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
