeting, back in Scranton, but he'd never known the details. Now he gaped in astonishment. Surely even Michael could not be that ... yes, apparently, he was. He was passing out copies of an Indian sex manual at a staff meeting. Jim chuckled, then laughed, and then leaned back in his chair and guffawed in a way he seldom allowed himself. Oh, God. That Michael. Oh, this was priceless.
Jim, watched, fascinated, as the scene unfolded: Michael asking, "Who has seen that before?", Pam paging through the booklet with fascinated interest (Jim felt a wave of heat go over him), Creed instantly identifying the sexual positions by name, followed by Meredith's recognition (and he really, really did not want to think about the implications of that). When Kevin said, "This is the best meeting we have ever had," Jim laughed and heartily agreed. What he wouldn't have given to have been there. How much fun would he and Pam have had over that meeting? But she'd never mentioned it to him. Another sign, he thought, of the gulf between us.
Jim was surprised when Toby agreed with Angela and ended the meeting. He'd thought Toby was more liberated than that, but maybe he was afraid he'd get reported if he didn't stop it. Still, that meeting was the kind of thing he'd have talked to Jim about over coffee, once upon a time. And Kev--why hadn't Kev emailed him about it? Jim felt a sense of loss. He'd never realized just how cut off he'd been in Stamford, from his old colleagues, from Michael, from ... well, from Pam. Yeah, he'd felt cut off from her. But then, he would have felt cut off from her even in the same room.
Good thing I've got Karen now. Yeah. Good thing.
He wondered what Karen would have made of that meeting. He thought Karen would have agreed with Toby, would have thought it was okay to stop the meeting. He thought about what Pam would have done--a secret shared wink? A smile of sympathy? Questions designed to make Michael look even more pitiable and clueless than he was? Questions that would make Angela squirm?
He thought about what it would have been like to share that sex booklet together, giggling over it during a lunch break. About how she would have looked at him, and maybe blushed, and made some arch remark, and he'd come back with a better one, and ...
Best not to think about that.
He hit Pause and got up for more beer. He also changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, thinking about everything he'd missed in Stamford (Pam. Michael. Kev. Pam. Toby. Even Dwight.) About everything he'd gained in Stamford (Karen). It didn't seem like a fair trade for missing out on things like the Kama Sutra meeting. On the other hand, how miserable would he have been, being next to Pam every day?
About as miserable as he was now.
And that was too much honesty on too few beers. He went back to the TV.
The scene changed again, to a reception hall filled with people in Indian dress.
"Make sure to cover the door," a voice said. Leon?
"I can't get an audio feed on Camera Two," said another voice. "Can someone check the wireless connection?"
"Michael hasn't turned on his microphone," someone else said. Jim caught a glimpse of a blonde head wearing a baseball cap backwards, then the speaker turned around and he recognized one of the cameramen. Was his name Cliff? "He always forgets. Someone remind him it has to be on."
"I'll do it," Second Voice said. There were jostling noises and the camera swung crazily. Jim felt a momentary twinge of vertigo.
Then the picture steadied and now Jim could see fairy lights hung from the ceiling, tables full of food, a bar. Some kind of statue on the stage. The color and lights were like magic. Twangy Indian music wafted through the room. The camera zoomed in on various guests, none of whom looked familiar. Nice party, though.
Ah, finally. Phyllis, Kevin and Angela came through the door, talking about not wearing shoes. Jim smiled when Michael showed up with his Halloween papier-mache fake head on his shoulder, and Carol in a cheerleader outfit. Carol definitely had the legs for that outfit, Jim thought appreciatively. Then he remembered the last real cheerleader he'd dated -- Katy -- and the night they'd broken up. The Booze Cruise. He took a long swig of beer, and it was bitter on his tongue.
And then he choked, spluttering beer. "Oh my God!"
He hit Pause and Rewind.
Yes, that was exactly what it looked like. Jim could not believe his eyes. Dwight walked into the hall, barefoot, wearing a dress and a floral wreath. Oh God. It just did not get any better than this.
It more than made up for all the other boring footage he'd sat through.
Stella, I so owe you for this. A case of beer. Imported beer.
Jim leaned forward, reminding himself to somehow get a screen capture of Dwight in his dress. There was an image to take to the grave.
And what the hell was that little moment with Angela all about? Was there something going on there? Between Dwight and Angela?
He yawned through what seemed like a full half hour of scenes of people eating.
He felt hungry and glanced at his watch. Maybe he'd shut this down, make a sandwich. He decided to give it ten more minutes. This behind-the-scenes stuff was surprisingly boring.
The screen went black, then he was looking at a trio of young Indian girls giggling at Ryan. Jim grinned; now this could be good. Ryan was so uncomfortable. Why on earth had he agreed to come to this --
"Wow!" Jim's eyes popped open and he sat forward suddenly. "Wow!"
Kelly appeared in a technicolor sari, wearing gold ornaments in her hair and looking as exotic and alluring as a goddess. Jim blinked. Damn, that girl was sexy! How had he never noticed? Now he understood what Ryan saw in her. As long as she wasn't talking. Were those her parents?
Suddenly the scene changed to Pam, getting her hand stamped at the door. Jim noticed immediately that she had her hair down, with curls spilling over her shoulder, less restrained than usual. Her soft face still looked tired, but she smiled into the camera and made some oh-so-Pam snarky remark about Carol's outfit. Jim smiled despite himself. God, that woman.
"I feel a little underdressed," she said.
Jim refused to let himself think about what a truly underdressed Pam would look like. Dammit, he was past that. Enough. He had a real girlfriend now, not an imaginary one. Continuing to fantasize about Pam Beesly was just a bad habit he needed to break.
The next scenes were of people dancing. He'd never gone in for line dancing himself, but had to admit the rows of colorfully costumed people moving in sync was nice. Very pretty. And then there was Michael, dancing with the front row. His grin was ridiculous but his footwork was impeccable.
"The Boss of Dancing," Jim chuckled to himself. He laughed again when the camera swung to find Dwight dancing along on the sidelines.
Man. I really missed a party. This one beat just about anything Michael had taken the team to.
More shots of people dancing. Kelly was fluid, sinuous, graceful. Again Jim silently congratulated Ryan. Kevin watching from the sidelines, Angela frowning (There's news, he thought). The music changed to a Western pop song and the dancing became less formal, more animated. Michael again, and Ryan shuffling about with Kelly. A group of women from the office, dancing to Indian music. Some girl in a blue sweater swaying with the music--
Wait a minute.
Jim hit Rewind and Pause. Pam was caught in the center of the frame, hands out to her side, a smile on her face, swaying. Dancing.
His heart contracted. So beautiful. He couldn't help himself. She looked so young, so carefree, so ... so beautiful.
Swaying isn't dancing, she had said that night. Bull.
He hit Play and watched her. Apparently Leon, or whoever was holding the camera, was just as mesmerized as he was, because the camera stayed on her while the music changed. A young Indian man came over and spoke to her; Jim couldn't hear what they said but they started dancing together. Pam looked self conscious now, her moves a little jerkier. She looked awkward and beautiful and adorable, and for one moment he imagined himself dancing with her, happy and giggling together.
"Pam, you are such a dork," he said to himself. Such an adorable dork. He made a note to get a screen capture of this image.
Suddenly the camera swung left and Roy was entering the room. Jim scowled as he watched Roy scan the crowd, obviously looking for Pam. Well, at least they hadn't come to the party together, he thought. His stomach dipped; no doubt the rest of this footage would show Roy finding Pam, maybe dancing with her. Kissing her. Leaving with her. Jim's mouth twisted. He'd seen all of that he wanted to, thanks.
He hit Stop and got up. He really didn't need to watch any more of Pam and Roy. And it was clear by now that there was nothing of himself, Karen, Andy, Tony or the Stamford branch at all. So unless he wanted to do nothing but eat his own heart out for the rest of the night, it might be better to just skip the rest of this. He'd had his peek. He was just glad he didn't have to try to make sense out of this mess of disjointed scenes.
Jim turned off the DVD player and headed into the kitchen. He made four grilled cheese sandwiches and took them into the living room. He turned on the TV and searched for a game, any game, to divert himself.
After his fourth sandwich he gave up and clicked the DVD player back on. The picture that came up was of Roy, then the camera swung back to find Pam again, and Jim hit Pause.
Hands in the air, smiling, beautiful. The Dancing Queen. Jim smiled, even as a tremendous wave of sadness washed over him.
The thought rose to the surface despite his best efforts to quash it: I'd give anything to dance with her.
* * *
Leon rolled to a stop in front of Stella's house. He waited while she opened the side door to let her kids out. They ran squealing to the front door while she unloaded her backpack and a small camera case.
"See you Monday," she said.
Leon nodded. "Yeah. Ten bucks says Halpert mentions Pam in his first talking head of the day."
Stella grinned. "You're on. He's still doing his best to pretend he's over her."
Leon snorted. "Idiot."
Stella cocked an eyebrow. "Hey, we could always show him that footage you shot from the conference room back in May."
"You mean where they kissed? Halpert would kill me. And Beesly would grind my bones to powder."
Stella chuckled. "And then?"
Leon grinned back. "Yeah. They'd both disappear for a week and come back blushing."
Stella stepped away and slammed the door. "See ya."
Leon waved and changed gears. As he rolled away from the curb, he wondered. Maybe he could "accidentally" leave a DVD on Halpert's desk...
Story Notes:
I've taken several technical liberties here, in the interest of moving the story along. I have assumed that the documentary crew is shooting digital video, not film. I have given Jim Halpert a miraculous DVD player that plays raw digital video. Also, since Jim is viewing unedited, raw footage, he will see scenes that we do not, since they don't make the final cut. He will also see them "out of order".
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
NeverEnoughJam is the author of 24 other stories.
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