‘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!’
‘But I’m just not sure –’
Midge kissed his forehead. ‘And you should wrap a blanket or a towel around your fishbowl on the way to work, so it doesn’t freeze.’
‘Okay,’ he said, and the alarm went off.
‘What’s that you got there?’ asked the bus driver when Pulpy stepped onto the bus. He was hugging the fishbowl to his chest and squeezing Midge’s catalogue under one armpit.
‘A fish.’ He looked at the crowd ahead of him. All the seats were taken.
‘Who carries a fish around in weather like this?’
‘That’s why I wrapped his bowl in a towel. So he doesn’t freeze.’
‘You better hope it doesn’t. Move up the bus, please.’
He took a few steps and stopped when the bowl nudged someone’s back.
‘Keep going. I need you on the other side of the line.’
Pulpy looked down. ‘What line?’
The driver sighed. ‘I need you on the other side of that line or else this bus doesn’t leave the station.’
‘Get on the other side of the line!’ one of the seated passengers shouted.
Pulpy shuffled another step along and the swaddled fishbowl pushed into a teenager’s backpack. ‘Sorry,’ he said.
The teenager sneered at him.
‘Here we go!’ said the driver, and started the engine.
The bus lurched forward and Pulpy stumbled backward, dropping the catalogue onto the floor of the bus and spilling water from the fishbowl. The bus stopped.
A rumble of discontent rose from the other riders.
The driver looked at Pulpy. ‘Once more and you’re off. I cannot abide fish water on my vehicle.’
‘I tripped,’ he said.
‘I will not repeat myself. One more time and you are off this bus.’
Pulpy nodded and braced himself.
The receptionist turned to look at the clock when Pulpy walked in. ‘I think the clock is dirty. See it?’ She pointed.
The time was 8:39. As far as he could tell, there was no dirt.
‘I think I’ll have to clean it,’ she said. ‘I should make a note.’ And she looked at the clock again, eyeballed Pulpy and reached for a pen and paper.
Pulpy stood on the welcome mat with the towel-wrapped fishbowl. ‘How was your weekend?’
She put her pen down and clicked her pink nails on the desk. ‘Over too fast.’
‘Start of the week,’ he said.
‘Uh huh. Under new management too. I didn’t think I’d say this, but I miss Al already. At least he included me in things.’
Pulpy stood there while she stuck and unstuck paperclips to the magnetic top of their container. ‘I told Dan you should’ve been invited to the party,’ he said.
She paused with a paperclip at her lips like a tiny silver trombone. ‘You told him that?’ She put the paperclip down. ‘What are you doing with that towel?’
‘Oh, this.’ The towel was soaked and so was his coat. He unwrapped the bowl and set it on the ground. ‘It’s for my fish.’
‘Well, don’t leave the bowl on the floor like that. Here, put it on my desk.’
The fish was orange. It swam in a circle one way, then the other. He set the bowl gently on her desk.
She peered at it. ‘It’s moving pretty slow.’
‘He’s probably cold,’ he said. ‘He’ll warm up.’
The receptionist nudged the little bowl and the water sloshed. ‘Where’d you get it?’
‘The winter fair.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I won him at the fish game.’
‘Good for you.’ She dipped her finger in the water and swirled it around.
He puffed up a little. ‘It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.’
‘This is a nice fish. The gravel’s nice.’
‘Rainbow.’ He watched the ripples she was making, then shook off his coat.
The closet was full again but there was room on the floor. He deposited his coat and then reached for the fish. ‘Well, I guess we should be getting upstairs.’
She pulled the bowl toward her. ‘I think it likes it here.’
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Actually, I was going to put him on my desk.’
‘But it’s so nice and bright here, with the window. I think it wants to stay with me.’
‘Well,’ said Pulpy.
‘Besides, you have to get to the boardroom. It’s the new boss’s first meeting so you better hurry up. It’s an all-staff meeting, except I have to cover the desk. So now I’m not included in parties or meetings.’
‘There’s a meeting?’ He rushed for the stairs, but the receptionist kept talking.
‘Am I not staff? You would think when there’s an all-staff meeting, all staff would be invited. But I guess that’s not the way it works anymore.’ She looked at him standing there. ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
He took the steps two at a time, certain that the fish was watching him go.
‘We need a vision statement,’ Dan was saying when Pulpy tiptoed into the boardroom. ‘And we need it now.’
Nobody said anything. There were about thirty staff members sitting in a semi-circle around the big boardroom table, with Dan at the head of it. One of Al’s red retirement balloons, now partially deflated, still adorned one corner of the room.
Pulpy looked for an empty seat.
Dan folded his hands in front of him. ‘So we are going to sit here and write a vision statement, and nobody leaves until it’s done.’
There were a few murmurs at this.
‘Are there any questions?’ Dan noticed Pulpy and nodded at him.
&
nbsp; Pulpy nodded back and sat down quickly between Roy from Customer Service and Carmelita from the Parts Department.
Carmelita raised her hand.
‘Yes?’ said Dan. ‘And what’s your name?’
‘Carmelita,’ said Carmelita. “From the Parts Department.”
‘Yes, Carmelita?’ Dan smiled at her. ‘Stand up so we can get a look at you.’
She turned her head from side to side and then stood, slowly.
Dan continued to smile.
Carmelita crossed her arms over her chest. ‘What’s a vision statement?’
Dan was silent. Then he put his elbows on the table and put his hands together and said, ‘Ah.’
Carmelita sat down.
‘I’m glad you asked, actually, because you all need to know the answer.’ Dan leaned forward. ‘A vision statement is the statement of a company’s vision, put into words. It’s about how the company sees itself. That’s the vision part. The statement part is the words themselves.’ He sat back, looking pleased with himself.
Roy elbowed Pulpy. Pulpy didn’t know how to respond to that. Then Roy’s hand went up.
‘Yes?’ said Dan.
‘Roy here.’ Roy stood. ‘From Customer Service. Why, exactly, do we need a vision statement?’
‘Why?’ said Dan. ‘I think that’s obvious.’
‘Not really,’ said Roy. ‘Al never thought we needed one.’
Pulpy sunk lower in his chair and there was some laughter around the semi-circle, but Dan wasn’t smiling.
‘Al ran his show his way, and I’m running my show my way.’ Dan leaned forward a little further, and his broad shoulders cast a shadow over the table in front of him. ‘So like I said, we need a vision statement.’
Roy sat down. ‘What do you think of him?’ he whispered to Pulpy.
‘Oh, well,’ said Pulpy, sensing Dan looking their way, ‘I think he’ll do a good job.’
Another hand went up. This time it was Vince from Archiving.
Dan frowned. ‘Yes?’
Vince stood up. ‘Hi, I’m Vince from Archiving. The thing is, Al didn’t –’
‘Excuse me,’ said Dan, ‘do you have a job here?’
‘Yes?’ Vince looked confused. ‘I’m in Archiving.’
‘Actually, the answer to that question I just posed would be no.’
‘Sorry?’ Vince half-smiled and half-frowned, like he wasn’t getting a joke.
‘Don’t be sorry. Just go.’ Dan stood up. ‘Now.’
Vince blinked and then slowly made his way out of the room. There were a few more murmurs, but they were quieter now.
‘All right.’ Dan sat back down and cracked his large knuckles. ‘If nobody has any more questions, I’ll start taking your vision-statement suggestions.’
When the meeting was ending and Dan had the vision statement tucked into a folder under his arm, he pulled Pulpy aside. ‘Pulpy, I’d like to ask you something.’
Pulpy’s shoulders stiffened. ‘I’m sorry I was late,’ he said in a rush. ‘I lost track of time this morning, I don’t know how it happens. My wife and I, we always set the alarm, so I don’t know how the delay happens there, and then there’s the bus …’
Dan shook his head. ‘Forget about that. How would you and your wife like to go to the Ice Follies with me and Beatrice?’
Pulpy stared at him.
‘We have a pair of extra tickets with your name on them.’ Dan chuckled. ‘Well, not really. I don’t even know what your wife’s name is! Ha! What is her name, anyway?’
‘Midge.’
‘Midge.’ Dan rolled her name around his mouth like he was savouring it.
Pulpy looked from Dan’s neat pant creases to his own baggy pleats. ‘When’s the show?’
‘Tonight. Does that work for you?’
Pulpy pressed a thumb between his eyebrows. ‘I think so. I’ll call Midge. I mean, I’m sure it works.’
‘On your lunch break, right?’ said Dan. ‘You’ll call her on your lunch break.’
‘My lunch break. Yes.’ Pulpy nodded. ‘Thank you.’
Dan winked at him. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘Tonight?’ said Midge.
‘He’s got the tickets,’ said Pulpy.
‘What if I can’t go tonight? What if I had plans?’
‘But you don’t. And it’s the Ice Follies, Midge – it’s your thing.’ The food court was busy. He eyed all the lineups forming. He still needed to eat.
‘It’s not my thing, it’s our thing. We signed up to take Couples Ice Dance Expression together, remember? So what row are we?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘Hmm. But the tickets are free.’
‘He didn’t say that, either.’
‘How could he possibly offer you tickets to an event and then charge you for them? What kind of a person would do that?’ She sighed. ‘Did you show him the catalogue, at least?’
‘The catalogue.’ Pulpy tightened his grip on the receiver. The damp edge of his coat collar scratched his neck.
‘Just bring it tonight, then. We’ll show it to his wife. The wife is the key.’
‘Right.’ He cleared his throat and thought about the square lump of mush that Midge’s catalogue must be now, on the floor of the bus.
‘What should I wear? Because I have a skirt, but I can’t wear nice shoes with it because of the weather.’
‘What about those dress pants you bought?’
‘I can’t wear them anymore. I took them to get altered and the woman at the tailor’s said, “Waist in or out?” And I said, “In.”’
‘Why don’t you just take them back and have her fix them?’
‘But she’s put so much effort into them already. I wouldn’t want to bother her. I couldn’t go back and ask her to reverse all that work. To reverse it, Pulpy! No, I’ll have to pick up some more dress pants at the mall. Do you need anything?’
‘I really don’t think we should be spending money willy-nilly like this, Midge.’
‘It’s not willy-nilly, it’s important. Besides, you’re getting a promotion and I’m going to sell lots of candles. And if we’re going to succeed we need to look good.’
Pulpy’s hands went to his pleats. ‘Then I think,’ he said, ‘that I’d like pants with creases.’
‘You mean the same as the ones you have?’
‘No, those are pleated. Where there are a lot of creases it’s pleats. I’m just looking for a single crease, down the front of each leg.’
‘There you go,’ she said. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’
‘She said she’d love to come,’ Pulpy told Dan after lunch.
‘Great!’ Dan clapped his big hands, once. ‘So it’s ten-fifty each. Usually they’re twelve but I got a deal. You can pay me later if you don’t have exact change. I don’t have any cash on me right now. Take a load off!’ Dan pointed at the two buttery leather chairs by his door.
Pulpy sat in one and was engulfed.
‘That’s nice, isn’t it? Did I or did I not say I was going to bring in chairs? These ones over here, they’re not quite as comfy but they’re just as expensive.’ Dan indicated the two hard-backed chairs in front of his desk, where Al’s couch had been.
‘Looks like quality wood,’ said Pulpy.
‘That they are. That they are indeed.’ Dan leaned back. ‘So, about your lateness this morning – the secretary tells me this is a chronic problem with you. What was it you were saying about the bus earlier?’
Pulpy nodded fast. ‘The bus driver wouldn’t leave the station until I stepped over the line.’
‘Those buses will be the death of us all,’ said Dan. ‘And that secretary is a snoop. She should mind her own business.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Well, back to work.’
‘Yes.’ Pulpy blinked, and heaved himself out of the chair. ‘Back to it.’
‘Do you have any food for this fish?’ asked the receptionist when Pulpy walked past her desk at the end of the day.
‘I d
o. I guess I forgot to give it to you.’ He found his coat in the closet and dug the small shaker of fish food out of his pocket.
‘I’m practising positive self-talk.’ She tapped a fingernail on the fishbowl without looking at it. ‘It says here you can only put eight ounces into an eight-ounce glass.’ She smoothed out the seminar flyer. ‘What that means is, you can’t fill it higher, so don’t even try.’
He handed her the fish food. ‘Dan said, um, he said you told him I was late all the time.’
She pushed open the dispenser and sniffed inside. ‘Well, you are, aren’t you?’
‘I’m not saying I’m not. It’s just that –’
‘All I’m hoping to communicate to you is that there is a new boss now, and you should try to make a good impression. I’m trying to help you. It’s all about reframing, that’s what the flyer talks about.’
‘I suppose that’s one way to see it, but I still don’t think –’
She set the shaker down and rolled it across her desk. ‘I could use a little reframing myself these days.’
‘You could?’ He slid his arms into his coat sleeves and was relieved that they were finally dry.
‘Work and home,’ she said. ‘That’s all there is. I get up, I go to work, I go home. Repeat.’
‘We all do the same thing.’ Pulpy put his hands in his pockets.
‘That’s exactly it. Eight ounces. But.’ She wagged her finger at him, cutting a pink streak through the air. ‘It all comes down to how you envision yourself, the flyer says. You can dramatically alter your view of your situation with a few simple exercises.’
‘How?’ He flattened his hands inside the scratchy hollows of his coat. ‘What does it say to do?’
She shrugged. ‘That’s what they teach you at the seminar.’
When Pulpy got home, Midge was waiting for him in the bedroom. She held the men’s store bag upside down over their bed and three pairs of pants slid out: one brown, one grey and one black.
‘I found three for you and none for me,’ she said. ‘How do you like that?’
‘I thought you were only getting me one pair.’
Pulpy and Midge Page 3
