Author's Chapter Notes:
So, this is my answer to the Dancing Pam challenge. I remember Michael referencing an 80’s party (in The Alliance) the office had prior to the first season, and thought it would be the perfect opportunity to explore Pam’s dancing habits.
Pam leaned over her desk conspiratorially, “So what do you think Michael has planned for us?”
Resting his forearms comfortably across reception, he popped a jellybean into his mouth, “Well, I’m hoping it involves a parade float and Twist and Shout.”
A giggle escaped her lips, “Don’t even joke!”
“Maybe he’ll lock us all up in the conference room and tell us we have detention, and then hope that we’ll all band together to form a Dunder Mifflin Club of sorts.”
Pam’s grin grew wider, “A bag of chips says that by the end of the day, Michael has asked me to dress up like that girl from Flashdance.”
Now Jim laughed, offering his hand, “You are so on.”
Pam smirked as she shook his hand in agreement.
The 80’s party that was to take place that night had been announced by Michael less than a week prior - much to the dismay of Angela - and had been declared by some (more specifically Dwight) to be a “stroke of genius.” Inspired by an accidental late-night viewing of Pretty in Pink, this party promised to rival last year’s Farewell to Friends bash - Michael as Joey Tribbiani was an experience no words could accurately describe - and the party planning committee was certain to put together another memorable office party.
“So who are you dressing up as?” Jim raised his eyebrow in question, trying to bury the image of Pam as an exotic dancer. “E.T., perhaps?”
She rolled her eyes, “Ha ha. Very funny.” She shuffled a few papers together, stapling them in the corner, “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
He sighed dramatically, “So, that’s how it’s going to be? You won’t let me in on the party planning secrets, and now you deny me the simple pleasure of knowing which set of my Lycra shorts will match your jelly shoes.”
She shook her head in mock exasperation, but her breathy laugh contradicted the sentiment, “First off, jelly shoes give me blisters, so I won’t be wearing those tonight. Secondly, you know I’m currently on party planning probation.”
“Tell me again why that is.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault Angela didn’t like my suggestion of roast woodchuck and mimosas for Groundhog’s Day!”
At Jim’s loud laugh she blushed slightly, “I tried to explain it was a joke! Really, I did.”
“Sure, Beesley.”
“Well, what are you wearing?”
He stood up, giving her a look as if she were delusional, “Oh, like I’m going to tell you now.”
She tried to look affronted, but it was so hard when he was being so adorable, “Yes, you are.”
He pretended to think about her reply for a minute, “Umm...nope. You’re just going to have to wait like everyone else.” He shrugged noncommittally, and returned to his desk.
As she mindlessly answered calls, Pam began to wonder what exactly Jim would dress like. Maybe he’d go with the Hair Metal look; although they had both agreed two days earlier that Dwight would have that look covered. Or maybe he’d just slip on a basketball jersey and try to pass himself off as Larry Bird. Although knowing Jim-
“Sixteen Pamdles!” Michael shouted, storming from his office to reception. He looked to the camera for congratulations on his apparent wit, but seemed to take the apparent lack of applause in stride. He drummed his palms against the reception counter, “So, Pamadu, I was just thinking that you should maybe wear a sweatshirt thing tonight and some of those leg warmers - I mean - you know - like that girl from Flashdance.”
Over Michael’s shoulder Pam saw Jim rise from his desk and head toward the breakroom. She smiled because she knew he’d remember to get her the french onion kind.
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“Stanley the Manley!” He heard Michael shout joyously as Stanley walked into the office later that night, “Sporting the Bill Cosby!”
“I am not Bill Cosby.”
“Then who are ya, Stanley?” Michael asked in a voice that Jim supposed was sarcastic.
“Stanley Hudson.”
Michael scoffed, “Party pooper!”
Jim shook his head as he tuned him out, the greetings had pretty much gone the same way with every employee. And with each enthusiastic - and horribly incorrect - hello, it was getting harder and harder to feel sorry for Michael. He cast a glance around the room once more, and was almost impressed with the party planning committee. A small disco ball hung somewhere between where Dwight’s desk and Stanley’s desk would have been if they hadn’t been pushed back to create a makeshift dance floor. The refreshments table donned an impressive collection of Rubik’s Cubes and dollar store Ray-bans. Cutouts that read “Boss!” and “Awesome!” clung to the walls, glittering brightly, and metallic blue streamers crisscrossed from one end of the room to the other.
“Damn. Dwight went for the Flock of Seagulls? I thought for sure he’d dress up as a member of Mötley Crüe.”
Jim turned in surprise at the voice behind him, smiling even before he saw her. “I know! I-” but whatever quip he had been about to make died on his lips as he took in Pam’s black dress. “Wow, was not expecting that, Beesley.”
And he wasn’t. The scooped neck showed more of her chest than could be considered decent for work, the short skirt that stopped at mid-thigh and puffed out due to great amounts of tulle, the enormous silver belt cinching the fabric at her waist, the endless strands of pearls and silver chains, the mussed hair disrupted only by a thick, black head band - none of it was what he had expected.
Pam rubbed her arm self-consciously, gazing intently anywhere other than Jim’s face, “I’m Madonna.”
Swallowing deeply, Jim allowed himself to smile, and willed himself to stop staring, “Yeah, I got that.”
“Good,” she nodded nervously, feeling ridiculous. This had been a terrible idea. “It’s stupid, I know, but-”
Jim shook his head vehemently, “It’s not stupid.” Definitely not stupid.
“Oh.” She finally allowed herself to look at him.
“I mean, you’ll probably overshadow Kelly’s Paula Abdul now,” he leaned in Kelly’s direction where she was talking with Devon, “But that’s just something you’re just going to have to live with.”
Glancing at Kelly - who was adorned in a colorful, patterned halter and leather pants complete with enormous hair - she giggled, “I think I can deal with that.”
Pam rubbed her mouth absently, willing her smile to dim a bit. Jim always seemed to know just how to make her laugh. Really though, she admonished herself, what had she been thinking when she had purchased this absurd dress at the Salvation Army?
She glanced at him, but he was too busy watching as Dwight finally discovered that someone had put copious amounts of pink glitter in his hair while he hadn’t been paying attention.
“Hey Halpert,” she urged gently.
He turned back to her immediately, “Yeah?”
She held out her hand indicating his attire, “Who exactly are you supposed to be?”
“Beesley! I am ashamed of you,” he gripped the lapels of his tan trench coat, “I’ll have you know that I am your favorite anti-hero, Lloyd Dobler.”
“Ah, I see,” she pretended to be skeptical, but she secretly delighted in his costume choice. Of course Jim would choose to be the gallant, fun-loving, average, amazing character from Say Anything. “So, where’s the boombox?”
“Oh, it’s in my car.”
At the loud laugh that bubbled up inside her, she wondered if there would ever be a time when Jim wouldn’t make her laugh. “Ya know, I’m kinda disappointed.”
Jim’s face fell slightly, “Oh?”
“Yeah, I was expecting some Risky Business from you tonight.” She delighted in the way his face lit up again.
He frowned, heaving a sigh, “Well, I was going to wear just my work shirt and underwear, but I was afraid that Michael would get too excited and make me slide across reception in my socks.”
Pam sighed as well, “A valid concern, I’m afraid.”
Something seemed to catch Jim’s eye from across the room, “Hey, I have to go talk to Kevin about some fantasy football scores...and judging by the way he’s flagging me down, I better go now.”
Pam refused to acknowledge the sudden sinking sensation in her stomach, disappointment, “Okay, sure.”
Jim gave her a crooked smile that she liked to think was reserved only for her, “But you have to promise to save a dance for me, okay?”
She smiled slightly, nodding, “Okay.”
Jim echoed her nod, turning to leave. But something in Pam didn’t want him to go yet, that small part of her that she chose to ignore most days, the part that was currently clouding her judgment and making her reach for his arm as he walked away. “Jim-”
“Yes?” He turned back quickly, and - if she were allowing that very small part of herself to hope - eagerly.
But the words that had existed moments before had been swallowed, and her brief moment of courage had been suffocated by reason. “What- who exactly is Angela supposed to be?”
Lame, lame, horribly lame. She wanted to bang her head against the copier.
Jim’s smile wavered for a second, but he quickly recovered, “C’mon, Beesley. She’s Nancy Reagan.” He rolled his eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and this time he walked away - truly walked away - with no interruptions from the part of her that actually had some pluck.
It wasn’t until a couple of glasses of fruit punch (heavy on that punch part, thanks to Meredith) that Pam truly began to have a good time. The music was horribly cheesy - a melange of Journey and Duran Duran and Wham - but the office was warm and Kelly had been bothering her to dance for hours. However, it wasn’t until the first crooning notes of Like a Prayer reached her ears that Pam finally gave into Meredith’s pleads and Phyllis’ enthusiastic clapping.
In honesty, it felt good to jump around the dance floor, belting out the chorus with an overzealous Kelly demanding they choreograph the dance, and an angry Angela casting death-glares in her general vicinity. With the beat pounding through her veins (maybe that was the alcohol) Pam twirled, letting her arms fly out, and ran her fingers through her already abused hair. She knew she looked incredibly dorky, but heaven help her, she just couldn’t seem to stop. The last time she had tried to dance like this in public, Roy had quickly escorted her off the dance floor and cut off her drinks for the night.
But Roy wasn’t here tonight, and she was going to dance.
By the time she and Kelly had worked out some simple movements to the chorus, she realized that they had attracted quite a bit of attention. Almost immediately, her eyes connected with Jim’s and she cocked her eyebrows, as if daring him to stop her.
But Jim had no intentions of halting Pam’s dance. On the contrary, he was too busy inventing ways to get her to dance like this again. He would do anything to see her so this happy, so inexplicably happy, again.
As the music began to dissolve into something slower, Pam titled her head at him as she smiled widely.
“Wow, Pam...just wow,” He drawled with fake astonishment as he drew closer to her on the dance floor.
Pam opened her mouth to defend herself, but was abruptly interrupted by Michael as he made an announcement, “Attention! Attention!”
He waved his arms at an already silent office, but grinned in satisfaction regardless, picking up the microphone currently attached to the sound system (someone really should have removed that before the party), “All right, Dunder Mifflinites! This next song goes out to all of you. Because if you are lost, you can look, and you will find me...because I’m usually just in my office.” He broke off with a loud guffaw, and went back to trying to convince Kelly to dance with him. The opening chords of Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time billowed from the speakers and filled the room.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” Jim groaned through the grin gracing his features, “this is stereotypical beyond words.”
Pam held out her hand, “While then I guess that means you just have to suck it up and dance with me. I did, after all, promise you one dance. And you can’t stand against the wall during a slow song. Those have been the rules since like - junior high.”
He exhaled loudly, but was secretly more excited than he would ever admit, “Seriously. Just give me braces and bad acne, and I swear I’ll be right back at every school dance I have ever been to.”
“Well, I have seen your yearbook picture, so I’m not going to disagree with you.”
“Ouch,” Jim contorted his face in feigned pain, “A zinger from Pam Beesley, ladies and gentlemen.”
Something in the way he said her name sparked that brave sliver buried somewhere within her, and she heard herself ask, “So, are you going to ask me to dance before this song is over?” And suddenly she was shy again, another momentary outburst that she needed to work on controlling.
Jim lowered his head, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “Hey, um, Pam? Uh...do you want to dance?” He shuffled his feet exaggeratedly, much to the amusement of Pam, and stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. “I mean, I know you checked the ‘maybe’ box on that note I gave you during Math, but I was kinda hoping...it’s just...I think you’re rad.”
Pam fought hard to restrain her laughed, and she too assumed a staged awkward stance, “Um, totally. I mean - yeah, that’d be stellar.”
A loud snort erupted from his nose, and his eyebrows shot up in amusement, “Stellar?”
“Hello? McFly? It’s 80’s slang!” She hit him on the arm playfully, “Now come on, we’re wasting a perfectly cliched song.”
“So demanding.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault this is the only dancing you can do,” her voice held none of the offense her words carried as she loosely wrapped her arms around his neck.
He gazed down at her, gently resting his large hands just above her hips, “Oh, like you’re one to talk. I mean, when they say bust a move...”
“Excuse me, I am Madonna,” she used her eyes to gesture down to her attire, “I can dance with the best of ‘em.”
“You are such a dork,” his words brimming with unmasked affection.
“I am hip.”
“You’re a regular Molly Ringwald.”
Her mouth opened in a perfect circle, and she released an incredible laugh, “God, you are so right! My dancing is so dorky!”
“I think it’s very cute,” he assured, the tops of his ears turning slightly red at his admission.
Pam looked down at her feet, but was quickly distracted by his much larger feet slowly moving next to hers, “I’m glad one of us thinks so.”
Jim grinned, savoring the moment, saving the knowledge of her dancing abilities for a later date; a date when he knew he would need to see Pam dance again, to see her be so unbelievably dorky. So unbelievably happy.
“Awesome.”
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