Life’s a Beach

Chapter 1

“No, hey, that’s all right. I’m sure it would have ended up being pretty lame anyway. Just go be with your family. My condolences, okay?” 

Pam couldn’t help overhearing Jim’s side of the conversation with Karen, and for once she was grateful he sat with his back to her, because she could get away with the eavesdropping. Apparently, Pam deduced, Karen wasn’t coming to beach day. Interesting.

She tried very hard to suppress the leaping of her heart at the news, and when Jim finally hung up after a rather subdued final moments, she was almost caught when he suddenly swiveled around to face her.  She’d just barely managed to focus on the computer in front of her when Jim spoke.

“Hey, Karen’s not coming today.  A death in her family back at Stamford.”

“Oh no,” she said sincerely, for as much as she wanted Karen out of the picture, she genuinely liked her and didn’t wish her or her family ill.  “Someone close?”

“A great-aunt. I guess they weren’t close, but her mom was. Karen’s going for emotional support.”

“Well, next time you hear from her, please offer my sympathies.”

“I will. Thanks.”

“You want me to let Michael and Toby know, or--?”

Jim shook his head. “I’ll tell them.” He sighed. “Poor Karen,” he said with a slight grin. “She’s really gonna miss out. Her first Scranton team building event and all.”

Pam returned his wry smile. “Would it be too insensitive to say I envy her right now?”

Jim chuckled. “Well, it could be worse for us. At least it’s not a booze cruise in January or glow-in-the-dark bowling at Idle Hour Lanes.”

“Or any of the Dundies,” she added.

“Yeah,” he said, and a river of memories flooded over them, for despite the lameness of those past events, they actually remembered each occasion fondly. They’d been best friends then, and that friendship had made those times bearable--enjoyable, even, with the exception of the emotionally painful (at least for Jim) booze cruise. They stared at each other for longer than they realized, saying with their eyes and their silence what neither of them dared say aloud.

Jim came out of the daze first, cleared his throat and turned back to his computer, his hands shaking as his fingers went automatically to the keyboard.

Two hours later, they were boarding the bus to Lake Scranton and the promise of a fun beach day. When Pam walked down the narrow aisle, Jim was already sitting in a seat by the window, an empty seat beside him.  Their eyes met and Jim shifted uncomfortably, tensing the closer she came. She looked away in embarrassment. A year ago, and there would have been no question—she would have taken that empty seat without a second thought. But now…as much as she longed to, she walked on past to sit with Andy, a row behind.

No one else sat by Jim either, as if he were still saving that seat for Karen. Pam tried to pay attention to Andy’s cheerful chatter, but she couldn’t help watching Jim’s reflection in the window beside him. He seemed down, not like someone who was getting out of work to go to the beach. He must really be missing Karen, she thought sadly.

They sang old eighties songs and TV theme songs on the short drive, and Pam and Jim both absently sang along, their hearts not in it. She doodled in the notebook Michael demanded she bring to record the day’s events and “funtivities.” Instead, she found herself sketching the back of Jim’s seat, the top of his black baseball cap just visible above it.

Pam’s spirits lifted when they arrived at the lake; beaches of any kind always made her happy. But without even giving them a chance to breathe in the fresh air or survey their surroundings, Michael immediately launched into the plans for day. They would be divided into teams, the captains doing a schoolyard pick to determine their teammates. Michael directed her to sit out and take notes, but to her surprise, Jim jumped to her rescue.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” he said softly. “Pam’s part of the office too.”

“Yeah,” said Kevin. “Since Karen’s gone, Pam is the next best thing.”

Pam blushed at the backhanded compliment.

“But she’s supposed to be taking notes,” Michael said, frustrated that his leadership was being questioned.

“Yeah, Michael. Let Pam play,” added Kelly, as if she were defending womankind.

Succumbing to peer pressure, Michael relented with a huff. “Okay, Pam, but I expect you to pay attention and remember everything that happened so you can write your report later.”

“Of course,” she agreed, catching Jim’s eye and giving him a small smile of gratitude.

But when no one picked her in the first round, Pam felt the painful déjà vu of high school gym class, and wished she could sink beneath the sand. Her eyes dropped to the ground in humiliation.

“Beesly!” Jim called, when it was his turn to pick again. She looked up in surprise. He’d picked Kevin his first turn, and she’d tried not to be disappointed. Now for the second time that day, he’d taken pity on her.  She smiled from ear to ear, nearly skipping to his side, her ponytail swishing as she moved. She was so happy to have been picked by him that she didn’t notice his quick grin and sparkling eyes. They disappeared before anyone else could see.

The first event was the egg race, and Michael passed out bandanas they would use as blindfolds. The team captains would call out directions as the blindfolded would race carrying eggs on spoons.

“C’mere, Kev,” said Jim, holding the folded-up bandana.

Kevin shook his head. “I get dizzy when I can’t see.”

“Uh, okay.” Almost reluctantly, Jim turned to Pam, one eyebrow raised in invitation.

“I don’t know if I trust you,” she teased, because knowing Jim as she used to, she wouldn’t have put it past him to steer her into the lake. She didn’t expect the flash of pain in his eyes which he quickly covered up with a grin.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said, and she was sad to see he wasn’t teasing. She wouldn’t have minded at all if he wanted to prank her; she would actually have welcomed it.

She turned her back to him so he could tie on the blindfold. They hadn’t been this close together in months, and she felt incredibly nervous as he stood behind her. She tried to hide her shiver as his hands brushed the back of her bare neck, gently picking up her ponytail in order to tie the ends of the bandana beneath it.

“Is that too tight,” he asked quietly near her ear, the vibration of his incredible voice shooting an additional thrill through her body.

“No,” she said hoarsely. His warm hands rested lightly on her pink tank top-clad shoulders as he gently propelled her toward the starting line. He placed the spoon and egg in her right hand just as Michael yelled, “Ready, set, go!”

“Okay, Beesly, it’s just a straight walk forward. Don’t pay any attention to anyone else. Just listen to my voice.”

As if she could do otherwise, she thought wryly, stepping confidently through the sand. She could feel his calm, steady presence right behind her, his voice low as he gave directions to readjust her journey. It was as if they were the only two in the game, and she was able to focus completely on Jim, even with the shouting of others all around them.

 Despite her teasing, she did trust him. Jim would never steer her wrong, a least not figuratively, and she’d been dealing with regret that she’d let him down the year before. The emotional weight of her mistake and their subsequent estrangement made her legs feel heavy as she trudged back through the sand toward the finish line, his voice in her ear, her eyes filling with tears beneath the bandana.

They would have won if it hadn’t been for Ryan bumping into her out of nowhere due to Dwight’s terrible direction. Pam’s egg dropped unceremoniously out of her spoon and plopped in the sand.

“Sorry,” said Ryan, who had no idea who he’d run into. Then he proceeded to cuss out Dwight.

“Ah, man,” said Jim. “We were almost there.” Pam lifted her blindfold and saw they were within steps of being back at the bucket. He notices how upset she was and totally misunderstood.

“It was just a game, Beesly.” She used the bandana to wipe her eyes.

“I know.” No way could she explain to him that she’d wished he’d played with her a little bit, how a year ago he wouldn’t have taken her so literally, wouldn’t have shied away from taking advantage of her vulnerable state. She wondered if he would have had more fun with Karen.

No one won the first game in the end, and Michael’s frustration was palpable. He lectured them a good five minutes about the necessity of good team management. 

“Now, all of you, sit down in the sand and think seriously about how you could have done things better.  Except for you, Pam. I have a special project for you.”

Jim sat on a rock near the water, giving her a sympathetic glance as Michael ushered her toward the nearby table he’d set up.  She looked at the grocery bags filled with hot dogs and buns, and she was at first excited because she loved nothing better than roasting wienies at the beach.

“Wow,” she said. “That’s a lot of hot dogs.”

“800. Now get grilling.” He nodded toward the grill, which hadn’t even been filled with charcoal yet.  “You’ve got ten minutes.”

“What?” she exclaimed. But Michael had already left.

Obviously, that was impossible, and how the hell could they eat all of those hot dogs anyway? She knew talking him out of it would be futile, and probably more painful than cooking the damn things, so with a sigh, she resigned herself to doing his bidding.

She was struggling with lifting the gigantic bag of charcoal when she heard a familiar chuckle while two helping hands caught the bag and lifted it with her to pour into the bottom of the barbecue grill.  Jim smelled like cologne and clean sweat and she wished with everything in her being that she could turn into his arms and hold on.

“Thanks,” she said instead.

He set down the bag and held out his hand for the matches, lighting the easy light briquettes in several places. He glanced over at the paper grocery sacks.

“Hmmm, Michael’s special project, I take it.”

“Yep. Eight hundred hot dogs.”

His eyebrows rose beneath his hat brim.  “Wow.” Then a thought occurred to him. “It would be my educated guess that Michael is planning a hot dog eating contest.”

Pam grinned.  “That’s what I was thinking too.”

“And he wants you to cook all these?”

“Uh-huh. In ten minutes.”

“So, it’s also a hot dog cooking contest.”

She laughed. “I guess so.”

“You mind if I offer a suggestion, to make all of our lives easier?”

“Please.”

“How many hot dogs do you think you could eat in say, ten minutes?”

“Me personally? Maybe one a minute, I mean, if I was really hungry and didn’t have to eat the bun too.”

“Oh, you definitely have to eat the buns in these contests, either apart or together; it depends on the contestant’s personal preference.  So, I’ll guess five or six for you, with the buns.”

“Maybe…” But she seemed skeptical.

“And our best eater is probably Kevin, right?”

She grinned. “Definitely. He would probably get double that, at least. I wouldn’t count the other men out though.  What about you?”

“Oh, I brought my own lunch: tuna salad from the deli, so I won’t be participating in the contest.”

“Party pooper.”

“That’s me. So, back to the math of this. There are how many of us—fourteen?”

“Yeah. Well, twelve, if you’re not eating, and Angela’s a vegetarian, and we assume Michael is also participating…”

He seemed to do a little calculating in his head, even briefly employing his fingers. “I’m thinking you could get away with cooking about…eighty hot dogs.”

Her eyes widened. “How do you figure?”

“Don’t ask for how I came up with that number, just trust me…if you can.”

She blushed at the reminder of her earlier jab, but at least now his eyes glowed with amusement.

“But Michael said—”

“Do you really think he’s going to count all these? I mean eighty hot dogs will seem like quite a lot piled up and encased in buns.”

She nodded. He was probably right.

“And if the worst happens, you could claim you thought he said eighty, not the ridiculous number, eight-hundred.”

She started to mildly protest, but he held his hand up. “I will back you up if it comes to that, but you know Michael’s attention span. As long as people are eating, I guarantee you he won’t even remember what he said. And I think I still probably overestimated how many dogs people can eat. This way, we can put those extra packages of hot dogs in the freezer and give us an excuse to have a real barbecue someday.”

She looked at him, admiring for the millionth time his logic, his kindness, his thoughtfulness. She felt like such a burden had been lifted from her shoulders that she was in great danger of crying again.

“Plus, I will be happy to help,” he continued. “I don’t think you got to see the full extent of my grillmaster skills at my last barbecue.”

“No, I think you roped Kevin into doing most of that…”

“See, that’s what truly makes an effective team leader—the ability to delegate.”

“Amazing,” she said dryly.

“What can I say, Beesly…when you’re right, you’re right.”

And so, the minute the charcoal was ready, she and Jim began an assembly line. She opened eight packages of hot dogs and put them on paper plates while he used tongs to place as many as he could on the grill. When they were cooked through, complete with pleasing grill marks, she held out a plate for him, put each wiener in a bun, and put them in the aluminum pans Michael had provided. Just as they always had, they worked together seamlessly, anticipating each other’s actions without the need for words. There was a certain bittersweetness in that, a sad realization of all that they had lost.

Within half an hour, all eighty hot dogs were ready and waiting in the middle of the table, and Jim helped her set up the chairs around it before calling everyone to eat.

Michael looked pleased as his “family” gathered round, everyone hungry and salivating at the feast set before them.  (As Jim predicted, in his excitement, he took no time to count the hot dogs.) When Michael announced that it was, in fact, a hot dog eating contest, Jim met Pam’s eyes across the table and winked. She felt it in her stomach, setting the butterflies dancing so hard there she wondered if she’d be able to eat even one of Jim’s carefully grilled masterpieces.

Amidst the complaints and the whining at the news that they wouldn’t simply be eating lunch, Michael suddenly confessed that this whole day wasn’t just a fun outing—it was a way for him to choose his successor. Everyone stared at him in shock, and then the questions began. Pam and Jim looked at each other, wide-eyed at the thought that Michael would be choosing their new boss so haphazardly.

And then the hot dog eating contest began.

Since Pam had no real desire to be the regional manager, she ate two hot dogs at her own pace, while strangely, Jim still ate his tuna salad.

“Don’t you want to be the boss?” she asked him curiously.

He shrugged. “Not here,” he said evasively.  Her eyes narrowed at his suspiciously innocent expression, but she didn’t pry.  He seemed relieved at that, but she noticed he didn’t meet her eyes the rest of the meal.

When time was called, Andy was pronounced the winner, and the participants threw down their half-eaten hot dogs in a combination of relief and envy. Just as Jim predicted, there were still plenty of leftovers, and she found herself feeling grateful again that he’d saved her from all that extra work.

“Okay! Next on the docket is…sumo wrestling!”

“I knew it!” exclaimed Dwight.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Dwight,” said Michael in annoyance. “I have the suits ready to go, but the first battles will be between the team captains.”

“Michael,” said Oscar, “we’ve all just eaten a really big meal—you gotta give us a little time to digest or ramming into each other’s stomachs will have dire consequences.”

There was a smattering of moans at the thought of it.

“Yeah, at least an hour,” Jim concurred. He glanced at Pam, who hadn’t had a chance for any down time.  “Maybe two.” She smiled at him.

Michael made a few huffing noises in disgust, his single-mindedness once again getting in the way of consideration for others.

“Fine. You have one hour.” Then, under his breath: “Pussies.”

Everyone slowing rose to their feet with more sounds of discomfort, a few holding their full bellies. Pam got up too, jumping in to clear the table.

“Hey,” said Phyllis kindly, “did you get this all ready by yourself?  I mean, I know Michael said he did it, but I saw him hanging out with the boys near the water while the hot dogs were probably being grilled.”

Pam nodded. “Yeah, with Jim’s help.”

“I think the rest of the Party Planning Committee should clean up, don’t you, Angela?”

Angela looked longingly at Dwight, who was heading back toward the water, but, never one to shirk responsibility where the PPC was concerned, she nodded. “It probably wouldn’t get done correctly otherwise,” she said, brushing aside Pam’s cleaning skills. 

“Yeah,” said Kelly to Pam, “we totally got this. You go try out that new bikini of yours before we lose sunlight.”

Pam smiled, her face flushing a little at the mention of her bathing suit in front of Jim. “Thanks, guys. I think I will.”

Pam wondered if it was her imagination, the feeling that Jim’s eyes were following her as she grabbed her beach bag and headed for the water, but she enjoyed the thought of it anyway. It had felt so wonderful joking around with him today, falling into their same old banter patterns, that for awhile she’d actually forgotten about the miserable past few months, forgot there was still a Karen.

She found a relatively secluded spot close to the lake, a small area of the beach where large rocks might shield her from the gazes of the others. She spread out her towel on the sand, then took off her tank top, capri pants, and sneakers before, clad only in her brown polka dot bikini, she dug around in her bag for her medium SPF suntan lotion. She tended to freckle or burn if out in the sun too long, but she was usually able to get a warm glow if she was careful. She admitted to herself as she applied lotion to her cleavage that she’d worn this bathing suit so that a certain handsome salesman might notice her, but now that the occasion had finally arisen, her natural shyness had set in, and she found herself embarrassed that she’d even had the thought in the first place.

Properly lotioned up, she lay back on her towel, enjoying the warmth of the sun, the orange glow beneath her eyelids. She forced herself to push aside any confusing or wayward thoughts of Jim, and soon the softness of the breeze and the gentle lapping of the water soothed her into a light doze.  In this relaxed state, she was unaware of the quiet regard of the man of her dreams as he took a solitary stroll along the beach, coincidentally taking the same path she had minutes before…