When Pam Met Jim

Chapter 1

Pam

A year after I started working at Dunder Mifflin, I was engaged to Roy.  The next year, we were married. Two months after that, I was a widow.

There had been a horrible accident in the warehouse involving the forklift, but I never wanted to know the details. Suffice it to say, it had been a closed-casket funeral. The police ruled it was an accident, that it had been Roy’s carelessness, and despite that, David Wallace had generously given me $100,000 in compensation. Dunder Mifflin had also paid for the funeral. Roy’s life insurance policy awarded me $500,000. That was more than enough to allow me not to work for a very long time, but three weeks after Roy died, I was calling David Wallace to ask if I still had my old job. I didn’t know if there was some policy that would frown upon paper warehouse widows continuing to work there. He was surprised at my request, to say the least.

“You sure? I mean, there would have to be some memories…”

“There will be, but I don’t think I can sit around my parents’ house for much longer. God love them, but they can’t stop hovering.”

I could hear the gentle smile in his voice. He was such a kind, decent man.

What I didn’t say was I was tired of sleeping, crying, and staring blankly out the window of my childhood bedroom. I couldn’t stay at the home Roy and I had shared; not yet, anyway.  With all the sudden changes in my life, I just didn’t have the gumption to go out looking for a new job.

“I get it, Pam,” he said.  “Look, you always have a job at Dunder Mifflin, no question.  Come back whenever you’re ready.”

“How about next week?” I asked quickly, with a genuine smile for the first time in weeks.

He laughed softly. “Okay.  You want me to call Michael for you?”

I chuckled too. No clarification was necessary; we both knew how Michael Scott could be. “Yeah, that would be really nice of you. Thank you, David.”

“I’m happy to help. And you let me know if there’s ever anything else I can do for you, I mean that sincerely.”

“I know you do. Thanks again, David, for everything.”

Nearly a year later, I was still a receptionist at Dunder Mifflin, and getting on with my life—if you count finding a new apartment, buying a cute little Toyota, and getting through one day at a time getting on with things.  Oh, and I had a cat now.

A few weeks after Roy had died, Angela’s cat, Sprinkles, had a litter of kittens. When they were old enough, she offered me one—probably the nicest thing she has ever done for me. And even though I’d always thought of myself as more of a dog person, and much as I didn’t want to become an old widowed cat lady, Vincent Van Gogh (or so it said on his official pedigree papers) became the comforting center of my life. He woke me up every morning with sweet kitty kisses (okay, I know he was just hungry), and greeted me excitedly after work at the front door, rubbing against my legs worshipfully (and yes, he mainly wanted me for my kibble). But there was someone else in this world who relied on me, and I relied on him, and the little ball of fluff filled in a small portion of the hole in my heart.

I began to understand Angela better, and we formed a tentative sort of friendship, sharing pictures of our cats on our tiny flip phone screens in the break room.  She even came by once or twice to visit Vincent, telling him about his brothers and sisters she still hadn’t the heart to sell.

“I can’t sell Sprinkles’s children!” she’d cried passionately. 

I hoped her landlord was just as understanding.  I’ll spare you the details of when I brought Vincent over for a “playdate,” or the bizarre and elaborate birthday party she threw for Sprinkles—I was the only human guest.

But it was Angela who found me crying in the stairwell after I got the call that Roy’s gravestone had been set. She drove me to the cemetery after work, and even held my hand for a minute as we stood in front of the simple stone, while a cold March wind whipped around our coats, and my tears froze on my cheeks.  We had bonded over our cats and our mutual loneliness, and while she was still sometimes the office bitch (especially during party planning committee meetings), I knew she would be there for me if ever I asked.

So, long story short, I was getting along okay by the time Jim Halpert first walked through Dunder Mifflin Scranton’s front door. I looked up with a helpful smile as the tall, lanky young man in the gray suit stopped at the reception desk.  He carried an old leather messenger bag by its handle. His hair was neatly trimmed, though not very stylish (I had the fleeting thought that his mom might have cut it) and his boyish face made me think he was just out of high school. But when his wide hazel eyes met mine, I saw a hint of wry, almost world-weary humor there, and when he gave an answering, brilliant smile, out of nowhere I could only think: Wow!  I felt my cheeks grow warm, my heart skip a beat.

“May I help you,” I somehow managed, hoping I adequately covered my very unprofessional physical response to him.

“Yeah. I mean, I hope so. I’m Jim Halpert; I’m here to see Michael Scott. I have an interview for a sales position.” His voice was smooth and deeper than I’d expected, making me feel warm on the inside too.

Odd that Michael hadn’t mentioned an appointment today. I glanced at my boss’s dark office window.

“He’s not in yet,” I said, “but I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Please, have a seat.” I nodded toward the couch near the entry way.  “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No thanks. I probably don’t need the extra caffeine right now.”  His eyes turned sheepish, and I smiled in understanding. Interviews were the worst.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind.  I’m Pam Beesly, by the way.”  He took a seat on the couch and I figured he would quietly settle in for the wait. To my surprise (and pleasure) he spoke again. 

“Nice to meet you. So, any hints on getting in good with the boss?”

I grinned, thinking of the best way to impress Michael.  “Laugh at his jokes, and you’re in.”

He raised thick, expressive eyebrows.  “Seriously?”

“Yep.”

He tapped his full bottom lip with a long finger.  “Hmmm…good to know.”

“Are you from Scranton?” I heard myself asking. Something in me wanted to keep him talking.

“Born and raised. You?”
“Yes. What high school did you go to?”

“West Scranton High, class of ’97.”

I couldn’t believe it; we were the same age.

“I went to Valley View. Also graduated in ’97.”

“Cool,” he said.  “Small world.” I loved the note of irony in his voice, for of course, it really wasn’t that small of a world when two people from Scranton, Pennsylvania end up working at the same place.

“Yeah.”  Our eyes held for a long moment, his alive with definite masculine interest. I swallowed and felt my pulse quicken as the seconds skipped by. The phone startled me into breaking eye contact, and, excusing myself, I took the call.

By the time I hung up, Michael was walking through the door. He noticed Jim immediately.

“Hey!” he said, with his usual enthusiasm. “You must be the new recruit.”

Jim got to his feet, and it was almost comical how Michael’s eyes widened as he rose to his full height, towering over my boss by at least half a foot.

“Mr. Scott--Jim Halpert.” He held out his large hand, which Michael gamely shook.

“Call me Michael. My mother’s name was Mr. Scott. Wow! They sure grow ‘em up big at Penn State. Step into my office, said the spider to the fly. I don’t bite, I promise—If I did it would have to be your knee caps, Slim Jim. Ha! Pam—hold my calls please.”

 He laughed at his own joke, and, taking my advice, Jim chuckled good-naturedly. As Michael led the way inside his office, Jim shot me a surreptitious look of mock terror, and I grinned and gave him an encouraging thumbs up.  I looked up to find that everyone in the bullpen was watching the spectacle that was Michael and a possible new salesman. Well, not everyone was looking at Michael and Jim; Angela was looking speculatively at me. Her schoolmarm face showed disapproval at my smile. I flushed and went back to work.

Over the next half hour, I’d glanced up from time to time at the window to Michael’s office, hearing an occasional burst of robust laughter (mainly Michael’s). Mostly I stared at the back of Jim’s neck, where the skin was a little whiter than his face and hands, proving my theory that his hair cut was recent. So, he tended to wear his hair longer; I thought idly that shaggier would suit him better.

When the pair finally reemerged from Michael’s office, both of them were all smiles. Jim caught my eye and gave a little nod of gratitude.

“Attention everybody! Thanks to my outstanding sales pitch, we have a new salesman to add to the Dunder Mifflin family.  Please welcome—“and he gave a loud drum roll on the counter in front of me—"Jim Halpert!”

Everyone clapped politely.

“Pam, please show Jim around, will you?” He patted Jim none too gently on the back, startling him and pushing him to take a few inadvertent and embarrassing steps forward. Jim was gracious however, recovering quickly and thanking Michael for the opportunity.  He gave his new coworkers an awkward wave hello.

Michael went back into his office and shut the door, while I hurried around my desk where Jim was waiting for me.  In my flat Keds, he seemed like a giant. I looked up into his sparkling eyes.

“Congratulations,” I said with a smile.

“Thanks for the tip,” he replied softly, letting out a sigh of relief. “I really needed this job.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great. You need to catch your breath before the tour?”

“Nah, I’m feeling pretty good right now. Bring it on.”

I felt my smile widen. “Well,” I began conspiratorially, “I’ll show you to your desk first. Now enjoy this moment, because you’re never going to go back to this time before you met your desk mate, Dwight.”

He laughed in confusion. “What?”

“Trust me,” I said, and led him to the empty desk next to Dwight Schrute.

I introduced them, and Dwight being Dwight, studied Jim from head to toe before reluctantly rising to his feet. I realized immediately that he’d been calculating whether Jim was taller. I laughed behind my hand when we all noticed at the same time that Jim beat him by at least an inch.

“Dwight Schrute,” Dwight enunciated proudly. He offered his hand, and Jim took it. It pleased Dwight when Jim flinched in surprise at how aggressive his handshake was. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud when Jim squeezed back—hard, and Dwight grunted under his breath.  “Are you a Mason?” Jim asked him dryly, implying that they were participating in a secret handshake.

“Amish,” Dwight said, and abruptly extricated his hand. “What’s your sales experience?”

“Aside from working at a call center as a college job, this will be my first, actually. I’ve been at Martin-Fields the last two years in the marketing department before they folded. Marketing was actually my major at Penn State Scranton.”

“Aw,” said Dwight, as if that explained everything. “Still a padawan. But don’t worry; I’ll take you under my wing and teach you everything I know. I’m the top salesman here three years running.”

“Well, then, I’ll defer to you, Master,” Jim replied, slightly inclining his head. I was impressed. Two minutes and he was already handling Dwight like a pro.

“Very good,” said Dwight, seeming to grow that extra inch before our eyes.  “Lesson the first: tell me everything you know about beets.”

“Beets?” Jim’s eyebrows knit in confusion.

“Plenty of time to discuss that later, Dwight,” I interrupted, taking Jim’s arm and steering him toward Phyllis’s desk.

I continued the tour, introducing him to the rest of the sales staff and then to Accounting. Angela was even colder than usual, and didn’t even offer a smile when she half-heartedly welcomed him. Very rude, even for her.

When we were alone in the break room, Jim said: “Man, you weren’t kidding about Dwight.  I feel like that time I walked in on a Dungeons and Dragons meeting in high school.  It was like I stepped into another dimension—one where I will never fit in.”

“If you smell something funny tomorrow, don’t be surprised if Dwight has marked his territory.”

Jim screwed up his face in horror; I think he almost believed me. I giggled.

“And what was that about…beets?”

I rolled my eyes. “Dwight owns a beet farm. Don’t worry, he’ll tell you all about it.  In painful detail. Endlessly.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever even tried a beet before.”

“Oh, God, don’t tell Dwight that!  You’ll be subjected to borscht at lunch for a week.”

He laughed. “Okay, my lips are sealed. Guess I lucked out having you as a tour guide. Clearly you are the Deep Throat of Dunder Mifflin Scranton.” He realized immediately how terrible that sounded, and I laughed at his mortified expression.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, flushing bright red. “That came out totally wrong.”

“That’s okay; I know what you meant. And thanks, I guess.”

I grinned at how adorable he was, and then I was blushing too at the way he was looking at me with open admiration.

I too was feeling like I was back in high school, and a cute boy was giving me attention. It was then that reality slammed into me: Roy had been the only cute boy to flirt with me in high school. My right hand went to my left, where I began twisting my wedding band nervously around my finger. Jim immediately thought I had reconsidered being offended. 

“You okay?  I mean, I really am sorry for my poor word choice. I can be totally oblivious sometimes.”  I somehow doubted that.

“Oh, no. Don’t worry about it, really.  Let’s go through the kitchen and then into the Annex. I think Toby in HR will have some forms for you to fill out.”

I left Jim in Toby’s capable hands, also asking if Toby wouldn’t mind continuing Jim’s tour on to the warehouse—not the day I was ready to go down there.  Toby’s sad eyes looked at me in quiet understanding.

When I returned to my desk alone, Angela came over to talk.

“You’re still in mourning, Pam,” she admonished primly. “It’s not appropriate for you to be flirting with him.”

Although I had been having similar thoughts, her words irritated me, and I gave her a look of offended annoyance.

“This isn’t the nineteenth century, Angela.  Women don’t have to wear their widow’s weeds for a year.”

“Well, they should, out of respect. And remember, you’re not the only one to consider in this. You must think of Vincent; he’s at a tender age and the introduction of any new people could be very disruptive for him.”

She was worried about my cat?

“Besides,” she was continuing, “you’re obviously not ready for any new… relationships.” She glanced pointedly at the wedding ring I still wore, and I felt guilty again. It was true that I’d been a little flirty with Jim, and I hadn’t thought about Roy once until that moment in the break room. Angela was right: I wasn’t ready; I would need to be a little more professional with him, and not give him the wrong idea. I watched her walk back to her desk, trying very hard not to be mad at her when she’d only spoken the truth.

Jim returned to make himself comfortable at his new desk. I smiled cordially, but either he was very intuitive, or my controlled expression had given me away, for he frowned at my attitude’s total 180.  I couldn’t blame the guy; I was feeling pretty confused myself.  I tried to focus on my work, but I sensed his eyes on me from time to time, and I admit to sneaking a peek or two at him when I thought he wasn’t looking.

Just before lunch, Michael invited Jim into the conference room, where he’d asked me earlier to set up two unconnected phones for training purposes. They worked through lunch, and Michael had me send out for pizza. Later, Dwight was invited in, and toward the end of the work day, they were using the real phone.  At about 4:45, the three men filed out, smiles all around, though maybe a somewhat strained one from Dwight.

“Attention everyone,” said Michael. “I’m proud to say that Jim here has just closed his first sale!” Genuine applause erupted in the bull pen.  “And this guy is smooth, let me tell you. If this is any indication of what we have to look forward to, Dwight, you’d better be on your toes. We might have found our new golden boy!”

Jim visually blanched. Healthy competition was one thing, but no one wants to be put in a position of challenger on their very first day. Jim glanced my way. A few hours with Dwight and he’d seen the lay of the land. I gave Jim a small smile of understanding.

On his way out for the day, Jim stopped by my desk. He eyed the candy dispenser with interest.

“Are these for anybody?” he asked of the assorted jelly beans.

“Of course.”

He chose a black licorice and a cotton candy with two dexterous fingers, eating one at a time to savor each flavor—just like I liked to do.  “Jelly Bellies are my favorite,” he commented, and I filed that information away.

“Good first day?” I asked.

He grinned. “I guess so—but I think I made an enemy.”  His eyes slid meaningfully over to Dwight, who was busy straightening his bobble heads and gathering his things.

“Don’t worry; he’s relatively harmless.  I mean, he seems to be…”

“Why? Because I have been wondering what happened to the guy who used to sit in my chair.”

“Well,” I began, forgetting my earlier resolution to keep my distance. I lowered my voice for effect, causing him to lean over the counter to better hear me. I caught a whiff of his scent—clean with a hint of citrus--that had been tantalizing me all day.

“No one really knows. Some say he retired and moved to Florida. Others—I mean, those of us who are sometimes considered the Deep Throats of Dunder Mifflin Scranton—we are very suspicious.” He shook his head, abashed at my teasing. “I mean, it was only after he disappeared that Dwight doubled his sales.”

Jim was trying very hard not to grin. “You mean, even after they probably divided the retired guy’s accounts among the remaining salespeople?”

“Yes! It was amazing. Funny thing though—no one has heard from him since.  And I heard through a reliable source that Dwight has no alibi for the night he disappeared.  I probably shouldn’t mention this, but if I were the cops, I’d be digging up a few beet fields.”

“Very suspicious,” Jim agreed dramatically, reaching again for the jelly beans. He selected a buttered popcorn and a coconut.  “Well, I really appreciate the warning, Pam. I will definitely keep that in mind.”

“You do that,” I said. “For your own sake,” I finished, sotto voce.  I smiled and called good night as my coworkers left one by one or in pairs, talking and joking about their days and discussing evening plans. Angela repeated her judgmental glance, nodding a stiff good-bye.  Dwight soon followed, pausing near Jim.

“Good night, newbie,” he sneered. “But don’t think every day is going to be as easy as this one was. Working here is nothing but pain and suffering, and it takes a hard man to run with the big dogs.”

Jim’s lips quirked as he tried to weed through the mixed metaphor. “I’m sure I won’t sleep a wink, worrying about it,” he said dryly.  “’Night, Dwight. Thanks for all your help today.”

“Hmph,” said his new nemesis, and made his way out the door.

“So, this is my life now.” Jim’s grin held more than a touch of irony.

“It would appear so. Congratulations on surviving Dwight Schrute, Day One.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Beesly,” he said, and the fact that he both remembered and used my last name gave me a little thrill. It was a very “guy” thing to do, to call another guy by their last name, and it amused me that he chose to honor me in this way, sort of like an honorary “one of the guys,” which I proudly accepted.

“I’m here to help, Halpert.”

His eyes glowed in appreciation of my returning the honor.

“See you tomorrow then?”  He went back to grab his messenger bag from beneath his desk.  Funny, it didn’t look at all like a purse when he slung the strap over his chest.

“Yep. I’ll be here, bright and early.”

He stopped again and filched a couple more Jelly Bellies for the road, not even bothering being choosy this time.

“Good night, Pam. It’s nice meeting you.”

“Good night, Jim. You too.”

And with a repeat of his opening devastating smile, Jim Halpert left the building.

When he left, it was like all of the fresh air had been sucked from the room, and I sat alone in my chair, trying to resist the sudden urge to bawl like a baby.