1. How about a drink after work should be so easy

“President Halpert?”  Pam asked as she leaned against Jim’s desk, spotting the nameplate for the first time.  “That’s mighty ambitious of you.”

He looked up and smiled broadly at her.  “Yeah well, here’s to ’08.”  He crossed his fingers in mock-hopefulness and she couldn’t help but giggle.

 “So,” she began, crossing her arms, “What’s your angle?”

 “Angle?” he asked, with raised eyebrows.  “I don’t know.  Free cake on Tuesdays?”

 “Oh, so you’re running for president of the 5th grade, apparently.”

 He scrunched up his face and said, “Hey, people like their cake.  And you know what?  Just for that—no cake for you.”

She cleared her throat loudly and he pretended to glare at her, but she held up her hands again and smiled and he couldn’t help but smile back.  There was no way even to pretend to be mad when she smiled like that.

“So…what’s your slogan?” she asked, after further examining the sign.

“I don’t know.  I was thinking I’d have Michael write one for me.”

“Oh yeah.  I can see it now.  ‘Vote for Slim Jim…he’s better than Beef Jerky.”

“You know, maybe I should have you write my slogans.”

She shook her head and laughed and he could tell that she was about to leave.  It was now or never. 

“Hey Pam, you want—”

“Ready to go, Pammy?”

Jim looked up to see Roy’s large frame looming in the doorway.  Pam was already back at her desk, gathering up her things and Jim glanced briefly at her before turning back, pretending to be focused on his work.

He sighed as the door closed behind them.  He reached out and touched the President Halpert sign and sighed once more.

Oh well.  There was always tomorrow.

He started for a moment as he suddenly remembered that tomorrow was when those cameras were coming.  Michael had signed up for some documentary or something.  Jim wasn’t quite sure about the specifics.

He did know that starting tomorrow it would be a lot harder to get Pam to go out for a drink.

 2. Jim for President!

When Jim looked up for the fourth time, Pam’s head was in her hands again.  It’d been ten minutes.  The first time he had glanced at her, she had been staring blankly past her computer screen.  The second time, her head was in her hands.  The third time, her eyes had been red and she’d been blinking a lot.

Now, her head was in her hands again and he wanted nothing more than to run to her and wrap his arms around her.

But he didn’t.  He turned back to his computer screen for another two minutes.  A glance at the clock told him it was almost five, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her gathering up her belongings, preparing to leave.

He sighed and approached her desk.

“Hi,” he said lamely, and she smiled weakly at him.

“Hey.”

“Um.  Don’t take this the wrong way or anything but…you look absolutely terrible.”

She laughed softly and shook her head.  “Thanks.  I feel better already.”

“Are you okay?” He had been teasing before, but now his tone was serious.  His elbows rested easily on her desk, and he leaned forward a bit, peering curiously at her.

She nodded her head and at the same time said, “No.”

He couldn’t help but laugh a little.  “So that’s a no, is it?”

“Yes.”

He nodded his head in silence before tapping her desk absently.  He was turning to leave—after all, if she was having problems that was something she should discuss with her fiancé, not him—when he heard her clear her throat.

“Can we hang out for a little?”

He thought it was funny how it only took him seconds to say, “Yes.”

It had been an hour, and so far they had done nothing except drive around Scranton.  And he couldn’t keep from smiling every few seconds because of how perfect it was.  It was a ridiculously warm evening for April, so they both had their windows down and he couldn’t help watching her out of the corner of his eye.  She stared out the window, her arm resting on the door, her hand making waves with the wind.  The music was playing low on his radio, so low that all he could hear was your eyes, your eyes, your eyes over and over again. 

They pulled to a stoplight beside a gas station. 

“Good evening,” a voice said, and they both glanced over to the gas station to see a man sitting in his truck bed, wearing a cowboy hat and waving a small American flag.  His truck was decorated with paper red white and blue banners and a handwritten sign said in large black letters, “Elect the Cowboy!”

Pam glanced briefly at Jim, and he leaned over a bit to call out her window, “Good evening.”

Jim’s eyes traveled to the man’s shirt.  He had on a sticker nametag that said, “Hello my name is KENNY.”

“What are you running for, Kenny?”

She gave him a look like what are you doing?

He winked at her.

“Oh no, I’m just sitting here trying to be elected mayor.”

Jim’s eyes widened and he raised his eyebrows at Pam.  She smiled briefly before saying, “Good-luck.”

“Thank-you ma’am, but I don’t need luck.  I’ve got the Lord on my side.”  Jim and Pam said nothing, and Kenny the Cowboy peered thoughtfully off into the distance.

The light turned green and as they pulled away they heard Kenny holler, “Don’t you folks forget to vote for me!”

They drove down the road in silence before Pam finally said, “God, I feel so bad for him that I’m actually considering voting for him.”

Jim nodded his head and said seriously, “Well, good.  Because I’m planning on running for President, so if you’ll vote for him, I know you’ll vote for me.”

When she laughed it was loud and ringing in his ears.

“President Halpert.  Oh yeah, I can just see it…”

“Hey, you mock me now, but what will you be saying when I’m running the country?”

“I’ll be saying, ‘Hey Mr. President, stop by if you’re ever in Canada.’”

“Thanks, Pam.  Thanks for your support.  I’m overwhelmed by your confidence in me.”

She laughed again and turned her head to stare out the window once more.  He watched her carefully, the way the breeze would blow her hair back and she’d close her eyes briefly, inhaling slowly.

He had to close his own eyes for a second to remain composed.

It was close to seven when she finally asked him to take her home, and as he pulled to a stop at the end of her driveway he heard her sigh.

They were both silent for a long time before she finally whispered, “Jim?”

And he turned to her immediately, and they were close, so close, closer than ever before.  His hand went instinctively to her cheek.  And maybe it was his imagination but he was sure she leaned into him.

But it was only for a moment and then he must’ve blinked or something because she was suddenly opening the door and walking away.

The next morning when he got to his desk he saw a piece of paper with President Halpert written across it.  A post-it note was stuck to it, and he smiled softly when he read it.

Thanks.

Jim sat on the floor of his bedroom with Pam’s gift in front of him.  It was a teapot, greenish, that he had bought at Target the day he got her for Secret Santa.  He remembered her mentioning weeks ago—or was it months—how much she would love having tea at her desk.

“I’m not really a coffee drinker,” she had said, as she made at face at the mug in her hand.  “It tastes like tar.”

He smiled at the memory of her nose scrunched up in disgust. 

And finally this year he had gotten her.  Pam, instead of Stanley, Toby, and his very first year—Dwight—although giving Dwight a doll in a bright pink bag had been pretty funny.

He sighed as he reached under his bed and pulled out a box.  He felt kind of weird keeping this stuff under his bed—it made him feel almost like a stalker, or worse…a thirteen year-old girl.  But God, sometimes it was too much to think about not keeping it, so he mentioned it to no one and called it some sort of act of self-preservation.

As he lifted the lid, his eyes fell on all the trinkets he had saved over his three years of knowing (and, he admitted as his stomach gave a lurch, loving) Pam.

Garbage, was what it looked like to most.  Just a bunch of old papers, a pencil, some food packages, a hair clip, a coaster from Chili’s.  If anyone found this box, they’d just think he was a pack rat.  And that probably would be best.

His eyes fell on a folded piece of paper, with President Halpert written sloppily across it.

Michael had been doing some sort of role playing thing, where he was King, Jim was President, and Dwight was the joker or something.  Jim couldn’t remember.  He just knew that Michael had decided Pam would be the President’s personal secretary.

“And no getting freaky in the pentagonal office,” he had said, and Jim had blushed but Pam had laughed. 

She had sat at his desk all day and the two of them had done nothing but joke around and play little games.  He had gone to the bathroom at one point, and when he returned he had found the President Halpert nameplate sitting there, and Pam pretending to type away at his computer.

“Good afternoon, Mr. President,” she had said, standing immediately to salute him.  Her professional demeanor lasted only seconds before a giggle escaped and she collapsed into her chair.  “The day you’re president will be the day I get married.”

And Jim had sat down at his desk and turned to his computer.  “We should get some work done.”

She had tried to apologize, but she didn’t really know what she was apologizing for and that had just made him even angrier.

At the end of the day she had met him at the elevator and said, “I’m sorry, Jim.  Be my friend again?”

He was silent, but she would not give up.  “Jim, Jim.  Be my friend!  Please be my friend!”

She had been laughing and that made him laugh and she kept trying to hug him all the while saying, “Be my friend, Jim!  Be my friend!”

And he only had a second so he quickly wrapped his arms around her, holding her briefly.

“Always.”

“Thanks, Mark.  But this really isn’t necessary.”

Jim held in his hands a folded piece of paper that had President Halpert written sloppily across it.  After winning the fourth round of poker for that night, Jim was the only one in the room that wasn’t flat out drunk and still had money in his pocket.  His friends all sat around the table their shoulders slumped, mumbling about cheating.

“No man.  You kick our asses at everything.  It’s the least we can do.”

Jim glanced at the piece of paper and said, “Thanks…I guess.  The trick is to stay sober.”

Mark let out a loud bellowing laugh, but the rest of his friends glared angrily at him and Jim decided it would be best for his physical health to get the hell out of there. 

He went out to his car and looked at the paper one more time before sticking it in his blinder with a sigh.

Pam cornered him the next day as he was leaving.  She had an apologetic smile on her face, and her hands were twisting nervously in front of her.  She obviously needed a favor.

“Listen, um—I’m really sorry about this, but my car is in the shop, and Roy wants to go get a drink with Darryl and he invited me along, but I would really like to go home…so, I was wondering if maybe you wouldn’t mind—if it’s not too big of a deal, and it’s okay if you say no because I’ll totally just go with Roy, but I was wondering if possibly you would consider—”

“I think you’re trying to ask me to give you a ride home…are you?” She nodded and smiled sheepishly.  “Okay, Beesly.  Let’s do this.”

They drove to her house, their laughter echoing off the walls as they discussed Michael’s antics with Diversity Day and the card game.

“Sorry about falling asleep.  I was just sitting there thinking how stupid Michael is and then before I knew it you were waking me up.  God, I hate my job.”

He laughed.  “Really, believe me.  Not a big deal at all.”

He thought for a minute she was going to say something else, but she fell silent and reached her hand up and tugged on the President Halpert sign sticking out of his blinder. 

“What’s this?” she asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Oh…uh, my friends think I’m awesome.  Or something?  I don’t know, they all got drunk last night while we were playing poker and they just kept losing so…”

She laughed again and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.  “Well now, Jim.  You absolutely have to display this.  You should be proud of being…awesome.”

“Um, no thanks.”

“Jim.  Put it on your desk tomorrow, okay?  It’ll make me laugh and maybe I’ll start forgetting how much my job sucks.  Do it for me?”

He was silent for a moment before he smiled and laughed softly. 

“As you wish.”

She sat back in her seat, and everyone’s eyes were on the two of them so Jim just smiled and sat down, taking a breath before turning his attention back to Michael, who was about to hand out the next award.  Pam was taking another sip of her drink and he realized that she probably already forgot about doing it.  Like it was a normal everyday activity for Pam to kiss Jim.

Her lips felt just the way he remembered, and he wondered why both times this had happened alcohol was involved.

The first time.  He didn’t remember much, except that Michael had thrown a party welcoming the camera crew.  They had been in the office drinking punch that everyone knew Michael had spiked, little sandwiches floating around that Angela had made and no one dared to eat.  Jim was in the break room with Pam, starting to feel a little buzz.  He knew that she was probably feeling the same from the way she was laughing, loud and boisterous, waving her hands a lot. 

He said something about Dwight, and she laughed again and said, “Oh my God, Jim.  You should be a comedian, like for real.  I feel like I should write down every word that you say.  I could make a fortune—like Dave Barry or something.”

“I thought we agreed we hate Dave Barry?” he took a sip of his punch and she laughed, loud again.

“We do.  I just—that was all I could think of.”

He nodded his head and they were silent.  She jumped up suddenly, stumbled a tiny bit and ran out the door.  She returned seconds later with a piece of paper and a black marker.

“What’s this?” he asked.

She wrote something on it, then picked it up and showed it to him. 

“President Halpert?” he read slowly, and she nodded her head enthusiastically.  “Right.  What does this have to do with anything?”

“That could be your stage name!”

He shook his head and laughed.  “You’re ridiculous.  You are just—you’re silly, you know that?”

“Angela’s not going to be happy,” she said suddenly.

“Why’s that?” 

“Because everyone’s drunk.  She’s going to have to—haha, she has to give us all rides home!”

“I’m not that drunk.  I’m not that drunk,” he paused and took another sip of his drink.  “Okay, on second thought.  I might be that drunk.”

She laughed and shook her head.  “President Halpert, the tabloids will have a field day with this.”

“Good thing I’m a fake President.”

“Good thing,” she said quietly.  She stood up again suddenly and walked over to him.

“You know,” she began.  “If you’re president, you’re going to need a haircut.”

“I am?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Of course.  It’ll have to be shorter.  You’re the president, not the lead singer of a garage band.”

“Hey,” he protested.  “My hair’s not that long.”

She said nothing, but reached her hands out to his hair, pushing it away from his forehead.  He looked at her as she held it back and smiled at him.

“That’s better.  Now I know your eyes are just like mine.  How did I not know that before?”

He didn’t say anything, and he thought that maybe he was making her a little nervous.  But he couldn’t think like this, with her cold fingers in his hair, his mind buzzed, and with her so close to him.  He swallowed carefully.

Later, he’ll blame it on the alcohol when he apologizes to her.  But suddenly he just got this feeling that overwhelmed him, and he leaned forward and kissed her throat. 

And maybe it was because they were both a little drunk (yes, that had to be it), but she didn’t pull away, didn’t recoil in shock, and her eyes closed so he took that as a sign.

He pulled her closer and kissed her, just once, softly on her lips.

For a moment they stayed like that, close together, foreheads touching, before he straightened up and she went back and sat down.

“Maybe I can be your campaign manager,” she said, and just like that it was like it had never happened.