It was the same routine day after day: wake up, brush hair, brush teeth, apply make up, twist hair into bun, pick out a neutral colored outfit, drive to work, talk to a patient, lunch break, talk to another patient, yoga or cardio, go home, microwave TV dinner, go over notes, take shower or bath, sleep, and repeat. Even before the split with AJ, that was always the routine. Sometimes sex would be thrown in, but that was rare.
When Holly thinks back, she remembers her old self. The Holly that had always cracked childish immature jokes, did terrible imitations of Jon Lovitz, watched old Monty Python movies, and genuinely cared about people. But after seven years of school, a year of being an intern, and a year and a half of working at the county hospital, she had changed. AJ would do his best to adapt to these changes, and when Holly does take the time to think about it, she realizes that it’s her fault that their marriage failed.
So that’s why she sticks to the same routine everyday—to keep her mind off of reality.
Holly rummaged through her notepad for her Thursday patients. Toby Flenderson, a man who left the seminary to marry who he thought was his true love, only to be cheated on. Did he show any progress?
No progress made, she wrote. Suggest taking a vacation to somewhere he had always wanted to go.
She turned the page, and she read Jim Halpert’s name. She hadn’t taken any notes that day, but she remembers him quite clearly. He was the guy with the brain tumor. Just how severe that tumor is, she didn’t know yet. Jim would dodge certain questions, so he could be in denial. Who knows? He’s a new patient…but not really. Holly remembered how quickly he had read her, and how nearly accurate he was in his description of her. She also recalled how his eyes lit up when he talked about his wife. Yet, he still dodged certain questions about her.
Brain tumor. Try not to pry. Widower. Ask questions about happy memories. Possible mind reader. Wear an aluminum foil helmet.
*****
Every morning, Michael Scott would greet her in the elevator. She had a hunch that he was hiding behind the entrance door every morning, waiting for her to arrive. But that didn’t matter. The truth is, Holly liked Michael Scott. He reminded her of how she used to be so many years ago. So in their brief two minute elevator rides (it was an old building) every morning, Holly would find herself laughing with Michael. And laughter was what she needed right now.
When she arrived to her office, Phyllis would give her the memos, she’d walk to the coffee pot, and get herself a cup of coffee. This was her life.
So on Thursday afternoon (Mr. Flenderson insisted that he keep his morning spot), when she met with Jim for the second time, she found herself to feel relieved. Jim was different from her other patients, only because he really wasn’t a patient. Holly didn’t know how severe his tumor was, but she decided that she was fulfilling a dying man’s wish. She would be his friend. And Lord knows, Holly needs some new friends…
At precisely 1:25, Phyllis buzzed Holly’s phone.
“Mr. Halpert is here to see you.”
“Send him in,” said Holly, feeling as if she should add a thank you. But Phyllis had already hung up the phone.
Jim Halpert walked into Holly’s bland, neutral colored office. Holly noticed that he was wearing an Oasis t-shirt.
“Hello, Mr. Halpert,” she said. Jim gave her a crooked smile as he sat down.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Huebel.”
“It’s actually Flax,” Holly corrected. Although she felt remorse when it came to the divorce, she was glad that she would go back to her maiden name.
“Oh,” Jim said politely.
“Yes,” said Holly before Jim could ask. “I got a divorce.”
“Well, sorry to hear that…”
“It’s fine. It was a long time coming.”
“Well, either way. I’m sorry to hear that, Dr. Flax.”
Holly waved her hand lazily.
“Thank you,” she smiled. “So how was your week?”
Jim shrugged.
“Boring,” he said. “I can’t really do much when I keep seizing.”
“I see…”
“But the Phillies are going to the World Series, so…” he held up two thumbs. Holly gave him a smile.
“So I’d like to hear more about Pam,” Holly said.
“Well, I’d like to hear more about your divorce,” Jim retorted, almost childishly.
“There’s nothing to say about it.”
“Sure there is.”
“Well, it’s not something I want to share with a patient,” snapped Holly. “It’s inappropriate.”
“Wow. Someone’s touchy,” Jim chuckled. “Come on, I’m not a patient. I told you how I proposed last week, didn’t I? I’ll tell you another story if you tell me why you got that divorce.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“You’re just giving off a vibe that you want to be heard, I guess,” Jim replied. There he goes again with his crazy mind reading. Holly began to wonder if that tumor of his was caused by some radioactive chemical he had snorted, and now he has mind reading abilities.
“How do you do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Read people…”
“I’m observant, I guess,” Jim replied. “You said you got a divorce, I noticed some frown lines, your eyes were shifty, and your mouth twitched. It just looked like you wanted to say more about it, but then you realized that I’m ‘a patient.’”
“Am I that easy to read?” Holly began to feel slightly self-conscious. Jim shook his head.
“A little bit,” he smiled. “But I’ve seen a lot of people. So on with it, Dr. Flax.”
“This is like Silence of the Lambs…” mumbled Holly.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” Holly said, rubbing her chin.
“Silence of the Lambs? Is that what you said?” Jim chuckled.
“Yes, that whole quid pro quo scene…”
“So does that make me Clarice?”
“You’re more of a Hannibal Lecter,” Holly joked.
“All right then…so quid pro quo. Something for something. I told you something last week, and you’ll tell me something, and then I’ll tell you something,” Jim said. “Man, I love that movie. Anyway, so your divorce…”
“…was quick and easy. We put our house on the market, and right now, I’m looking for an apartment or maybe a small house,” For one… thought Holly bitterly.
“I’m sure there’s more to it than that,” said Jim. “Why did you guys get one?”
“In short, my husband hated me for the last three or four years,” Holly replied. “We were married for ten years, and he wanted kids, but I really wanted my Psy. D degree. So when we got married, I spent all my time for a year trying to earn it. When I did, I had another year of being an intern. Then I worked at the county hospital…then I decided that I wanted my own clinic. So I spent the majority of our marriage working, trying to get where I wanted. I was selfish, I guess. Then to top it all off, AJ always wanted kids.”
Holly took a deep breath, and felt the weight lifting off her chest. She had to admit, it felt nice to let that all out.
“And you didn’t want kids?” Jim asked.
“I did,” Holly admitted. “But I wanted to get things settled first. Once I did, that’s when we started trying for kids. We did that for a year, and then I—we—found out that…I couldn’t get pregnant…”
“…and that was the last straw for AJ,” mumbled Jim. “Well…that’s…unfortunate. So what was this guy like?”
Suddenly, Holly was the patient. She felt as though she was the one sitting on the couch, and Jim was the one taking notes. But it felt nice, she had to admit. Finally being able to vent out her thoughts and feelings…
“He was always supportive, but he had a way of making you feel guilty. I…I didn’t want to marry him when he first asked. I was with him since my senior year of college, and by the time he asked, we’ve been dating for five years. I told him that I would think about it, and he made me feel his heartbreak…”
“Why didn’t you want to marry him?”
“I wanted to get what I thought needed to be done out of the way. All the schooling and what not. But AJ told me he understood, and that he’d support me. I gave in and said yes. We married right away. I started to change…he stayed the same…”
She was an overflowing dam…
“He wanted me to be the girl who went barhopping with him. I wanted him to be more responsible…I wanted to grow up. He lived in the glory years…”
“He was one of those, huh?” said Jim.
“Yeah…he was one of those…” Holly sighed.
“That’s what happens when you just…stick to someone, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“How many guys have you dated before AJ? Like seriously…?”
“He was my first serious boyfriend,” Holly replied.
“This is just my opinion, but…I think you need to date a variety of people before settling down,” said Jim. “Like, you need to…I don’t know, get your balls kicked a couple of times. Figure out what kind of person you really want…”
“How long have you known Pam before you married her?”
“Three years. I was twenty-five when I met her. Married her when I was twenty-eight.”
“I can do math, you know,” Holly smiled.
“Really?” laughed Jim. “I never would have guessed…”
Holly laughed kindly with him.
“What kind of girls did you date before her?”
“All kinds,” said Jim. “I like to get to know people. I don’t believe in that ‘love at first sight’ bullshit. Anyway, so I dated cheerleaders, Goths, um…psychos…”
“Psychos?”
“Yeah, this girl, Megan. She had me wrapped around her finger, and I don’t even know how she did it…anyway, um…long story short, I knocked her up, and she got an abortion without telling me. I found out from her mom. And I was way too immature for a kid, but…”
“It hurt?”
“Yeah,” Jim said. “It hurt a lot—that whole trust thing…anyway, if that didn’t happen. I wouldn’t have met Pam.”
“Quid pro quo, Mr. Halpert.”
“All right?” he smiled.
“How did you and Pam meet?”
*****
Unlike most college graduates, I was already in the makings of an empire. When my parents died, they left me a hefty sum of money. When I turned nineteen, an audio-engineering major named Ryan Howard and I decided to lease a small space. That’s when we opened our first recording studio.
Ryan handled the music production, and I handled everything else. At the time, the average cost of recording a demo was $1300. Most demos took at the least, ten hours to record. We handled things differently. We charged $700 for forty hours. Depending on how good a band is, that would be a full long press album.
With the money from my parents, we bought top of the line equipment, built four studios, and five iso-booths. Our plan was to have at least five bands record a month. And it was brilliant. Granted, we got lucky. New bands, wanting to be discovered, were popping out everywhere in California. They would all come to us, Furious Funk Recording Studios. After a few years, we built more studios, hired people, and then we became the Starbucks of recording studios. With the Myspace boom, more and more teenagers would start bands. So by the time I graduated, we already had fifteen studios along the western coast.
I loved music, so in Berkley, I studied everything about it. I decided to become a composer. I’ve played piano, guitar, and the violin all before I turned ten years old. I was almost a prodigy. In college, a couple of film kids would ask me to compose music for their short films. I obliged, and luckily, one of their films made it to a festival. This director, Ted Beesly, was a judge there, and he contacted me. He asked if I could write the music for his new Indie film, and I obliged.
That’s how I ended up in Chicago. However, I never wrote music for Tim Beesly’s film. His project never got the green light, and no one would fund it. So I searched the music scene, and built the first Furious Funk that wasn’t on the west coast.
For two years, I managed that studio, and I kept in touch with Megan. Although I despised her, she had this quality of wrapping me into her. She was still in Berkley, living off of her trust fund, and the day Tim Beesly called me again was the day I found out Megan was pregnant again. Not with my kid, but with some other trust fund baby. She told me that she was going to keep it.
I was pissed. So she wants to be with this guy, but she didn’t want to be with me? When you hear something like that from someone you’re in love with, it can drive you mad. So I punched a wall, and broke three of my knuckles. That meant that I couldn’t play any instruments. I had to write songs for Tim by ear. And that’s how I met Pam, Tim’s younger sister.
I needed a pianist, because the piano was my main tool. Tim told me that his sister was an excellent pianist. I met with her in my studio. At that point in my life, I was too depressed about Megan to even notice girls anymore. To me, they were all heartless bitches. So when Pam walked into my studio, I didn’t even notice how beautiful she was.
“You Pam?” I asked, not looking up from my sheet music.
“Yes, you must be Jim.” She replied softly.
“Yep,” I handed her the sheet music. “Set up the metronome at 120 BPM, and see how that sounds…”
“Okay…”
I listened to the music.
“Too fast,” I said to myself, remembering that this was for the scene where the hero falls in love with the girl. I called out to Pam. “Try it at 63, it should be larghetto. My bad…”
Pam nodded, and continued playing at a slower pace. The song sounded decent. It should sound better when the quartet came in next week…
“All right, give me a minute, and I’ll have someone set up the microphones,” I called. I nodded to the audio-engineer student from Columbia. “Could you set up the mikes, please?”
He nodded eagerly, and ran over to the baby grand piano to set up the microphones. And then he came back to the sound board, and nodded to me.
“All right, Pam. We’re ready to record when you are!”
When the song was over, Pam looked over at me from the iso booth and smiled. That’s when I realized that she was extremely pretty. Yet…she was pretty in the natural, girl next door kind of way. But she was an eye pleaser none-the-less.
So for the next couple of weeks, Pam would come in and record the piano tracks. I was still irate over Megan, but I decided to talk to Pam. After all, she was only getting paid a hundred bucks. The least I could do is let her know that I appreciated her help. So when we were finished with the piano tracks, I walked up to her as she was getting ready to leave.
“So, um…I really appreciated your help,” I said.
“Wow, he speaks!” Pam laughed.
“Excuse me?” I asked, certain that I had a dumbfounded expression on my face.
“Well, it’s just that, usually when you talk to me, you just say, ‘hi,’ ‘all right,’ ‘you ready?’” she smiled politely.
“Oh, um…all right, I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. Oh, and you say ‘all right’ way too much,” she said. “It’s like how people say ‘like’ like a hundred times when they talk. I probably said ‘like’ like seven times just now.”
“Like, that’s totally crazy!” I joked.
“I know! It’s like…almost like…poetic like!”
She began to giggle at her own joke, and I began to laugh as well.
“So anyway, thank you for playing the piano for me,” I told her.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Pam smiled kindly. “I’m on summer break, so…”
“Oh, you’re still in school?”
“No, I’m an art teacher and choir instructor at Kenwood Academy High,” she replied.
“Cool…”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “So…um…”
“Yeah…”
“I kind of want some coffee…do you want some coffee?”
“Sounds good,” I smiled.
We walked outside into the hot, humid Chicago summer.
“Okay,” I said, pointing to the Starbucks across the street. “We got Starbucks, and then down the street, there’s another Starbucks. There’s a Barnes and Noble with a Starbucks…your choice.”
Pam acted as if she was contemplating.
“Gosh…I don’t know. I mean, I really like Starbucks, but I also really like the Starbucks with the books…and I love the Starbucks down the street,” she said sarcastically. “What a tough decision…I guess we’ll have to settle for the one across the street. Is that okay with you?”
I laughed.
“I suppose I’ll just have to endure it…” I smiled.
We walked across the street, and ordered our drinks. When I asked for a large drip, the barista stared confusedly at me.
“The big cup?” I said, pointing to the big cup. It was pretty obvious…
“Oh,” said the barista. “That’s a venti, man.”
“Oh, my mistake,” I joked while Pam giggled.
“And what can we get for you, ma’am?”
“Same for me,” she replied. “Except medium, I mean, grande.”
I smiled down at her, and we got our coffees. Pam hummed a tune while she poured some cream into her coffee, and sprinkled it with cinnamon.
“Whatcha humming?” I asked when we sat down at a table.
“You don’t recognize it?” she asked, slightly surprised. “It was the song for the death scene that you wrote!”
“Oh…yeah…I guess I forgot. To be honest, I’m not really proud of that one.”
“Really? I liked it!” said Pam. “It was pretty hard for me to play…all those different harmonies and the time changes…but it gave me a sense of accomplishment when I got it right!”
“Are you being serious?”
“Yes! I liked all of the songs actually. You’re pretty brilliant!”
“Thanks…” I said, feeling myself blush. I’m really terrible at taking compliments.
“So that leads me to ask…what kind of music are you into? Please don’t name any composers, because I don’t know any aside from Beethoven and Mozart…”
“I don’t really listen to that many composers to be honest,” I said. “But…I’m pretty much into the Indie slash folk slash alternative stuff. Uh…The National, Arcade Fire, Damien Rice, Ryan Adams, The Smiths, The Kinks, Jeff Buckley, Patrick Park, Iron and Wine, The Frames, Sigur Ros…that sort of stuff. How about you?”
Pam’s eyes widened.
“Are you serious?” she demanded.
“Yes…?”
“You just listed my most played artists in my iPod!” she exclaimed. “You’re totally stalking me aren’t you?”
“Absolutely,” I smiled.
“Holy crap! That means we’re like…musical soul mates!” Pam cried excitedly. “I never had one of those before…”
“Well…” I laughed, holding up my cup. “To being musical soul mates!”
“Hear, hear!” she laughed, clunking her paper cup against mine.
*****
“…and then we made out,” smiled Jim.
“Really?” Holly asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Naw…” Jim said, shaking his head. “We talked about music some more, made plans to go see a National concert…”
Holly smiled, and she looked down at her watch.
“Time’s up,” she said.
“Right…well, I’ll see you next week, Dr. Hue—Flax.”
“You can call me Holly.”
“See you next week then, Holly.” Jim smiled.
“Bye, bye, Jim…”
Author's Chapter Notes:
Get to know Jim and Holly a little bit better...
