May 17, 2006

There was something buzzing against her hip. She jumped as she reached down into her purse hanging casually against her side and smiled when she recognized the phone number.

“Hey.”

“Hi”

“What’s up Mr. Halpert?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh do you now?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Are you going to tell me or are you going to just speak in very short sentences.”

“I like short sentences.”

“What do you want?”

“Are you doing anything right now?”

“Not right now, no, just walking.”

“Where are you walking to?”

“Grocery store, I need to pick up some orange juice.”

“Can you meet me around lunch in Central Park?”

“Central Park? Well…I don’t know…”

“Meet me at Strawberry Fields. 12:30.”

“Okay, I’ll be there.”

**

She had changed into a spring dress. She couldn’t remember the last time that she wore a true, springy cotton dress. She brought her sketchbook and a small tin of charcoals along with her and arrived at the park at 11:30. Why not have some time to kill and just sketch for an hour before Jim arrived?

She was sitting on the bench, sketching the budding trees and the sunny skyline within her line of view. She could care less if Jim showed up. She could spend the rest of her day here alone if she really wanted to…

“Pam?”

She turned around quickly and saw Jim standing behind her, in his full business suit and his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” she smiled warmly and closed her sketchbook.

“Do you ever let others see what you’ve created?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Every time I’ve approached you with that sketchbook, you always close it when you realize I’m near you,” he said casually.

“Do you want to see what I’ve done?” she asked. “They’re really nothing. Just…crude sketches, really.”

“I think I would at some point,” he said as he walked around the back of the bench and took a seat next to her.

“So what do you so urgently need to talk to me about?” she asked with a smile.

“When was the last time you wore a sundress?” he asked as he boldly fingered the hem of her skirt at her knees.

“I don’t remember,” she replied. “I figured that today was as good a day as any to break it out of the ol’ closet though.” He nodded.

“Well you look very nice,” he said. He stood slightly and reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Pam looked away, taking note of a couple of pedestrians nearby. “And speaking of looking nice…”

He pulled out a ticket to the dinner gala and lightly set it on top of her lap.

“What?” she asked as her head turned back towards him. He nodded to her lap. She looked down at the white ticket, contrasting against the pastel blues and yellow of her skirt and ran her finger along the edges. “What is this?”

“Well…” he took a deep breath. When had he ever been this nervous about asking someone to a black tie event in the past? “The company I work for…well…no…wait, let me start over.”

“It’s a dinner gala?” she asked as she read what was written on the ticket.

“Yes, the biggest advertising company in New York City, it ranks somewhere like number two or three internationally,” he explained slowly. “The company has a dinner gala once a year. Unveils new ideas, awards certain employees and companies, a lot of really boring, tedious monotony, really.” Pam nodded along. “Anyway, every advertiser is allowed one guest, and I really would like it if you would come with me.”

“Really?” she asked, she seemed taken aback.

“If you want to,” he replied.

“Well…wow,” she said as she looked at the ticket again, “I have no idea what I’d even wear. I don’t think that I have anything to wear…” she paused for a long moment, “I mean, Roy used to take me to football awards things where I’d get dressed up, but I don’t have any of those clothes anymore…” She looked Jim in the eyes with a sad face. “I’m sorry, I just…I don’t think I can. I can’t afford anything really nice.”

“I’ll buy you a dress,” he said quickly.

“Jim…”

“No, I will. I’ll buy you any dress that you want, I’ll help you pick one out if you want to know what sort of outfit you should go for,” he said quickly, so quickly he thought his tongue would trip over itself. She smiled and handed the ticket back to him.

“I don’t want you to do that,” she said quietly as she picked up her sketchbook and placed it in her lap.

“Please,” he said, handing the ticket back to her. She tilted her head slightly and smiled.

“Do you really want me to come?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “I really want you to come.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“But really…why?” she took the ticket in her hand and tucked it into her purse so it wouldn’t become lost.

“Because…” he thought and then sighed, “I kind of like you.” Her smile widened and she brought her hand to her mouth and started to nervously chew on a fingernail.

“Really?” He nodded.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” she said as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and stood up. “But I’ll only go under two conditions.”

“Name them,” he said with a smile.

“Wait! Three,” she said quickly.

“Three? Well you’re kind of pushing it now,” he said as he stood up beside her and they started walking away from the bench.

“Condition number one.”

“Go.”

“Condition number one states that I get to pay for some of the dress. I don’t know how fancy we’re talking here. I may have to go slightly off the rack on this one if that’s okay. Hopefully there won’t be any paparazzi talking about my horrific fashion faux pas,” she said with a small laugh.

“Paparazzi usually stay away from the non-celebrities,” he said.

“There will be celebrities there?” she asked slowing her pace.

“There always are,” he replied.

“That’s kind of cool,” she said. “Okay, condition number two.”

“Go.”

“Condition number two states that you must pick me up. From my apartment. There will be no subways to meet you half way and there will be no lonely taxi rides,” she boldly stated.

“Sounds fair enough to me,” he said with a nod.

“And condition number three.”

“Go.”

“Condition number three states that you have to have lunch with me right now,” she said linking her arm through his. He stopped along the path and quickly looked down at his wristwatch. “What?”

“Condition number three is a no-go,” he said with a glum look on his face.

“What?! But these are my conditions!” she exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, but I really need to get back to work,” he said as he looked into her eyes. She looked genuinely sad.

“Dinner?” she asked.

“Do you work tonight?”

“No.”

“Then I can do dinner,” he said with a smile as they started to walk again.

“Nothing too fancy,” she said with a grin as she playfully nudged at him.

“Nothing too fancy, got it,” he said with a wink.

“I’m serious!”

“I’m serious too,” he laughed at the goofy expression on her face. “Do I need to pick you up?”

“I think that certain date etiquette dictates that you do,” she said.

“Oh so this is a date now?” he asked, trying to contain the smile that would certainly give away his true feelings if he allowed it.

“No…” she said slowly, trying to gauge his reaction. He laughed again.

“Well, Miss Beesly,” he said, “if I am to pick you up, I am going to need to know where to pick you up from.”

“Will you really pick me up?” she asked happily.

“Of course!” he replied. “After all, I think it’s only fair. You’ve seen my place, it’s high time I see yours.” She grinned wide and clutched onto his arm a little tighter.

“If we can quick sit down again, I’ll write you some quick directions,” she said. She quickly skipped over to a bench and opened up her sketch book again and scrawled out directions on a blank page with a pen from her purse.

“So any last words of wisdom before I part with you?” he asked as she handed him the piece of paper.

“I live right above a bakery,” she replied. “You can’t miss it, I promise.”

“I guess we shall see about that,” he said. “I’ll try to be there around seven.” She nodded.

“I’ll see you then.”

**

She heard her intercom buzz at six that evening.

“No! No! Shit! No! Not yet!” she cried as she jumped up from her seat at the window, her art easel in front of her. She looked down towards the street through the panes of glass to see Jim standing in front of the door next to the bakery. He was wearing a button up t-shirt and jeans, his hands were stuffed in his pockets.

She ran over to the intercom and pushed the button to let him in.

“Come on up!” she said into the speaker as the door unlocked.

“Damn it!” she cried as she pulled off the dirty t-shirt she had been painting in and quickly pulled off her painting jeans that were splotched with many different colors.

Before she could even slip into the dress that she had been wearing earlier, there was a knock at her door.

“Hang on! Just a minute!” she called towards the door as she scurried around, muttering curses under her breath. He wasn’t supposed to be here for another hour yet!

She slipped the sleeves of her dress over her arms and quickly dashed to the door, opening it with a little too much flourish. Her hair was still up in a messy ponytail, her face was streaked with a little bit of green paint and her chest was heaving up and down from the surprise of Jim’s early arrival.

“Sorry I’m early,” he said with a shrug.

“No, it’s just…” she breathed hard against the frame of her doorway.

“I hope I’m not too early,” he said.

“Well, I was thinking about showering but…whatever,” she waved her hand around in no particular direction and turned around. “Come in, come in.”

“So this is where Pam Beesly lives,” he said as he looked around. Pam walked around, tucking in things here and there. She was going to clean too…

“I’m sorry it’s such a mess,” she said and gasped loudly as she noticed a pair of her panties lying in plain view right next to her bed. She rushed over and kicked them out of sight.

“No matter,” he said as he walked through her little kitchen area. “So is this it?”

“What do you mean, ‘is this it’?” she asked with a small smile. “I don’t know if you realized, Mr. Big Moneymaker, but I am a waitress and I am a student. So if you don’t like it, you can just go back to your nice, big townhouse and eat caviar and smoke cigars while you drink your brandy in crystal.”

“Wow, Beesly. Wow,” he said, trying not to laugh. “I have to say. I like it. I like it a lot.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I do too. Especially in the morning. I wake up to the smell of French bread and cinnamon buns.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not in the slightest,” she replied proudly. “You have no idea what the perks are of living above a bakery.” She picked up a couple stacks of books and placed them onto a bookshelf before returning to what she had been painting when he arrived.

“I guess not.”

“So where do you want to eat?” she asked.

“Where do you want to eat?”

“I’d kind of like something…tasty,” she replied with a thoughtful nod.

“Wow, really? Me too!” he exclaimed and she giggled. “You know, I know this great place a couple miles away from here. I believe you might know of it. It’s called The Golden Beet…”

“No, no we are not going there,” she said with a smile as she folded up her easel and put her paints away in a small cupboard.

“Too bad, because it’s really good and they have the cutest waitress that works there.” She could feel an inevitable blush rising in her cheeks.

“I don’t think she’s working tonight,” she quickly responded, turning away from him so he couldn’t notice her red face.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I do know a great bistro though that’s not too far.”

“What kind of food do they have?”

“Typical delicious French cuisine,” he responded. “Really good seafood, some really good steak and chicken dishes. Desserts that you might just kill for.”

“Sounds great,” she said as she slipped into a pair of heeled sandals.

“I feel kind of underdressed,” he said as he approached the door as she searched for her keys. She turned her face towards his and he smiled down at her. He brought his thumb to her cheek and wiped away the small smudge of green paint.

“You look great,” she said with a wink as she opened the door and the two of them slipped out into the evening.