“What did I think of the fake proposal? Um...”

She feels herself staring to sweat, in here, under these lights. When they first started filming, she asked if they were necessary, and they explained that the brightness of the lights helps to hide imperfections.

Ironic.

“Well, I mean... you know, it’s Jim.” She opens her mouth to say something else, but everything in her face reflexively tightens. She pressed her mouth into a thin line, and realizes she probably looks like Angela. She stares down at her black skirt, stares stares stares like laser vision until everything starts to get glassy.

She looks up, breathes in a watery little sigh. “Can we cut?”

--

She takes a minute, takes a deep breath. Paul hands her a tissue, and she taps at her eyes. Mascara flakes onto it.

“I’m fine, I swear,” she says.

“Okay. Take two.”

“What did I think of the fake proposal?” Her throat is closing, shit...

She pushes through it. “Um...” Her voice is choked, a little watery. “I mean, I guess it was pretty funny. You know. That’s just Jim, always joking.” Even though it wasn’t funny.

They showed her the footage, because she begged and pleaded and they have a soft spot for her after all. They showed her how her eyes widened, how her face lit up. She remembers how the very air inside of her tightened. What are you doing? she said.

She meant, What took you so long?

She sees the shock, and her expression change like a chameleon in a matter of milliseconds, shocked to anticipating, to confusion to hurt (the briefest of the brief) to cool. ‘Cause he’s Jim. And she’s Pam. And they’re JAM, and don’t take themselves too seriously, of course.

She opens her mouth again and feels her face crumble like a canyon.

--

It takes longer to get herself back together this time. She sees Jim outside, through the window, on a sales call. Thank God he doesn’t notice. She asks them to turn the blinds, just in case.

She blows her nose, and Charley the make-up girl dots on some concealer for her.

“Can we, can we just not use these? Please?” she begs. “I promise, I’ve got it this time, I swear. Just not these first two, for the final cut.”

She runs her fingers through her hair, all business.

“Take three.”

“What did I think of the proposal? Brilliant.” She spits out the words fast, like venom, shoots out of the chair. “Am I done? Yeah, I’m done.”

She stomps out of the room before she realizes they were still rolling, all through her dramatic exit, stage left.

--

When she finally comes out of the bathroom, she sees him craning his neck, sharp angled eyebrows, leaning back in his chair like he’s too cool for school, maybe wondering where she is.

He smiles when he sees her, points to the clock. Five of five.

She slides back into reception. The missed call button is blinking. She glances into where they were doing the interviews; the blinds are up, Paul is helping Gary get the equipment packed up.

She jumps when she turns around and he’s there, towering over her, bag slung over his shoulder. “Ready?”

She picks up the phone. “I missed some calls while I was in the bathroom, I just gotta get these.” He pauses. “Just go get the car started, I’ll be out in a minute.”

He nods, the corners of his mouth turn downward. “You alright?”

She looks up, and can’t help but smile. “I’ll be fine.”

--

As they’re pulling out, Gary is just coming out of the building, slipping on sunglasses.

“Hey, hold on a sec,” she says, tapping him on the arm. She’s opening the door before the car is even fully stopped.

“Pam –!”

“Hey, Gary,” she yells, untangling herself from his arm and peeling across the parking lot. “Hey,” she says, pulling her cardigan closed, “um, about the talking head today, I –”

“Look, if you want we can re-do it tomorrow. Or I can get them to cut it out completely, if you want.”

She tilts her head a little bit, and sighs.

No, you can use any one to want, Gary. Really.

Pam Beesly is done hiding.

She smiles, and nods, grips her sweater a little tighter. “Yeah. That would be fantastic. I mean... it honestly, it wasn’t even that big of a deal. The proposal, I mean. That was fine, we’re fine. I was just... having one of those days, and everything was going wrong. It was just one of those things.” She grins. “So tomorrow?”

He heaves his bag up higher on his shoulder. “Yeah, tomorrow would be fine.”

She kisses him on the cheek, and runs back to the car. Jim looks at her in confusion as she tugs on her seatbelt. She says something charming, he’s sure, and they lean over and kiss and smile before he drives out.

Gary glances over his shoulder, and shrugs.

There is Paul. In the bushes. Camera on his shoulder.

Gary Mitchell is about to get his fifteen minutes of fame.