Once renowned for its gilded age beauty, The Lenox Hotel’s exterior had capitalized on its classical architecture. Now its modernized cream coloured brick, flat exterior and square entrance left the impression that it was in deep need of a revival. Locals often complained to the city council that the hotel deserved an owner that would revitalize its history.
After passing Symphony Circle and turning onto North Street, Pam understood why the new owners were driven to restore the Lenox Hotel. It certainly was an eyesore, dilapidated after years of being neglected. Black stains outlined shadows on the brick, the metallic entrance was beginning to rust, and a letter from the hotel name had fallen from the car awning.
She parked her car in the adjacent lot, picked up her canvas satchel and pulled out her camera. As she neared the entrance, Pam captured photos so that the structural design team could analyse them later. Deep within her pocket her phone beeped, demanding attention.
NEW TEXT MESSAGE!
Pressing the key to retrieve the message, she saw that it was from her project supervisor, Dawn.
From: Dawn Kauff
2097768651
Gr8 offer 4 u. Hurry bk when dun
She replaced the phone in her pocket and resumed taking photos, ensuring that all angles were carefully captured. Oftentimes, she would also use the same photos to create artistic renderings, which would be used to pacify investors. Her watercolour paintings of the concept design would give them an idea of what they could be expecting architecturally in the interior and exterior.
Pam loved the praise she received from clients when they saw her concept paintings. It was rewarding to see the construction on a project when she’d had a part in the design process.
Holy hell, she thought to herself as she pushed through the main doors into the lobby. It was distinctly retro seventies in its design. Black marble counters and deep violet walls welcomed the guests. Two flowered smoking chairs sat in a corner with a plastic fichus tree between them. The wooden door frames had been painted repeatedly over the years and were now to the point at which the paint had started to curl. It was certainly quite the sight.
“Now you see why we’re renovating it,” said a voice from behind. Pam turned to find the general manager of the hotel smiling at her.
“You must be Pam Beesly from McCloud,” he said extending his hand in greeting. “Anthony Cosini. It’s a pleasure.” His glasses were perched on his nose; his hair was graying, wild and unkempt. Pam figured him to be in his late fifties and noticed that he had a distinctly friendly face. She knew instantly that the hotel’s improvements would finally be realized.
“Yeah… it certainly could… um,” she hesitated looking for the right words to describe the design disaster that surrounded her. “It needs some love and care,” she said at last.
Anthony chuckled. “I’ll say. If I hadn’t grown up down the street, I’m not sure if I would’ve taken the risk. I’m starting to wonder if we should just blast it to the ground.” Pam raised her eyebrows at the comment, surprised that he would be so bold as to suggest a historical monument be completely destroyed.
“Have you seen the rooms yet?” He asked. Pam shook her head. Anthony gave a short laugh. “Well then, you’re in for a treat. Follow me,” he said, gesturing toward the elevators.
***
Dear Pam,Jim groaned in frustration, leaning back in his desk chair. His open suitcase lay on the bed, clothes piled high. His room was a mess; he had a trip to pack for, yet he sat at his desk trying to write an email to Pam.
Earlier in the week, his brother Jonathan had suggested that the reason he couldn’t propose to Karen after all this time, was in part because he never ended things properly with Pam. Her abrupt departure had left too many unresolved issues between them.
“Its therapeutic man,” his brother had said during one of their weekly Burger Barn dinners. “A couple of my psycho ex-girlfriends have done it to me before. Really puts things in perspective.”
“Great. So you want me to be like your psycho ex-girlfriends? Excellent advice, Jon.” Jim rolled his eyes, taking a bite from his double cheeseburger.
“Well obviously you’re not a psycho,” he said, exasperated. “But it might actually help if you just tell Pam what the hell your problem is. I’m told that it’s very liberating.”
“You’re told?” Jim chuckled at the comment.
“Yeah, ran into Mary once,” Jonathan drew in a sharp breath, shaking his head, an incorrigible smile on his face. “She looked hot, too.”
“Focus, Romeo.” Jim snapped his fingers, drawing Jonathan’s attention back from his daydream.
He cleared his throat and smiled at Jim’s antics. “Anyways… she asked if I’d gotten her letter. I told her I had, and she said that it was the best thing she ever did; that it helped her move on.” Jonathan shrugged and continued, “I suppose it can’t hurt.”
Jim had thought about Jonathan’s suggestion all week. He knew that his brother was probably right: a letter to Pam might be cathartic. But it was a thin line he would be treading. The last thing he’d ever want to do was hurt Pam. He feared that that’s what would happen if he sent her a letter. Then there was Karen. If she found out that he was initiating contact with Pam again, regardless the reason, she would be furious.
It was for the best, he had reminded himself again. He needed to articulate in some way what her departure had done to him emotionally, physically and mentally. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure if he would ever get the nerve to move forward with Karen.
At times Jim would replay Pam’s final days at Dunder-Mifflin in his mind. Over the years the details had faded, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t remember Pam even attempting to approach him about her impending departure. He certainly hadn’t been the best friend he could have been at that time, but he had figured that their history together warranted some explanation. He vaguely remembered her going to speak to Toby in his cubical the week before, but at the time he hadn’t even considered the repercussions of that unusual meeting. The pieces didn’t fit; they didn’t make sense. On her last day she gave no indication to anyone of her plans. Surely the Party Planning Committee would have put something together for her. They probably would have even served Buffalo style chicken wings in her honour. He suspected something had happened. That something had been said, but no one could give him any indication that they knew what had happened. Michael even seemed to be just as puzzled as he was. He had whined for weeks about how his messages were in the wrong tray and that Joyce didn’t know how to operate his video camera like Pam had.
Now, the night before he was to leave with Karen on their vacation, he had finally relented to Jonathan’s suggestion. Jim recognized that he needed to close that part of his past. With their trip to Rome, he knew that he would have to make his move and finally propose to her. It was perfect, it was romantic, and Karen deserved it.
She’s been with you for 3 years. Why he had to continually remind himself of that particular fact, he wasn’t sure. But it seemed to quell the nervous twitch that he felt in the pit of his stomach.
Pam,
Much better, he thought, returning to the letter. The greeting was partially distant, yet somehow indicated that they had a shared history.
He looked back at his dresser; the ring stared back at him. How could he explain in an email that he had moved on and was going to marry Karen? It seemed impossible, daunting even.
He began to type, letting everything he was thinking flow from his fingertips, a rush of words racing across his screen.
Yesterday I went shopping at the Target in Wilkes Barre and found these little toy soldiers. You know like from the movie “Toy Story”? They came in a barrel of like 100. I bought them because I thought they were cool. I might line them up on Dwight’s desk and convince him that they’re moving. Put them in formation or something, maybe. Do you remember when we went to the Marquee Cinema to see the movie? You laughed so hard at Mr. Potato Head that you snorted coke out through your nose. That had to be the funniest part of the movie for me.
I’m not sure why I’m writing this email. Jonathan thought it would be a good idea. Sometimes he makes sense, but only on occasion. Do me a favour though, don’t tell him that.
How are you? How do you like living in Buffalo with your sister? Phyllis mentioned something about you working at a designing or graphics studio. Didn’t I always tell you that you’re an amazing artist? I’m engaged to Karen, you know. Well, okay, that’s a lie. I’ve been too chicken to ask her. If I actually knew what hives looked like I’d say that I get them every time I think about it. I can’t really figure out why I can’t do it.
I guess what I’ve been trying to say (write?) is that I’m not really sure why you left. I came in the next morning to find Michael fighting with Ryan over who should answer the phones. I’d asked Michael about you and he just said that Jan told him to “mind his own business”. Well actually Michael said “beeswax” but you know Michael… Then when I asked Jan and even Toby, they all said they couldn’t disclose personnel information like that. But their looks pretty much suggested that it might have had something to do with me- with us. Did something happen?
Did you even think to tell me you were going to leave? Why didn’t you say goodbye? I thought we were friends? Pam, I -
Jim stopped typing. He had been about to write “I still loved you,” but knew that he couldn’t. His conscience warned him that it would be the ultimate betrayal to Karen. Not only was he contacting Pam again after all these years; he was about to tell her that he had still loved her while he was well into his relationship with Karen.
What about now? He couldn’t help but ask himself. Do you still love her?
Strangely his eyes drifted to the corkboard over his desk. There, attached by a push pin, was a ticket stub for “Toy Story”.
He shook his head, pushing all thoughts of Pam away, and closed the browser screen, effectively deleting the email. Jonathan was wrong; writing it had been a mistake.
***
“You can go right in. Dawn’s waiting for you,” the secretary waved her toward the oversized double doors.
Pam had been inside Dawn’s office numerous times, but with each occasion she was stunned at the canvases that lay strewn about the room. Each had a different design, painted in acrylic, watercolour or oil. Drop sheets were bundled in corners along the sides of the office, protecting the linoleum floor from the paintings that stood on angles against the wall. A large drafting table was pushed to the side, a small blonde bob poking out from behind it.
“Hey Pam, sorry about the mess,” Dawn said, tucking a pencil behind her ear. “Just push the papers from the chair; you can have a seat there.”
Pam moved the large pieces of sketch paper from the chair and carefully placed the drawings on the nearby office desk.
“So listen, you’re not going to believe what Joe wants us to do.” Joe Sokowski was an executive partner at McCloud. His involvement on a regional project was rare, so it was obvious that whatever news Dawn had to share must be important.
“The Lenox account is going to be big for us,” Dawn continued. “Joe is completely salivating at all the potential revenue that it’s going to bring the company.”
Pam nodded slowly. Her eyebrows furrowed; she was confused as to her part in the discussion. It was no secret that the Lenox would be huge publicity for the company, especially if the redesign encapsulated the intended theme. Pam’s job, though, required nothing more than mock-ups, sketches and paintings of sample rooms, the lobby and the exterior framework.
“You know how Cosini is looking for a classical theme, Romanesque to the bone?” Pam nodded again, as Dawn continued. “Arches, barrel vaults, piers, statues, columns, the works, right? Well Joe is going to foot the bill and have an associate go to Rome to take photographs, draw up some composite sketches, and basically get ideas for the hotel.”
Pam smiled, happy for her friend. “That’s great Dawn. You’re going to have so much fun in Rome.”
“No Pam. I can’t. I’ve got to stay and keep an eye on the Delaware Avenue project. Joe wants you to go.”
Pam’s heart skipped a beat, her mouth opening in protest. She wanted to suggest a more qualified associate, a more talented artist. Someone, anyone else. She’d never even left the continental U.S. before, much less flown in a plane.
“You leave on Sunday. You’re going to have an amazing time.”
