Pulpy and Midge (2 page)

The receptionist scrutinized Pulpy through her glasses as he came down the steps at lunchtime. ‘Going to lunch?'

He nodded.

‘What's the weather like out now?'

‘I'm not sure,' he said.

‘You're not
sure
?'

‘I just came from upstairs.'

‘You have windows up there, don't you?'

Pulpy glanced at the big window by the front door. ‘You're right,' he said. ‘We do.'

She wheeled her chair backward, gripping the edge of her desk with one hand. ‘I'm going to take a course.'

‘What kind of course?' He opened the closet door and peered inside. There were other coats on top of his coat now, so he was going to have to dig.

‘It's a performance-improvement seminar. The flyer came over the fax, with the registration form on it. I can sign up any time – it says spaces aren't limited. Al said I could go. But not because I need to improve my performance. Just to expand my knowledge base.'

‘That makes sense.' He crouched down to sift through the heavy pile of leather and wool. ‘When is it?'

‘It's in two weeks. It's called “Be An Exceptional Receptionist.” The flyer says, “Receptionists today must be eager envoys for their workplace.” And that's very true. “Front-line staff” is what they call people like me, who deal with the public. I am the face of this company.'

He stood up with his wrinkled coat and nodded. The receptionist had told him her name a few years ago but he'd forgotten it, and he couldn't bring himself to ask her again. The small, brass nameplate on her desk said ‘Secretary.' But she didn't like that term.

‘See here.' She showed him the flyer, a smudgy fax page full of bullet points.

Pulpy's eyes went to the registration part at the bottom, but she hadn't filled in her personal information yet.

‘It talks about creating a “Samaritan pretense” that wins people over as soon as you meet them, and it says the course will emphasize the potency of positive diction, or how to say “no way” with an “okay.”' She folded the paper neatly and tucked it into one of her drawers.

Pulpy watched the receptionist's hair while she did this; it didn't move. He liked the bushiness of it. She'd secured it at the top with a sharp-toothed metal clip. ‘Sounds good,' he said, and headed for the door.

‘It certainly does.' The receptionist crossed her arms. ‘Two weeks.'

‘How was the cab ride?' said Midge when Pulpy called her from the food court.

‘It was okay, but I don't think it did any good.' His fingers skimmed over the number pad on the pay phone. ‘Al didn't even mention the promotion this morning.'

‘He didn't? Well, there's still the whole afternoon, isn't there?'

‘There is. He's got his thing this afternoon, though.' Pulpy expelled a long breath. ‘I think maybe he forgot.'

‘Oh, Pulpy,' said Midge. ‘How could he forget?'

‘I don't know, he was busy. He was meeting with the new boss. I met him too – I shook his hand.'

‘Did you shake it hard? Powerful men like a firm handshake.'

‘I think so, but he shook mine harder. Anyway, I'm going to pick up doughnuts for the thing. Maybe when Al sees the doughnuts he'll remember about the promotion.'

‘Maybe Al will tell the new boss to give it to you.'

‘Hmm,' said Pulpy. ‘He
was
telling him something.'

‘See, there you go!'

He relaxed a little. ‘How far did you get on your route?'

‘I did about fifty leaflets, and that's with Jean's selective targeting method. She calls it looking for the best
candle-date,
ha! Like candidate, but with candles! She's a funny one, that Jean.' She paused. ‘You know what would be fun?'

‘Tell me,' he said.

‘A hobby! One that we could do together.'

Pulpy had the metal pay-phone cord in his hand, and he bent part of it into a U-shape. He held it like that and squeezed it together a few times. ‘We've got ice dancing.'

‘Ice dancing isn't a hobby, it's exercise. I was thinking something musical, because you used to like music so much.'

‘That was then,' he said.

‘Oh, hush. I want to see more of that side of you. Your creative side.'

‘I don't have a creative side.'

She giggled. ‘Tell that to the bedsheets!'

‘Midge!' But he smiled.

‘Then I got thinking about those keyboards that already have music programmed in. They're very smart, the keyboards today. They're very intuitive machines. We could play backup to a song!'

‘Keyboards cost a lot of money, Midge.'

‘Not when they're on sale! I've been scanning the flyers and I found one that's very reasonably priced. I picked it up because they said supplies were limited. Listen!'

Pulpy pressed the hard circle of the receiver against his ear and heard
Plink! Plink! Plink!

‘Hold on,' she said. ‘It gets better.'

When he got back to the office, the receptionist said to him, ‘You notice anything missing from my desk?'

‘Um …' Pulpy looked at her mug, her eraser dish, her magnetized paperclip holder, her tape dispenser, her pen-and-pencil cage, her hole punch and her stapler.

‘Water,' she said.

He glanced from side to side. ‘You don't have any.'

‘That's right. Receptionists can't drink water because do you know why? Because we can't leave our desks, that's
why!' She leaned forward. ‘The flyer for my performance-improvement seminar says, “A little hydration goes the distance.” Think about that when you think about all of us dehydrated receptionists.'

‘All right,' he said.

‘Tea doesn't count, though,' she said, and took a loud slurp from her mug, which showed a cartoon duck dressed like a secretary. It had drops of sweat flying from its head and was wearing glasses that were comically askew. In its wings the duck held a pencil, a phone off the hook and several loose documents in disarray. The caption underneath read ‘Not another crisis … my schedule's full!!!' She wielded the mug at him. ‘I can relate. When it comes down to it, it's just me and the duck,' she said, ‘against the office. How was your lunch?'

‘It was nice, thanks.'

‘Well, mine wasn't. I was sitting reading my book at the kitchen table, and then Cheryl from Active Recovery comes over and says, “Do you mind if I sit here? Don't let me interrupt you.” And she
sat down.
'

‘Cheryl's nice.'

‘Nice. She put me on the spot. “Don't let me interrupt you,” she says. What does she think I'm going to do, sit there and read while she eats her lunch? I hate that there's two chairs. If there was only one chair there would be no problem.'

‘It's a big table.'

‘Not big enough,' she said.

‘So that ought to do it,' said the man from Building Maintenance that afternoon. He stood up and put his hands on his thick hips.

Pulpy sat in his chair and pulled himself toward his desk. He slid out the newly adjusted keyboard tray. ‘It's still doing it,' he said. ‘The bottom of the tray. I can still feel it on my legs.'

‘Huh.' The man pulled the front of his shirt away from the roll on top of his jeans.

‘That's why I called Building Maintenance. That's why I placed the call.'

‘Relax, fellow, relax. Let's see what we're dealing with here.' The man got on his knees again and crawled under the desk to examine the tray-docking device. ‘Oh yeah, I see it. Now I see it.'

‘They let you wear jeans?' said Pulpy.

‘Uh huh. At the start we had to wear suit pants, but then I said to Al – I was the one who said it – “I'm not getting down under desks and wearing suit pants because do you know what it's like under there? It's dusty as hell down there. Unless,” I said, “you want to buy the suit pants
for
me.” That shut him up like a clam. So now we wear jeans.'

The man's rear end wiggled as he worked. Pulpy looked away.

‘That ought to do it.' The man stood up again. ‘Give her a go.'

Pulpy got back into his chair, and something on the man beeped. Pulpy jumped a little.

The man from Building Maintenance glanced down at his pager, then back at Pulpy. ‘That's me. Mind if I use your phone?'

‘Go ahead.' Pulpy pulled out the keyboard tray and the man picked up his phone. Pulpy frowned. The tray was lower now.

‘Yeah?' said the man into the receiver. ‘It's Davis here.'

He pushed his knees up and the tray rattled and clicked. He put his knees down and felt the edges of the tray pressing hard against his thighs.

‘It's Davis, I said. Yeah.'

‘Um,' said Pulpy.

‘So what's the call? Who's calling?'

Pulpy tried to get his hands in between his legs and the keyboard but there wasn't enough room.

‘Over there? What's their problem? Do you even know who you paged? You paged me, and I'm Davis.'

‘You did it the wrong way,' said Pulpy.

Davis didn't acknowledge this. ‘Okay,' he said into the phone, ‘so you do have the right guy, because that's me. There's also Richards, but he's off today. I'm the one who's on, and I'm Davis.'

Pulpy sighed and sat there with the tray on his legs.

‘Yeah. Yeah. I'm on my way.' Davis put the phone down. ‘So you're all set here, then?'

‘Well, actually –'

‘Do you know what they said on the other end there? They didn't even know –' Davis shook his head. ‘People are ignorant. They don't even know who they're calling when they call. I had to tell them, can you beat that?' He hitched up his jeans and headed for the door.

‘So –' said Pulpy.

‘It was good meeting you, fellow,' said Davis. ‘You need that tray looked at again, you just give me a buzz. You know where I live.' And he winked.

‘I guess I do, yes.'

Davis gave Pulpy a quick salute, and then he was gone.

Pulpy looked at the empty space where the man from Building Maintenance had been standing, and he pushed the tray back in again.

Pulpy went to the Coffee Island on his break.

‘Hi,' he said to the girl behind the counter. ‘Roco-Coco, please, and a dozen doughnuts.'

‘Sorry, we're all out of the R-C.' She shoved aside the leaves of the inflatable palm tree by the cash register. ‘That's always the first kind to go. Every morning. I told my boss, “Buy more Roco-Coco. They all like that kind.” But he keeps
on buying the same stock every month. He doesn't listen to me.'

‘But you're the one dealing with the public,' said Pulpy. ‘You're the front-line staff.'

‘Exactly!
You
know what I'm talking about.' She shook her head and her ponytail flew. ‘I can do you a Bongo Berry, how does that sound?'

‘Sounds good.' He watched her manoeuvre around the palm tree to pour his coffee and pack his doughnuts. ‘Why don't you move that tree somewhere else?'

‘I tried. He moved it back. Bosses – what can you do? That'll be six-seventy, please.'

‘You said it.' Pulpy handed her the money. ‘Bosses.'

‘What about them?' said a voice behind Pulpy.

‘Uh-oh,' said the counter girl.

Pulpy turned to see Dan waving at him from the cream and sugar.

There was the cream-and-sugar side, or the milk-and-sweetener side, which was where you ended up if you weren't fast enough. Pulpy was never fast enough.

He watched Dan wielding the carton of half-and-half amid the throng of clerical staff that always encircled the coffee fixings, their shoulders working as they stirred.

Dan emerged with his mug held high. He was wearing the bulky shearling coat Pulpy had seen in the closet earlier. ‘Whew! You gotta be a bull in there!' he said, jerking his rectangle head back at the circle.

Pulpy gave a half-shrug and looked down at the dark liquid in his Styrofoam cup, already turning cold.

‘You should get yourself a proper mug,' said Dan. ‘Bulls need real mugs.'

‘I guess they do.' Pulpy found himself nodding.

Dan's mug was red with white lettering. ‘Back off – it's early,' the mug said. Pulpy wondered if he drank out of that
mug all day. ‘The mug makes the man,' said Dan. ‘Think about that.'

‘I'll bring one from home one of these days,' said Pulpy.

‘Just take one from the staff cupboard. Make it your own.'

‘But what if it's somebody else's?'

‘Whoa now. Bulls don't think that way, do they?' Dan took a sip of coffee and swallowed hard. ‘The secretary even has her own mug. If
she
has a mug,
you
should have a mug.'

Pulpy noticed the single crease down the front of each of Dan's pant legs, how crisp that was. He looked down at his own pleats. Not so crisp.

‘I'm bringing in my wife, Beatrice, to keep an eye on that secretary. See how she does things. I want you to meet her, my wife. She'll be there this afternoon.'

‘She sounds nice.'

‘Oh, she's nice all right.' Dan nodded at Pulpy's doughnuts. ‘Those for the thing?'

‘Yes.'

‘Nice. You married?'

‘Yes.'

‘You bringing her?'

Pulpy swirled his black coffee. ‘She's not feeling well.'

‘That's too bad.' Dan took a slow sip from his mug. ‘I'll see you back at the office.' He nodded at the coffee fixings on his way out the door. ‘Now get in there!'

‘So I have to tell you that, oh boy yes, this has certainly been a really good experience for me, being in this place with all of you.' Al smiled at Pulpy and his fellow employees from the podium at the far end of the boardroom.

A few paces to Al's right, Dan smoothed the arms of his suit.