Pulpy and Midge (21 page)

‘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 watch 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-fitting 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.

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?'