Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with this show. I wish I did, but I don’t.
Stepping Onto the Podium
I started playing Pam Pong the very next day. It was a sort of experiment; part distraction, part verification. I mean, if Jim's visits to reception were so frequent that Angela had noticed, there had to be something there, right? Well, other than the jellybeans. Not that it meant anything. It could mean something; but, even if it did mean something, it's not like I could do anything about it. Yet.
Still, I couldn't help but stare at his hands as Jim used two long, slender fingers to carefully extract three cotton candy pink jellybeans from the dish. I wasn't really listening to anything he said, I'll admit. I was thinking about those fingers, those hands; engrossed in the way the rest of his long fingers curled up, securing the chosen few as he rattled them in his palm.
“So I figure that has to be a plus for me, right?” he was saying when the audio finally kicked in.
“A plus?”
Jim leaned onto the counter, folding his forearms along the formica top. “Well, I have to assume that not every guy is secure enough in his masculinity to go for the pink ones first,” he said with a shrug.
Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I glanced down, making sure that my left hand was still securely hidden in my lap; hoping that it hadn't made a renegade break for it when he sauntered over to me. I just couldn’t talk about it yet, nothing had been resolved.
“Oh, well, that's true,” I murmured. And it was true. Just as carefully as Jim had selected the pink candies, Roy would have studiously avoided them. Kind of like how I burrowed into the couch, avoiding Roy when he stumbled home drunk the night before.
“Yeah, so chalk up another point for Halpert,” Jim said as he pushed away from the desk.
My head jerked up, but my eyes darted nervously to the tiny hash marks I had been making on my blotter. Did he know? No, there was no way he could know, right? He was just talking, just being Jim.
“You only like them because they're bubble gum, so I'm not really sure what that says about your masculinity,” I blurted, not ready for him to walk away just yet.
He held up his hands in mock surrender, three fingers folded into his palm to secure the precious confections. “Wow, Beesly, way to shoot a guy down,” he said with a chuckle.
“I figured you were secure enough to take it,” I said, forcing myself to look away nonchalantly.
“You're right, I am.”
A wide smile lit his face as he backed away from my desk, his eyes locked on mine. A smile that should be outlawed. A smile that hits a girl right in the hoo-hah. I shifted slightly in my seat as he returned to his desk. I watched as he tipped his head back, exposing his throat as he tossed the lucky, lucky jellybeans into his mouth.
My fingers scrambled for my pen, and I surreptitiously made another tiny mark next to the three that already graced the top right corner of my blotter. I was getting damn good at this game.
I stared at the candy jar, mentally willing the remaining jellybeans to disappear so that I could refill it once more. I love how the sound of the candy spilling into the dish sparks an almost Pavlovian response from him.
My mind began to drift as my gaze strayed toward his desk. I found myself wondering what other things could invoke such a visceral reaction from him. I watched him swallow. I could see him working his tongue against his teeth, thoroughly cleansing them of stray tidbits. I watched the muscle in his jaw jump and wondered what it would feel like to press my mouth to that pulsing juncture.
He hadn't shaved today. Or, if he did, he didn't do a very good job of it. Perhaps he needed a spotter. Someone to help him with such mundane tasks. I could point out the little spots that he always seems to miss; that tiny sprig of golden brown hair near the corner of his mouth. I forced myself to look away, staring a hole in my computer screen. But, I could still see it, that tiny patch of hair. Some days it's there, others it's not. I probably shouldn't say anything. If I point it out, he would probably be more careful about it. He would probably be sure to hit that tiny spot every damn day, and then I'd never see it again. No, it's better not to point it out. Some things are better left unsaid.
“Pam?”
I jumped. The combination of my thoughts and Roy's voice sending a pink flush racing up my neck and pooling in my cheeks. “Hi,” I answered, hating the waver I heard in my own voice.
“I would have brought you to work today,” he said in a low voice.
His statement ignited another type of burn altogether. “Really? Well, I thought it would be better if I brought my own car,” I answered, trying to inject a little steel behind the words. It must have worked, I saw him flinch.
That felt good. Score one for me.
“Listen, I'm sorry, okay?” Roy said in a low voice.
“Sorry that you just left me here?” I hissed.
“I was upset. My fiancée just dumped me,” he hissed back.
“Forget it,” I said dismissively as I spun my chair, giving him my back as I busied myself with straightening the already pristine stack of fax cover sheets.
I didn't have to see him to know that he was leaning on the counter, his arms crossed over the exact same spot Jim's had been just minutes before. “Pammy, come on. We need to talk about this. Have lunch with me. I'll take you to Cugino's,” he offered in a low voice.
“No. Not Cugino's,” I answered without thinking. Then I winced as I realized that I had just given him my agreement to have lunch with him elsewhere. I knew he didn't miss it. Roy never misses a loophole.
“Fine, we'll go someplace else,” he replied easily.
I turned and saw the victorious smile that I had heard in his voice, and in that moment, I hated Roy a little bit. I hated him for knowing me so well. I hated that he knew that I knew what he was doing, and he did it anyway. I hated that we both knew that I would spend my lunch hour hearing all of the same promises that I had been hearing for years. I hated him for knowing that I would waver a bit when I heard them.
I took a deep breath as I looked up at him looming over me. And then I smiled. Knowing that he didn't know that all I needed was that little tiny spark of hatred to hang onto. “You're right, we do need to talk. How does pizza sound?”
“Sounds great. Let me just go tell Darryl we're going,” he said as he rapped his knuckles against the countertop and then backed away, that smug smile growing wider by the moment.
“Fine.” I opened my desk drawer and pulled my purse from the bottom, thankful for that smile and the added determination it gave me.
I looped the strap of my purse over my shoulder as I stood up, my fingers curling securely around it as I gathered my hair from under it.
“Lunch date?” Jim asked as he approached.
“Oh. Yeah. We, um, we have to talk about some stuff,” I told him, adding a small shrug to let him know it was no big deal.
Jim nodded as he held up his brown paper bag. “I guess I'm flying solo today. Too bad. The ham doesn't usually start talking back to me until about an hour after lunch, so I'll be lonely.”
“Nice,” I said as I shook my head, my smile disproving my subtle disapproval.
“Oh, no, I didn't mean... The ham and I, we're okay, really. I just meant, well, it's not very good company,” he stammered. “I just meant I'd be hungry again in an hour.”
“Ohh,” I said, my head shifting into a nod of understanding as the color warmed his cheeks. I love it when he blushes. “Good. I was about to give you the name of a good Internist.”
Jim backed away, still blushing as he held up his sack lunch as if it were a shield. “I'm just gonna go...” He glanced over his shoulder at the break room and then said, “Oh good, Kelly's in there. It won't be so quiet after all.”
“Have a good lunch,” I called after him, a giggle bubbling up in my throat.
Jim turned back to me, a sheepish smile curving his lips. He must have been too embarrassed to look me in the eye. Instead his gaze locked on my left hand wrapped tightly around my purse strap. I saw his eyes widen, and then his smile grew slightly. It seemed as if his entire face lit up for that fraction of a second, and then it was gone, carefully covered with a blank mask. I looked down at my bare ring finger, and then back up at him, only to see him turn on his heel.
“Yeah, you too,” he called as he headed for the break room door.
I heard the warehouse door open, and sighed as I reached for my pen, adding one more little tick to the collection of marks on my blotter. “Another point for Halpert,” I muttered under my breath as Roy sauntered through the office.
~ ~ ~ ~
I have to admit, it felt good to be the one who had the upper hand for once. Okay, it didn't feel so great to see the pain on Roy's face when he finally realized that I wasn't going to change my mind. And the resignation in his voice when we discussed our living arrangements, well, it made me ache a little. But he did it to himself. I sat there, picking pieces of pepperoni from my slice as he ran through the usual litany of empty promises and lame excuses, digging the hole a little deeper.
He thought he knew me so well, but what he didn't know was that almost every word he said made it a little easier. By the time he finally got around to extolling the virtues of a honeymoon in Florida instead of Hawaii or even Mexico, I had to stop him. It was just too pathetic. Both of us. Him, thinking that he could work me around just as he always had. Me, realizing that I had let him do this to me over and over again. I'd had enough, and I let him know it in no uncertain terms.
Could I have been a little more kind? Probably. But when he started cajoling me, it just got my back up. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't even begin to picture what our life would be like. Okay, that's not true. I could picture it. I could picture it all too clearly. It's just that I didn't want what I saw. I had to be honest. I had to. For both of us.
I know that Roy didn‘t really get it right now, but he would if he just gave it a little time. He'd realize that I was right, that this was right. For both of us. It's too bad there isn't a mirror handy when you need one. I would have loved to have shown him the flicker of relief on his face when I told him bluntly that we were never going to get married. Of course, he argued and blustered, getting a little angry as he protested with a vehemence that rang all too hollow.
He was just scared. I told him that. He didn't like it, but I did. I told him that I was scared too. That seemed to make him feel a little better. He calmed down a bit, and for the first time in a long time, we talked.
We talked about how we had been Roy and Pam for so long that we had forgotten how to be Roy or Pam.
For a short time, there at that tiny table, Roy was the Roy that I used to talk to late at night. The one who used to listen to me. The one who used to love me, even though I was the weird artsy-fartsy girl. And it was good. Really good. But somehow, no matter how good it was, somewhere in those few minutes I know that Roy was finally beginning to understand what I meant. I could see him grasping it; finally accepting that maybe this was what he needed too.
He agreed to stay at Kenny's for a few days while I looked for an apartment of my own. We talked about splitting the money that we had saved up for the wedding that would never happen. It was then that his dimples flashed, giving me a glimpse of the boy I had fallen for so long ago. “You take it. It was mostly yours, anyway. I get the wave runners.”
And just like that, Roy and Pam turned into simply Roy and Pam.
I know that if I stopped to think about it, I knew I should feel more sadness than I felt as I dropped my purse back into the desk drawer. I knew that if I let myself dwell on it, I would probably mourn the years I had wasted waiting for him. But I also knew that I couldn't do that. I'd made my decision, and I knew it was right. I knew that we probably both had enough regrets to fill the warehouse to the rafters, but there was no sense in reveling in them. I knew that all I could do was move on, move forward, just move.
I dropped down into my chair, but instead of opening my usual post-lunch game of Solitaire, I pulled up the Times Tribune's website and clicked on the classified ads. I pulled a post-it note from the pad and wrote down the contact numbers for a few promising looking apartment ads. As I scrolled down the page, I noticed the 'Articles For Sale' section and an ad for a wedding dress caught my eye.
“Shopping online, Pam?” Jim asked, tsking softly as he circled my desk and pulled a fax cover sheet from the pristine stack.
I quickly minimized the window turned in my chair. “Can I help you?”
Jim smiled as he waved the cover sheet at me. “Beesly, I thought you'd never ask,” he said as he walked back to the other side of my desk. He placed the cover sheet on the counter, his fingers splaying over it as he leaned closer. “Would you mind faxing this for me?” he asked with a winning smile as he held up what appeared to be an application form in his other hand.
I couldn't help but gasp when I saw the subscription for Out magazine. My heart skipped a beat as I scanned the address information, slowing only when I realized that the address on the form was for Michael's new condo.
I shook my head, unable to suppress my smile. “No, I won't. That's too cruel, no matter how gay-friendly the neighborhood is. It's beneath you, Jim,” I added sternly.
“You think?” he asked as he turned the sheet to re-read it himself, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Funny, I didn't think anything was beneath me,” he murmured.
I couldn't help it, I had to lean a little closer. I admit, there may have been a brief moment where I pictured myself beneath him as I looked up into his puzzled green eyes. I couldn't help it, it was irresistible. I wet my lips and then said softly, “I expect better from you.”
I saw it. I saw his breath catch in his throat. I know I didn't imagine it. The way he swallowed hard as he stepped back only confirmed it for me.
“You're probably right,” he said in a low, raspy voice. I watched as he crumpled the sheet of paper, his fingers working around it as he balled it into his palm.
“You'll come up with something else,” I said, hoping to reassure him. “Here.” I pushed the candy jar a little closer to the edge of the counter, offering him a consolation prize.
“Thanks,” he said as he scooped a random handful of flavors from the dish, and then quickly retreated to his desk.
Another point was added to his tally. I glanced at the time on my computer screen and smiled. Only one-thirty and he was already up to six. It was no wonder Angela was so good at this game. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and my lips curved into a smile I couldn't hide even if I wanted to as I picked up the phone and began to make some calls.
~ ~ ~ ~
As Jim and I walked out of the office, I wondered if I could count it toward the day's final score. I was only up to seven, Jim having made only one more trip to reception to ask me to fax a report to corporate for him. I wanted that eighth point. I like even numbers.
I watched the numbers flash above the elevator doors, knowing that I couldn't ask Angela for clarification on the rules. With a slight nod to myself, I decided that it did count. He'd hesitated as he passed my desk, holding up a little so that he could walk out with me. I definitely count that as a stop.
We called our goodbyes to Meredith and Stanley, and as I walked toward my car, I felt a small flutter of pleasure as Jim passed his own car, falling into step beside me.
“Uh, Pam?”
“Yeah?”
“Is everything okay?” he began hesitantly. He must have heard me suck in my breath, startled by the directness of his question. “With your car, I mean. I haven't seen you drive your car in, um, a while,” he added lamely.
“The car is fine,” I told him as I stared at the battered old Escort I had driven since high school. I had a sudden flash of Roy complaining on the rare occasions that he attempted to fold his bulk into the tiny car. “Actually, I'm thinking about getting a new one,” I said, this time startling myself.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said, slowly warming to the idea as my eyes traveled the length of his body. “Yeah, I think it's time.”
“Well, I've gotta tell you, I worry about you driving around in this thing,” he said as he tapped the trunk of my car with the tips of two fingers.
I watched as he dragged those two fingers through the fine film of dust, subconsciously, or maybe consciously drawing a small 'J' through the accumulated neglect. I felt it coiling deep in my stomach, that need, that tiny nugget of yearning. I want his initial on my car. I wanted him to stake his claim in some way. Not in a creepy possessive way, and not in that annoyingly macho 'She belongs to me' sort of way that Roy had. Something simpler. Something easier. Something more. Something more...mutual.
My keys jingled in my hand, drawing my attention away from his fingertips. The sound of keys jingling, the tinkling music that meant that you were going somewhere, that something was about to happen. I love that sound. It makes me think of aimless drives on warm Sunday nights. It brings back the thrill of walking out of the house, keys in hand, and climbing behind the wheel by myself for the first time.
“Are you busy tonight?” I don't know where the question came from. I almost didn't recognize the husky sound of my own voice. But, I knew the moment the words passed my lips that I didn't want to take them back.
“Tonight?” Jim asked, his head jerking up.
“Yeah. I thought that maybe if you weren't busy you'd want to go troll the car lots with me, look around, see if we can make the sales guys chase us,” I said, trying to smother the nerves that threatened to make my voice quaver.
“I could do that,” he said slowly. I could see the wheel turning in his head as he looked down at the keys in my hand. “Roy doesn't want to go?” he asked, his eyes meeting mine at last.
“No. Roy won't be going car shopping with me,” I answered quietly.
“Okay,” he said, drawing the word out as his eyes pinned me to the spot, asking all of the questions he would never, ever voice.
I forced myself to blink, but I didn't have to force myself to hold his gaze. “He won't be apartment hunting with me this weekend either,” I said with more confidence than I really felt.
“I see.”
The street lights sprang to life, warring with the waning sunset and overpowering it, drenching the parking lot in a golden glow that couldn't compete with the warmth in Jim's spring green eyes. “Do you?” I asked, my cheeks blooming with color as I realized that we both heard the breathlessness in my voice.
“You need help shopping for a car,” he stated at last.
I shook my head slowly, unable to squash the impish smile that threatened. “No, I don't need help, but I think it could be fun if you wanted to come with me.”
“Yeah, that could be fun,” Jim answered, his smile mirroring my own as the throaty timbre of his voice found its mark once more.
“Climb in,” I said to him, unlocking the driver's door as I decided that he just scored point number nine; odd numbers be damned.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Maybe I need something bigger.”
The words hung in the air and I closed my eyes with a groan, nodding as he murmured, “That's what she said.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered as I shot him a glare.
The glare must not have been as effective as I had hoped, because Jim flashed the full wattage of his smile at me, almost blinding me in the darkened car.
“Can you afford something larger?”
“Probably not,” I admitted.
“Well, there you go,” he answered with a nod.
“It was cute.”
“Well, that's always the best reason to buy a car,” he said dryly.
“Hey, you said it got good gas mileage.” Suddenly I felt a fierce need to defend the pretty little Yaris we had looked at last.
“You still need to test drive it,” he reminded me as we turned into the parking lot.
“True.” I pulled to a stop behind Jim's Toyota Corolla. “But, hey, you drive a Toyota too,” I pointed out.
“So it must be a winner.”
As he reached for the door handle, I felt a moment of panic, dreading the moment his long lanky frame wasn't crowding my tiny little car. “Do you want to go back with me tomorrow? I mean, we've discovered the secret; if we show up fifteen minutes before closing no one will bother us,” I added with a smirk.
“That's not very sporting, Pam,” he chastised gently. He answered my smile with one of his own as he argued, “Besides, if you want to test drive it, you'll need to go earlier.”
“I have a couple of places I'm going to look at in the morning, but I could pick you up if you want to come with me,” I offered, shocked by my own boldness.
Jim blinked slowly as he peered at me in the dim glow of the dashboard. “What's going on, Pam?” he asked softly.
The bewildered gentleness in his voice made my throat ache. I caught my bottom lip with my teeth, biting it none-too-gently to ward off the stinging rush of tears that burned behind my eyes. My eyes dropped to his hands and I watched as he wrung his hands, his fingers tightening around his hand, pulling the skin tight and chasing the blood from his knuckles.
It seemed like miles, those twelve inches that separated us. For a split second, I wondered if we had ever been closer to one another. I knew that we must have been, I mean, I've hugged him. But not sitting like this; his shoulders, broader than the narrow seat back, and his legs, probably nearly as long as the interior of the car. He took up a lot of room in a tiny space. I liked it. I liked having him there. Close, so close. No, I don't need a larger car. That sweet little Yaris would be just perfect for me. For us.
Emboldened by the realization and maybe, just possibly, a little intoxicated by his all-encompassing nearness, I reached over, and pressed my fingertips to the warm skin of his wrist. I watched as he eased his grip on his hand, letting the blood flow freely once again. He looked up, his lips parting as he attempted to speak but no words came out.
I shrugged and gave his wrist a gentle squeeze, encircling it with my fingers as I said, “I'm moving on. Going forward.” The moment the word 'forward' tumbled from my mouth, I released my hold on him, pulling my hand back to the safety of my own lap, wondering when exactly I had become so forward.
“This is what you want?” he asked quietly, his confusion written all over his face.
“Yeah, Jim, this is what I want,” I answered, sure or my words even thought I was unsure that we were both talking about the same thing.
He nodded once and then glanced over at his car. “What time will you pick me up?” he asked, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he opened the door.
“Ten,” I answered, drawing one more little hash mark on the blotter in my head. After all, I do like even numbers.
tbc
Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you Ninjam for your fabulous beta services. What am I saying? I appreciate all of your services. ;)
