starts tomorrow,’ said Dan.
‘Probably tomorrow,’ said Beatrice. ‘I’m not sure yet.’
Dan looked at her, then took two mini-pizzas and ate them quickly.
‘Oh,’ said Midge. ‘I didn’t realize you were both working there.’
‘Dan’s turning things around,’ said Beatrice. ‘He’s going to organize a potluck.’
‘That’s right.’ Dan nodded. ‘Staff parties, and potlucks in particular, are proven team builders.’
‘We heard about your party,’ said Beatrice.
‘What party?’ said Pulpy.
‘Your Christmas party!’ said Dan. ‘Al told me all about it. Ho-ho, sounds like it was quite the shindig!’
Midge made a sound in the back of her throat, and Pulpy said, ‘We don’t really like to talk about it, actually.’
‘Sure.’ Beatrice smiled at Midge. ‘We had this parakeet once, at our old place, that liked to eat chicken! Can you believe that?’
‘Nobody could believe it!’ said Dan.
‘Nobody could. But all he would eat was chicken. Anyway, one day I was cleaning his cage –’
‘She was using the vacuum,’ said Dan.
Beatrice gave him a sideways look. ‘And I was using the vacuum,’ she said, ‘and I sucked him up! I was cleaning the cage and – whoops – up he went. Trying to get rid of one mess and ending up with another.’ She shook her head. ‘So we can relate.’
‘I miss that chicken-eating bird,’ said Dan.
Beatrice nodded. ‘We all do.’
Pulpy looked at Midge, who was looking at her skirt again. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s quite a story.’
Beatrice nodded, and elbowed him. ‘Now let’s see those magic charade hands in action!’
A few weeks before last Christmas, Midge had befriended a pigeon that was roosting in their backyard flowerpot. She earned the bird’s trust gradually, progressing from breadcrumb-lobbing to offering crusts at arm’s length. Pretty soon the pigeon was accepting whole pieces of toast from her palm.
One day Pulpy walked into their small square of backyard, and Midge was sitting on a lawn chair in her winter coat, with the pigeon perched on her head.
‘Shh,’ she whispered. ‘Mrs. Wings is sleeping.’
‘Her eyes are open,’ said Pulpy.
Midge lifted her arm to check her watch, careful not to startle the bird. ‘Well, she hasn’t moved for half an hour.’
‘That’s quite a while.’
She beamed at him. ‘Isn’t it?’
Pulpy smiled at her and the pigeon, and left them alone.
A few weeks later, Midge hosted a Christmas fondue-and-candle party for Pulpy’s office mates.
‘It’ll increase my sales and your visibility,’ she told him. ‘If we’re going to advance in this world, we need to take the initiative.’
Unfortunately, Al and his wife brought their schnauzer. By the time Midge thought to check on Mrs. Wings after performing her clean-burning-wick demonstration and then cutting a loaf of bread into little cubes, there wasn’t much left of her pet pigeon but a few bloody feathers.
Al had promised Pulpy a promotion the next day.
TWO
‘Did I tell you they got my underwear stuck in the cash register?’ said Midge while Pulpy was getting ready for work.
‘No,’ he said, and waggled his eyebrows. ‘I don’t think you did.’
They were sitting on the loveseat. Pulpy was in his shirt and tie and new brown pants, and Midge was in her robe.
‘I was in line at the department store buying your pants, and some underwear for myself because I was running low. I bought a few pairs of the shiny kind you like, with the lacy elastic? And somehow the cashier closed the cash drawer on one of them, and then she started yanking on it. Well, at first it was tugging. But it wasn’t very long before it was yanking.’ She bent her elbow and rammed it sideways to show him.
‘Hmm.’ He stood up. ‘Did she say anything?’
‘Not to me. But she said to the woman who was bagging for her, “I can’t get these panties out of my cash drawer.” Like it was the panties’ fault. And the woman who was bagging for her said, “Why don’t you ring in the purchases first, and then get the panties out when the cash drawer pops open?” It was a spectacle. Shoppers at the back of the line knew what was going on. I don’t know how I’m going to show my face when I return your pants today.’
‘I think I’ll keep them all.’ Pulpy took his coat off the coat tree and pushed his hands through the sleeves. ‘I think I’ll keep all three pairs of pants. Then you don’t have to worry about returning them. It’s time I gave my wardrobe a makeover. Plus, they’re very comfortable.’
‘And Beatrice likes them too.’ Midge frowned. ‘The way they jingle, she said.’
‘Beatrice?’ His zipper caught on the way up and he struggled with it. ‘Midge, she’s my boss’s wife.’
She crossed her legs. ‘I don’t think I’d like a thong. Would you like me to wear a thong?’
He blinked at her. ‘I’d like it if you liked it. Only if it was comfortable for you. Or it doesn’t matter.’
‘Then maybe I’ll try it.’ She looked at the empty space next to her on the couch and cinched her robe tighter.
‘That might be nice.’ Pulpy reached in and moved some hair off her forehead. The way Midge’s hair feathered at the sides of her head was like the scalloped edge of a seashell, and he loved that about her.
‘Although I really think it would be uncomfortable. They look uncomfortable,’ she said. ‘Plus nobody I know wears one. At least, nobody’s told me they do.’
‘Would your friends tell you they were wearing a thong?’ The seashell scallops didn’t show up in photos, and Pulpy thought that was a shame. ‘I think my friends would be embarrassed to tell me.’
‘Your friends wouldn’t wear a thong.’
He nodded and started
