“Okay Beesly, these? These are disturbing!”

They were sitting on her couch, sock-clad feet propped up on her coffee table as they read the stack of fan letters Pam usually kept in a basket on top of her refrigerator.

“Really? I didn’t think they were that bad,” she giggled.

“Not that bad? Are you serious? This guy….” Jim shuffled through the pile and pulled out a letter scrawled on yellow legal paper. “This guy wants you to send him pictures of your feet. Your feet, Pam! And old Gary here….” He indicated a post card showing a seedy area of what appeared to be Amsterdam, “…he wants you to come to work dressed as a milk maid. There are letters here from guys who are interested in diapers, bright red lipstick and introducing you to their “curious” wives. These are way worse than the ones that I get. Seriously, why are you hanging on them?”

She took the stack of letters from him and placed them back in the basket.  “Two reasons.  I think that for the most part these guys are harmless, but my brother, the lawyer, thinks someone should hang onto them ‘just in case.’ I actually get a lot of really nice ones from women and little girls and even a few sweet guys. My mom has those. She likes to scrapbook and stuff.”

She shifted then, so that she was sitting on the edge of the couch, her knees angled in toward him, her eyes directly on his.  “I guess the other reason is to remind me that there are a lot of pigs, perverts, weirdoes and freaks out there and the next time a good, honest, normal guy comes into my life, I shouldn’t let him get away.”

He blinked, slowly, wondering if he ha misinterpreted what had been happening between them this evening. He could sense the “too late” ready to erupt between them. He was trying to be more direct, though, so he asked his question, unsure if he really wanted to hear her answer.

“The next time?”

Boldness seemed to be in ample supply this evening because she reached out and put her hand over his knee.

“Or…or if one comes back.”

He smiled now…wide and open…truly happy for the first time in months.

“I’m back.”

Now it was her turn to smile.

“Good. Then I guess I’ll let you be my biggest fan.”

“You’ll let me?”

“Provided you don’t have weird fetishes or requests.”

“Well, let’s see…what do you consider to be weird?”

“Just shut up.”

They laughed, but then grew still under the delicious weight of what had just transpired and what was yet to happen. She leaned in and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her snug against his side.

“Jim, I know we’ve been kidding around, but I want you to know…the things I wrote in those letters…I meant them. I never wanted anything for you except for you to be happy…even if that meant….”

“Sssshhhhh….” He cut off her declaration with a kiss…soft and fleeting, barely dancing along the surface of her lips. This was a promise. It was his to give.

“I don’t know if you know this,” she whispered, “but the headquarters of the Jim Halpert  Appreciation Society is right in the next room.”

“Oh, really, Pam? That’s quite a coincidence because I have it on good authority that the FOB would like to use that space for its meetings.”

“FOB?”

“Fans of Beesly, of course.”

“Of course. Do you want to go check it out? See if the space will meet your group’s needs?”

“I’m sure it will be fine, but I’d love to have a look.”

She stood, took his hand and led him into her bedroom.

“Wow. Not what I expected.” Jim looked around at the cozy room taking in the personal touches…the framed drawings, potted violets and patchwork quilts all screamed “Pam!”

“Well, I don’t know what you were expecting…” Her fake indignation didn’t match the smile trying to escape from the corners of her mouth.

“It’s just that this is supposed to be the headquarters of the Jim Halpert Appreciation Society, right? Where’s the shrine where my fans worship me and my…my Halpertness? Where are the posters for adoration? I mean, I didn’t expect a life-sized cut-out or an altar, but I feel a little let down, Pam. I’m sorry to say that. There’s not even a GPS enabled computer to assist in stalking my every movement! What kind of fan club is this?”  During his fake tirade, he had taken several steps toward her and lowered his voice until it was barely a whisper.  “I thought you were supposed to be my biggest fan.”

She put her palms on his chest. “I guess it is a little bare. I’ll just have to show you….”

And then parking lots and declarations, months of separation and desperate letters were forgotten. All that mattered was how they felt about each other. ..how they had always felt about each other. They really were each other’s biggest fan.

Hands and mouths and feet worshiped and adored. There were no posters …they each had the real thing next to…below…above…within. Their touches were benedictions, answered prayers, lit candles and whispered confessions.

They were obsessive, memorizing new territory. They needed no websites or IMDB to learn everything they had wondered. Moles and freckles were cataloged. Ticklish and sensitive spots were charted.  He learned how to make her toes curl and she mastered the art of making him whimper low in his throat.

They stalked each other across the geography of her now unmade bed. They rolled and leapt from one end to the other, each making sure never to let eyes leave the object of desire. They were relentless  in their pursuit of the other’s pleasure…the other’s happiness.

Names were screamed and murmured. One minute it sounded like a Beatles' concert, the next a low hum. They tattooed their admiration on each other’s flesh, drew patterns on the secret expanses of their skin. They were appreciated. They were adored. They were loved.

Their hearts were shrines to one another, open and illuminated with the light of a thousand candles.

They were each other’s biggest fan.