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“So,” Two large hands slapped against the top of the reception desk, startling Pam.  She jumped a little, and looked up to see Jim’s smiling face. “I’ve been thinking.”

 

“About how to scare me?  Because that just worked pretty well.”

 

“No, about this latest ‘fun-raiser’ Michael’s got planned.”

 

“Oh, dear.  This can’t be something I want to hear,” Pam looked apprehensive as she opened up her Mixed Berry yogurt and took a spoonful. 

 

Taken aback, Jim asked, “Why not?”

 

“Because I do not get on stage and perform.”  She ate another spoonful.  “I just don’t.”

 

“You act all the time, though,” Jim protested.

 

“What do you mean by that?”  Pam asked sharply. 

 

“Whoa, whoa, what’s this about?  There was no insult implied in that; I just meant that you always sound cheerful on the phone, even when you’re dying of boredom.  And when we play pranks on Dwight, you act.”

 

“Oh.  Sorry,” Pam apologized, looking down at her desk.

 

“What did you think I meant?”

 

“Nothing.  Anyway, getting on stage is different.  There’ll be people I don’t know there.  I don’t get up in front of people I don’t know,” Pam declared, finishing off her yogurt.

 

“But—,” Jim tilted his head toward the camera that was filming them.

 

“I got used to that, and besides, I can’t see the audience.”

 

“Ah.”  Jim nodded wisely, and faced away from her, winking at the camera as he leaned back against her desk.  “I guess I’ll just have to ask Angela to be my dance partner.”

 

“What?”  Pam’s squawk of disbelief was audible throughout the office, and Stanley and Dwight gave the pair eerily identical glares.

 

He smirked as he turned back to her.  “Easy, Beesly.  Anyone would think you were jealous.”

 

“Please never say ‘Easy Beesly’ again.”

 

His eyes got huge, and he said, “Oh, shit.  I’m sorry, Pam, I totally didn’t think about it like that.”

 

Pam smiled at him and said, “No problem.  Just…bad junior high flashbacks.”

 

Relieved, he adds, “Anyway, I’m just joking about the dancing thing.  I wasn’t even thinking of something that you have to get on stage for.”

 

“So, this whole argument happened because…”

 

“Curiosity?”

 

“Ah.  Well, next time you feel curious, you could just ask me.  Like, ‘Hey, Pam, do you like getting up on stage?’  I would probably tell you.”

 

“Fine.  I guess I won’t tell you my brilliant idea, then,” Jim huffed, starting to walk away.  He was obviously expecting a protest from Pam, but she just went back to her work, a little smile on her face.  When he got to his desk, he spun around, and headed back.  “Okay, I don’t care if you want to hear it, this idea is too good to just forget,” he stated, leaning over Pam’s desk. 

 

Pam was obviously barely holding back laughter.  Jim realized he’d been played.  “Touché, Beesly.”

 

“You can never resist sharing your new ideas, Halpert.  I know your weaknesses,” Pam said smugly. 

 

“Yeah, I guess you do,” Jim said ruefully.  “So, my idea:  We know there will be the usual stage stuff, right?  Which, since it will be dominated by Michael, will be…”

 

“Painful,” Pam supplied.

 

“Right.  And there will be some time with hors d’oeuvres and whatever.  So, why not try to raise the tone a little bit, by sharing your talents?”

 

“Answering phones?”

 

“No, your drawing.  Think about it.  You could set up in the charge fifteen or twenty dollars a portrait—and no saying that they wouldn’t be worth it, because they would, because you’re very talented, and it’s for charity anyway, so no one will complain if you did happen to make a mistake or two.  It would be great, and you’d enjoy it, don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t.”  Jim’s voice was adamant.

 

“Wow.  Wow, I never thought about that.  That…that would be fun,” Pam admitted, her eyes lighting up with anticipation.  “But I could never finish more than one good portrait in an evening…maybe not even that.”

 

“Ah, I’ve thought of that.  People would put in orders, and they could leave a photograph or two to help you work from, or maybe even make some evening appointments.”

 

Pam’s eyes widened.  “You have thought this through, haven’t you?  That almost sounds like a business.”

 

“Right, except that the money’s going to charity.  At first, anyway.”

 

“I should do it.  It sounds like so much fun…I will!”

 

Jim looked surprised.  “Well…good.”  He laughed.  “I expected to have to use more of my professional sales skillz.”

 

“Is that skillz with a z?”

 

“You know it!”

 

Pam nodded, amused.  “I think you should save those to use on your customers.”

 

***

From: PBeesly 

To: JHalpert 

Re: Your great idea 

So you do realize that because this was your idea, that you have to be my sample drawing?  I mean, I can’t expect people to pay for portraits, even for charity, if they have no idea of my level of talent. 

Maybe I shouldn’t have told you—don’t act any different, because I’ll just work on it when you’re not paying attention, so it’ll be more natural.  I suppose that for the others, they’ll necessarily have to be posed, but I’ve always preferred doing candid. 

I’m so excited!! 

--Pam 

***

From: JHalpert 

To: PBeesly 

Re: My genius 

Oh, no, Beesly.  I can’t be your model.  You know what I’m like: it’ll just go to my head, and then I’ll become like…Dwight. *shudders* 

You don’t want to do that to me, do you? 

--Jim 

***

From: PBeesly 

To: JHalpert 

Re: The stuff of nightmares 

Bite your tongue, Halpert!  I never want to have the image of you morphing into Dwight in my head ever again. Do you understand me?   

Never.  Again. 

--Pam 

P.S.  It’s too late.  I’ve already started sketching. 

***

What Pam didn’t tell him is that sketching him was nothing new to her.  She sketched all the people who were important to her, just when she was bored or whatever.

 

There were stacks of sketches of her mother, at work, at home, at her mom’s house; some of them were pretty awful, from when she was ten years old or so.

 

Stacks, too, of Roy, from high school, and college, and after.

 

It had only happened recently, but now she couldn’t seem to stop sketching Jim—specifically, his eyes and his hands, neither of which ever seemed to turn out right. 

 

She told herself that it was the difficulty, the challenge.  That was why Jim’s stack was the highest.

 

So this was a good time to get those features right, finally.  Maybe then every little sketch would stop becoming him, if she could just get him right, then he’d stop invading her mind at odd times and making her fingers twitch and she’d finally stop wishing she could remember what it had felt like to kiss him at the Dundies, what it would feel like to kiss him without alcohol-numbed senses.

 

And maybe, if this idea was a success, Roy would finally look at her as though he was proud of her artistic talent, instead of just tolerating it.

 

So she worked on her Jim portrait every spare minute she had, hoping it would cure this—condition—that she had developed.

 

Even though she was pretty sure that it wouldn’t.

 

***

“Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam. 

 

“I’ll transfer you, one minute, please.”

 

She set down the phone and picked up her pencil.  How was she supposed to do portraits of people she’d never seen before, when she couldn’t quite capture her best friend, a man she saw every day?

 

She thought of his hands holding jellybeans and stirring Jell-O and clicking the mouse button on FreeCell.  And the other times, resting on her shoulder, her waist.  She thought of the feeling, and tried to capture that warm, safe feeling with her pencil.

 

“Hey, Pamster!  How’s it going?”

 

She quickly buried her sketch under several memos and blank pieces of paper, setting her elbow on top of the pile for good measure.

 

“Ah,” Michael laughed.  “I see…keeping the fact that I’m your model a secret until the big unveiling?  I understand.  Don’t want us to see the beginning tries, right?”

 

“Michael, I already told you, Jim is my model.”

 

One of your models, I think you said.  I know you wouldn’t leave your favorite boss out.”

 

“I can’t give everyone at the office freebies—it is for charity.  And Roy is my other model.”

 

Of course, now she had to take out her pictures of Roy and decide which one to display.  Why was Michael so incapable of taking a hint?  She rolled her eyes at Jim behind Michael’s back.

 

***

There was no reason for Jim to feel upset when he found out that he was not Pam’s only model.  It’s not as though he had wanted the job in the first place; it made him feel odd.

 

But it was Pam, so it was odd in a good way.

 

Of course he wasn’t her only model.  Of course she was drawing Roy, too.  He was her fiancé.

 

He made a face in response to Pam’s eye roll.  They grinned at each other.

 

***

From: PBeesly 

To: JHalpert 

Re: Your Hands 

Why are they so hard to draw?? 

--P 

***

She watched him open the email, and scratch the back of his head, confused.  He slowly typed his reply, obviously not sure what to say.

 

***

 From: JHalpert 

To: PBeesly 

Re: Re: Your Hands 

Um, I’m sorry?   What do you want me to do about it?  Should I hold them still all day or something? 

--J 

***

And just like that, she knew. 

 

***

From: PBeesly 

To: JHalpert 

Re: Re: Re: Your Hands 

Never mind.  I’ve got it.

--P 

***

He smiled at her in that way that always made her smile back, and also made her a little wobbly around the knees.  She was glad that she was already sitting.

 

For more than one reason, actually.  For some reason watching him type that one email had suddenly unlocked the secret of his hands.  Not that she could explain it in words, it was a sensory, or more accurately, a kinesthetic sense of how to move her hands and the right pressure to use, and fifteen minutes later, she was looking at Jim’s hands, on her sketch of Jim’s body in his desk chair.  One hand was resting on his thigh, the other arm was on the arm of the chair, and he was tilted back in the chair, looking at…well, that was the question, wasn’t it?

 

Except it wasn’t.  It wasn’t just a kinesthetic epiphany she had just had, no; it was also some kind of emotional discovery, too.

 

Honestly, it was less a discovery, and more a case of ‘I guess there’s no use denying it anymore’.  She had known for a while, but had refused to know.

 

She loved Jim.

 

And she didn’t love Roy—not the way she should.

 

It was scary and mind-boggling and relieving and comforting all at once.

 

Now, if she only knew what to do about it.

 

***

From: JHalpert 

To: PBeesly 

Re: Tonight 

Ready for your big debut?  Is my portrait finally pretty enough to do me justice?  Don’t worry, you’ll be great. -

-Jim 

***

Jim sent the email first thing when he arrived at the office, wanting Pam to get a boost of encouragement right away.  He’d seen her looking discouraged yesterday—in fact, she’d been tired-looking the last few days.

 

He hadn’t gone to her desk as often lately, relying on emails and lunch breaks for his Pam fixes; he wanted to give her peace to work.  Also, for some reason he didn’t think he could take it if he went up there to talk to her and she was working on her sketch of Roy.

 

So he emailed a lot, and did a few more sales calls than normal.

 

He’d asked her about the shadows around her eyes, and she’d said, “Nerves.”  She was lying, but he hadn’t wanted to push.

 

But when 10:00 rolled around, and she was still not in, he asked Michael what was up.  “Oh, she said something about finishing up her sketching and taking a nap this afternoon.  She won’t be in today.  I bet she’s finishing her surprise sketch of me.  I have such devoted employees.”

 

On lunch break, he calls her, needing to hear her voice say that she’s not sick or avoiding him for some reason.

 

“Oh, hey, Jim.  No, I’m just really tired, and…would you be willing to come over after work?  I still have to finish up some details, and I just don’t think I can handle Michael and Dwight right now.

 

“Besides…I have something to tell you.”

 

***

He skips out a little early.

 

He’d dropped her off many times, but had never actually been inside—hadn’t wanted to, but she needed him to…pose, or whatever, so…he stepped inside.

 

It looks strangely bare for a place that they’ve been living for three years.  He’d always figured Roy for a giant-screen TV guy (not that he, Jim, had anything against giant-screen TVs), but there wasn’t even a tiny black-and-white to be seen.  And it almost seemed like some furniture was missing—there was even an indent in the carpet he could see.  Realizing that he’d been inside for about five minutes, and she didn’t know it, he called.  “Pam?”

 

“Oh, Jim, hey, come in here.”

 

She was in a corner of the kitchen, hunched over a sketchpad.  “Light’s better here.  Thanks for coming over, I just need to finish off your eyes, so if you could…hmmm.”

 

“What?”  He’s never done this on purpose before—she told him to act naturally at work, and he did, as far as that was possible when he felt her eyes on him.  He feels awkward, clumsy, unsure.  He smiles at her tentatively.

 

Pam finally meets his eyes, and gets up to position him.  “No, that’s all wrong.  Here.  The sketch is you in your desk chair, and even though it’s just your eyes, you have to be facing the same way, or it’ll look all wrong.”  She pushes him to lean against the counter.  “Now, look at me.  Just talk or whatever, but keep looking at me.”

 

“Not a problem,” he laughs, not really joking.

 

He tells her about work today, how Dwight was convinced that he was being watched by the government through his computer.

 

She smirks as she says, “I’m sure you had nothing to do with that, right?”  Her head is still bent over her sketchpad.

 

He’s never seen anything so beautiful.

 

He runs out of things to say about work, and says, “So what’s been up the last couple days, really?  I don’t buy that it was just nerves.”

 

She looks up at him, steadily.  “Roy moved out.  The wedding’s off.”

 

He doesn’t react immediately, he’s so shocked, but she’s putting the sketchpad down, and coming closer.  “I realized that I didn’t want to marry him.  I’m in love with someone else.”

 

And then she’s reaching up and kissing him, and it’s very different from the kiss at the Dundies, and he really can’t be bothered to describe the feelings anymore, even to himself, because he’s too busy feeling them.

 

***

The finished sketch hangs on an easel in the back of the dressed-up warehouse.  Pam’s certain that this is supposed to be awkward, with Darryl and Roy’s other work friends here, on their home turf, but all she can think about is the fact that she has Jim on one side of her, and her beautiful sketch that she is finally happy with on the other side.

 

Even Michael’s awful singing can’t get her down tonight.

 

Then Jim leaves her, goes up on stage, and he has his guitar with him.  He just says, “For Pam” before starting to play, and their coworkers gasp, because they haven’t told them yet.  He sings “I only have eyes for you,” and she laughs because it’s a joke (eyes, get it?), and she smiles and glows, because it’s not a joke.

 

She took orders for nearly fifty portraits that night, but that was only a small part of her joy.  Maybe it took her forever to realize it, but the challenge of drawing Jim and the smiles they share and the memory of their kisses earlier all add up to something beautiful that she wouldn’t trade for being the next O’Keeffe.  

 

Not that she was much for painting vagina/flowers; Jim was good enough for her.



Lissa_Maylee is the author of 5 other stories.
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