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“Why would you want to go all the way down to the Home Depot? There’s a perfectly good hardware store on 80th and Lexington. We can get the paint there.” Amy said, exasperated.

“They’ll have a better selection,” Jim responded, half-heartedly.

“What—afraid Norman's won’t have the perfect shade of pink?” Amy said, with a twinkle in her eye.

Jim threw a pillow at her, knowing that he had lost the battle. He hadn’t seen the need to re-paint his bedroom, but Amy hated the current shade—“I feel like I’m in a psychiatric ward!”—so today was the day. Now he was dreading the chore. He would give anything to avoid Norman’s Hardware, a store that was just a block away from Pam’s place.

For the past three weeks, he had done a pretty good job of avoiding any chance encounters with her. He went to work early and stayed late, just so he wouldn’t see her on the subway. He took Amy out in her neighborhood, and spent a few nights there, even though she had a lumpy bed.

His plan was working. He had to admit that she was always in the back of his mind, but he did a pretty good job of pushing her way back into the dark corners. He was on a really interesting campaign at work, and he threw his energies into it. When he wasn’t working, he was spending time with Amy. Maybe it was guilt over the fact that his thoughts occasionally strayed to another woman, but he made an extra effort to romance the socks off of her.

Now he was going to have to head down to 80th Street. He knew it was stupid to have so much anxiety about the shopping trip, after all, he had walked down her street a thousand times over the past year and a half and had never run into her. But now that he knew it was a possibility, he was filled with dread.


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Pam looked at her to-do list for the weekend. She desperately needed a haircut, and had to go to the post office to pick up a package. She also could go to the drugstore to pick up some shampoo and toothpaste. There was a CVS right next to her apartment, but she grabbed Frank’s leash, and the two of them set out for the Duane Reade on 84th and 2nd.
Over the past three weeks, it had become a routine for Pam. She knew odds were her against her. He had said he lived three blocks away from the restaurant, but three blocks covered a lot of territory when you had no idea in what direction to head. So she found herself running more errands than usual, and going out of her way to explore Jim’s side of the neighborhood.

As she walked, she looked at the apartment buildings, and wondered what type of place he had. Was it a large condo in one of the new high rise buildings? He was a successful ad man now, maybe he could afford it. Looking in the lobby of one of the buildings, with the over-the-top gold mirrors and the uniformed doorman, she decided it wasn’t Jim’s style. At least, it wasn’t his style when she knew him. Maybe he had changed.

She walked by a small building on the shady side of 84th street. A young couple was sitting on the stoop with their dog. Frank stopped to inspect his new friends, and Pam looked up at the old, but charming building. Maybe this was it. Maybe he was in his apartment right now, two floors up, thinking of her. Maybe.


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Jim and Amy lugged two cans of blue paint, along with various brushes and tarps up the six flights of stairs. Amy still wasn’t used to the climb, and flung herself on his futon when they arrived in his apartment.
“God, how to you manage to do that everyday?”

“Well, I’m usually not carrying half the inventory of Norman’s Hardware.”

“Ha Ha.” Amy began sorting through the various bags, organizing things for what she realized was their first “domestic” date. She smiled as she imagined them making love on the tarp when they were done with the walls, blue paint in their hair. Then she would pour him some wine, and they would sit out on the fire escape, wrapped up in a blanket and enjoying the crisp fall air. It sounded like a perfect Saturday to her.

“Oh no,” she said, breaking her train of thought. “We forgot masking tape!”

“What do we need tape for?”

“Jim—have you ever painted a room before?”

“Of course,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “we can just slap a few coats on. It’ll take half-an-hour.”

“Arg! Not to be picky, but you really need to put masking tape on the molding to make sure you get a clean edge.”

Jim looked at her incredulously. “You want me to trudge all the way back there so that we can have clean edges?”

“You’ve got it!” Amy gave him a peck on his cheek and tucked a five-dollar bill in his front pocket. “My treat. I’m sure the Duane Reade has got some.”


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Jim didn’t see the shaggy gray dog tied to a post outside the drugstore when he walked in. He headed right to the school supplies section, and found the masking tape right away. He had turned around to head back to the cash register, when all of the sudden he saw her. She was wearing jeans and a red v-neck sweater. He recognized the sweater. He used to love when she wore it because its wide neck exposed her collarbone. He used to sit at his desk and think about kissing her from her shoulder to her neck, paying close attention to that delicate area.
But now he was standing in a Duane Reade, holding masking tape for his girlfriend, and she was kneeling down, examining bottles of shampoo. She didn’t see him.

He could walk away right now. He could walk away and she would never know, and his life would be a lot easier. He could go home to Amy, and forget about painting, and make love to her all afternoon.

But what would that solve? He couldn’t live in constant fear of running into her. And what did he have to be afraid of? He was over her, completely. She was just an old friend. He pushed the memory of that soft red sweater back into the shadowy corners of his mind where the rest of his thoughts of Pam were lurking, and walked towards her.

“Hey.”

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