Pulpy and Midge

by Jessica Westhead

  Pulpy felt his mouth moving in a number of different directions and he concentrated on making it form a straight line. ‘Midge is my wife.’

  ‘That she is.’

  ‘I love her very much.’

  ‘I know you do.’ Dan reached for another wing bone. ‘She’s a lovely woman.’

  ‘She is. She is lovely.’

  Dan nodded. ‘She’s lucky to have you. Beatrice and me, we don’t have the same rapport you two do. But that’s fine. I mean, that’s the way we like it. She goes her way, I go mine. And we like other people’s company.’ He leaned forward. ‘We like you and Midge.’

  ‘We like you too,’ said Pulpy.

  ‘That’s good. That’s really good.’ Dan nodded, and drained his glass. ‘There was something else I wanted to ask you,’ he said. ‘It’s about our secretary.’

  Pulpy looked past him to the television set mounted over the bar. There was a game on, but he couldn’t tell what type.

  ‘What do you think of her?’ said Dan.

  People in the stands started cheering. ‘She does a good job.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, Pulpy. I don’t think I agree with you there. Her methods, her processes, they’re outdated and inefficient. Beatrice and I are doing an overhaul, as you know, and Beatrice has been trying to introduce her to new and improved ways of doing things. But she refuses to adopt them.’

  ‘She already has a system in place. I guess it works for her.’

  Dan laid his palm flat on the table and spread his fingers wide apart. ‘Do you see this? This is the hand of a man who knows what he’s talking about.’

  Pulpy stared at it, and then Dan curled it into a fist.

  ‘Everything we’re trying to do for the good of the office, she obstructs. She sits there, and sits there, and Pulpy, just one time –’ He looked directly at Pulpy, unwavering. ‘I see her sitting there, and I want to corner her.’

  Suddenly Pulpy could hear the blood rushing in his ears, louder than the cheers from the TV, louder than the conversation sounds around them, louder than the loud music that was playing over everything else. ‘She does a good job,’ he said again, quietly.

  Dan’s eyes had contracted into angry pinpricks and he looked like he was going to say something else, but then he swerved around and focused on the game behind him. When he turned back a minute or so later he was grinning. ‘What the hell, huh? Let’s have some more beer.’

  Pulpy watched him pour, and felt dizzy, and then an alarm went off inside him and he sat up in his chair. ‘What time is it?’

  Dan checked his watch. ‘It’s only ten. Huh. Can you beat that? Time really does fly, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I have to go now,’ said Pulpy. ‘I have to go home.’

  The apartment was dark and quiet when Pulpy got in. He took off his coat and boots and tiptoed into the bedroom. The bed was empty.

  He looked at the fishbowl on Midge’s dresser. ‘Hi, Mr. Fins. Where’s Mrs. Pulpy?’

  The fish swam to the surface, dove back down and darted from side to side in a happy zigzag.

  Pulpy went back to the living room and sat down on the loveseat. He crossed his legs.

  He felt something on his neck and realized he was still wearing his ID badge. He reached up and undid the safety clip on the lanyard. He took it off and refastened it in front of his face. The click it made was louder than he expected.

  Then his thigh started beeping. ‘What –’ He looked down. It was buzzing too. The pager. He took it out of his pants pocket and held it in front of his face, trying to focus on the numbers on the glowing screen.

  He got to his feet and went to the phone and dialled.

  Dan picked up on the first ring. ‘Pulpy!’

  ‘Oh, hi.’

  ‘Tonight was fun, wasn’t it?’ Dan was slurring his words a little.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘We gotta have boys’ night more often, I say.’

  ‘Okay. But I should probably get off the phone, Dan, in case Midge is trying to reach me.’

  ‘Beatrice left a message and said she’ll be home late, so I wouldn’t wait up.’

  ‘Oh.’ Pulpy sat back in the loveseat.

  ‘The thing about us men is, we have to stick together. A wife is all well and good, but a man needs the company of other men.’

  ‘Hmm. It’s just strange I haven’t heard from Midge, that’s all.’

  ‘She probably figured I’d get Beatrice’s message and tell you. I wouldn’t worry about it.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘You’re right I’m right. Damn, those wings were good, weren’t they?’

  ‘They were really hot.’

  ‘The hotter the better, if you get my drift. Now, like I was saying about that secretary.’

  Pulpy rubbed his forehead. ‘What were you saying, Dan?’

  ‘She sits there, and sits there, and sits there. Doesn’t she?’

  ‘I’m not really sure what you’re talking about. She sits at her desk all day. That’s her job.’

  ‘Her job. I keep hearing those words. I don’t like them.’

  ‘I’m pretty tired, Dan. I should probably get some sleep.’

  ‘Sleep, yes. Shut-eye. And don’t forget about those flex hours! You go ahead and doze away with your wife tomorrow morning, on me.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Goodnight, Dan.’

  ‘Goodnight, Pulpy.’

  The first time Pulpy met Midge, they were both standing in front of a tropical fish aquarium at the pet store in the mall.

  He noticed her scalloped hair and wide-set brown eyes, and the way she stood perfectly still with her hands folded in front of her. Her face was blue-green and ripply from the tanks all around them.

  There was a plastic mermaid in the one they were watching, alone beside a treasure chest. The chest would open and close, letting loose a curl of bubbles that jiggled the little bodies on the surface.

  ‘Congo Tetra, Yoyo Loach,’ he said, pointing.

  She shook her head. ‘I think that one’s actually a Neon Tetra.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘They should get rid of the dead ones,’ she said. ‘How do they think the live ones feel, looking up at all those floaters?’

  ‘Which one do you want?’ he asked her.

  She looked at him. ‘I don’t want a dead fish.’

  ‘No, no, pick one of the swimming ones,’ he said. ‘I’ll buy it for you.’

  ‘But you don’t even know me.’

  ‘I’d like to.’

  She smiled a blue-green smile.

  ‘I’m Pulpy,’ he said.

  ‘I’m Midge.’

  He waited for her to wonder aloud about his name, but she didn’t. She just asked him for a Fancy Guppy, and he asked her out to dinner.

  THREE

  ‘Pulpy,’ said Midge over breakfast the next morning, ‘if you were unhappy you’d tell me, right?’

  He stopped eating his cereal. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘With us. If something about us was making you unhappy.’

  ‘Nothing about us makes me unhappy.’ He looked past the beautiful disarray of his wife’s hair to the fridge, where Midge had affixed a ‘To Buy’ list with a real-estate magnet.

  ‘But you’d tell me.’

  ‘Sure I would.’ There were practical things on there, like ‘soap’ and ‘foil food,’ but there were also a lot of other things, like ‘mojito pitcher,’ whatever that was, and ‘more shoes.’

  ‘Okay.’ She bowed her head. ‘It’s just that we used to have ESP.’

  ‘We did?’

  ‘That’s the way I thought of us, anyway. Like we could read each other’s minds.’ She sighed. ‘These days I don’t know. I just feel disconnected sometimes. Don’t you, every so often?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Pulpy. ‘I just go along.’

  ‘I wish I could do that.’

  ‘There are plenty of better things to wish for,’ he said.

  ‘I suppose there are.’ Sh
e perked up a little. ‘Did you have fun last night?’

  He shrugged. ‘It was all right. What about you?’

  ‘Beatrice and I talked about candles.’

  ‘Wax is a good icebreaker.’

  ‘It is! Beatrice is the one who brought it up, though. She wanted to know about the business, I guess. Or else she just likes candles a lot. We had that in common, anyway. Plus, I bought these clamdiggers!’ She lifted a leg to show him the pants she was wearing, which went to just below her knees.

  ‘Those are nice,’ he said. ‘They’re kind of short, though. Won’t you be cold?’

  ‘They’re for the summer. I like what they do to my calves, see?’ Midge stood up and posed on tiptoes for him so he could see her leg muscles flex.

  ‘I really like those clamdiggers.’ He reached for her.

  She backed away. ‘I don’t want you to be late because of me.’

  ‘That’s the best part. I won’t be, because Dan gave me flex hours last night. That means I’m allowed to be late.’

  ‘Well, then,’ she said, and sat on his lap. ‘I let Beatrice browse through my route catalogue – I brought it with me just in case. I told her, “When you light a pillar candle for the very first time, you have to let it burn an hour for every inch of its diameter. This permits the wax pool to spread to the outer rim and stops your candle from hollowing out in the middle.” I love telling people that. Nobody knows that stuff.’

  He stroked her back.

  ‘And then I said, “I have to be up front with you, Beatrice. It’s worth keeping in mind that scented candles are smokier than unscented candles.”’ She brought her face close to his. ‘She was really listening, Pulpy!’

  ‘That’s great.’ He touched his nose to the expanse of her forehead.

  ‘I’m sorry I was so late. But you were such a handsome sleeper when I got home I didn’t want to wake you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have minded.’

  ‘I know. But now you’re all rested and ready for the day. And you have flex hours.’ She kissed him.

  He kissed her back. ‘Let’s get you out of those clamdiggers,’ he said.

  ‘Good morning, Pulpy!’ said Beatrice when he walked in at nine-thirty.

  The receptionist, sitting beside her, turned and peered up at the clock.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said to both of them, and sniffed the air. ‘What’s that smell?’

  The receptionist sneezed.

  ‘It’s air freshener,’ said Beatrice. ‘I picked it up last night, when Midge and I were out. Oh, we had fun, Pulpy!’

  The receptionist looked between them with red-ringed eyes. She sneezed again.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said quickly. ‘But why do we need air freshener?’

  ‘I said to myself yesterday, “It really stinks around here,”’ said Beatrice. ‘I said to myself, “I am going to buy some air freshener and really have a go at this place.” Don’t you think that was a good idea? It’s orange spice.’

  Pulpy looked at the receptionist, who was scratching at her throat. ‘Well –’

  Dan threw open the door then and planted his feet wide. ‘Morning, Pulpy. Morning, Beatrice.’ He took a deep, approving breath. ‘It smells great in here!’

  ‘How do you feel, darling?’ said Beatrice. She winked at Pulpy. ‘Dan needed a few extra zzz’s this morning.’

  ‘I guess we both did, hey, Pulpy?’ said Dan, huffing the air. ‘What is that, citrus?’

  ‘It’s orange spice,’ said Beatrice.

  Dan clapped Pulpy on the back. ‘Sounds like just the ticket for our nine-thirty man over here!’

  Pulpy held out his arms to keep his balance. ‘You said I had flex hours.’

  ‘He did?’ said the receptionist.

  Dan ignored her. ‘I guess I did say that, Pulpy, you’re right. And the moral of the story is, don’t put stock in anything I tell you after five pitchers of beer, ha!’

  ‘Oh.’ His bottom teeth moved up over his top lip.

  ‘But I meant it, though. I’m just kidding you, Pulpy.’

  The receptionist sneezed, twice.

  Dan blinked at her, and then strode forward and kissed his wife hard on the cheek. ‘Today is going to be fantastic!’ he said. ‘I can feel it.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Pulpy asked the receptionist when Dan and Beatrice had gone upstairs.

  She shook her head and wheezed. ‘Allergies. She sprayed that stuff right in front of me.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Pulpy unzipped his coat. ‘It’s aerosol. It’ll dissipate.’

  ‘Until she sprays it again.’ She sighed and scratched her puffy face.

  He looked at the fish. ‘Hey, I was thinking maybe I should keep the fish upstairs, on my desk. There’s a draft every time the door opens here. The cold’s probably not good for him.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  He paused with his coat halfway off. ‘It might be the best thing for him.’

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t be the best thing for me. I like having it here. It’s a conversation piece. People come in, they comment on the fish. They’ll say, “Nice fish,” or “Where’d you get that fish?”’

  His coat slipped from around his waist and he jerked out an arm, but the fabric hit the wet floor before he could catch it. ‘What do you say when people ask you the second question?’

  ‘Why?’ she said. ‘Is it a secret you gave it to me?’

  ‘No, no, it’s not. Ha. I was just thinking of the fish’s best interests, that’s all.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Because it’s kind of our thing, the fish. Isn’t it?’

  He was bending to pick up his coat but he paused, folded into an awkward angle. ‘What do you mean, “our thing”?’

  ‘If you want to know what I say when people ask me where I got the fish, I tell them my boyfriend gave it to me. That way he comes off as less of a loser.’

  He straightened up and cleared his throat. ‘Did you tell your boyfriend you got a fish from me?’

  ‘He doesn’t care about those kinds of things. Fish. What about your wife? Does she know?’ Her smile widened. ‘She thinks it’s on your desk, doesn’t she? You didn’t tell her you gave it to me.’

  ‘I didn’t give him to you, you took him.’ He tossed his coat into the closet and shut the door.

  ‘How is that any different?’

  ‘I love my wife,’ Pulpy said quickly.

  ‘And I love my boyfriend,’ said the receptionist. ‘Sort of.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do about the air freshener,’ he said, and headed for the stairs.

  ‘What do you mean, she’s allergic?’ said Dan.

  ‘Just what I said,’ said Pulpy.

  ‘Well, I don’t buy it.’ Dan stretched and yawned.

  ‘Did you see her out there?’ said Pulpy. ‘She looks terrible.’

  Dan made an eye-rolling monster face, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth.

  ‘That’s not really –’ Pulpy crossed and uncrossed his legs on the hard-backed chair. ‘I mean, she’s really sick out there.’

  ‘So what do you want me to do about it, Pulpy?’

  ‘You could ask Beatrice not to spray any more air freshener.’

  ‘How can I tell her that?’ Dan picked up a pen and signed his name on a piece of paper lying in front of him. ‘You know how women are about the way things smell. And how come you’re so concerned, anyway? What’s that secretary ever done for you?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m just advocating for her, that’s all. She works hard. She’s a hard worker.’

  Dan squinted at him and grinned a lopsided grin. ‘Huh.’

  Pulpy reddened. ‘What?’

  ‘You know something, Pulpy?’ Dan put his head down, then brought it up again and rocked it back and forth. ‘I have a hangover the size of the planet Earth. Of the whole Earth, Pulpy! My God, my head feels like it’s going to go supernova. Dammit to hell, my head hurts! How do you feel?’

  ‘Not so good.’ Pulpy stood up
. ‘I guess I’ve got a headache too.’

  All of the pay phones were occupied when Pulpy went to them at lunch. He sat down at a nearby table and waited.

  There were three phones: one was being used by a tall man with big teeth, one by a short woman with long hair and one by a teenage boy wearing suspenders. Pulpy did a double take. Teenagers were wearing suspenders now?

  He looked at the two quarters in his hand. He flipped one of them end over end between his fingers.

  The short woman hung up, and Pulpy headed for her phone. But then the teen with the suspenders reached for that receiver too and took it off the cradle.

  Pulpy stopped, and then kept going. ‘Hi,’ he said to the teenager.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Um, I was going to use that phone.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, you’re already using one.’

  The teen shrugged. ‘I need two.’

  The suspenders, Pulpy could see now, had red pinstripes on them. ‘Why do you need two pay phones?’

  ‘I’m doing a conference call.’

  ‘What?’

  The teenager showed Pulpy the back of one of his hands in a dismissive way, which was hard to do while he was holding the receiver, and turned away from him.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Pulpy. ‘I need to contact my wife.’

  ‘Whatever.’ The teen put two quarters into the second phone.

  ‘Hey.’

  The teenager dialled. ‘Hi, is Bruce there?’ he said into the phone Pulpy wanted to use. ‘Yeah, I’ll hold.’ Then he spoke into the other receiver. ‘Jaybird, you still there? I’m holding for Bruce, that cocksucker.’

  Pulpy opened and closed his mouth, then stopped himself.

  The teenager glanced at him over his shoulder. ‘You still here?’ He went back to the receiver. ‘No, not you. There’s some weird businessman standing behind me. Yeah, he’s a cocksucker too.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Pulpy, ‘I really do not think –’

  ‘Bruce!’ said the teen into Pulpy’s phone. ‘I got Jaybird on the other line!’

  Pulpy looked at his watch.