They had come on a Wednesday once, when the air was thick with chicken wings and hot sauce. The bar had been swallowed in a crowd and the commotion in the room was so hectic that they had wordlessly looked at each other before stepping out slowly. Instead they went to the gas station down the road and got a twelve pack of Miller Lite that they drank on his porch beneath a cool blanket of stars.
He was over at the bar arguing with Mick, the bartender about the travesty of printing Import on a Labatt Blue bottle. It was one thing to celebrate German lagers, but to pretend that beer that filled college dorm rooms across the northern border was so great that it needed to be transported over international borders was ridiculous. Mick had argued that Molson had fallen under the same category, but Jim was quick to rebuttal that at least Molson was good.
Pam was amused as she faintly listened to their conversation. She had pulled a pen out of her purse and begun doodling on her cocktail napkin. A scene of the half-empty martini glass, a drink she felt obligated to try but immediately made her "Never Again" list, a candle that smelt of vanilla, and an empty bottle of Amstel that was leaving water rings everywhere it landed.
Jim slipped into his seat at what had become their table just as she was penning the final details. She looked up at him, an amused smirk crossing her lips. "I thought that beer was taboo."
"Not when it's free," Jim said taking a sip from his Labatt bottle. He noticed her artwork from over her shoulder and said, "What's that?"
"Nothing," she said sliding it across the table towards him. "Just a little drawing. I used to be really into art."
His eyes looked at the cocktail napkin and then at the table. "Wow, that's really good."
She could feel a slight blush warm her cheeks. "It's just napkin art," she said.
"It's better than anything I could ever draw."
"I took some classes at LCC, but ever since the move I haven't had the time to enroll in anything else," she said.
"What kind of art do you usually do?" He asked. Rarely had anybody been so interested in her extracurricular interests.
"Mainly illustrations, a couple watercolors, I was really into landscapes for a while," she listed. "I did the illustrations for a children's book a couple years back, but I think the printing was only local and my mom bought up most of the copies."
Art had once been her passion. Her work was often spotlighted at her high school's art shows and she had sent a portfolio to the PCA&D. However, life had gotten in the way, and when Roy had asked her to marry him, she hadn't the time to pursue it any longer. Her passion had dwindled to a hobby, and her hobby was sacrificed to the Dunder-Mifflin reception desk.
"I'd love to see your work sometime," he said.
"I don't have time for it anymore. And Roy and I both agreed that it's not a lucrative field and we need to focus on funds because of the wedding and paying off the house and the truck…" she trailed off, "it's just not a very realistic dream, to be an artist."
Jim frowned before shrugging his shoulders. "Yeah, but isn't it better to be at the bottom of a ladder you want to climb, than halfway up one that you don't?"
She had obviously thought of this before, and as she slipped out of her seat in search of another drink, he had proof for himself that it was true. Watching her talk to Mick like an old friend, Jim folded up the cocktail napkin and slid it into his back pocket, pretending to not notice it was gone when she came back a moment later.
Pam threw her jacket onto the rack, ignoring it as she heard it fall to the floor with a flop. Roy was on the couch flipping through the channels, a beer resting on his thigh. "Is that you?" He called out at the sudden commotion.
"Yeah, it's me," she said pressing a hand to her forehead. She had more to drink tonight than usual, and when the room began to filter in and out of focus, she immediately regretted that decision.
"How was your girls' night out?" He asked with a chuckle.
Pam balanced herself against the back of the couch. "It's not girls' night out," she corrected. "It's drinks with Jim."
Ever since Jim Halpert had become the lead character in all of her stories, Roy had teased her about finding a new man, but hardly felt intimidated. And while it was nice to be in a relationship full of trust, Pam couldn't help but hope he'd show some sort of jealousy. Sometimes she wanted any kind of reminder that he cared about her, but often she was left with complete apathy.
"Oh right, Thursdays are for your boyfriend." He watched her warily round the sofa before leaning against the armrest. "When you come home smelling like lime and tequila, I think that automatically means ladies night." Pam rolled her eyes and immediately was thrown off balance, frantically reaching for anything to brace her self. Roy laughed again and caught her arm before she fell. "How much did you drink tonight, babe? I've never seen you so hammered before."
She closed her eyes tightly then opened them again in hopes of removing her beer goggles. "Just two or three," she said shaking her head before bursting out in giggles, "or seven."
"You didn’t drive home did you?" He said suddenly getting worried.
"No," she shook her head, "no, no, no," she repeated. "Jim drove me home."
"Good," he said turning his attention back to the television. "We don't need our insurance going up, it's bad enough on the truck as it is."
Pam chewed on her lip, her eyes focused intently on the floor.
"Carrie called," Roy went on. "She wants us to come over on Saturday. Needs help on cleaning out the gutters because Todd's out of town." He landed on a channel that seemed to interest him and paused. "She said Lizzie missed her Aunt Pamie so she wanted you to come too."
Pam placed a hand on his thigh, her fingers grazing up his leg slowly. "Sounds good," she said. Her eyes were dark as she stared at him through the flicker of the television set. "Roy," she said, scooting closer to him on the couch. "What do you think of me right now?"
Roy laughed a deep throaty chuckle that always made her smile. "I think you're drunk," he said taking another swig from his beer.
She threw her leg over lap and straddled him. "Don't you mean sexy and irresistible?" She asked pressing her forehead to his.
Roy ran a hand up and down her back as she pressed her lips against his throat. "Yeah, yeah," he murmured. "Pam, look, The Rock is on. I haven't seen this movie in forever."
Pam ran her hands down his chest and began to unbutton his work shirt. "Babe not right now," he said pushing her off of him. "You smell like puke."
She frowned as she climbed to her feet. "I'm going to go to bed," she said.
He glanced up at her and then back at the TV. "That' s good idea," he agreed. "And don't forget to brush your teeth!"
She walked against the wall to guide her to the bedroom and told herself it was the alcohol blurring her vision and not hot tears that were rolling down her cheek.
Pam clicked through her e-mail and rolled her eyes at the tenth reminder of the "Second Annual Dundie Awards." Across the office, Jim was just hanging up his phone and spinning his chair around in relief. He pointed at Dwight's empty desk and then waved her to his with the beckoning of a finger.
"What is it?" She asked folding her arms across her chest as she leaned against his desk.
Jim simply held up a tube of super glue with a grin. "I just can't decide what to glue first," he said.
Pam pressed her lips together. "The mouse to the mouse pad."
"Brilliant," he said popping off the cap.
She watched as he smothered the bottom of Dwight's mouse with glue before pressing it down onto the pad. "So what are the Dundie awards?" She asked while he kept an eye on his watch waiting for it to dry.
"Michael's insane excuse to waste our time and ruin classic songs," Jim said with an eye roll. "Last year's was only four hours long. It would have been longer, but the manager kicked us out."
"Yeah, but are we supposed to get dressed up or something?" She asked.
"Definitely, I've got my tux rented and everything."
She frowned this evening was growing more elaborate as she originally anticipated. There was her blue dress she wore to Roy's sister's wedding, or the slinky black dress she wore to her engagement party…
"I was just kidding," Jim said with a laugh, noting her deep concentration. "Most people just go straight from work."
"Oh," she sighed with relief. "Okay then."
"Hey, do you need a ride?" He asked. He seemed distracted though, checking over his shoulder for Dwight's reentrance.
"No," she shook her head. "I'll just drag Roy along."
"Good luck on that."
Dwight finally slipped out of the kitchen and sat down at his desk. Pam and Jim immediately began a forced casual conversation with laughter on the edge of their voices. Dwight checked his notes before placing a hand on his mouse, his eyes narrowing when the device didn't move. With more force he again pushed against the mouse. "Jim," he muttered through gritted teeth.
"What was that?" Jim asked innocently.
"Why is my mouse not moving?" Dwight demanded.
"It's probably the mouse pad, those things get sticky sometimes."
"A mouse doesn't get stuck to a mouse pad, Jim," he said flatly.
"Well then," Jim shrugged. "You're obviously not strong enough then. Your tae kwan do must not be paying off."
Dwight seemed to take offense and narrowed his eyes in response. "I do not take tae kwan do, I'm a blue belt in…"
"No one cares Dwight," Jim said.
Roy appeared in the lobby and looked perplexed at Pam's empty desk. "Hey," Pam said pushing herself off of Jim's desk and stepping towards him.
"Hey," he said. "You about ready to go?" He asked hooking a thumb over his shoulder.
"Actually I have a few more things to do before we go."
Roy frowned. "How much longer do you think?"
"Twenty minutes?"
"I'll wait in the truck then."
"Wait," Pam said grasping his hand. "Tonight's that awards thing that I told you about."
"Right," Roy grimaced.
"Come on, it'll be fun," she said pouting her lip.
He shook his head, "I went with Darryl last year and it's anything but."
"We could at least get dinner, it's at Chili's."
"I'm kind of beat though," Roy said rubbing his sore neck. He noted her disappointment and sighed. "You don't actually want to go, do you?"
"I kind of want to see what all the fuss is about," she shrugged.
Roy scratched his temple searching desperately for an escape route. "Is it okay if you went without me?"
The disappointment didn't leave her face, yet she began to nod slowly. "Yeah sure, I'll just get a ride."
"Great," he kissed her forehead. "I'll see you at home then."
"Yeah," she said watching him leave. She turned on her heels and looked at Jim. "About that ride?"
Dwight and Michael had checked out at five o'clock exactly in order to properly prepare for the night's festivities. The simple fact that there had to be an hour and a half of preparations wasn't frightening to most, but the fact that Michael Scott and Dwight Schrute needed an hour and a half for preparations could put the scariest horror movies to shame.
Jim stepped up to reception and tapped on her desk. "Your ready to go?" He asked.
Pam looked up at him with a nod.
"Okay, don't be intimidated or anything," Jim began as they crossed he parking lot. "But I own a Corolla, not lease, own, and it just so happens to be red."
Pam laughed as they made it to his vehicle. "Wow, I thought only the movie stars drove these!"
"No, no," he shook his head sadly, "they only dream of being so lucky."
When he opened her door for her she nearly laughed. Nobody had ever opened her door for her.
"So explain these awards to me," Pam said as they pulled out of the parking lot. She was sitting on her hands nervously and kept her gaze set out her window. The only question on her mind however, was why she was so tense alone in a car with him.
"Let's see," Jim considered. "Last year was the first ever Dundie's Awards. This of course coincided with it being Michael's first year as regional manager."
She laughed. "Weird."
"Past honorable wins include 'Could He Be Any Taller?'" Jim began thoughtfully. "And that's it because there's only been one award ceremony."
"Wow, I thought it was based on past merits or something…"
"You underestimate Michael's incompetence then."
There was a silence then; a silence that Pam was desperate to fill. "We need music," she decided.
He narrowed his eyes, "Chili's is like 10 minutes away, not even."
"And I think those 10 minutes should be filled with the joy of song."
Jim chuckled and cast a quick glance in her direction before looking back to the road. "I think I've got some tapes in the glove compartment."
"Ooo, a tape deck! The rich and famous much envy you so!" She said dryly. Pulling open the glove compartment she picked up the first tape. Her sudden silence peeked his curiosity, and as he looked over at the passenger seat, he saw her face frozen in a mixture of shock and amusements. "ABBA's Greatest Hits?" She asked simply.
"I have no idea how that got there," he said shaking his head.
"ABBA's Greatest Hits?" She repeated.
"It must have come with the car," he reasoned.
"Oh yeah, because all Corollas come standard with power locks and all your favorite 70's hits."
Jim thought about it for a long moment. "You know what it was," he said tapping a finger against the steering wheel. "It was my mother. She borrowed it."
Pam rolled her eyes, "I'm sure it was that," she nodded I agreement. "I'm sure there was something in the air that night, and the stars were bright." She laughed. "Fernando."
Jim shook his head. "You're not going to let this go."
Her tongue peeked between her teeth as she continued to taunt. "Chiquitita, tell me what's wrong. You're enchained by your own sorrow!"
Jim swung the car into the parking lot of Chili's with an amused grin. "That's what I thought."
I’m not crazy I work at Dunder-Mifflin.
I know, right now you don't know what I'm sayin'.
But work a while and maybe then you'll see,
how to win a Dundie
The awards were exactly as Jim had warned.
