Emma, I hope your day’s going better than mine. Just got an email from the registrar’s office, saying I still need another class to graduate. Why is it that it’s taken me nine years to finish a degree that should have taken four? Want to get dinner tonight? –Pam
“Pam!” Pam’s head shot up, looking over the metal, plastered in grey carpet; her makeshift walls, that surrounded her desk. Standing above her was Neil, the new intern, who had suddenly became her boss’s best friend and felt it was his job to personally boss everyone around.
“Jeff wants to see you…” she nodded at him, looking back to her computer, adding some color to the coffee cup on her screen; she bit the side of her lip.
“Hello?” Neil was still standing there, peering over the partition, his dark glasses making his eyes look black. She stared at him for a moment. This boy was only twenty-two years old, and already he was sporting a suit worth more than what she paid for her apartment in a year, and a haircut that cost more than her groceries every week.
“Sorry,” Pam mumbled, averting her eyes and getting up from her desk chair. She groaned at the pain that slid down her spine and gave the chair a small kick. “Stupid thing,” she whispered, rubbing her hand on the small of her back and heading past all the other designers, busying themselves over computer monitors. No wonder she was getting a new prescription for her glasses every year, her eyes were worsening by staring at these screens all the time. Neil followed behind her, almost clipping her heels, talking her ears off.
“Pam, your performance has gone down, and I’m preparing you - Jeff is not going to be pleased.” He sped up to try and keep her pace, “I also know that you have been watching video clips at work, and I can tell you that per the employee handbook, rule number eleven on page two-hundred and four, it is irresponsible and childish to be doing anything at work that isn’t company related.” Pam could feel her cheeks burning, and her insides warming up. She didn’t have to take this! There was no reason why she should have to listen to any of this.
“Neil!” She raised her hand, stopping him dead in his tracks, drawing the eyes of the main receptionist as well as those gathering in the lobby. “Stop,” she lowered her voice. Neil stared at her, his eyes wide.
Suddenly, he slipped his hands in his pocket, and stared at her,
“Jeff’s in room seventeen,” he mumbled and then took off behind her at a quick jog, presumably to go call Jeff before she could get upstairs. She was sure she’d be written up for insubordination or something stupid like that. Rolling her eyes she pressed the button for the elevator, watching the doors open before her with a small ding. Relief passed over her as she stepped into an empty elevator, and pressed the button to close the doors quickly. She needed this ride alone.
Climbing up the shaft she watched the buttons light up in front of her, climbing the sixteen floors in the high rise building. Pam began to wonder what she was even doing in this elevator, wondering why she put up with what she did here, making barely any money, and living in a city she didn’t even like. At first, it was all about getting away from Roy. It was liberating to leave Scranton, to get out of that apartment the two of them shared and find a place that was her own. Her new place, though, instead of overlooking the illuminated point of One Liberty Place like she’d hoped when she moved to Philly, had a direct view of the brick backing of a pizza place, which made her apartment smell like garlic and feel close to 100 degrees, even in the dead of winter.
The elevator doors chimed open once again and Pam stood staring at the glass doors that would lead her down the hall to Jeff Golden’s office. Jeff was not the friendliest man on the planet, nor was he the most understanding. Just last year, Pam had to have an appendectomy and Jeff told her she needed to be back into work with 24 hours.
”A business doesn’t run itself, Pam,” he’d told her when she’d come back into work the next day. Pam pictured his pudgy face in her head - his cheeks were always crimson red, making him look as though he was continually angry. Most of the time, he was. Pam’s heels clicked as she marched down the linoleum floors, trying to figure out what she’d say to her boss. Things have just been really crazy for me lately….I’m still adjusting to living in the city…Neil makes me want to shoot myself She chuckled at the latter, and pushed open the doors to reveal Kitty, her bosses secretary. Pam had been told about a year ago that Kitty’s real name was Emily, but she’d been nicknamed by Jeff because of her ability to prowl out the “mice” in the company, those who would only bring the company down. Pam had heard, however, that she’d made her rounds with all the upper level management and believed she may have been nicknamed Kitty for other reasons.
“Jeff can see you now,” Kitty purred, a smile slipping onto her delicate face. Pam nodded, and let herself into Jeff’s office as he spun around in his swivel chair. His beady eyes stared at her, as she took a seat in front of him.
“Good morning Mr. Golden,” her voice was barely audible.
“No, it’s not!” Jeff barked, getting up to shut the door to his office, letting it slam.; Pam jumped in her seat, shutting her eyes to regain her composure.
”Just be honest with him. Tell him you don’t have to be treated like this, that you can find work for the same amount of money elsewhere…” Pam’s mind was shuffling a mile a minute.
“Your work has been slipping for the past two months. I’ve barely seen any sketches or documents of your designs for the coffee shops, and Neil’s telling me you’ve been…”
he picked up a sticky note on his desk and glanced down at it, “rude, spacey, and insubordinate.” Pam covered her mouth to stifle the giggle that was trying to escape her lips.
“If I don’t see an improvement in the next twenty four hours, I’m telling you right now, you’re done with this company,” Jeff leaned back in his chair, his face looking more red than usual.
“I’m tired of your bad attitude, laziness-“ Pam stood up, stopping him dead in his tracks.
“I quit,” she stated, pressing her palms nervously down her dress shirt.
“Excuse me?” Jeff sat up, his belly creeping over the top of his desk.
“I quit. I’m done, I can find a better job than this,” She replied, pushing his chair closer to his desk and going to the door.
“People don’t quit here…” Jeff grumbled, his hands starting to tremble.
“Well, this person does. Goodbye,” Pam opened the door, and shut it behind her, feeling Kitty’s eyes following her out the small office.
“Oh my god…” Pam looked down at her fingers, they were shaking. “Oh my god!” She squealed, practically running back down to the elevator. Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket, she quickly pressed in some numbers.,
“Emma…its Pam. Listen, I’m going to be at school in twenty minutes. Pack your stuff up, we’re going for drinks, I have so much to tell you,” she flipped the phone shut and looked at the time, there were only a few minutes until five so, grabbing a discarded box from the hall way, she sprinted towards her office to pack the few things she had in her desk before meeting Emma.
Jim pulled his brown sweater over his head, and flipped the collar of his dress shirt out from underneath. He glanced in the mirror, adjusted his glasses, grabbed his wallet and keys from his dresser, and slipped them into the pocket of his jeans.
“Claire!” He called from upstairs, his sneakers padding against the stairwell as he walked down.
“Yeah, Dad?” she asked him, applying make up to her chin, casually sweeping the veil away from her face.
“Well…don’t you look, pretty” he smirked as she smeared some fake blood down her forehead.
“Wasn’t exactly the look I was going for,” she spun around from the mirror, holding her hands up for him to inspect.
“You look like death,” Jim smiled, “better?” he asked as she nodded, pulling her dress further down.
“Where’d you get that dress?” Jim asked, walking into the kitchen and grabbing the pumpkin the two had carved earlier in the day.
“Oh, Katie’s mom…you know, when Katie’s dad left to marry that hooker he met on business in Vegas…” Claire casually turned the lipstick around in her fingers. Jim choked on the apple cider he’d put in his mouth just a few seconds before.
“What did you call her?” Jim asked, wiping the juice off his chin, trying to find his voice.
“What?” Claire asked, confused.
“Oh, never mind,” Jim swung his hand in the air, wondering when his kid learned what a hooker was. He shook his head, and slipped his arms through his leather jacket.
“Are you ready?” He asked her, squeezing her shoulders as she stepped away from the mirror.
“Uh huh,” she placed her feet into her ballet flats and followed her father out the door.
“You excited for tonight?” Jim inquired.
“Mhmm. Dad?” she buckled herself up, looking at him.
“What’s up?” He asked, starting the car, and leaving the drive way.
“You’re not going to do anything stupid tonight, right?” She peered out the window, not looking at him as she asked him questions.
“Define stupid,” Jim raised an eyebrow, turning the heat on low in the car.
“You know, talking to my teachers or…friends,” she swallowed and looked over at him. Jim had to prevent himself from smiling - it was amazing what was so important to thirteen-year-old girls. He wasn’t really sure he’d ever understand it, but knew that he had to count these days as blessings. Soon Claire would grow up and find out about the truths of the world, and he could only hope that everything she could ever desire would come easy to her. She was so bright, so dedicated, and he wondered every day how she got through the simple things. With Sarah being gone, he’d recently learned how to braid hair, that Claire liked her sandwiches cut diagonally, not horizontally, and that there was apparently a huge difference between Tampax light days, and regular.
“I’ll try not to mortify you tonight,” he patted her knee and she laughed.
“Don’t do that,” she giggled, leaning over on his arm and resting her head there. Gazing away from the road a minute he pressed a kiss to her head and listened to her sigh. The foliage sped past them and he made a mental note to take Claire for a drive the following day up north so she could see the rest of the foliage season before it ended. Slowing down he pulled into the drive way of the elementary school as the moon started to appear in the dim sky, lighting up the parking lot. Dozens of middle- schooler’s filed out of cars, running toward the gymnasium, their parents following slowly behind, starting to mingle with another. Claire sat up slowly, looking over to her father.
“Since we can’t do this for the rest of the night,” she leaned in and gave him a kiss on his cheek, “I love you Dad,” she grinned, and got out of the car.
“Julie, wait!” She called, slamming the door a bit hard, leaving Jim with the overhead light dimming around him. He felt his throat close a bit, laying his head against the back of the seat he closed his eyes. We’ll be okay, he thought to himself. Giving one last glance in the rear view mirror, he got out of the car, ready to go make an appearance. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk “shop” with his 8th graders parents, but like he’d told Claire a dozen times, Sometimes people have to do things they don’t want to do , for the better of others; it’s how we go about doing those things that can make us a better person.
“Did you see Dancing with the Stars last night?” Emma slammed her glass down on the counter a bit too hard, as she doubled over in laughter. Pam’s eyes lit up, looking around her at the neon lights and the people watching them - , she needed another drink.
“Nope,” Pam placed her glass out and the bartender quickly refilled it with a swirly pink liquid and vodka.
“Well,” Emma started, leaning over the bar, trying to get closer to Pam. Pam just laughed, pulled her drink closer, and her stool further. “Simon Cowell…he is just so handsome, I mean, DAMN! Have you seen his chest?” Emma slurped back another shot, dribbling some down her chin. Pam laughed, feeling her fingers start to tingle, and forgot about the fact that people were watching them.
“Simon Cowell is on American Idol,” Pam laughed, “and it hasn’t been on television in five years,” she giggled, finishing the rest of her drink. Staring down at the ice, she watched as some of it melted down to the bottom of the glass. Biting her lip, she looked back at Emma, watching as her friend looked up.
“I can’t believe you left that company Pam,” Emma reached out and grabbed Pam’s arm. Pam wasn’t entirely sure whether or not it was for support or for emphasis on what she was about to say. “You’re better than that place anyway, and you know what I think?” Pam shook her head, she was starting to feel the alcohol. Every time she drank, she would get a bit dizzy and feel the urge to tell the entire room whatever she was feeling at the moment.
“What’s that Em?” Pam asked, grabbing onto her own chair for support, trying to keep her voice down.
“I think you should go back to painting again,” she slapped Pam’s arm and glued her eyes to the television that was playing some basketball game. Pam nodded, thinking about how long it had been since she just painted for herself. Outside of class, and the designing she did at work, she barely had time to do anything crafty for herself.
“Pam!” Emma called to her, even though the women were only a few feet apart.
“Shh! Emma, you’re going to get us kicked out,” Pam looked around, remembering the one and only time she’d ever been over-served in a restaurant.
“Oh please, they don’t kick people out,” Emma’s words were all running together as Pam stood up grabbing both of their jackets, and leaving some money on the counter.
“Oh yes they do…” Pam mumbled, rolling her eyes.
“What was that?” Emma asked, the two women walking out the door, dark eyes watching them as they left.
“Nothing,” Pam pulled her jacket closer to her as they began to walk back to Emma’s house.
“Weren’t you kicked out once for drinking?”Emma tripped over a crack in the sidewalk,
“Easy!” Pam caught her and straightened her up, wrapping Emma’s arm around her shoulder. “And yeah…I got over served at a Chili’s and fell off a barstool” she answered with a giggle.
“I thought they couldn’t serve you more than three drinks at restaurants?” Emma asked with a laugh, looking up at the night sky.
“They can’t…I sort of, stole other people’s drinks…” Pam’s cheeks burned.
“Was that when Jim kissed you?” Pam stopped in her tracks, the cool night air biting at her cheeks.
“No,” she answered quietly leading Emma into her house, ignoring the dog that had begun to bark at (?) Pam from inside of his cage.
“But I thought you said that-“ she set Emma down in a wing backed chair in the living room.
Pam cut her off, “I kissed him that night,” Pam sighed, taking a seat on the couch, trying to make the room stop spinning around her. They were both too drunk to be having this conversation.
“Thattttts right,” Emma drawled, leaning back to stare at Pam. It was quiet for a moment, Pam biting on the end of her thumb, starting to rip the nail back.
“You miss him don’t you?” Emma asked. It would have been empathetic if Pam’s cheeks weren’t burning from the liquor she consumed, and if Emma hadn’t managed to vomit immediately after all over the floor.
“Oh god, Emma,” Pam got up off the couch, grabbing the trashcan from the kitchen and setting it next to Emma. “I’ll be right back,” she groaned and went to get paper towels. Stopping for a moment, she pressed her hand against the wall to steady herself, and closed her eyes.
“Pammmmmm!” She opened her eyes, feeling a few tears brimming in them as she grabbed the paper towels out of the hall closet and came back into the living room, kneeling down in front of Emma and cleaning the mess up. “I’m sorry Pam,” she mumbled, leaning over, Emma’s eyes closed. Emma placed her hand on Pam’s back, leaving Pam alone. Emma had fallen asleep.
“It’s alright Em,” she whispered and got up to go sit at the kitchen table. She listened to the buzzing of the fridge, and the frequent squirting of the air freshener, making the room smell like lavender. She glanced down at the pile of mail sitting on Emma’s counter, on top of the letters a piece of paper, a name in chicken scratch with a number below it. Why the hell did Emma have this? her breath caught in her chest, as she looked down at the name in front of her. Jim Halpert.
