Pulpy and Midge Page 7

  ‘Al already said I could go.’ She shrugged. ‘“Harness your energy and you will harness your stress.” I’ll ask him closer to the date, after I register. I’ll get all my work done and that way he won’t be able to say no.’

  Pulpy nodded. ‘The fish looks better. He’s swimming more.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ She glanced at it, then back at the flyer. ‘This is the best one, right here: “Even VCRs know how to pause.” That is the best.’

  Pulpy didn’t like the way the flower man was looking at Midge. He was leaning against the counter by the cash register, just looking.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Midge. ‘We’d like to buy a plant.’

  ‘Well, you’re in the right place.’ The flower man winked at her. ‘Would this plant be for you?’

  She shook her head and her lopsided scallops bounced. ‘It’s a gift. For someone else.’

  ‘A gift, hmm? In that case, I would recommend this plant here.’ He pointed to a tall, spiky one and pushed his hips away from the counter.

  ‘Ouch,’ said Pulpy, ‘that looks sharp.’

  The flower man nodded. ‘The leaves will cut you if you brush against them. But this is a fine gift because these plants live a long time. They’re very good on water.’

  ‘I’m never good about watering,’ said Midge. ‘I just can’t tell when they need it.’

  The flower man leaned forward, and Pulpy could see a few dark hairs peeking over the collar of his green-and-white-striped shirt. ‘I’ll tell you a trick. You have to get your thumb right in there, stick it in the dirt, like this –’ He burrowed his thumb in the soft, dark soil next to the stem of the plant, and left it there.

  ‘Oh,’ said Midge, and smiled at him.

  The flower man smiled back. ‘And then you pull it out and have a look.’ He showed her his thumb. There were bits of earth stuck in the creases of his pink skin, and under the nail. ‘See? If there’s dirt on it, like this, you don’t need to water your plant. But if your thumb comes out clean, it’s watering time.’

  Pulpy watched Midge watching the flower man and his big, dirty thumb, and he put his arm around her and pointed to a different plant. ‘Actually, I think we’ll take that one there,’ he said. ‘The one with the yellow leaves.’

  ‘That one?’ The flower man shook his head, but he was still looking at Midge. ‘No, no. That one’s not a good gift plant.’ He stroked one of the long, spiky leaves of the plant he’d had his thumb in. ‘See? They can be friendly, if you treat them right.’ He looked at Midge some more.

  ‘We’ll take this one,’ she said.

  ‘Ow,’ said Pulpy on the bus to Dan and Beatrice’s place. ‘Ow, ow, ow.’

  ‘Oh, hush,’ said Midge. ‘I’m sure Dan and Beatrice will have bandages.’

  ‘I got blood on their plant.’

  ‘The leaves are dark. They won’t notice.’

  Before they knocked on Dan and Beatrice’s door, Midge checked her shadow and tried to make her hair more even on both sides.

  Pulpy sucked on his throbbing finger.

  Beatrice answered the door. She was wearing a silky top with wide-legged pants that were tight at the waist. A strip of bare skin showed in between.

  Pulpy saw Midge’s mouth form a tight line, and then the three of them smiled at each other and said their hellos.

  ‘We brought you a plant,’ said Midge.

  ‘Ooh, that’s a nice one!’ Beatrice took it from her. ‘It looks artificial!’

  ‘Be careful.’ Pulpy held up his finger. ‘The leaves are sharp.’

  ‘Oh, poor baby!’ Beatrice set the plant down and seized Pulpy’s hand. ‘You need a Band-Aid! Does it hurt?’

  ‘No, no, I’m fine.’

  ‘But it looks like it hurts! Your nice, long finger!’ She cocked her head back. ‘Dan! Come and take Pulpy and Midge’s coats!’

  ‘What’s she yelling about?’ Dan strolled toward them, wearing a shiny shirt. ‘Hi, Pulpy. Hi, Midge. Here, let me get that.’ He helped Midge off with her coat, and Beatrice disappeared down the hall. ‘What is this, wool? Very nice.’

  ‘It keeps me warm,’ said Midge.

  ‘I’ll bet it does.’ Dan looked over at his wife, who was rushing at them with a first-aid kit. ‘What are you doing with that?’

  ‘Pulpy has a wound. Pick up that plant there, will you? They got us that plant.’

  ‘I’ve got my hands full with the coats here, dear.’ He rolled his eyes at Pulpy.

  ‘Where’s your bathroom?’ said Midge.

  ‘I’ll show you,’ said Dan.

  Beatrice ripped open the Band-Aid with her teeth. She pulled off the non-sticky strips and let them flutter to the floor. ‘Give me your finger,’ she told Pulpy.

  Midge headed down the hallway with Dan, looking back at them over her shoulder.

  After dinner they took their glasses of wine into the living room. Pulpy sat next to Midge on the sectional and Dan and Beatrice reclined on separate ends of the divan in front of their large bay window.

  ‘That was delicious,’ said Pulpy.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Beatrice. ‘I apologize for the peas, though. Dan did those.’

  ‘I always do the peas.’ Dan made a shooting gun with one hand and blew on his index finger. ‘Peas are my specialty.’

  ‘I love peas,’ said Midge.

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ said Dan.

  Midge perched on the edge of the couch. ‘Dan, would you mind turning the fire on?’

  ‘Ho-ho!’ he said, and reached for the remote. ‘The lady likes it hot!’

  Pulpy looked sideways at her, but she was watching Dan press the button.

  Flames roared up in the hearth and Beatrice lifted her glass. ‘To us.’

  They all raised their glasses.

  ‘Clinky-clink,’ said Dan.

  ‘Clinky-clink!’ Beatrice giggled into her hand. ‘Dan and I always say that when we do a cheers.’

  ‘Well, then,’ said Pulpy. ‘Clinky-clink from us too.’

  Beatrice’s eyes locked on him. ‘How’s your booboo?’ she said, and gulped back her wine.

  Pulpy inspected the pink circle of his swaddled fingertip. ‘A lot better, thanks.’

  Midge put a hand on his knee.

  Dan leaned back. ‘You know, this makes me think. The lack of team spirit at our office is sort of like getting a cut on the end of your finger. It’s like a cut on the end of our collective finger. So what do you do? You can put a Band-Aid on it, but that’s not quite enough. So what then?’

  ‘You could hold on to the Band-Aid,’ said Pulpy. ‘So it doesn’t slip off.’

  ‘You could. You could indeed. But I think there’s a better way.’

  ‘Dan,’ said Beatrice. ‘I thought we weren’t going to talk about work in front of Midge.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Midge.

  ‘No, no, she’s right.’ Dan held up a hand. ‘Midge, forgive me.’

  Midge pushed herself further into the couch and drank some wine.

  ‘Work talk can make people feel uncomfortable.’ Beatrice stood and walked over to pluck the bottle of red from the dining room table. She set it on the coffee table in front of her and sat down again. ‘We don’t like to exclude anyone.’

  Dan uncrossed his legs. ‘No, we do not.’

  ‘So, Midge.’ Beatrice smiled and reached back to finger the lacy white drapes behind her. ‘When are we going to take our shopping trip? How about tomorrow?’

  ‘Our shopping trip,’ said Midge.

  ‘Dan did tell you about it,’ Beatrice said to Pulpy.

  ‘He did.’ Pulpy turned to Midge. ‘Remember I told you?’

  ‘No, no, yes. The shopping trip.’ Midge blinked at him. ‘Tomorrow would work, I guess.’

  ‘Perfect!’ said Beatrice. ‘Oh, we are going to have fun!’

  Dan pointed at Pulpy. ‘You and me, then. They get a girls’ night, we get a boys’ night.’

  ‘All right,’ he said.

  Dan made a fist a
nd hit his leg with it. ‘Boys’ night!’

  The four of them sat there and sipped their wine, and then Midge smiled at their hosts. ‘So, how did you two meet?’

  Dan picked the fireplace remote off the coffee table and started to play with the settings.

  ‘Tell them, Dan,’ said Beatrice.

  Pulpy watched Midge gape at the flames as they grew, shrank and grew again.

  ‘We were at a hotel bar,’ said Beatrice. ‘Sounds easy to remember, but Dan always forgets the story. Isn’t that funny?’ She filled up her glass.

  ‘Hilarious.’ Dan swigged the last of his wine and reached for the bottle.

  ‘I just like to ask,’ said Midge in a quiet voice. ‘It’s always nice to hear people’s stories.’

  ‘It is nice, isn’t it?’ said Beatrice.

  Midge took a sip of her wine, which was almost gone. ‘Pulpy and I met at the mall. We were in a pet store.’

  ‘Commerce,’ said Dan. ‘Good omen.’

  Pulpy smiled at his wife. ‘We were both standing in front of the fish tank.’

  Beatrice pivoted toward Dan. ‘Do you see that? Do you see how they take turns telling the story?’ She looked back to Pulpy and Midge. ‘Dan got his wedding speech off the Internet.’

  Dan banged his glass down so it sloshed, and stood up. ‘It wasn’t the whole speech. Just part of the speech.’

  ‘Oh, just part of the speech. That’s okay, then.’ Beatrice glared at him.

  ‘I’m sure it was a very nice speech,’ said Midge.

  Pulpy finished the few drops left in his glass. ‘He gave a fine speech at Al’s retirement party.’

  ‘I wrote my wedding speech. I thought of it myself.’ Beatrice nodded at her husband. ‘He used one of those automatic word generators.’

  ‘She goes on and on about her speech,’ said Dan. ‘It really wasn’t that great.’

  Beatrice slammed her own glass onto the table, spilling red, and stood to face him. ‘I put my heart into that speech!’

  ‘Yeah, your heart.’ Dan slumped back onto the divan and picked up his wine.

  Beatrice did the same.

  Pulpy and Midge sat there on the sectional, holding their empty glasses.

  ‘It smells like oranges,’ said Pulpy the next morning as he watched Midge’s finger paint a line down the middle of his thin chest with blue lotion.

  ‘It smells nice,’ she said. ‘But wait until it starts working. Then it smells stronger.’

  ‘When does it start working?’

  ‘It’s activating right now.’ Midge rinsed her finger in the sink and wiped it on her pink robe. ‘Just you wait.’

  They sat side by side holding hands on the cold rim of their bathtub in their small bathroom in their small apartment, and waited.

  Midge checked her watch. ‘Now whenever we’re apart you can touch the love line on your chest and think about us.’

  Pulpy squeezed her hand and peered down at his chest. ‘How long does this part take?’

  ‘Ten minutes,’ she said. ‘So what are you and Dan going to do tonight?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Something. What about you and Beatrice?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She sighed. ‘She said she’d call me.’

  ‘You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘You tell me that now.’

  ‘Sorry, Midge. I guess I was just trying to make things go smoothly.’

  ‘Pulpy,’ she said, retying the bow on her robe, ‘there’s being nice and there’s being nice.’

  He looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Never mind. Now pay attention to this next part.’

  He could see the hairs sitting there, mixed in with the depilatory cream, and then she wetted a washcloth and dragged it over his skin. The hair came away clean.

  ‘It burns at the roots,’ she said. ‘It’s a chemical burn.’

  ‘I didn’t feel it burning. It was just sort of tingly.’

  ‘They designed it that way.’ She touched the right side of his chest, under the nipple. ‘Now this half is yours.’ She touched the left side in the same spot. ‘And this half is mine.’

  He bent his head for a better look at his pale torso and its new hairless line. His white briefs camouflaged him against the white porcelain. ‘You and your ways.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It’ll grow back.’

  ‘I’m not worried,’ he said, ‘but I should get ready for work.’

  Pulpy walked into the office, dumped his coat in the closet and then suddenly became aware of the sound of woodwinds. He looked around, blinking. ‘Where’s that music coming from?’ he asked the receptionist.

  ‘He’s got them piping it in,’ she said. ‘You can hear it all through the office. It’s a semi-live feed. He was all excited about it. There’s somebody playing the flute somewhere, I guess. But there’s a delay on it. He had a guy in here to hook it up. He put these wires all around my work area and now I’m worried I’ll get electrocuted.’

  ‘He wouldn’t let you get electrocuted.’

  ‘Oh, wouldn’t he?’ She shook her head. ‘Don’t be so sure.’

  Pulpy eyed the lumpy nests of black cables around the receptionist’s chair, and noticed that the fish was swimming more slowly than usual. ‘Have you changed the fish’s water yet? It’s looking sort of grimy in there.’

  She waved a hand. ‘Be my guest.’

  He picked up the fishbowl, gently. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  Pulpy carried the fishbowl to the men’s room and set it on the counter, and then paused when he heard a grunt from one of the stalls.

  He looked at the fish and cleared his throat.

  The man’s voice went silent and there was a shuffling noise.

  Pulpy plugged one of the sinks and turned on the tap. When the sink was half full he turned off the tap, rolled up one sleeve and stuck his hand in the fishbowl. The fish swam away from him.

  ‘Uhh,’ said the man’s voice.

  He cupped the fish in his palm and plopped it into the sink. He poked the fish in the belly and it swam away from him.

  ‘Ohhh,’ said the man’s voice.

  He emptied the scummy water into the other sink and rinsed out the bowl. He gave it a scrub with some paper towel and filled it up with fresh water.

  ‘Mmm!’

  Pulpy jerked his head around. The voice sounded different that time. Higher.

  ‘Shhh!’ said the man’s voice.

  In a rush, Pulpy scooped the fish out of the sink and dropped it into the bowl. He hurried out of the men’s room, down the hall to the welcome area, and deposited the fishbowl on the receptionist’s desk.

  ‘If you ever leave a voice mail at a place of business, make sure to include your call-back number in the message,’ she said. ‘Otherwise your message will get erased.’

  He stood there with his hands at his sides. ‘I always do that.’

  Davis from Building Maintenance came down the hallway from the direction of the men’s room, hitching up his jeans. He nodded at Pulpy as he went by.

  ‘That’s good,’ said the receptionist. She pressed a button on her phone and an automated voice recited the caller’s phone number. Then the caller’s recorded message played.

  ‘To erase this message press seven,’ said the automated voice. The receptionist’s index finger descended. ‘Message erased.’

  Pulpy watched the man from Building Maintenance descend the stairs into the basement, and then shook his head. ‘But you had the number for that one.’

  ‘But the caller didn’t leave it.’ She sneered at her handset. ‘And he doesn’t know that his number was automatically stored. So he should’ve left a call-back number. One of the messages before was, “I found a pen with your company’s name on it. What kind of services do you people provide?” Can you believe that? But he left a call-back number, so I had to call him back and answer his stupid question. That’s the way it works.’

  ‘It
makes sense, I guess.’

  ‘You guess?’ She shook her head. ‘There’s a system and you follow it. That’s all there is. Like somehow I get here on time every day. Somehow I manage to get up when my alarm goes off, instead of just lying there, which is really what I’d rather do when it comes down to it. But somehow I make it in. And I’m never late. I wish I could be late, just once. But I won’t let myself.’ She raised an eyebrow at him. ‘I just can’t do it.’

  Dan was humming along to the music and tapping his fingers on his desk when Pulpy hurried past his half-open door. He waved him in.

  ‘You’ve got to love the Winter Flute,’ said Dan. ‘It’s a classic.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the Winter Flute before,’ said Pulpy.

  ‘Then you haven’t lived.’ Dan grinned and bopped his head to the melody. ‘It touches you. I could almost feel good about the world, listening to the Winter Flute.’

  Pulpy moved his neck a little. ‘The receptionist told me about the semi-live feed. She showed me the speaker system you hooked up.’

  ‘Beatrice is going to do an audit of her processes,’ said Dan. ‘There needs to be a system in place.’

  ‘I think she has a system already.’

  ‘Still, Beatrice is going to look things over. She’s here today. Are you going to get coffee?’

  ‘I usually only get coffee on Fridays.’ Pulpy looked at Dan’s desk. ‘Isn’t that the receptionist’s mug?’

  ‘I don’t see her name on it,’ said Dan. He poked the cartoon duck. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? “My schedule’s full.” Ha!’

  ‘But she always uses it.’

  ‘Well, there’s plenty more where it came from.’ He handed the mug to Pulpy. ‘Pretend it’s a Friday and head over to Coffee Paradise for me, will you? Forget about Coffee Island – they use inferior beans. And I’m having a caffeine fit, so you’d better fill that mug to the top.’

  ‘What kind of coffee do you want?’

  ‘Just get me the house blend with a shitload of cream and sugar.’

  ‘All right.’ He left Dan’s office, hurried down the stairs and walked back past the receptionist’s desk as fast as he could, with the duck turned away from her.