Pulpy and Midge (3 page)

Pulpy was standing at the back, near the doors and the food table. His box of doughnuts had been placed next to the
vast expanse of ‘Happy Retirement Al!' cake and a large bowl containing bottles of water and juice.

‘But heck, that doesn't mean I should have to
work
here, does it? Ha!'

Everyone in the room laughed, except for Dan. Then he gave a belated ‘Ho-ho!' that reverberated after the other laughs had died away.

‘The way I see it, everyone's too focused on business and spending these days,' said Al. ‘And all these people are watching this reality
TV
, but I'm at the point where I'm ready for my
own
reality, you know?' He blinked at the assembled workers.

Someone near the back shouted, ‘We love you, Al!'

‘Well.' Al's smile widened. ‘I'm going to miss all of you, very much.'

There were a few scattered ‘Awws,' and then Al had to raise his voice as the room burst into applause. ‘But business and spending are still the reality at
this
office, and now with Dan here at the helm there's no telling how far you'll go!'

‘We're going to pick up where you left off, Al, that's what we're going to do!' Dan stepped over and put an arm around Al's shoulders, and the room fell silent. ‘Hello, everyone, I'm Dan. And let me be the first to reassure you all that although I may be new in town, I am certainly not new as far as knowing what my responsibilities are, and where they lie.'

‘Psst, Pulpy, over here.'

Pulpy turned his head, and Roy from Customer Service handed him a piece of cake on a small paper plate. Pulpy mouthed ‘Thank you' and took it before he realized that the usual time for cake cutting and distributing was after the speeches, and that Roy probably wasn't supposed to be doing this now.

‘I also like to help,' said Dan. ‘I did a lot of helping at my previous job, and as a result I made some really good friends
there and we still communicate. Workplace camaraderie is key. It's key to everything.'

Pulpy's piece of cake appeared to be chocolate with some type of nuts in it. He'd gotten the exclamation mark on his frosting.

Roy was handing out forks now. Pulpy debated accepting his.

‘I used to work in a building that had mirrored glass. Mirrored glass, and a lot of floors. And windows everywhere.' Dan was alone at the podium now – Al had moved away.

‘Pulpy?' said Roy.

‘Oh,' Pulpy whispered. ‘Thanks.' He took the fork.

‘I would look out those windows and think, “There's a whole world out there.” And then I'd think, “Hey, there's a whole world
in here
.” And that is what we're all about.'

All around him, Pulpy's co-workers were eating. He speared a hunk of cake and brought it to his lips.

‘Just a side note – I'm sure you've all seen the refreshments on the back table,' said Dan, and Pulpy raised a hand to cover his bulging cheeks. ‘There will be cake, and drinks, and doughnuts, after we're done up here. But first I'd like to say a little something about teamwork and mutual respect.'

Pulpy ducked behind the crowd to finish chewing.

Dan's speech went on for another half-hour, and when it was over Pulpy headed for the men's room. On his way there he passed the receptionist at her desk, stapling.

‘Why aren't you in the boardroom?' he asked her. ‘There's cake.'

‘Hold on,' she said. ‘I'm collating here.'

He waited while she stapled two sets of papers together, and then she looked up at him. ‘I wasn't invited. That was my first introduction to the new boss. “Hi, I'm Dan, your new
supervisor. Oh, and by the way, we need you to cover the desk during the retirement function.” Yeah, thanks. Plus I'm supposed to know when they're doing a cake, because I always pick them out. What kind is it? Is there any filling?'

‘It's a chocolate one,' he said. ‘I think it has hazelnuts in it.'

‘Nuts aren't a filling.'

‘Well, they're inside somewhere. I heard.'

‘A filling is like cream. Or jelly. Is there jelly?'

Pulpy shook his head. ‘No one said anything about jelly.'

The receptionist frowned. ‘I'm supposed to know when they do a cake.'

‘I'm sure it was some kind of oversight.'

‘Yeah.' The receptionist resumed her stapling. ‘I'm sure it was.'

Pulpy nodded and hurried down the hall, his tongue digging at a bit of hazelnut in one of his molars.

‘Pulpy, this is my wife, Beatrice,' said Dan at the party that followed the speeches. The party was also in the boardroom, except there were balloons now.

‘Hi, Beatrice.' Pulpy shook Dan's wife's hand and her long fingernails jabbed into his palm. She was wearing a sleeveless top covered in buckles that seemed to have no practical purpose.

‘Hi … Pulpy?' Beatrice had dark, chin-length hair that was mostly straight, with a few strands jutting out in various directions. The effect unsettled him.

‘It's a nickname,' said Dan. ‘Isn't it great?'

‘What does it mean?' she said, and at the same time she looked Pulpy up and down, starting at his feet.

Pulpy's hands flattened out and he pressed them to his sides. No one had ever looked him up and down like that before. ‘It's to do with orange juice.'

‘Ah.' Beatrice nodded, still looking.

‘How'd you like my speech, Pulpy?' said Dan.

‘Oh, fine. It was a fine speech.'

‘People were already eating the cake, can you believe that? They'd eaten half of it before Al walked over with the special knife.' Dan frowned. ‘I said they'd get cake. I said they'd get it at the end.'

‘It was a delicious cake,' said Pulpy. ‘I heard.'

‘Beatrice picked it out. She knows how to pick a winner, ha!'

Beatrice rolled her eyes. She pointed her doughnut at Pulpy. ‘These are
really
good. Dan says you brought them?'

‘Oh, well, it's nothing. They're just doughnuts.'

‘Mmm. Well, they are
yummy.
' She licked some powdered sugar off her bottom lip and popped the last bite into her mouth.

Pulpy's eyes widened a little and he quickly turned to admire the shiny red ‘You Made It!!' balloons taped up in the corners of the boardroom. Then he took a deep breath and looked back at Dan. ‘I don't think the receptionist got an invitation to this.'

‘That's the way it goes,' said Dan. ‘Somebody has to cover the desk.'

‘Maybe she didn't want to come,' said Beatrice.

‘But she should've been invited,' said Pulpy.

‘Must've been an oversight.' Dan shrugged. ‘I told you I'm bringing Beatrice in, didn't I?'

‘We'll get things sorted out,' said Beatrice.

‘We're doing an overhaul,' said Dan. ‘I like the way that sounds.'

Pulpy noticed that one of Dan's big square hands was clamped around a plastic water bottle and his other hand was just opening and closing around nothing. ‘Overhaul?'

Beatrice made a face for him, squishing out her lips and shaking her head.

Dan chuckled. ‘Beatrice is calling it a makeover but I'm going with overhaul. Overhaul says everything we need to say.'

‘What, uh –' Pulpy's voice hitched, and he swallowed. ‘What do you need to say?'

‘Hey, there's the man of the hour!' Dan waved across the room to Al, who was kissing his wife under some of the balloons and a banner that read ‘Congratulations Al! Relax, Enjoy, Celebrate!'

‘Oh, will you look at that,' said Beatrice. ‘Old and still in love.'

‘Pulpy has a wife,' said Dan.

‘Do you now?' Beatrice said to Pulpy. ‘Well, just look at you – how could you not?'

‘Um,' said Pulpy.

‘So what do you say, Pulpy?' said Dan. ‘Are you excited about the regime change? Out with the old and all that?'

Pulpy looked at his old boss frolicking under his decorations. He'd written ‘Spread your wings and fly!' in Al's retirement card, hoping it would jog his memory, but Al hadn't opened the envelope yet and by the time he did, he wouldn't be in charge anymore. ‘In with the new,' he said, and blinked in the glare of Dan and Beatrice's white grins.

When Pulpy got home, Midge had the fireplace video going.

He stood in front of their small
TV
set and watched the flames dance across the screen, and then Midge was behind him.

‘I pulled the space heater up,' she said. ‘For added effect.'

Pulpy looked down at their little square heater pushing orange warmth out of its criss-crossed wires.

‘It's a new video. I had to buy a new one because the last one was wearing out. Even with the head cleaner.'

‘It looks the same,' he said.

‘That's the best part! You can't tell.'

‘It's a good video.'

Midge took a step back. ‘Don't say video.'

‘What? But
you
said video.'

‘Not once we get into it. Once you get into it you have to pretend.'

He nodded.

‘Did you eat? Because I bought this new product – it's a way to make a whole meal all in foil. And then you just throw the foil away afterwards with no fuss and no scrubbing!'

‘Sounds good,' said Pulpy, ‘but I had a bunch of doughnuts.'

‘Sit on the rug with me,' she said. ‘I'll play you something.'

They sat on their rug and Midge pulled their new electronic keyboard out from under the coffee table. She frowned down at the array of buttons along the top, then pressed one. A mournful string of notes drifted out of the tinny speaker.

‘That's not a very happy song,' he said. ‘I usually think of keyboard music as more uplifting.'

‘That must be the dirigible. The man at the store said there was one in there. Dirigibles aren't supposed to be happy.'

‘I think you mean a dirge,' he said.

‘Yes, yes, a dirge. What did I say?'

He smiled. ‘You said a dirigible. A dirigible is a boat.'

She flung her hand at him. ‘Oh, you music people with your music knowledge.'

‘I'm not a music person,' he said. ‘I work in an office.'

‘If you make music and you're a person, then you're a music person. Here, let me find you something more tinkly.' She ran her thumbs over the keys. ‘It played the prettiest ballad earlier.'

‘That's okay,' he said. ‘I believe you.'

‘Look at me, I'm hogging it!' She lifted the keyboard and put it in his lap. ‘Go ahead – experiment!'

Pulpy felt the weight of the keyboard on his legs, and thought of Dan, and Dan's wife, who along with Dan was going
to do an overhaul. He put the keyboard on the floor. ‘I guess I'm just not feeling very musical right now, Midge, I'm sorry.'

‘Oh.' She slid the keyboard back under the coffee table. ‘Well, that's okay.'

They watched the fire on
TV
together for a while and then he said, ‘Al never said anything.'

Midge moved closer to him. ‘Oh, Pulpy.'

Pulpy stared at the embers. He felt tired and soft. ‘How could he forget?'

‘And the new boss didn't say anything?'

‘He said some things, but not about the promotion.'

‘Well,' said Midge, ‘I bet it's only a matter of time.'

He looked at her hopeful face and imagined he could see the yellow glow reflected there. ‘You're warm,' he said, touching her arm.

‘It's because of the fire,' she said, and her hands rose up and flickered in the light.

‘Hmm,' said Pulpy at the winter fair the next day, ‘those fish games look pretty hard.'

Midge put a hand on his back. ‘You can do it, Pulpy.'

‘I don't want to disappoint you.'

‘You won't.'

So Pulpy lined up and paid for his ping-pong balls, and lobbed them.

The first two missed, but the second two landed with tiny splashes in two small fishbowls with rainbow-coloured gravel and startled goldfish inside.

And Midge said, ‘You did it, twice!'

Pulpy smiled. ‘I did, didn't I?'

She hugged him. ‘You can take one to work and I'll keep the other one at home with me. I'm going to call our home fish Mr. Fins.'

They went home after that and when they got in the door Midge said, ‘It'll be nice for you to have a fish at your desk. He'll keep you company.' Then she said, ‘Now let's make out like banshees.'

‘What does that mean?' said Pulpy. And he stood there holding the two fishbowls until Midge took them from him, one by one, and placed them gently on the coffee table.

‘It means,' she said, ‘that you do things to me and I scream.'

‘Well,' he said, ‘let's get started, then.'

The next morning Midge said, ‘I think you should take my Candle-Brations catalogue to the office with you today.'

‘You do?' said Pulpy.

The alarm hadn't gone off yet and they were still lying under the covers, staring at the ceiling. Mr. Fins and Pulpy's fish were side by side in their bowls on Midge's night table, swimming.

‘I got thinking last night that this new boss of yours could be a great new opportunity. All you have to do is show him the catalogue, and then he'll tell his wife about it – does he have a wife?'

Pulpy nodded, thinking of the up-and-down look Beatrice had given him.

‘So he'll tell his wife about the candles and the wife will get excited about all the candle deals I can offer her and then she'll tell her husband to give you the raise!'

Midge's eyes were all lit up, and Pulpy imagined she had a couple of her candles in there, the Cinnamon Dreams maybe, or the Towers of Mint. ‘Hmm,' he said, ‘I don't know how to sell candles, though.'

‘You don't have to
sell
them, you just have to
show
them. Then it's my job to burn it and earn it!'