Pulpy and Midge

by Jessica Westhead

  Midge picked up after a few rings, sounding out of breath. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Midge.’

  ‘Oh, hi.’

  He heard someone’s voice in the background and then Midge muffled the receiver and said, ‘It’s Pulpy.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ he said.

  ‘Jean’s over here with me.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. You’re having coffee with her.’

  Midge laughed. ‘Actually, we started with coffee but then we switched to wine! I wanted to make mojitos again but Dan and I finished all the rum that night. Want to hear something disgusting?’

  He heard Jean laughing too. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Jean told me about a rude email she got from her husband today, a quiz. Somebody sent it to everybody in his office and he sent it to her.’

  ‘What kind of quiz?’ Pulpy pressed the receiver against his ear.

  ‘It had really rude questions, but that was a trick, because the first thing you’d think to answer would be … a rude thing, but really the answer would be something not rude at all.’

  ‘Give me an example.’

  ‘I don’t know if I could.’

  He pushed his chair in further, knocking his thighs on his keyboard. ‘Try.’

  ‘All right.’ She paused, and giggled. ‘Like … “I go in your mouth hard and I come out soft. What am I?” Hmm. But I don’t remember what that one was for. There was another one, though. Something about a shaft … then “discharging my load” … what was it? Oh, I know. “Guys and gals both go down on me. What am I?”’

  Pulpy’s ear was hurting but he didn’t loosen his grasp on the receiver. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘An elevator!’ said Midge, and a high, excited hoot blew out of her. ‘See, the answers were innocent like that, but the questions weren’t innocent at all! Jean says her husband told her the email’s going around the Internet, so everybody’s getting it. If somebody sends it to you, you should print it out. Then we can read the riddles to each other!’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye out.’

  She went quiet. ‘Why don’t you sound excited? I’m telling you about something sexy.’

  Jean said something else and Midge snickered, then shushed her.

  He jiggled his knees against his keyboard tray. ‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel anymore.’

  ‘Well, maybe you should figure that out.’

  ‘You’re right, I should.’ He cleared his throat. ‘So, um, Dan wants us to meet him and Beatrice for dinner tonight. He wants to discuss the potluck.’

  ‘I thought the potluck was over.’

  ‘It is. It didn’t go very well.’

  ‘I’ll have to see, Pulpy. Right now I’m here with Jean.’

  ‘Yes, right, of course. But he doesn’t want to meet until seven, so maybe you could meet us at the restaurant? It’s the hotel surf-and-turf where I wanted to take you when I thought I was getting the promotion. Which is still a possibility, I think, maybe. I just really think I should probably go if he wants me to go.’

  ‘You know I don’t eat fish, Pulpy.’

  ‘I know, but you could eat something from the turf part.’

  She sighed. ‘Fine, I’ll meet you there at seven, then.’

  ‘Do you mind, really? Because you know what? I’ll go back to him and say we can’t make it. I’ll go back and reschedule.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ she said.

  His shoulders went up to his ears and then fell again. ‘Thank you, Midge.’

  ‘Pulpy?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We can’t ever take each other for granted.’

  His hand slipped a little on the receiver. ‘We won’t.’

  She hung up, and he held the phone against his ear a little longer.

  After work, Pulpy stood at the top of the stairs with his coat on and looked down at the receptionist’s desk. The receptionist was under it, yanking at the wires that linked her to the Winter Flute.

  ‘Be careful with that,’ he said. ‘You might get a shock.’

  ‘I already did.’ She didn’t look up. ‘I already got a big one.’

  He hurried down the last few steps. ‘Are you all right?’

  She straightened, still kneeling, and shook a plug at him. ‘Not from this. Not from these –’ She ducked back behind her desk and surfaced with an armload of cables. ‘From him, when he told me I couldn’t go to “Be An Exceptional Receptionist” tomorrow.’ She tossed the cables over the side.

  ‘When did he say that?’

  ‘Just now.’ She sat down heavily on her chair. ‘When I asked him. He said I should’ve asked sooner, but I know it wouldn’t have made a difference.’

  He put his hands in his pockets. ‘I guess it is kind of last-minute, though. To wait so long to mention it.’

  ‘No, he never would’ve let me do it.’ She slapped the flyer on her desk. ‘I just faxed in my registration, though, and I’ve got the confirmation report so I know it went through.’ She patted another piece of paper next to the flyer.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, if he told you you’re not supposed to go.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Her diamond eyes glittered behind her glasses. ‘Whose side are you on, anyway? Oh wait, that’s right, I forgot. You’re his buddy.’

  ‘I’m not his buddy,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You think he would’ve said yes if I’d asked him sooner? I got everything done. I set everything up for tomorrow, so all she has to do is sit here. I did extra work so I’d be free and clear. And he still said no.’ She collapsed backward, looking exhausted. ‘They’re in on it together, you know. They want me out of here.’

  ‘But you’re doing a good job.’

  ‘You’re the only one who seems to think so.’ She took a shaky breath, and her eyes watered.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Don’t cry.’

  A tear spilled down her cheek and she swiped at it. ‘I’m not crying.’

  He felt around in his coat to see if he had any tissues, but all he found was a used napkin in his breast pocket, with mustard on it. He held it out to her.

  ‘No thanks,’ she said, and smiled a little. ‘You’re the best thing about this place, you know that?’

  Pulpy stood a little taller. ‘I am?’

  She sniffed and nodded. ‘Would you do something for me?’

  ‘Sure, anything.’

  ‘I’m going to the Poacher’s Oar and I could use some company. You want to come and have a drink with me?’

  ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘What about your boyfriend?’

  ‘I said company, not misery.’

  He coughed. ‘I have to be somewhere at seven.’

  ‘But the Oar’s just around the corner from here. Come on, just one drink.’

  ‘The place I’m going is just around the corner too.’ He nodded. ‘All right, if it’ll make you feel better, then why not.’

  ‘Why not?’ She smiled at him. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ said the receptionist, ‘but I’m getting a rusty nail.’

  ‘What’s in that?’ said Pulpy.

  ‘It’s got Scotch and Drambuie, with a lemon twist.’

  ‘That sounds pretty good. Two rusty nails, please,’ he said to the bartender.

  The Poacher’s Oar was dark and cavernous with nets, anchors and wire snares hung on the walls.

  ‘I like the idea of a rusty nail,’ she said. ‘Because it’s sharp and it’s dirty, and you drink it.’

  He held on to the coat hooks under the bar. ‘So, do you like coming here? I mean, is this a place you go to – have you been here before?’

  She grinned. ‘Do I come here often?’

  ‘Oh, ha. Ha, ha. No, I didn’t mean – I wasn’t trying to say that.’

  ‘Yeah, I come here a lot,’ she said. ‘Lester and I come here. They do a tuna-and-ribs special on Thursdays.’

  ‘What day is it today?’

  ‘Not Thursday.’

  ‘Right. Ha
, ha.’

  The bartender watched them, grinning, while he poured the Drambuie.

  ‘What about you?’ she said.

  Pulpy shook his head. ‘Midge and I don’t like to eat fish.’

  ‘No, I mean, have you been here before?’

  ‘This place?’ He looked around. ‘No.’

  She snorted. ‘You’re funny sometimes.’

  ‘I am?’

  The bartender set their drinks down. ‘That’ll be twelve dollars.’

  The receptionist looked at Pulpy. ‘You want to get the first round?’

  ‘Oh, sure. Yes.’ He reached for his wallet and smiled at the bartender. ‘Round number one is on me.’ On their way to a couple of chairs he said to her, ‘I thought you said just one drink.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll reimburse you.’

  ‘No, no, it’s not that. It’s just I have to meet Midge at the Rod and Rifle at seven.’

  ‘Then you’re in luck, because we’re right next door.’

  He blinked at her. ‘We are?’

  ‘That’s the hotel restaurant and this is the hotel bar. Look, you can even see the tables from here.’ She patted the chairs they were standing beside. ‘So there you go. We’ll have time for round number two after all.’

  He saw the restaurant seating at the other end then, slightly less dimly lit and decorated with fishing tackle and large steel traps. He swallowed and pointed across the room. ‘Let’s sit over there.’

  ‘Don’t you want to be closer to the restaurant?’ She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Oh, I get it. You don’t want your wife to see us together, right?’

  ‘She wouldn’t mind.’ He looked down at his rusty nail. ‘We’re just having a friendly drink.’

  ‘Exactly. You have a life, don’t you? I bet she does things you don’t know about. Like right now – you don’t know what she’s doing right at this minute, do you?’

  He tinkled his ice, which had barely started to melt. ‘She’s with her candle friend.’

  ‘Well, then that’s an exception.’ She led him across the room to two other chairs. ‘How’s that candle thing going for her, anyway?’

  ‘Pretty well, I guess.’

  ‘Good.’ She took a drink. ‘That’s good.’

  He looked at his watch.

  ‘We just got here,’ she said. ‘Relax. Have a seat.’

  ‘Okay.’ He sat. ‘Ha, ha.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what. When she gets here you can introduce us, and that way she’s got nothing to worry about. There’s no mystery, you’re not trying to hide anything, and I’m just the receptionist. Problem solved.’

  ‘There’s no problem,’ he said.

  ‘That’s what I’m saying.’ She downed her drink and set the empty glass on the table.

  ‘I guess I’ll –’ He finished his drink too. ‘I’ll go and get the next round, then.’ He stood up.

  ‘Make my next one a double,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  By seven o’clock they were onto round number five.

  Pulpy leaned against the bar and nodded at the bartender. He didn’t have to specify their drink anymore – the man made up two double rusty nails and Pulpy paid him, focusing hard as he counted out the bills.

  Then he heard Midge’s laugh, and at the sound of her voice his hands locked with the money fanned between his fingers. She laughed again, and he ducked.

  ‘You all right, buddy?’ The bartender peered at him over the railing.

  Pulpy looked up from his position between two stools. ‘It’s my wife!’

  ‘You mean that’s not your wife over there having drinks with you?’ The bartender was smiling.

  He shook his head. ‘She’s the receptionist.’

  ‘Right.’ The bartender laughed. ‘Of course she is.’

  ‘Could you please do me a favour?’

  ‘Sure, buddy. What’ll it be?’

  ‘Could you check – that laughing woman with the beautiful hair is my wife. Is she looking over here?’

  ‘Hold on –’ The bartender squinted across the room to the restaurant. ‘Nope, she’s talking to another couple, looks like.’

  ‘Good. Thank you.’ Pulpy wiped his forehead. ‘I’m not – I’m not here doing anything wrong, if that’s what you’re thinking. I love my wife. The receptionist and I are just having a friendly drink together.’

  ‘Hey, so long as you pay me for this round of friendly drinks I just poured and tip me generously, I don’t judge.’ The bartender looked in Midge’s direction again. ‘The coast is clear, if you want to make a run for it.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Pulpy handed up all of the money he was holding and then headed back to the receptionist’s table in a low crouch. ‘Midge is here,’ he whispered.

  ‘She is?’ The receptionist stood up unsteadily. ‘Where is she? Let’s go say hi.’ Her voice was loose and loud. ‘What are you doing on the floor?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘She’s with – people. Never mind. I thought she’d be alone, so now you don’t need to do anything. Don’t even look over there, maybe.’

  She scowled across the room. ‘Why are they with her?’

  ‘We’re having dinner with Dan and Beatrice.’ He sighed and sank down onto his knees. ‘I didn’t want to mention that part in case it might upset you.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ She reached for her coat.

  ‘We’re not friends with them,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s just a work thing.’

  Midge’s laugh bounced across the room again.

  ‘It doesn’t sound like a work thing,’ she said.

  He peered up at the underside of their table and saw that someone had carved a heart with two sets of initials into the wood. He thought that must’ve been a hard thing to do, carving upside down like that. Half of the heart was covered by a big wad of gum. ‘So, um, do you want to come over and introduce yourself to Midge?’

  ‘Are you kidding me? With them there?’ The receptionist grabbed her purse. ‘I don’t like to talk to them when I’m in the office, let alone on my own time. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Then could you just –’ He looked down at his hands. ‘Could you please leave quietly, then?’

  She glared across the room. ‘It’s too late. They’ve seen me.’

  Pulpy slumped sideways and pulled his knees up to his chest. ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Just stay down there until I leave. Then you can crawl over and pretend we never did this.’

  ‘I think I’m drunk,’ he said.

  ‘Well, that’s your problem, isn’t it?’ And she walked away.

  Pulpy sat there on the floor until he saw the door swing shut behind her, and then he looked at the bartender and jerked his head toward the restaurant.

  The bartender gave him the thumbs-up.

  He reached up to yank his coat off his chair, and then crab-walked over to the bar and eased himself onto a stool. Only then did he turn his bleary gaze to the low-lit depths of the restaurant.

  The three of them were sitting together talking and not looking in his direction. Pulpy took a deep breath and called out, ‘Midge! Over here!’

  They all turned their heads, and Midge smiled and waved.

  He got off the stool and teetered, but steadied himself on the bar. Then he tottered across the room. ‘Hi, Midge. Hi, Dan. Hi, Beatrice.’

  ‘Hi Pulpy!’ Midge’s cheeks were bright pink. ‘Are you all right? You look a bit … not yourself.’

  ‘I got here early and had a few drinks at the bar,’ he said. ‘I guess they caught up with me on an empty stomach, ha, ha!’

  ‘We just saw the secretary from our office,’ said Beatrice. ‘She was in the bar too, did you know that?’

  ‘She was? Huh. Maybe I saw her. I can’t remember.’

  Midge giggled. ‘Her hair is so bushy, Pulpy!’

  Beatrice gave Midge’s upper arm a tweak. ‘Midge says you gave her the secretary’s hairdresser’s card!’

  ‘Oh, well, I –’
Pulpy blinked. ‘That was just …’

  ‘We like Midge’s hair just fine the way it is,’ said Beatrice.

  He reached for the edge of the table and held on. ‘So do I.’

  ‘Rolled right up to the canteen after work, eh?’ said Dan. ‘That’s my boy!’

  ‘It’s not something I usually do,’ said Pulpy in a fast voice. ‘But Midge was with her friend at our place, so I thought I’d leave them to it and get here early.’

  ‘We were drinking wine!’ said Midge. ‘So I’m feeling a little bit not myself, myself!’ She giggled some more.

  Dan and Beatrice looked at each other across the table, and Dan grinned. ‘The drunker the merrier, I say. Looks like Beatrice and I are going to have to play catch-up!’

  ‘We didn’t see you sitting at the bar earlier, Pulpy,’ said Beatrice. She was wearing an outfit that stretched and glinted.

  ‘The stool I was sitting on was very low, maybe that’s why.’ He took his linen napkin out of his waterglass and placed it on his lap. It covered his thighs and draped over his knees, so that all he could see when he looked down was an expanse of white. Midge could skate on his lap, he thought.

  ‘And you didn’t see the secretary.’ Beatrice smoothed down her bangs. ‘Isn’t that strange?’

  ‘Very strange indeed!’ Dan laced his thick fingers together under his chin.

  Midge frowned and picked up her menu, which had velvety tassels on it.

  Pulpy stiffened and looked quickly between his boss and his wife. ‘So, Dan,’ he said. ‘I’ve been giving this potluck issue some thought, and –’

  Dan held up a hand. ‘There’s plenty of time for that. But first, we are men of action, and men of action must eat!’

  ‘What about the women of action?’ said Beatrice, and she winked at Midge.

  Midge smiled. ‘I meant to tell you, Beatrice, if you ever want more wax information, or hostessing tips, or if you want a Candle-Brations order form, please let me know.’

  Beatrice pursed her lips. ‘I just might do that,’ she said. ‘Maybe Pulpy could let me flip through that catalogue you gave him for the office.’

  ‘He hasn’t shown it to you yet?’ Midge frowned at him.

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve been meaning to, Midge, really. But the potluck –’