Pulpy and Midge Page 16

‘That line down your chest. I saw it last night when I took off your shirt.’

  Pulpy peered out one of Dan and Beatrice’s tall windows, at the shiny crust of snow that had hardened over their backyard. Then he noticed something green outside and took a few steps closer to see what it was.

  He heard the fridge opening and closing behind him. ‘Cream and sugar,’ said Dan. ‘Come and get ’em!’

  It was the plant that he and Midge had bought, just sitting there in the cold. There was a layer of frost all over it, like icing, and the spiky leaves had curled in on themselves.

  ‘Chow time!’ said Dan in a loud voice. ‘Who’s hungry?’

  Pulpy turned to face him. ‘It’s a love connection line,’ he said. ‘Whenever Midge and I are apart I can just touch it and think about us.’

  Dan’s grin went lopsided for a second and he seemed to sway a little. Then he said, ‘Huh,’ and opened the fridge again. He pulled out a brown paper bag with dark stains on the bottom and dropped it onto the counter with a thud. ‘Sounds like voodoo to me.’

  Pulpy frowned and darted a hand inside the front of his robe when Dan turned his back to open a drawer. His fingers grazed the line Midge had made. ‘You said you were going to tell me what happened last night.’

  ‘I did say that, didn’t I?’ Dan picked up the bag and held it upside down, and two thick slabs of grey-edged red meat thumped onto the counter. ‘What happened is, we didn’t get to eat these steaks we ordered! Ha! So belly up, compadre. We are going to right that horrible wrong before we mosey on back to the ranch.’

  Pulpy went pale. ‘I don’t really feel like eating, Dan. I think I’d just like to get dressed.’

  Dan had already started cutting. He paused with a hunk of beef at his lips. ‘Just wait until I’m done here and then I’ll get an outfit together for you.’

  ‘I was thinking more about wearing my own clothes, actually.’

  Dan’s jaw muscles flexed as he chewed. ‘Be my guest,’ he said with his mouth full, ‘but Beatrice might hose you down with that citrus spray of hers if you walk in there smelling like puke.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Dan grinned, showing off a piece of sinew stuck between his large front teeth. ‘You mean you really don’t remember throwing up all over yourself last night?’

  Pulpy grimaced. ‘No.’

  ‘Huh. I guess you did black out, but still.’ He sliced a strip of fat off the edge of his steak and shoved it in his mouth. ‘I figured it would come back to you.’

  ‘Well, it hasn’t,’ said Pulpy. ‘It hasn’t and I want to get dressed and go to work.’

  ‘All right, all right. If you’re going to get all bent out of shape.’ Dan thrust a finger into his mouth and dug around, then swallowed what he’d dislodged and wiped his finger on his robe. ‘Wait here. I’ll get you one of my suits.’

  Pulpy watched Dan stride out of the kitchen, and then walked over to the window and looked down at the frozen plant again.

  His mug of coffee sat steaming on the counter behind him.

  When Pulpy and Dan walked into the office, the receptionist wasn’t there, and Beatrice was bent over the desk aiming a small can with a long nozzle at the receptionist’s keyboard.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Dan to his wife’s rump, on prominent display and encased in pants that Pulpy thought looked familiar.

  At the sound of the door closing, Beatrice turned and flashed her teeth at them. ‘Good morning, boys.’ She pointed the spray can at them and squeezed the trigger. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Did we ever!’ said Dan.

  Pulpy realized he was staring and switched his gaze to the wall behind Beatrice, but not before Dan gave him a wink and elbowed him in the ribs.

  ‘These air dusters are lifesavers.’ She arched forward and blasted the can at the receptionist’s keys. ‘You would think that a person who eats at their desk would have the common sense not to eat over the keyboard. Fortunately there are tools like this for people like myself, who prefer things crumb-free. You have to get the kind with the slip-on extender, though. Otherwise the penetration just isn’t deep enough.’

  ‘Are those Midge’s clamdiggers?’ said Pulpy.

  ‘Well. Aren’t you the observant one?’ She traced a long red fingernail along her waist to her hip, and then fitted that hand into a back pocket. ‘I hope she doesn’t mind. I would’ve asked her but she was sleeping.’

  ‘But why are you wearing them?’

  ‘Our Pulpy isn’t quite himself today,’ said Dan. ‘We drove in together and he didn’t talk to me once. Not a word the whole trip. How’s that for gratitude? He even stiffed me on his half of the bill last night! Lucky for him I’ve been feeling generous lately.’

  Beatrice ignored him and smirked at Pulpy. ‘Would you rather I take these clamdiggers off, then?’

  ‘I just don’t understand why you needed to borrow my wife’s clothes, that’s all.’

  ‘Because if I came to work in the same outfit as yesterday, people might have something to say about that.’ She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘That’s how rumours get started.’

  Dan snorted and hung his coat up in the closet. ‘Where’s the secretary?’

  Beatrice stopped smiling. ‘She called in sick this morning.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Dan frowned.

  ‘Is she okay?’ said Pulpy.

  ‘Well, I would hope not, or else she’d be here, wouldn’t she? What you should be asking is, is the desk okay?’ Beatrice flicked her hair. ‘It is, but only because I’m here. She’s just lucky I was able to cover for her.’

  ‘But she told me she got everything ready ahead of time –’ Pulpy closed his mouth.

  Dan and Beatrice looked at him and then at each other.

  ‘I mean, she told me she always does that,’ he said quickly. ‘Just in case.’

  ‘Uh huh,’ said Beatrice. ‘Well, anyway, I’m managing.’

  ‘I think she’s lying,’ said Dan. ‘I don’t think she’s sick at all.’

  Beatrice took a step toward them, her eyes bright. ‘You don’t?’

  He shook his head. ‘I think she’s gone to that seminar on how to be a better secretary.’

  ‘Receptionist,’ said Pulpy. ‘She likes “receptionist” better than “secretary,” remember?’

  Beatrice’s nostrils flared and she picked up the reception-ist’s nameplate between her thumb and forefinger. ‘This says “Secretary.”’

  ‘Yes, but she’d really like that to be changed.’

  ‘Pulpy,’ said Dan. ‘Can I see you in my office, please?’

  ‘In a minute,’ he said. ‘I have to put my coat away first.’

  Dan raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Fine.’ He started for the stairs but then stopped. ‘Hold on. What happened to the Winter Flute?’

  ‘That’s another thing,’ said Beatrice. ‘I think she disconnected it.’

  Dan’s fingers constricted on the railing. ‘She what?’

  ‘I came in this morning and it wasn’t playing. She must’ve done it before she left last night. Listen.’

  They all stood there and listened.

  Pulpy tilted his head. ‘You’re right. I don’t hear it.’

  Dan stomped up the stairs to his office and slammed his door behind him.

  ‘Isn’t he such a baby?’ said Beatrice, and resumed her keyboard cleaning. She kept her eyes on Pulpy, though, letting the spray can dangle from one hand.

  He coughed. ‘I guess I’d better get up there too.’

  ‘I bet you’re wondering what Midge and I talked about last night, aren’t you?’ She brought the air-duster nozzle to her pink lips. ‘I bet you’d really like to know.’

  ‘Not really.’ He moved past her to the closet, feeling too aware of his body contours and her eyes on them.

  ‘She’s a fascinating woman, your little wife. So many insights.’

  He reached up to unzip his coat, and she positioned herself on a corner of the desk to wat
ch him take it off. ‘She has fantastic ideas,’ he said.

  ‘She certainly does. And I’ll bet you and Dan had a good talk too. I’ll bet the two of you had lots to talk about.’

  In one movement Pulpy removed his coat and held it in front of him, like a shield. ‘I don’t really remember much of our conversation, Beatrice. I think I was a little drunk.’

  ‘Oh, drunk, shmunk!’ She giggled. ‘I think you remember exactly what you and my husband chatted about.’

  He peered into the closet. ‘Hmm,’ he said, and then his heart skipped a beat. There was one unused hanger, gleaming on the rack like a beacon.

  ‘I gave this duster to the secretary with her ergonomic package but she said she didn’t need it,’ said Beatrice. ‘That woman doesn’t know what she needs.’

  Pulpy glanced over to see Beatrice drape herself across the desk, stretching out her arms and scissoring her legs and pressing one hip against the glossy slab of wood. ‘But I do,’ she said.

  He looked away quickly, back to the single unused hanger tangled in the nest of the ones attached to coats. He tried to separate it from the others but they were all stuck together. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Beatrice put down the spray can and start blowing on the keyboard, puckering her lips and focusing her breath on the gaps between the keys.

  Pulpy yanked on the wire hanger. He yanked until it came loose and rattled onto the floor, but not without taking a few coats down with it. He lost his grip on his own coat and it fell.

  She pointed one of her red nails at him. ‘Now you’ve done it.’

  He felt heat spread up the back of his neck and across his shoulders, and he knelt down to clean up his mess.

  ‘Have you been working out?’ said Beatrice. ‘That suit is just hanging off you.’

  ‘It’s Dan’s,’ he said without looking at her. The suit was several sizes too big for him.

  ‘You mean I’m wearing your wife’s clothes and you’re wearing my husband’s?’ She threw open her mouth and laughed. ‘We should swap like this more often!’

  Pulpy replaced the last hanger and its accompanying jacket on the rack and stepped back, almost tripping over his coat. He frowned at it on the floor. Where had the extra hanger gone?

  ‘The best thing about swapping is you get a whole new wardrobe!’ Beatrice stretched her arms over her head. ‘I like new clothes a lot.’

  He made a decision then, and picked up his coat. Hidden by the half-open door, he took Dan’s coat off its hanger and tossed it into the back of the closet, and hung up his own coat. Then he closed the closet door and turned to face Beatrice, who had started massaging her temples. ‘Duty calls,’ he said, and headed for the stairs.

  ‘I’ll miss you!’ she called after him, and he quickened his pace to the top.

  Pulpy sat down at his desk and turned on his computer, and his phone rang. He grabbed the receiver. ‘Hello, Midge?’

  ‘No, it’s me. The receptionist.’

  ‘Oh.’ He looked left and right and whispered, ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at the seminar. It’s the break right now.’

  He huddled in closer to the phone. ‘Beatrice said you called in sick.’

  ‘It was easier that way.’ Her voice lightened. ‘I had a good time last night. Until they showed up, anyway. Did you have a good time?’

  ‘It was nice,’ he said, ‘but I probably shouldn’t do it again.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because of my wife.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Her voice lost its lilt. ‘Why are you so concerned about her all of a sudden?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he said. ‘She’s my wife.’

  She was quiet for a moment. ‘But didn’t we have a good time?’

  ‘Sure we did. It was a nice friendly drink.’

  ‘Is that all it was?’

  He twirled the phone cord around his wrist. ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘But you gave me your fish,’ she said.

  ‘What are you talking about? You wouldn’t let me take him upstairs.’

  ‘Fine. Have it your way, then.’

  He felt the weight of the keyboard tray on his legs and lowered his voice again. ‘Dan doesn’t believe you’re really sick. Did you cover your tracks about the seminar?’ He cupped a hand around the receiver. ‘What about the fax confirmation?’

  ‘It’s around there somewhere.’

  ‘You mean you left it on your desk? What if they find it?’

  ‘Then I guess they’ll know I wasn’t sick.’

  ‘How about I get it for you,’ he said. ‘So they don’t see it.’

  ‘Whatever. I don’t care.’ She sighed. ‘I have to go. They’re calling us back to tell us the seven greeting principles.’

  As soon as he heard her hang up, Pulpy dialled zero.

  ‘Hello, Reception,’ said Beatrice.

  ‘Hi, Beatrice, it’s Pulpy.’

  ‘Hi, Pulpy! You missed me too. I knew it!’

  He ran a finger around the edge of his computer screen. ‘Um, I think Dan wants to see you.’

  ‘My husband wants to see me. How come he can’t call me himself?’

  ‘I think –’ he said. ‘Hmm. I’m not sure, exactly.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what his problem is,’ she said. ‘Whatever. Tell him I’ll be up in a minute.’

  ‘Okay.’ He hung up and sat there until he saw Beatrice reach the top of the stairs, scowl and head for Dan’s office. Then he hurried over to the steps and down to the welcome area.

  He searched the receptionist’s in- and out-trays first but couldn’t find the confirmation page anywhere. He tried her big desk drawer but it was locked, so he went through the filing cabinet next. When he didn’t see it there he looked at the shredder, but the bin underneath it was empty.

  ‘What are you doing down here, Pulpy?’ said Beatrice.

  He tensed, and turned to see her watching him from the stairs. ‘Nothing. I was just, um, looking for a file.’ He pointed to the stack of files next to the printer, then laced his fingers on top of his head in a casual way and took a step back.

  She came down the steps, frowning. ‘Dan didn’t want to see me. He looked at me like I was crazy when I told him you said that.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Then I must have heard him wrong.’

  ‘You must have.’ She shrugged and sat in the receptionist’s chair. ‘But that’s okay because I didn’t want to see him, either.’

  Pulpy squinted out the window at all the white and said, ‘So.’ He brushed his hands on his pants and started for the steps. ‘See you later, then.’

  ‘Wait,’ she said, ‘what about your file?’

  He stopped. ‘Right. My file.’

  ‘Which one is it? I’ll get it for you. You know, I like doing reception. It’s a breeze!’ She half-stood, poised by the file stack.

  ‘Actually, never mind,’ he said. ‘I remembered I don’t need it after all.’

  ‘Okay.’ She sat back down and crossed her legs.

  He looked at her. ‘Isn’t that bad for your back, crossing your legs? I mean, ergonomically?’

  Beatrice slowly lifted her top leg off her bottom one, and arranged them side by side on the receptionist’s chair. ‘There, is that better?’

  ‘I should get upstairs,’ he said, and headed for the steps. ‘I have work to do.’

  She considered him. ‘You know what Dan said just now? He said if he finds proof the secretary went to that class, she’s gone. Because he told her she couldn’t go. So if she went, that means she disobeyed a direct order from a superior and that’s cause for dismissal.’

  ‘I need to get back to work now.’ He took the stairs up two at a time.

  ‘Hey, Pulpy, I heard you got a ride in with the big boss this morning.’

  The voice had come from over his shoulder. Pulpy swivelled on his chair to see Eduardo poking his head around their partition. ‘So what if I did?’

  ‘Ooh, touchy.’ Eduardo noticed Pulpy’s ill-fitti
ng outfit. ‘What’s up with your clothes? Are you shrinking or something?’

  Pulpy pushed out his chest, trying to fill Dan’s baggy suit jacket. ‘Maybe I’ve been working out.’

  ‘That’s a good one,’ said Eduardo. ‘But seriously.’

  ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘Oh no? Well, I think it is.’ Eduardo’s fingers slipped over the partition edge and he dragged himself around to Pulpy’s side. ‘I think if you’re cozying up to Mr. Big Man then it’s definitely my business.’

  Pulpy stiffened. ‘Who said anything about cozying up?’

  ‘It’s all over you,’ said Eduardo. ‘Everybody knows.’

  ‘Everybody knows what?’

  His co-worker’s face tightened, his lips thinning across his teeth. ‘That you’re friends.’

  Pulpy jolted as an itch ran a lightning course from his scalp to his nape. ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘We’re not friends. He’s my boss.’

  ‘Are you sure about that? Because you wouldn’t catch me staying the night at my boss’s house.’

  ‘No,’ said Pulpy. ‘You’d be in his office instead.’

  Eduardo’s eyes flamed and he wheeled himself closer. ‘Don’t you even threaten me,’ he said in a hoarse whisper. ‘Don’t you fucking dare threaten me like that.’

  ‘Ooh.’ Pulpy’s heart was thudding hard and he felt a bead of sweat squeeze out behind one ear and slide down his neck. ‘Touchy.’

  His co-worker stomped one foot, and the sole of his loafer slapped the plastic floor mat that demarcated their cubicles. Then he shoved himself backward to his own side. ‘Just don’t even,’ he said, and disappeared around the corner.

  Beatrice wasn’t there when Pulpy went downstairs on his way to lunch.

  He stood in the empty welcome area and peered down the hallway. There was nobody around. He hurried over to the receptionist’s desk and did another quick search, peeking into some file folders he hadn’t tried last time. Nothing. Then he heard voices in the hallway. He scurried around to the other side of the desk just as Beatrice appeared with Davis, the Building Maintenance man.

  ‘Uh-oh, looks like you caught me!’ she said.