Pulpy and Midge

by Jessica Westhead

  ‘Potluck, botluck,’ she said.

  Dan lifted his napkin and waved it at a pinched-looking young man in a bow tie, who hurried over to their table.

  ‘Good evening,’ said the waiter. ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘It is,’ said Dan. ‘It is a good evening. Could you please, if you would be so kind, provide our table with a bottle of your house wine, which would be on par with the goodness of the evening?’

  ‘Will that be red or white, sir?’

  ‘“Red or white,” he says.’ Dan looked at Pulpy. ‘Pulpy? What do you say?’

  ‘Red?’ Pulpy looked at Midge, who was staring at the tablecloth. ‘Or white. They’re both nice.’

  Dan nodded. ‘You’re right. You could not be righter. Bring us two bottles of each.’

  ‘Excellent choice, sir.’ The waiter left.

  ‘This is nice, the presentation.’ Midge took a bun from the bowl on the table. ‘Usually you see buns in baskets. Putting them in a bowl – they’re still only buns but they look like nicer buns.’

  ‘Ho-ho, nicer buns are the way to go!’ said Dan.

  Beatrice did a little hop in her seat and grabbed Midge’s wrist. ‘Don’t you love this place?’

  Midge flinched. ‘I’ve never been here before.’

  Pulpy had the feeling he should say something. ‘We both like fish.’

  ‘They do an excellent red snapper here,’ said Dan. ‘It’s got lemon pepper. Lemon and pepper – together at last!’

  ‘No, he means live fish,’ said Midge.

  Pulpy looked across the table and smiled at her, then said to Dan, ‘But cooked fish can be nice too.’

  Dan nodded and gave the cuffs of his blue blazer a tug. ‘I’m glad the secretary got rid of that fish she had on her desk. It was starting to stink up the office.’

  Midge looked at him. ‘What fish?’

  ‘She had a fish,’ Pulpy said quickly. ‘He died.’

  ‘She never asked permission to keep a fish there, either,’ said Beatrice.

  ‘Where did she get her fish?’ said Midge.

  ‘Her boyfriend.’ Pulpy took a bun and ripped it in half. ‘He won him for her at the winter fair.’

  ‘That was nice of him,’ said Beatrice. She looked hard at Dan. ‘You never won me anything at any fair.’

  ‘Giving someone a sick fish,’ he said. ‘I don’t call that nice in my books.’

  ‘He wasn’t sick at first,’ said Pulpy. ‘He was healthy in the beginning.’ He plucked some crumbs off his side plate when he saw they were all looking at him. ‘She just never changed the water.’

  ‘What kind of a person doesn’t change a fish’s water?’ said Dan. ‘She abused that fish.’

  ‘I think maybe it was because she never gets a chance to leave her desk,’ said Pulpy. ‘She says she gets dehydrated.’

  ‘Then why bring the fish in the first place?’ Dan straightened in his chair. ‘She should have kept it at home where she has easy access to a tap.’

  ‘Maybe she was trying to prove a point,’ said Pulpy, and his eyes widened when he said it. He saw that Midge was looking back and forth between them, chewing. ‘Anyway, I was changing the water for her.’

  ‘Wait a minute now,’ said Beatrice. ‘Didn’t you tell me that was your fish, Pulpy?’

  ‘Pardon?’ He coughed, and Midge handed him her ice water.

  ‘When I saw you in the hallway after it died.’ Beatrice nodded, and pointed at him. ‘You were carrying it and I said was that the secretary’s fish, and you said no it was yours.’

  ‘Pulpy keeps his fish on his desk,’ said Midge. ‘Don’t you, Pulpy?’

  ‘Really? I’ve never seen a fish on his desk. Maybe he keeps it in his drawer!’ Beatrice licked butter from the corner of her mouth. ‘I think I’m going to order that snapper. All this fish talk is making me hungry.’

  The waiter came back with their wine and positioned his corkscrew over the first bottle.

  Pulpy cleared his throat. ‘Maybe you should ask Eduardo about my fish,’ he said to Beatrice. ‘He sits next to me, and our desks are also very close to Dan’s office.’

  The cork on the first bottle popped, and the waiter started on the second.

  ‘So that was you!’ she said, and turned to Dan. ‘See, I told you we heard somebody.’

  Pulpy blinked at the gold buckles that joined Beatrice’s sleeves to the neck of her elasticized top. ‘You and Eduardo heard somebody.’

  ‘Right.’ Dan reached for the open bottle and poured himself a glass of red. ‘Her and Eduardo.’ He took a swig and grinned at Pulpy. ‘I guess you figured I don’t know what she gets up to, huh?’

  Pop! The waiter jammed the corkscrew into the top of the third bottle. Pop!

  Beatrice reached for the open bottle of white and tilted it over her glass.

  ‘Pulpy,’ said Midge, ‘what are they talking about?’

  ‘Have a drink with us, darling,’ Beatrice said to her. ‘We’ll all feel better.’

  Pulpy reached for the second bottle of white and filled Midge’s glass, then his. Then he took a gulp. ‘Midge, the receptionist wanted my fish so I gave it to her. Because I felt sorry for her, because she’s all by herself out there. And I was here with her earlier too, but just for a friendly drink. Because she needed to be cheered up so I kept her company. She was going to introduce herself to you so there’d be no mystery, but then she saw Dan and Beatrice and she left.’ He picked up his glass again with shaky hands.

  Midge went pale and fumbled with her cutlery.

  Pop! The waiter stepped back and looked at the four full glasses. ‘So, is everyone all right here?’

  Dan winked at him. ‘Give us five minutes.’

  The waiter went away.

  ‘She needed to be cheered up because you won’t let her go to her seminar,’ Pulpy said to Dan. ‘All she wants to do is improve herself.’

  Midge let out a small, sad sound and stood up.

  ‘Midge,’ said Pulpy, ‘please don’t be upset. It really wasn’t anything.’

  ‘If it wasn’t anything then why didn’t you tell her in the first place?’ said Beatrice.

  ‘Yes,’ said Midge. ‘Why didn’t you say that before?’ She pulled her coat over her shoulders and pushed her chair back.

  Pulpy saw that she was wearing her new clamdiggers. ‘I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.’

  ‘Well, too late. And anyway, Dan and I had our own friendly drink, didn’t we, Dan? We had our own friendly mojitos last Friday, after you went to bed.’

  Pulpy pressed his rubbery-feeling hands together under the table. ‘You said you didn’t remember anything.’

  ‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘But that doesn’t mean nothing happened, now does it?’

  Pulpy could hear his wife’s boots, with her lovely bare calves overtop, make two small stomps as she moved away from the table. He looked away from her to the crumbs left in the bread bowl.

  Midge started to cry. ‘You don’t care about me and you don’t care about my candles!’

  ‘How can you say that?’ said Pulpy. ‘Of course I care!’

  ‘Then why didn’t you show anyone the catalogue?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Beatrice. ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘It got wet.’ He sighed a miserable sigh. ‘I dropped it on the bus and it got wet.’

  ‘That is it!’ Midge was wailing now. ‘I’m going home!’

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ said Beatrice. ‘You shouldn’t be alone right now.’ She gathered up her coat and took Midge’s arm.

  Pulpy stood up but Midge waved him back down. ‘Stay here and have your Social Committee meeting. I don’t want to interrupt any more of your important business!’ And she ran out of the restaurant with Beatrice following close behind.

  Dan dragged his chair closer to Pulpy’s. ‘I guess it’s just you and me and the rest of this wine, Pulpy. Boys’ night!’

  Pulpy tugged on the edge of the tablecloth. ‘What was Midge saying, Dan, about t
he mojitos?’

  ‘We had a few more drinks after you hit the hay, that’s all. And we talked about candles – you know that. I told you that already.’ Dan poured red into Pulpy’s half-empty glass of white. ‘Oops, looks like you’re drinking rosé now, ho-ho! Go ahead and finish that and we’ll pour you a proper glass of red. That’s a man’s colour, none of this white for us, no sir! Until we finish the red that is, ha!’

  Pulpy drank it down and felt woozy. ‘What did you mean about knowing … what Beatrice is up to?’

  Dan leaned back. ‘It works for us.’

  The waiter appeared again and looked at the two empty chairs.

  ‘It’s just us boys now,’ said Dan. ‘The hens have flown home to the coop. Bring us a couple of steaks, will you? Rare. And another bottle of house red.’

  ‘Actually, Dan,’ said Pulpy, ‘I take my steak medium-well.’

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ Dan said to the waiter. ‘I’m his boss, and he’ll eat rare and like it.’ He elbowed Pulpy. ‘Trust me on this one.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ The waiter left them.

  ‘So, like I was saying,’ said Dan, ‘I let Beatrice have her own fun on the side because it turns her crank, and when her crank is turned she’s a lot more agreeable, if you get my drift.’ He refilled both of their glasses. ‘The thing is, it’s not cheating if the other person knows about it.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Pulpy. ‘I guess I’ve never heard of that kind of thing before.’

  ‘Stick with me, Pulpy. I’ll show you the world.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m not really sure that world is for us.’

  ‘You just haven’t tried it yet. Once you try it, you’ll be hooked. Believe me.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Pulpy took another drink.

  ‘Listen, I’ll tell you what. You and Midge talk it over, and if it sounds like something you might want to sample, Beatrice and I’ll be there for you.’

  Pulpy choked and coughed and dribbled red wine onto his lap napkin. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘If you want to give it a go we can help ease you into things. We play safe too, so there’s nothing to worry about there.’

  Pulpy wiped his mouth and stared at his boss.

  ‘And if you don’t like it, nobody ever has to be the wiser. We all go home and never speak of it again. If you do like it, though, then the sky’s the limit. I’m telling you, Pulpy, this will change your life. And it’ll change your relationship too, for the better.’

  Pulpy finished his glass and poured himself another. He was having trouble sitting up straight now so he slumped sideways onto the arm of his chair. ‘Midge is always on the lookout for new ways to improve our relationship.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Dan pointed at him. ‘You see what I’m talking about? And right now Midge and Beatrice are having a chat just like this one, and Midge is probably saying the same things you’re saying. You both want your relationship to succeed. You both cherish what you have, right?’

  ‘Right.’ Pulpy’s mouth was dry so he moistened it with more wine. He was mildly surprised by what he said next, but that didn’t stop the words from coming out. ‘I’ll have to talk to Midge about this.’

  ‘Of course you will. No question. You two jaw it over and see what’s what. And if you decide to give it a go, we’ll be waiting.’

  ‘Thank you, Dan, that’s – that’s very nice of you.’

  ‘Nice, shmice. It’s not like we’re not getting something out of this, am I right? Ha!’

  ‘Ha,’ said Pulpy, and then he slid onto the carpet and blacked out.

  ‘Pass me the swatter,’ said Midge.

  Pulpy squinted at her. The sun was right behind her head, framing the flicked-up edges of her hair. ‘Is there one by you?’

  ‘A big one,’ she said. ‘Hand that swatter over.’

  ‘Let me get him.’ He stood up from his lawn chair with the swatter held high.

  The wasp flew past Midge and she squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Don’t let him sting me.’

  ‘I won’t.’ He watched the wasp zoom back and forth, each time coming closer to the pink expanses of his wife’s exposed skin. ‘I’ve almost got him.’

  The wasp was hovering over the soft crease at the top of Midge’s forearm. Pulpy wound up, aiming to knock it out of the air before it struck.

  The wasp dove and Pulpy swung.

  And missed.

  ‘Owww!’ Midge clapped a hand over her arm and opened her eyes. Then she looked right at Pulpy and slowly uncovered the red welt that had already started to form.

  ‘Ho-ho!’ said the wasp. ‘Am I right?’

  And it soared over to Pulpy, and Pulpy could see there was something about this wasp that he recognized. Something about the shape of its head, or the way it kept opening and closing its wings around nothing.

  Pulpy awoke to a buzzing sound and he sat up with his arms flailing. ‘Look out, Midge!’ he shouted, but then realized she wasn’t beside him.

  He’d been dreaming about wasps and now he was alone, on a long, hard couch, wearing only his briefs. He ran his hand along the velvety fabric beneath him. Dan and Beatrice’s divan. He blinked at the sunlight pouring in though the lacy drapes over the bay window. Dan and Beatrice’s living room. And the buzzing was coming from down the hall.

  Pulpy covered himself with the blanket that had fallen down to his waist and looked around for his clothes. He couldn’t see them anywhere.

  The buzzing stopped.

  He heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall and he yanked the blanket up to his chin.

  Dan appeared in the doorway wearing slippers and a yellow bathrobe. He put his hands on his hips and grinned at Pulpy. ‘I just ground some beans for the best cup of joe you will ever have in your life. Do you take sugar? I know you’re a cream man.’

  Pulpy nodded, then shook his head. ‘Why am I in your house?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ Dan’s shins were thick with dark hair, and his slippers were open-toed.

  ‘Um.’ Pulpy shivered. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Look at me, the host with the least.’ Dan shook his big head. ‘There I go and strip you down and I give you one of the thinnest throws in the linen closet. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.’

  Pulpy watched Dan bound up his spiral staircase, his robe billowing, and took a few deep breaths. His recollection of the night before ended at the restaurant. There was nothing after that.

  Dan came down the stairs with his slippers flapping. ‘Tada!’ he said, and tossed a blue robe similar to his own onto the divan. ‘Prepare to be toasty!’

  Pulpy’s eyes rested on the soft pile of terry cloth at his feet. ‘Where are my clothes, Dan?’

  ‘Ho-ho! You really don’t remember anything, do you?’

  ‘Not really.’ His head pounded.

  ‘Well, put that on and I’ll fill you in over that coffee I was telling you about.’

  ‘I should call Midge.’ He sat up further and felt dizzy. ‘She must be wondering where I am.’

  ‘You know, I’d advise against that.’

  Pulpy looked down at his bare thighs. He had goosebumps. ‘Why is that, Dan?’

  ‘I talked to Beatrice a little while ago and she said that lovely wife of yours is still living it up in Dream Land. What’s good for the goose, huh? I wish! Working men like you and me are needed elsewhere, unfortunately. AKA the office. Ha!’

  ‘Where’s Beatrice?’

  ‘She’s already there, holding down the fort. Lucky for us we have flex hours, but then we can only stretch those so far before people start to talk. Am I right?’

  ‘No … I mean, Beatrice stayed over at our house?’

  ‘You got it.’

  Pulpy rubbed his eyes. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what. Put that robe on, follow me to the kitchen, and all your questions shall be answered.’

  ‘All right.’ Pulpy sat there, still clutching the blanket to his chest. ‘Could you please, um, just …’

  ‘The ma
n wants his privacy. I can respect that. I’ve seen it all in this life but I can certainly respect that.’ Dan started whistling and turned to stroll back down the hall.

  Pulpy let out a long breath. His hands shook slightly as he pulled on the oversized robe and tied the belt in a double knot. He folded the blanket and laid it on the divan, then slowly made his way over the cold floor in the direction his boss had taken.

  ‘There he is!’ said Dan when Pulpy shuffled into the big, bright kitchen. ‘Now go ahead and pick a mug and I’ll fill you all the way up.’

  There was an array of large mugs in the style of Dan’s ‘Back off – it’s early’ one lined up along the counter. Pulpy stepped forward and selected the only one without a phrase on it. ‘I take sugar,’ he said.

  ‘Ho-ho, you may want to look inside there and see what else you take!’

  Pulpy peered into his plain white mug. On the bottom was a perfectly curled miniature turd. His stomach lurched and he set the mug back down with a clatter.

  ‘It’s fake, don’t worry. That’s my gag mug. Isn’t it great? Ha, ha!’

  ‘Yes. Great.’

  ‘Oh, it’s good to laugh.’ Dan pointed the coffee pot at him. ‘Grab yourself another one. Unless you like that kind of thing, ha!’

  ‘Ha.’ Pulpy picked up one of the mugs with the sayings on them. This one read ‘Go ahead – make my morning’ and had a cartoon of a piece of toast wearing a cowboy hat.

  Dan poured coffee into it and then filled a mug for himself; his had a picture of a moose with what appeared to be dirty laundry hanging from its antlers and the caption ‘Moose-t Be Monday.’

  Pulpy watched Dan’s shoulders bunch under his robe as he replaced the coffee pot on its burner, and then looked down at the pale triangle of his own concave chest. Half of one nipple was visible, and when he raised his head he saw Dan looking there too.

  ‘What’s that line you’ve got there?’ his boss said. ‘Some kind of scar?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Pulpy put his mug on the counter and covered himself with the robe, then cinched the belt tighter.