Pulpy and Midge Page 17

  Pulpy felt a blush mounting his cheeks as he moved toward the closet. ‘I was just on my way out.’

  The man from Building Maintenance manoeuvred his bulk around her and nodded at Pulpy before lumbering down the steps to the basement.

  ‘Leaving the desk unattended.’ Beatrice curled herself into the receptionist’s chair and ran a hand through her tousled bangs. ‘Whatever must you think of me?’

  Pulpy retrieved his coat and bundled up. ‘I’ll see you after lunch,’ he said, and jerked open the front door.

  ‘Tell Midge I say hello!’ she called, and then he was in the middle of a snowstorm and the wind slammed the door shut behind him.

  Pulpy stood in front of the pay phone with snowflakes in his hair. The storm had come out of nowhere, whipping up around him and following him all the way to the mall, and then it just quit.

  He was contemplating a waxy pink bubblegum wrapper on top of the phone. It looked kind of nice and he wished Midge could see it too.

  Pulpy took a deep breath and dialled home. No answer. He focused on the gum wrapper, half-afraid Midge wouldn’t pick up and half-afraid she would.

  She answered after a few more rings. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Midge, it’s me. Pulpy.’

  ‘I know who it is.’

  ‘I just wanted to call.’ He took two tiny steps forward and two tiny steps back. ‘Did anything neat happen on your route today?’

  ‘I was sleeping,’ she said. ‘You woke me up.’

  ‘But it’s lunchtime.’

  ‘So? I make my own schedule around here, in case you didn’t know.’

  Neither of them spoke for a moment, and then Midge said, ‘How’s the receptionist?’

  The food court was bustling behind Pulpy but he tuned it out. He felt like the two of them were in a cocoon. He reached out a fingertip and pushed the gum wrapper to the edge. ‘She’s not in today.’

  ‘Well, la-di-da for her, then.’

  ‘I think Dan and Beatrice are going to fire her.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ she said. ‘You think I care about her?’

  He shuffled his feet. ‘Did you talk to anybody else this morning?’

  ‘What do you mean? I told you I just woke up.’

  ‘I slept at Dan’s last night. I slept at Dan’s and I don’t know what happened.’ Pulpy loosened the unfamiliar tie around his neck. ‘He wanted me to eat steak for breakfast.’

  ‘I think Beatrice stayed over at our place.’ She made a sniffing noise. ‘It smells like her in here.’

  ‘She did stay over.’ He gave the wrapper the tiniest nudge and it fell off the side and floated to the floor. ‘Everything’s all mixed up.’

  Midge let out a sob. ‘You went drinking with the receptionist!’

  ‘Friendly drinking!’

  ‘That’s the worst part!’

  ‘Shh,’ he said. ‘Midge, it’s okay.’

  ‘It’s not okay!’ She hiccupped and then made rummaging sounds. ‘I can’t find my clamdiggers!’

  He cleared his throat. ‘That’s because Beatrice is wearing them.’

  There was silence on the other line.

  ‘But I’m wearing Dan’s clothes,’ he said, ‘so we’re even.’

  ‘What is going on here?’ she shouted.

  ‘I don’t know. But I’ll be home soon.’

  ‘Meet me at the mall after work,’ said Midge. ‘I have to buy some new shoes.’

  When Pulpy came back from lunch, Dan was sitting on the receptionist’s desk. ‘I’m glad you’re back, Pulpy,’ he said. ‘There’s been a development.’

  Beatrice was making photocopies. ‘We’re assembling an official record.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Pulpy.

  ‘We know where she went today,’ said Dan.

  ‘“Don’t look for easy answers to hard questions,”’ said Beatrice. ‘Sound familiar? And she left the evidence in the recycling bin, in case you were wondering.’

  ‘Beatrice says you were snooping around her desk earlier today,’ said Dan. ‘Why were you doing that, Pulpy?’

  ‘I needed a file.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  Pulpy’s hands opened and closed. ‘And it’s not Beatrice’s desk.’

  ‘Isn’t it, now?’ said Dan. ‘I think it is. Because first thing tomorrow, when the receptionist walks in here with all her new performance-improvement knowledge, she’s going to find out she doesn’t have anywhere to sit in this office anymore.’

  ‘Meaning she won’t have a job,’ said Beatrice.

  Pulpy looked between them. ‘Can’t you give her another chance?’

  ‘She lied, Pulpy,’ said Dan.

  ‘What kind of an eager envoy behaves that way?’ said Beatrice.

  Dan shook his rectangular head. ‘So much for the “Samaritan pretense.”’

  Pulpy moved past them and climbed the first step. ‘I have to get back to work.’

  Beatrice snickered and sat down at the desk. ‘You have a soft spot for that secretary, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t.’ He stood there with one foot in the air. ‘I don’t have any spot for her.’

  The three of them were quiet for a moment, and then Dan jogged over and slung an arm around Pulpy’s shoulders. ‘Leave the man alone, will you?’ he said to Beatrice, and gave Pulpy a squeeze. ‘Why don’t we switch gears and go have a talk, you and me? Just give me a minute here, and you go on up to my office and grab yourself a piece of that soft hide you like so much.’

  Beatrice smirked. ‘He means the loungers.’

  ‘I know what he means.’ Pulpy climbed the rest of the stairs and then hurried into Dan’s office.

  He folded himself into one of the deep leather chairs and crossed his legs. Then he uncrossed them and put his hands on his knees. He looked at the receptionist’s duck mug sitting on Dan’s mouse pad, which had a cartoon of a lion wearing a business suit with a word bubble that said, ‘I’d rather be at the watering hole!’

  Pulpy missed the old boss and his quiet nature statuettes. He wished he’d rescued them – especially the camel – from the garbage when Dan threw them out, but he’d missed his chance and now they were all long gone. He hoped at least that they were still together, keeping each other company.

  He glanced toward the door then and reached out quickly to grab the receptionist’s mug by the handle. He stuck it under Dan’s big shirt and whispered, ‘Not another crisis – you’re safe with me, duck.’ He checked to see if the small bulge was noticeable but he couldn’t be sure, so he hunched over a little.

  Dan bounded into his office then and launched himself backward into his chair. He looked at his mouse pad for a second, then shrugged and smiled at Pulpy. ‘I told Beatrice to lay off. Sometimes my wife gets a little hyperactive.’

  ‘Oh no, that’s … she’s fine.’

  Dan’s grin widened. ‘I’m glad you noticed.’ Then he frowned. ‘Please don’t abuse our trust, Pulpy.’

  He felt the cool ceramic heating up against his skin. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Trust is all we have. Once it’s gone, you might as well forget it.’

  Pulpy felt the mug roll across his stomach. He stiffened and grabbed it through the shirt.

  ‘You all right over there?’ said Dan.

  ‘Yes. Ow. I had a pain. But it’s gone now.’

  ‘Good stuff, good stuff.’ Dan crossed his arms and nodded. ‘Oh, the joy of it, eh, Pulpy?’

  He tried to sit as naturally as he could without exposing the mug. ‘Um, the joy of what, exactly?’

  ‘Of this! Of me and you, here. Doing work. Doing our jobs. If it wasn’t for men like us, being in offices, accomplishing things, then where would we be?’

  ‘I guess nowhere.’

  ‘Nowhere is right! Nowhere is absolutely – Hold on one minute.’ Dan picked up his phone and punched zero. ‘Beatrice? Can you come up here, please?’ He listened. ‘Forget about the front desk. The front desk can wait.’ He hung u
p and fixed his gaze on Pulpy. ‘And that is terrifying, isn’t it? Being nowhere. Not belonging, when it comes down to it. Not having a community to call your own.’

  ‘I suppose that might be scary, yes,’ said Pulpy, ‘but I’d have Midge, so it wouldn’t be so bad.’

  Dan scowled for a second, and then beamed at his doorway. ‘There she is!’

  Pulpy turned to see Beatrice leaning against the doorframe.

  ‘Hello again, gents,’ she said.

  ‘Now, Pulpy,’ said Dan. ‘Al told me before he left that you’re in line for a promotion, is that right?’

  Pulpy straightened in the chair, struggling against the softness, and swallowed. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t say, “Yes?” like that, like a question. Say it like you mean it!’

  ‘Yes!’

  Beatrice stepped into the office and closed the door behind her.

  ‘You’ve been doing good work around here, Pulpy.’ Dan put his arms in the air and stretched. ‘But not quite good enough. You were late again today, for example.’

  Pulpy pushed his neck back against the slick leather behind him. ‘But I came in with you. And you gave me flex hours.’

  ‘The flex hours only come into effect if you get all your work done. And I don’t see you organizing the company Frisbee tournament, now do I?’

  ‘Frisbee?’

  Dan crossed his big arms over his massive chest. ‘Do I?’

  ‘Well no, I suppose not. But I didn’t – What Frisbee tournament?’

  ‘For the company. How are you at Frisbee, Pulpy?’

  ‘I bet he’s a whiz!’ said Beatrice.

  Pulpy’s eyes widened. ‘Well, I think I’ve played it once or twice, when I was younger.’

  ‘I’ll bet you have,’ said Dan. ‘And you’ve got the physique for it too.’

  ‘You really do!’ said Beatrice, and sat down on the arm of his chair.

  Pulpy reddened and quickly looked down at himself. Only the tips of his fingers were visible outside the voluminous sleeves of Dan’s suit jacket. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never heard that before.’

  ‘But people have thought it before,’ said Dan. ‘And that’s why you’re the team captain.’

  He looked from Dan to Beatrice and back to Dan again. ‘But it’s winter.’

  ‘It’s never too early to be prepared. We’ll round everybody up in the boardroom tomorrow so you can choose the teams. Now go ahead, Pulpy.’ Dan leaned forward. ‘You can tell us. Who’s your first pick?’

  ‘I – I don’t know.’

  Beatrice rested a hand on the top of his head. ‘How about me?’

  Pulpy felt the warmth of her palm through his hair to his scalp. ‘Well, sure. Okay.’

  Dan clapped his hands together, once, and the crack they made filled the room. ‘Sleep on it,’ he said. ‘You’ve got some big decisions to make.’

  ‘I’m looking for something open-toed,’ Midge told the shoe clerk. She already had her boots off. ‘But they have to be wide, and they can’t show too much toe. Just a hint.’

  ‘Just a hint of toe.’ The clerk was wearing a jaunty cardigan. He fingered one of the large, colourful buttons that ran down the front and appraised Midge’s pantyhosed feet.

  ‘But it’s the winter,’ said Pulpy loudly. ‘Your toes will be cold in shoes like that.’

  She gave him a look that was as close to a sneer as Midge got. ‘The summer’s coming.’

  ‘I suppose it is.’ He watched the clerk kneel down with a measuring device and guide Midge’s foot into the metal hollow.

  ‘Eight.’ The clerk smiled. ‘That’s a good size.’

  Midge bowed her head. ‘Thank you.’

  Pulpy poked at a pair of loafers on display. They were burgundy and canoe-shaped, with a jagged ridge on the sole.

  The clerk swivelled his efficient oval head. ‘Did you want to try those on?’

  ‘No.’ He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, and in the left one he felt the reassuring shape of the receptionist’s duck mug.

  ‘I need to make sure my heel is tightly held in,’ said Midge. ‘I need a snug fit.’

  ‘We have a full range of strappies.’ The clerk motioned her to a rack where several pairs of brownish open-toed shoes were lined up next to a high price tag. ‘They’re leatherette.’

  ‘Ooh!’ she said. ‘I’d like to try on a pair of those.’

  ‘I’ll be right back.’ The shoe clerk disappeared into the rear storage space.

  ‘I’ll be right here,’ she said, and sat on the cushioned bench next to the foot mirror.

  Pulpy rested a hand on her shoulder.

  Midge flicked a glance his way and dislodged him with a hard shrug. ‘It’s a beautiful strappy. I hope it fits me.’

  ‘I’ll have to see it on you. It’s a lot of money for not very much shoe.’ He stood back and looked at her feet with their delicate ribbons of blue veins showing through her nude hose. She was pointing and unpointing her toes while she waited.

  The clerk reappeared with an open white box and handed Midge a shoe from inside. ‘There was only one size eight left,’ he said. ‘Looks like fate to me.’

  Midge reddened and wedged her foot into the proffered sandal.

  ‘They’re perfect,’ said the clerk.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Pulpy. ‘Your skin is sort of sticking out of the holes.’

  ‘It’s supposed to do that,’ she said in a mean voice, and then blinked up at the clerk. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Pulpy.

  ‘They’re very supportive, with the straps.’ Midge pushed her finger against the three small triangles of her soft, white flesh that bulged out between the thin strips of leather.

  Then the clerk reached out and touched them too.

  ‘All right,’ said Pulpy. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ said the other man, his stubby finger still on Midge’s skin.

  Pulpy felt acutely aware of every corner of the room. The shelves and racks of shoes and boots stood at attention all around him. ‘Get your hands off my wife. Right now.’

  ‘Pulpy!’ Midge’s mouth was a perfect circle.

  The clerk retracted his hand in a rush, almost falling backward with the effort, and pocketed it in his cardigan. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I didn’t mean –’

  ‘Come on, Midge,’ said Pulpy. ‘We’re leaving.’

  She stared at him and for a moment she just sat there. But then she said, ‘Okay,’ and pulled on her boots. She moistened her lips and hopped to her feet and they left the store together.

  ‘Oh, Pulpy!’ said Midge.

  ‘Oh, Midge!’ said Pulpy, but it came out more like ‘Mmft, Mmdge!’ with her ear filling his mouth. He was frantic for her.

  Midge had wide, downy ears that Pulpy liked to pretend to eat. He liked her to feel him humming around those ears.

  She pressed her fingertips against his neck and he felt all five of them – small, circular points of even pressure, cool at first but then warming.

  They were half on, half off the loveseat, both delighted that they hadn’t made it to the bedroom.

  ‘The way you talked to him,’ said Midge. ‘I loved the way you talked to him!’

  He released her ear with a slurp. ‘I loved it too!’

  She tugged at Dan’s belt, which Pulpy had buckled to the tightest hole.

  His head filled with an urgent beeping and a tremor shot through him.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Midge.

  He fit his palm against her wide brow. ‘What’s what?’

  ‘That beeping.’ She sat still, listening, then pointed to his groin. ‘It’s coming from your pants.’

  His pocket was throbbing. He reached in and his hand closed around something small and rectangular, and then he started to sweat.

  ‘What is it?’ she said.

  The pager. ‘It’s nothing.’ He groped for the Off switch.

  ‘Let me see.’ She was
panting a little, her brown eyes fixed on him.

  His wrist was going numb from the vibrations. ‘Just kiss me,’ he said.

  She started to slide Dan’s belt out of the loops. ‘Show me what you’ve got first.’

  ‘Ha!’ He tried crushing the pager against his thigh to silence it. ‘Ow!’

  Midge’s hands wilted on his waist. ‘What is it, Pulpy?’ She moved away slightly.

  He sighed, and pulled out the pager. It was still going off.

  Her bottom lip sagged. ‘Well,’ she said.

  ‘Midge, I tried to tell him not to page me here. I really tried to tell him.’

  She stood up and tucked her blouse back in. ‘Answer it.’

  ‘Midge –’

  She picked up their coats, which they had tossed on the floor in their rush to the loveseat.

  He looked at the numbers on the pager’s display. The small piece of plastic felt hot and far too heavy for its size. He heaved himself into a standing position, walked slowly to the phone and dialled.

  ‘Why did you bring a mug home?’ said Midge.

  ‘That’s the receptionist’s –’ His eyes widened.

  ‘Hello there!’ said Dan on the other line.

  Midge was scowling at the cartoon duck, looking ready to smash it.

  ‘Hello?’ said Dan.

  ‘You paged me,’ said Pulpy, his eyes on his angry wife.

  ‘That’s right, ten minutes ago. Where were you?’

  ‘Tell me why you brought this home!’ Midge raised the mug over her head.

  ‘We need to work on your response time, Pulpy. Lucky for you this was just a test.’

  ‘Dan, I’m in the middle of something here. Can we talk about this tomorrow?’ Then to Midge, ‘Please don’t. Please let me explain.’

  ‘You’re in the middle of something, eh?’ Dan made a wet, squeaking sound.

  Pulpy moved the phone away from his ear and mouthed, ‘I love you,’ to Midge.

  She lowered her arm and let the mug fall.

  ‘No!’ he said.

  Her face went white. The mug landed on the rug, rolled a little and then came to rest, intact. She made a move to kick it, but didn’t. ‘Tell Dan I say hello,’ she said, and darted across the living room, through the kitchen and down the hall to their bedroom.