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.
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
