Disclaimer: I own nothing but a severe case of writer’s block. I am simply borrowing these characters from their rightful owners to try to work through it.
Navigating the High Seas with the Dread Pirate Beesly
Jim walked through the door Monday morning, and Pam was sitting at her desk, just like it was any other Monday. He hesitated, the toe of one shoe bumping the heel of the other as he tried to remember the basic mechanics involved in walking.
“Good morning, Pam,” he managed to squeak, his voice breaking like it hadn’t since he was thirteen.
“Morning, Jim,” Pam answered with her customary smile.
For a split second, he wondered if he had dreamed it all, his confession, her defection, something about a hotel, shopping at Target and a Yaris. He had to remind himself that there was a brand new Toyota Yaris parked in the lot. And then, she looked up and met his eyes.
Her eyes almost didn’t look like her eyes, and he knew those eyes. He knew them better than he knew his own. How many times had he looked into those eyes searching for the answers he craved? He knew every fleck of gold that lightened the green, he knew that the tiny brown speckles could overtake the gold and green when she was angry or upset, and he knew that when she was happy, they were the color of fresh spring leaves. But today, they were different. A bit greyer, the green silvered by something that hadn’t been there before. His brow knit as he tried to put his finger on exactly what it was. And then, Pam smiled and he had his answer.
This new green was calm, soothing, and a little more bold. This new Pam seemed stronger, surer, and a hell of a lot sturdier than the one he had spirited away from her house just a few short days before.
“Uh, hi,” he stammered, trying to break away from her gaze.
Pam’s smile warmed as she tilted her head a bit and said, “Hi.”
A small laugh escaped him before he could choke it back, and Jim shook his head to clear it. “I should, um, good morning,” he mumbled again as he nodded to his desk and then hurried to his chair.
Pam ducked her head, unable to suppress the pleased smile that curved her lips. She shuffled the papers on her desk, not daring to look up until someone cleared their throat a moment later. She looked up to see Darryl hovering near the counter. “Oh. Hi, Darryl,” Pam said with a puzzled frown.
“Hey, Pam. Can I, uh… Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked in a low voice as he nodded to the door.
“Um, sure,” Pam answered, rising cautiously from her chair as Darryl walked to the door and held it open for her. She stepped out into the hall and crossed her arms over her chest protectively as she looked up at him. “What’s up?”
Darryl glanced around to be sure that no one lingered in the hall and then clasped his hands nervously as he said, “Roy got arrested last night. D.U.I.”
“Oh no!” Pam gasped, covering her mouth. “Is he okay?”
“He’s all right. Ran his truck off the road, got a little banged up, but he’s fine,” Darryl assured her. “His brother bailed him out, and he’s at home now. He, uh, asked me to tell you. I guess he tried to call you.”
Pam’s cheeks flooded with color as she recalled the calls she had ignored the night before. She had been too engrossed in trying to assemble a TV stand to stop what she was doing to argue with him again. She hadn’t even bothered to check her voice mail, expecting to hear the same alternating apologies and accusations he had been leaving there for three days. “We broke up,” Pam said quietly, as if trying the words on for size.
“Yeah, he may have mentioned that,” Darryl said with a grimace. “The thing is, Pam, he refused the tests, and now his license is suspended, so he can’t get to work and back.”
“Oh.”
“And the company has a pretty strict drug and alcohol policy, especially when it comes to people who have to use heavy equipment, the forklifts, the cherry pickers, so I’m trying to keep him out of trouble, you know? I guess I’m trying to tell you that he’s gonna need some help,” Darryl explained.
There was something in Darryl’s tone that made her spine stiffen. Pam’s eyebrows lifted as she looked up at him. “Where was he?”
“What?”
“Where was he last night before he got into the wreck?”
“We were at Lonnie’s playin’ poker.”
“And did you just not notice that maybe Roy had a little too much to drink?” she asked pointedly.
“I’ve seen him drunker,” he said with a puzzled frown.
“I see.” Pam took a deep breath, her fingers biting into her arms as she stared up at him defiantly. “Sounds like this was more your fault than mine.”
“What?” Darryl reared back in surprise.
“Well, if you were trying to keep him out of trouble last night, you wouldn’t have to do this today.”
“Listen, I just told Toby that he called in sick, but if he doesn’t show up tomorrow, I’m gonna have to report that,” Darryl said impatiently.
Feeling hijacked, Pam stared him down. “And you want what from me?”
“Uh, excuse me, Pam?” Jim called as he held the office door open and poked his head into the hallway. “The phone…”
“I’ll be right there,” Pam said without breaking eye contact with Darryl.
When the door closed again she took a steadying breath and said, “I know that you probably think I’m a real bitch for not running to his rescue, but you should know that I heard everything he told you guys after he came up here to postpone the wedding. I know that you must think that this must be my responsibility because he was my finance, but it’s not. Not anymore. You are his friend. You let him drive. You can pick him up and bring him to work,” she said as she turned on her heel and marched back into the office.
When the door closed behind her, she listened for the phone and then looked up at Jim with a bewildered frown. He shrugged and said, “I answered the phone. I just wasn’t sure that was a conversation that you wanted to be involved in, so I thought I’d try to give you an out.”
Pam’s eyes widened and a relieved smile curved her lips. “Yeah, um, no. It wasn’t. Thank you,” she said as she hurried to the safety of the reception desk.
“No problem,” he said as he shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered back to his desk.
****
When the clock inched toward lunchtime, she watched as Jim stood up from his desk and headed into the break room holding a brown paper bag. And then she saw Phyllis follow. Then Kelly. And then Kevin. That’s when she knew that she couldn’t walk in there. There would be questions, and she wasn’t ready to share the answers. There would be opinions, and she didn’t want to hear them. She wished that she had asked Jim to hang back, to go to lunch with her, to shield her from those questions. But she knew that she couldn’t do that. He had to have questions of his own, and if anyone in that room was entitled to hear the answers, it was Jim. And she wanted to give them to him. She wanted to talk to him, but not here, not now. She wanted to explain some things, but not over the phone. She just wanted him nearby, but not too close. Not yet. When she was ready.
Pam stood up and pulled her purse from the desk drawer. She shrugged into her coat, keeping a wary eye on the break room door as she made her way to Michael’s office and said, “I have to run an errand, but it shouldn’t take too long. Are you still okay with me leaving a little early?”
Michael raised his head from the take-out container of pasta, a long string of linguine dangling from his mouth and adhering to his chin before he could slurp it up. “That’s fine,” he mumbled through stuffed cheeks. “What’s wrong with your cable?”
“Nothing. It just hasn’t been hooked up yet,” she said as she freed her hair from the collar of her coat.
Michael swallowed the lump of pasta and tugged at his tie to help ease it down. “You don’t have cable?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“New apartment,” Pam said quietly.
“You guys moved? I didn’t know that. Hey, didn’t I hear Darryl say that Roy was out sick? Can’t he meet the cable guy?
“Roy doesn’t live there,” Pam said flatly.
Michael opened his mouth to say something and then clamped it shut as he focused intently on Pam’s now bare left hand. He nodded slowly and then asked, “Do you need a hug?”
Pam shook her head adamantly and said, “Nope. I just need cable.” She clamped her mouth shut before she could spill the beans about the bed being delivered that afternoon, not wanting to hear the commentary she was sure that little tidbit would elicit. “Be back in a little bit,” she said as she turned to leave.
Michael cocked his head, waiting until he heard the door close behind her before he bolted out of his desk. He paused in the doorway and then went back to snag the bowl of linguine from his desk before hurrying to the break room. When he burst through the door, he saw Phyllis and Kelly leaning toward Jim intently as he held up his hands to ward them off.
“Pam got an apartment?” he demanded, staring hard at Jim as he pointed the bowl of pasta at him accusingly.
“That’s the word on the street,” Jim conceded with a tired sigh. When they all started firing questions at him, he held up his hands again. “I don’t know!” he said loudly enough to startle them into submission. He watched as Phyllis and Kelly sank back into their chairs and Michael lowered the pasta bowl slowly to his side. “All I know is that she and Roy have broken up and then Pam has a new apartment.”
“And a new car,” Kelly added helpfully.
“Right,” Jim confirmed with a nod. “Other than that, I don’t know anything more than you guys do,” he said, meeting Michael’s gaze at last.
“I see,” Michael murmured as he nodded slowly. “Okay, well, both Pam and Roy are members of this family,” he began cautiously. “I guess that all that we can do is be as supportive as we can be to those members who need us.” He nodded his approval for his own suggestion. “Of course, Pam is more of a member… A bigger member… Well, not a member, member; like as in a ‘member’,” he said as he glanced meaningfully down at his crotch, his brow knit into a frown.
“We get it, Michael,” Phyllis said as she rolled her eyes.
Jim covered his mouth with his hand, trying to hide his smile as he made a mental note to remember to tell Pam about this as soon as he thought she could find the humor in it. “Right,” he said as he straightened up and picked up his ham and cheese. “We just need to give them a little time to sort it all out,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.
“Right. Okay, well, um, Jim? My office?” Michael said as he back toward the door.
Jim sighed heavily as he dropped his half eaten sandwich back into the bag and stood up to follow. When he stepped into the doorway, he saw Michael standing at attention, staring straight ahead with one hand resting on the door handle, the other clutching his bowl. “Michael, I really don’t know anything more than that,” he said in a low voice.
“Come in, please,” Michael said stiffly. He waited until Jim stepped inside and then closed the door carefully after him. Michael then closed every one of the blinds, ignoring Dwight’s indignant stare as he closed the last set. When he turned and motioned to a guest chair, Jim sighed and dropped down into it, clutching the brown paper bag in his fist.
Michael walked around the desk and placed his bowl carefully at the center of the blotter before taking his seat opposite Jim. He clasped his hands in front of him, his face solemn, and his eyes downcast. He cleared his throat softly and then raised his eyes to meet Jim’s. His green eyes twinkled as he whispered, “Oh my God!”
“Michael, no,” Jim tried to protest.
“Yes, Jim, yes! Don’t you see? It was meant to be!”
“Michael, it doesn’t mean anything.”
“You keep saying that, but it does. It means that you have a shot!” he said with a beaming smile.
“Not necessarily.”
“Jim, you have to stop being so negative. Persistence is the key, you know that. Sales rule number one, ‘Never accept no as an answer’. You just have to find your opening, and then get in there and close the deal,” Michael said encouragingly.
“Michael, I don’t think Pam is ready…” Jim began.
“That’s fine, she may not be ready, but you have to be sure that you’re the one she turns to when she is. You have to be her Yogi Bear,” he concluded with a firm nod.
“The cartoon? You want me to steal her a picnic basket?”
“Baseball guy. Very famous. He was a catcher. Get it? Catcher? Catch her?” Michael said, leaning forward and waggling his eyebrows.
“Got it,” Jim answered with a sage nod.
“But you can’t wait,” Michael cautioned. “You need to be up there, front and center, right now. Step into the batter’s cage and point to the end zone like Baby Ruth.”
“Yogi Berra, batter’s box, outfield, Babe Ruth,” Jim muttered under his breath as he processed the validity of Michael’s convoluted analogy. He nodded slowly and then met Michael’s earnest gaze. “I will, um, think about it,” Jim promised quietly.
“Don’t think, do! If you wait, some other guy might swoop right in there!” Michael insisted, shaking his head vehemently.
“I will do my best to crowd the plate,” Jim said as he stood to leave.
“Okay, but I think it might play better if you let her order her own food,” Michael said with a worried frown, following Jim to the door. “You don’t want her to think that you’re cheap.”
“Ooh, good point,” Jim said quickly as he opened the door and then drew up short as Pam came rushing back into the office holding a Styrofoam carry out container. “Hey,” he called to her as she set the container down long enough to shed her coat.
“Oh, hi,” Pam said with a shy smile, hoping that the color flooding her cheeks would be attributed to the brisk cold outside.
“You gonna eat?” he asked, holding up the bag that contained the remainder of his sandwich.
“I thought you ate earlier,” Pam commented, fidgeting under Michael’s intense scrutiny.
Jim shot Michael a warning look over his shoulder, and then smirked when the boss man retreated into his office. “Come on in and eat, no one will bother you,” he said in a low voice.
Pam glanced up at him with a grateful smile, and then picked up the container and followed him into the break room.
****
“Well, there are some advantages to being a social pariah,” Pam said as she stabbed at her salad with a plastic fork.
Jim smirked as he crumpled his lunch sack and scanned the now deserted break room. “Angela didn’t even throw her yogurt lid away,” he whispered conspiratorially.
“Great, now I’m responsible for Angela’s slide into depravity,” Pam grumbled.
“It’s okay; I think she pillaged it from your stash.” Jim’s smirk softened into a reassuring smile. “They just don’t know what to say,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
“I don’t really either,” he admitted.
Pam looked up and shrugged. “There’s nothing to say.”
“Right.”
Pam turned her attention back to her salad, focusing on it intently as the silence stretched between them. Once again, he found himself counting the seconds. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…
“Are you any good with tools?” she asked abruptly, startling him from his task.
“Tools?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up quizzically.
“Tools. I need some help putting stuff together,” Pam said without looking up.
“I’m okay with tools,” Jim answered with a slow nod.
“Would you help me?” she asked as she looked up shyly. “I can do it myself, but at the rate I’m going it may take a year.”
“I can help you.”
“Thanks,” she said with a relieved smile. She returned to her salad, but then paused mid-stab. She looked up and asked in a rush, “That’s not asking too much, is it?”
“What?”
“I mean, you know, with what you said, and how mixed up everything is. That’s not asking too much, because if it is, I totally understand. I can probably get my dad to come up this weekend,” she rambled.
“It’s not asking too much,” Jim told her firmly.
“Good,” she said, flashing another relieved smile at him before ducking her head once more. She dropped the fork into the container and closed the lid. “I should get back, I have to leave early to meet the cable and delivery guys.”
“I see. When do you want me? I mean, for using the tools?” Jim asked, wincing when he saw her eyes widen. “Please don’t say it.”
Pam smiled smugly and murmured, “I won’t, it’s too easy. After work? Whenever. I’ll be home. They gave me a delivery window from four until seven.”
Jim nodded and said, “I’ll be over after work.” He tossed his bag into the trash and then reached to take the container from her, and then hoping to relieve a little of the tension that hummed between them, he smiled as he fixed her with a stern look and said, “Be prepared to cough up some of the money from secret stash for a pizza, Beesly.”
“I can do that,” Pam said with a warm smile. “Thanks, Jim,” she said as she brushed past him and made a beeline for the safety of her desk.
****
You’re swimming in dangerous waters, Pam scolded herself.
She forced her eyes from the shirt stretched taut across his back and stared down into the wine pooled in the bottom of one of her brand new wine glasses. She lifted the glass and took a healthy swig, trying not to think about how comfortable it felt to sit on her new-to-her yard sale futon with him eating pizza from a box balanced on an old trunk she dragged home from another sale just down the street. But she couldn’t help but notice how watching him crawl around on her living room floor on his hands and knees was making her distinctly uncomfortable in a very un-friend-like way.
He studied the scant instruction sheet that had come with the table and carefully identified each of the parts in accordance with the badly sketched diagrams, as she studied him. He sorted nuts, bolts and caps as she noted the soft hair exposed by his rolled up sleeves. He arranged the and rearranged the lettered panels and tubular legs, while she mentally cataloged the long, lean muscles that rippled under his rumpled oxford cloth shirt, and the smooth curve of his ass as he bent forward to check and double check each piece against the poorly rendered drawings.
“It’s an art table. You would think they could have suckered some starving artist into drawing the stupid diagrams for them,” he muttered as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips.
“I know. I managed to get through the TV stand, but when I looked at that, well, there was no way,” Pam said with a self-deprecating smile.
Jim looked up at the simple stand holding a small television and nodded. “Nice work, Beesly.” He held up the page of assembly instructions and said, “I’m pretty sure these were written by someone for whom English is a third or fourth language.”
“Looked that way to me.”
“Right now I’m thinking Somali was the first and Hungarian for the second.”
“Really? I was thinking it was Svensk with a healthy dose of Tagalog”
Jim’s eyes lit up. “Tagalongs? You should know better than to suggest Girl Scout Cookies to me,” he admonished gently.
Pam giggled. “Hang in there, it’s almost time.”
“Toby’s daughter loves me,” Jim said with a nod as he studied the sheet once more. He blew out an exasperated breath, ruffling his already disheveled hair, and then running his hand through it one more time for good measure. “Well, here goes. If I ruin it, I’ll buy you a new one.”
Pam smiled as she sat perched on the edge of the newly recovered futon, her top slipping off of the curve of her shoulder as she watched with avid interest. He fitted a bolt into place and tightened a nut with his fingertips, completely ignoring the pink toolbox that sat untouched next to the trunk. She cleared her throat loudly, capturing his attention. When he looked up, she kept her face completely blank as she said quietly, “I don’t think that goes like that.”
Jim scowled and stared down at the drawing by his knee. “I think it does, look at the thing there, and it goes like this,” he said as he gestured with his free hand. When her lips curved into a delighted smile, he rolled his eyes. “Funny. The pizza wasn’t that good. I could walk at any time,” he threatened, knowing damn well that he wasn‘t going anywhere as long as he got a glimpse of her creamy skin.
“No, no! I’ll be good,” she promised as she stood up and tugged the shoulder of her blouse back into place before smoothing her damp palm over her jeans. “Do you want another beer?”
Jim spared the bottle on the trunk/coffee table a glance and then nodded. “One more.”
“I was only going to give you one more,” Pam said as she walked toward the small galley-style kitchen.
“Are you policing me?” Jim asked as he aligned the next piece.
Pam pulled another beer from the fridge and then refilled her glass from the bottle of wine on the counter. “Roy got a D.U.I. last night,” she said quietly. “That’s what Darryl wanted to talk to me about.”
“Oh. Wow,” Jim said as he sat back on his heels.
Pam nodded as she carried their drinks back into the living room. “Yeah, he refused to submit to the tests, so they suspended his license. Apparently, I’m supposed to help him out, take him to work and back.”
“I see,” Jim said as he took the beer from her. “Thanks.”
“I’m not going to,” Pam said flatly, lifting her chin a bit in defiance.
“No?”
“He’s a grown man, and he knows better than that. He was there with a bunch of other grown men, including Darryl, who didn’t have sense enough to take his keys away. And they know better! I know they do because I stopped picking him up from poker nights two years ago. He usually crashes on Lonnie’s couch,” she said throwing her hand up in frustration. “And I know it’s stupid, and I know it’s probably irrational, but I can’t help thinking that he did it on purpose.”
“He got a D.U.I. on purpose?” Jim asked dubiously.
“He’s been calling and calling, asking me to come back, yelling at me that I’d be sorry, telling me that he doesn’t know where I kept the laundry soap. It‘s on the shelf right above the washer, by the way,” she said as she dropped back down on the futon heavily. “And Darryl made it sound like… It’s like they all expect me to jump in there and fix it. Like it’s still my job,” she said angrily. “And I don’t know what they expect from me. Am I supposed to feel like this was my fault?” she demanded.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Damn right it’s not.” Pam cradled her glass in both hands and stared down at the deep purple wine that swirled in the glass. “But I feel guilty, and that makes me mad,” she admitted softly.
“Yeah,” Jim said sympathetically as he looked down at the piece of laminated particle board he held propped up in his hand. He turned to watch her for a moment, trying desperately to think of the right thing to say, and feeling a little trapped. Not wanting to rock the boat, he reached for another bolt and a nut and bent his head, and returned to his assigned task.
“We almost broke up once before,” she confessed softly.
Afraid to look up, Jim grunted, “Yeah?”
Pam smiled wanly as she raised her head and asked, “How do you think I got my engagement ring?” When he didn’t respond, she focused on his nimble fingers twirling the nut into place. “You see, when Roy picked me, I could never figure out why. He was the big man, captain of the football team. I was the artsy girl. I couldn’t believe it. Suddenly, everyone knew who I was; everyone was so much more friendly to me.”
“I can’t imagine people being unfriendly to you,” he commented softly.
“Well, not really unfriendly. I just didn’t exist, you know? Suddenly, I felt important. I think he liked that he could be protective of me. It made him feel strong, I guess. And then after high school, we just drifted along,” she murmured. “I think it was comfortable. Safe for both of us. All of a sudden, he wasn’t the big shot anymore, and I think that threw him.” She took a shaky breath, trying to find a way to verbalize all of the things that had been running around in her head for the past few days. “I started to think I wanted something more. I looked into going back to school, thinking that I could do something with the art thing. Roy didn’t like that. When he saw that I was serious about it, he proposed. And then, then there was a wedding to save for, and school went on the back burner.”
When Jim nodded and reached for the other legs, Pam winced and said, “I’m not saying it was his fault. I let myself get wrapped up in it. I let myself believe. Even when he postponed the wedding over and over again. That’s my fault,” she said quietly.
“There’s nothing wrong in believing that you can get what you want,” he replied gently.
“No, but there’s something wrong with clinging to something you’re not so sure that you want because you’re afraid to do anything else,” Pam said, her voice growing stronger.
Jim looked up and found her staring at him intently. “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid.”
“As long as you realize it before it’s too late.”
The silence stretched between them. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one… Jim counted to himself as he waited for her to say whatever was obviously on the tip of her tongue.
Pam bit her bottom lip as she ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “Why me, Jim?” she asked softly, her gaze unswerving, holding him captive.
Jim gaped at her for a moment, dozens of pictures of her flashing through his head. “I…” he began haltingly. He swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat, staring back into those new silvery-green eyes and feeling as if he were finally being forced to walk the plank. He closed his eyes for a moment, blocking her from his vision and seeing only the choppy waters that swirled below him.
When he worked up the nerve to open his eyes, he gave her the first reason that came to mind. “You’re the reason that I get out of bed in the morning.”
Pam looked down, spotting the still knotted tie he had loosened and then draped over the arm of her slightly battered futon. She yearned to reach out and touch it just as she wanted to touch him, just to see if all of this could be real. Instead, she ran her hand over the leg of her faded jeans and said quietly, “I’m not ready for this.”
“I know,” he said in a low, hoarse voice.
Pam nodded, soothed by his simple reassurance. She reached out and ran her fingertips over the silky fabric of his tie. “But, I want you to know, you’re my reason too,” she said as she looked up at him shyly.
The smile that bloomed on his face sent a wave of warmth coursing through her veins. Jim nodded and said, “Okay, well, good.”
“Good,” Pam parroted, unable to resist returning his smile. Their eyes met and held, and Jim began counting again. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…
Giving his head a slight shake, breaking the spell before he stepped completely off of the plank. He reached for the instruction sheet and asked, “How’s your Svensk?”
Pam grinned as she reached for the flimsy sheet of paper. “About as good as my Somali.” Pam frowned as she studied the drawing, keeping her eyes averted as she asked, “So, would it be completely out of line to ask you to help me set up my bed?”
Jim snorted and then shook his head. “Yes. But, I’ll do it.”
“You will?”
Jim smiled, his face lighting as he plucked the sheet out of her hand. “Gotta give you something to get out of in the morning.”
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© 2006-2023 More Than That | Skin created by Kali
© 2006-2023 More Than That | Skin created by Kali