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“Jim!” I feel Pam shaking my shoulder, my eyes pop open, and I lift up with a start. “Get up!” Is Daniel sick…have we overslept…what? My head clears and she’s saying “Come on.” She pulls at my arm and I look up at her face. She’s smiling and excited and now I know it’s nothing bad, but I’m confused. I remember Daniel is at Helene’s – can’t be him.
“Wake up, you need to see this!”
“What is it?” I’m still not good and awake, but I sit up and try to get moving. “Gotta...” I point at the bathroom.
“Okay, hurry,” she says as she pulls me to standing, and I head for the bathroom. When I come out, she’s holding a pair of thick socks. I look down at her feet and she’s already got on socks, but she’s still wearing her flannel pajamas.
“Here, put these on.” She shoves the socks into my hands.
“Pam?” I’m still puzzled. What’s got her so excited? Pam isn’t exactly a morning person.
“Just do it, you’ll see.” She’s impatient, so I pull the socks on standing up, teetering back and forth trying not to lose my balance. She moves over to stand next to me and I lean against her while I manage to get the second sock on. “Now c’mon downstairs, we’re going outside.” I lumber down the stairs after her and she stops at the foyer closet and pulls out her pink coat and my parka, and she pushes my boots toward me. I glance out the window and then I see why.
We step out the front door into the barely morning light. Everything - and I mean everything - is covered with a coat of ice. The new light is shining pink and the ice is glowing.
Hand in hand, we stare agape at the landscape, our breath coming out in little clouds. The whole world is shimmering pink. “Holy crap, this is amazing,” I say to her, which is totally inadequate - there’s no way I can come up with words that will do this justice.
The light changes rapidly from a rosy glow to fiery orange and soon we’re engulfed in a raging frozen fire. Then the sun moves a little higher and everything in sight begins to sparkle white. Even the trashcans on the curbs of the street glitter and glint like diamonds.
I feel her shiver, so I move up close behind her. I wrap my arms over her shoulders and pull my open parka around both of us and she leans back into me. It feels good.
“It – it looks like a giant disco ball!” she squeaks. She does that sometimes when she’s excited.
“Poetic, Beesly.” I chuckle, and she pokes me with her elbow.
We stand there watching the light shift, taking it all in, and I figure we both look like Daniel did when he saw the enormous Christmas tree in front of the courthouse the other night. The sun rises quickly, and I feel a drip on my cheek. I glance up and see the ice is already starting to melt off the branches above us.
We don’t want to break the spell, but she finally says, “We’ve got to go in – it’s too cold.” She turns around under my coat, and looks up at me all bubbly (I haven’t seen that look for a long time). When she reaches up to give me a quick kiss, the look on her face suddenly turns to concern. She wipes the drip off my cheek with her finger.
“No, Pam, it’s a drip. Off the tree.” I point up to the branches. Then I get to grin while she looks sheepish.
We head on inside and she puts on some coffee while I hang up the coats. Waiting for it to brew, we stand over the heating vent to get warm, rubbing our hands and hopping up and down. We look dorky, but nobody’s watching and it works.
“Hey, Pam?” I say. 'Cause I have an idea. “Why don’t you go on up and take a shower and I’ll fix us some breakfast.”
She cocks her head at me curiously, smiles a crooked smile, and says, “If you insist,” and off she heads upstairs. A second later she calls down, “Want your robe?” I am chilly in my t shirt and flannel pants.
“Yeah, send it down express?” I manage to catch it when she fast pitches it down the stairs in a ball.
I slip it on quickly and get myself busy cooking, and just as she comes down the stairs, it’s ready. Good timing. I stop her at the bottom of the stairs. “Close your eyes, I’ll help you.” I take her hand and guide her to sit at the kitchen table. I’ve put a plate of waffles topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and covered with chocolate syrup onto the table in front of her. I wish I had a cherry, but it looks pretty good anyway. “Okay, you can open.”
The look on her face when she opens her eyes is priceless. “Ta da!” I announce, and I make a big flourish when I put her coffee next to the plate, and I fuss a little bit about the placing the silverware just right.
“No cherry?” she smirks, but I know she’s really pleased. Pam likes her waffles.
Just then the phone rings and it’s Ann, Pam’s boss. They want to give the streets time to thaw, so she doesn’t need to be in until ten.
Turns out we get to eat our waffles in uncommon leisure, and they are very good if I do say so myself. (I wonder briefly if Waffle House pays any better than Best Buy.) We mostly talk about the morning’s light show, and then phone rings again. I answer, and it’s Pam’s mom. Daniel is still asleep, she says, so she suggests I wait until later to come and get him, after the roads melt. As long as get him by noon, because she works this afternoon. Pam gets the gist of our conversation. Once I hang up, I shake my head, “God knows how late she let him stay up, Pam.”
“Maybe you should just keep him up all day so we can sleep tonight,” she suggests, and she’s probably right.
Finally I have to bring it up. “So. I’m going to take in my application to Best Buy later,” I say, and she nods in resignation. I look down to finish off the last forkful of my waffles.
“Jim, I was thinking.” There’s something in her voice. “Maybe we should go ahead and buy a couple of carts.” My head snaps up and I see that mischevious look creep into her eye. My mouth drops open in disbelief. She’s not.
“Grocery carts, you know?” she explains, but I get it already. Yup, she‘s going there. And damned if I’m not smiling. “While we still can?” she adds.
“Good thinking.” I pick it up and run with it. What the hell. “We’ll have to get one of those little carts for Daniel, too. Like the ones that the Bi Lo has for kids?”
“Yes, perfect.” She’s grinning now. “We’ll be the only homeless family in town whose child has his own cart!” She squeals with excitement. “That’s why I married you, you know, Halpert. It’s all about the lifestyle to me. Hey, you have to feed me grapes out of the trash bins, you know.”
“Demanding, as always. Red or green, as you wish.” I bow and wave my hand in deference, and then my hand comes to my chin as I think. “Maybe l’ll get a cardboard box and put an “X” on it. You know, Call of Duty, the Salvation Army Edition?”
She rolls her eyes. “Always thinking of your own entertainment.” Then she sets her jaw in determination and threatens, “Well, I’m not sleeping in anything less than an abandoned Mercedes, mister. I have standards.”
“Such a Eurosnob.” I blow out a breath in mock disgust. Then something else comes to me – something perfect. “Wait! Oooh, Pam!” I’m very excited. “You can do the graffiti under our viaduct. You’ll have plenty of time for your art again.”
He eyes widen first in shock and then appreciation . Got her good. And this is so, so not funny but we’re both laughing anyway.
“We can invite Pete over to our favorite dumpster for New Year’s.” She giggles. “BYOB, of course.”
Oh God, she’s got to stop. My sides hurt and her eyes are wet from laughing. We gradually sober up from our hysterics and a dark seriousness slowly and quietly replaces our bravado. She walks over and puts her arms around me and we stand there in the middle of the kitchen, hugging. Clinging to each other, really. We’re both scared, but it’s okay.
I kiss her head and say, “I’ll call the realtor on Monday.”
“We can do this,” she reminds me. And she’s right. We can find a little apartment that’ll work. I notice the time and I say I’d better go ahead and make her lunch. I don’t want her to have to hurry driving in – there may still be icy spots.
She glances at her watch. “Guess you’re right.” She gathers the dishes from the table and I head over to the sink. I pick up the bottle of chocolate syrup with my right hand and, as I reach below it to get the butter with my left, the bottle tilts sideways. Suddenly a thick stream of syrup gushes out onto my arm below. “Shit.” I turn it upright quickly but half the bottle is already spilled. “Shit!!” I had unscrewed the cap because the spout was clogged but I’d forgotten, and now there’s syrup all over the sleeve of my robe, all over the counter. “It’s everywhere!” I slam down the containers and scramble to get a paper towel and I manage to get syrup all over my right hand in the process. What a mess. I’m an idiot.
I hear her behind me. “Now I see where our son gets his stickiness.” She’s enjoying this.
“Shut up.” Everywhere I touch is sticky and brown, and my nose starts to itch.
“Well, Halpert, I see you have this under control,” she quips, and as she turns to head upstairs to get ready, the phone rings. It’s only a few feet from me, but I’m elbow deep in sticky. “Pam! Wait! Wouldya get that?”
She answers with, “Halpert residence,” and she immediately looks surprised. “Yes, just a moment, please, Mr. Harris,“ she says in her best receptionist voice.
She looks at me with a “Yikes!” face and her eyes pop open wide.
I hold up my sticky hands and shake my head “No” but it’s too late, so I silently mouth “speaker phone” to her and she nods in relief. She pushes the button and mouths back at me, “it’s on.”
“Hello, Mr. Harris, Jim Halpert here.” I’m holding both hands out over the sink as I talk, and my heart leaps up in my throat. You don’t suppose?
“Mr. Halpert, I’m calling to follow up on our interview yesterday.” My hopes fall just as quickly as they had risen, because he sounds very somber – not the tone you use to offer somebody a job at all. “As you know, we interviewed several people for this job, but we can only hire one person, unfortunately.” I look at Pam and she knows, too, and she wraps her arm around my waist and leans into me. It helps. As it turns out, Mr. Harris is just guy who’s decent enough to tell you “No” himself.
“I wanted you to know we thought you were an excellent candidate, and we wish you the best of luck, but we’ve decided to go with another applicant. You may have met him – I think he interviewed right before you did.”
“No sir, you must be thinking of someone else,” I blurt out. He couldn’t have hired that buffoon.
“Yes, I’m sure. I recall he was the man before you because he and I got on so well I almost cancelled your interview. He may even have mentioned to you that he thought he had the job. But you’d made the trip on such a nasty day, I went ahead and saw you, and I’m glad to have met you anyway.”
Fucking hell. Not that guy. That jackass is getting my job? MY job? And somehow again, my tongue starts working without asking my brain, and “What the...?” sneaks right out but I manage to stop the rest of it. How is it that this obnoxious excuse for a man can get a job and I can’t?
“I’m sure you remember him, the guy with the zipper problem?” Harris adds. Wait, how did he know that?
I’m standing here completely dumbfounded and I don’t know what to say, and then Harris bursts out laughing. There’s a distinctly feminine laugh in the background, too, I think. Has he been…messing with me? A smile slowly creeps to my face, and I look down at Pam, but she’s still totally confused.
“Jim, I’m pulling your leg, son. I’ve called to offer you this job.”
All of a sudden my knees get wobbly and I’m glad Pam’s got me shored up. I take a moment to compose myself before I answer, “I’d – I’d love to accept the job, Mr. Harris.” I’ve never been so glad to be the butt of a joke. I pause, and then, because I have to ask, I sputter, “But...how..?”
“My daughter told me about your…interaction in the waiting room.”
“Your daughter?”
“Yes, Laura, my daughter. She’s filling in for our regular secretary while she’s on maternity leave.”
Laura, the receptionist. She’s Harris’ daughter? She must have told her father. I shake my head. Wow. “She didn’t mention that she was your daughter.”
“Oh, I know. Clever, isn’t it? She’s actually an integral part of my interview process. You got good marks. You know, the guy who’s not nice to the waiter?”
“Is not a nice guy,” I finish it for him. And I have to chuckle.
“I think you’re going to fit in well here, Jim. When can you start? Monday too soon?”
“Monday’s…” I glance down at Pam and I’m not sure whose smile is bigger, hers or mine. “Monday’s fine, sir.”
“Oh, and forget the “sir” business, Jim, call me Michael, please.”
“Monday’s great, Michael.” Oh my God, his name is Michael.
“Looking forward to seeing you Monday at nine, then?”
“I’ll be there…Michael. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
There’s a click and a dial tone. Pam lets go of my waist and rushes over to put the receiver back, while I frantically strip off my sticky robe and wash my hands. When I turn back to her, we look at each other for a moment in disbelief and then we fall into each other and she says oh my God and I say I can’t believe it and she says you did it and on and on and I feel ten feet tall.
I see the time on the clock and reluctantly loosen myself from her. “Pam, you need to go get ready.”
“Oh, okay,” she pouts a little but she knows I’m right. She gives me a squeeze and then trots quickly up the stairs. I love the new spring in her step.
“Wow.” I stand here in the kitchen and say it out loud because I’m trying to accept what just happened, and then I realize I’ve got to get my act going here and make Pam some lunch. It’s made by the time she comes back down and we’re both kind of giddy when I walk her to the door and as she starts to go, I pull her in close and kiss her. I mean really kiss her. And she kisses back and she’s pressed up against me and she’s warm and soft and luscious, and I’m thinking maybe Daniel needs a sibling right damn now. But there’s not time and we break away, and she whispers in my ear, “Tonight?”
I barely manage to get out, “Count on it,” because I really want her to stay. She heads out because she has to and I miss her the instant the door closes.
I sigh and set myself to the task of cleaning up breakfast (and my mess). I take the steps three at a time when I go up to shower and get ready – I’m going to go get Daniel and take him to that indoor Burger King playground this afternoon. Gotta tire the little man out so he’ll sleep tonight. After I’m dressed, I stop by Daniel’s room to get him an extra set of clothes just in case, and I notice Pam’s sketchbook lying on his night table. How’d that get in here? Better move it out of reach. When I pick it up, I notice there’s a pencil stashed between the pages.
I’m curious, so I open the sketchbook to the page where the pencil is bulging. On the page is a new drawing of Daniel’s cardboard playhouse. His head is sticking out of one of the doors and he’s making a goofy face. I’m standing behind the other half of the house, and I’m laughing at him. Did she draw this last night or before I got up this morning? Wow, this is really, really good - it looks just like us. I’ll have to tell her tonight. I start to put up the book, and I almost miss the three words she’s written in the corner at the very bottom - they’re so small. “What I need.”
And I know, without a doubt, I’m the luckiest man in the world.
...
Author's Chapter Notes:
“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to love, and be loved, in return.”
.
This chapter title is from the song made famous by Nat King Cole, written by Eden Ahbez. (You may know it from the Bowie version in Moulin Rouge) Here’s a wonderful version by Kurt Elling with the Sydney Symphony:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXprs8-U5nA
.
Here’s more about the composer - interesting that he was homeless by choice for part of his life:
http://www.spaceagepop.com/ahbez.htm
.
Big thanks to Vampiric Blood for kicking my ass (I needed that) on this one, and to NanReg, who hates to see me be mean to Jim. Bestest betas evah.
...
.
This chapter title is from the song made famous by Nat King Cole, written by Eden Ahbez. (You may know it from the Bowie version in Moulin Rouge) Here’s a wonderful version by Kurt Elling with the Sydney Symphony:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXprs8-U5nA
.
Here’s more about the composer - interesting that he was homeless by choice for part of his life:
http://www.spaceagepop.com/ahbez.htm
.
Big thanks to Vampiric Blood for kicking my ass (I needed that) on this one, and to NanReg, who hates to see me be mean to Jim. Bestest betas evah.
...
Chapter End Notes:
.
Your thoughts are always appreciated if you have the time and the inclination. Thanks for reading!
Your thoughts are always appreciated if you have the time and the inclination. Thanks for reading!
jazzfan is the author of 16 other stories.
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