Pulpy and Midge

by Jessica Westhead

  ‘What’s going on over there?’ said Dan. ‘Sounds like hijinks to me.’

  Pulpy heard a door slam. ‘I can’t talk now,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t forget about the Frisbee teams. We’re counting on you, Pulpy.’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘Have a good night,’ said Dan. ‘I’d tell you not to do anything I wouldn’t do, but then you wouldn’t be left with much, ho-ho!’ His boss hung up.

  Pulpy stood there listening to the dial tone and then his ear filled with the bleeps of numbers being pressed on the other phone. ‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Midge? Who are you calling?’

  ‘Hang up, Pulpy!’ she yelled.

  He replaced the phone in its cradle and sat down on the rumpled loveseat.

  A few minutes later Midge reappeared with the fishbowl in her arms. ‘Mr. Fins and I will be staying at Jean’s tonight,’ she said.

  He stood up. ‘Midge, please, if this is about the mug –’

  ‘It’s not about the mug,’ she said. ‘You went out for drinks with her. And you gave her our fish!’

  ‘But I already told you, she was lonely. And Dan and Beatrice are being so hard on her. I just did those things to cheer her up.’

  ‘You’re such a good person, Pulpy. Nice through and through.’

  He looked at the duck mug on the floor. ‘She’s going through a rough time.’

  Her mouth crumpled. ‘Well, so am I.’

  ‘Midge,’ he said, ‘don’t think anything bad.’

  ‘I don’t know what to think.’ Her wide-set brown eyes were shiny. ‘I don’t know what to think, I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘Please don’t think anything bad.’

  ‘I’m trying, Pulpy. But it’s really hard.’ A tear spilled over her bottom lashes and slid down her cheek to her chin, where it hung for a second before dripping into the fishbowl.

  ‘You’re going to get Mr. Fins all salty,’ he said.

  A horn honked outside, and he jumped.

  Midge swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Please stay.’ He reached for her but she moved out of his grasp. ‘Midge, really, there’s nothing – there isn’t anything.’

  The horn honked again.

  ‘That’s Jean.’ She opened the front door. ‘I’m going.’

  He looked at the fishbowl nestled in her arms, at Mr. Fins blowing angry bubbles at him. ‘What about clothes?’ he said. ‘Did you pack an overnight bag?’

  She stood there hugging the bowl, making little waves on the water’s surface.

  ‘I’ll get you something to wear. You can’t wear dirty clothes around on your route tomorrow. That’s how rumours get started.’

  She lifted one foot off the floor and then put it down. ‘I –’

  ‘Stay right there.’ Pulpy ran to the bedroom and yanked open her dresser. He stared for a second at her underwear, the shiny kind with the lacy elastic, and then shook his head and grabbed a pair and some pantyhose. He opened another drawer and found her skirt with the palm fronds on it, and went to the closet for her favourite blouse. Then he heard the front door close.

  ‘Midge!’ He sprinted back to the living room and over to the door, her clothes held tight in his hands. He opened it to see her getting into Jean’s car. ‘Midge!’ He flailed his arms and the two women watched him, and he realized he was waving his wife’s underwear like a flag.

  The car sped away, and Pulpy stood there feeling the soft weight of Midge’s empty clothes. And then she was gone.

  ‘Hold on, Midge,’ said Pulpy.

  ‘I am holding on.’

  ‘Tighter. There you go. You’re doing it!’

  The first time Pulpy and Midge attended Couples Ice Dance Expression, they shuffled around the outside of the community-centre ice rink while the rest of the class learned and practised forward and backward crossovers in the middle with the instructor.

  Midge was panting a little as she inched her skates along. Her ski pants made a vvvrrtt when they rubbed together. ‘Okay, that’s enough.’ She squeezed Pulpy’s arm as they watched the twirling figures of their peers.

  ‘You just let me know when you’re ready to get in there,’ he said. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

  ‘I wish I had your confidence.’ Midge dug in her toe pick. ‘I just want to jab in my pick and ruin all this beautiful ice, just hack at it in little kicks. But that would be a shame, or else it would take too long. Either way I wouldn’t really do it.’

  Pulpy leaned in to kiss her forehead. ‘We don’t have to do this.’

  ‘Pulpy, this is one of my goals.’

  He slid one of his blades forward and back. ‘I know.’

  ‘For a relationship to be fulfilling, both partners need to help each other achieve their goals. One of my goals is I want to skate. I want to be graceful.’

  ‘Here comes the dip!’ shouted the instructor. ‘I hope you’re all paying attention!’

  ‘Ohh, the dip,’ said Midge.

  ‘You are graceful,’ said Pulpy. ‘You’re full of grace.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ she said. But she smiled.

  FOUR

  Pulpy woke up on the loveseat with Dan’s belt coiled around him and Midge’s underwear tucked under one arm. His neck was sore and his knees ached from being bent all night. The loveseat wasn’t meant for sleeping.

  He turned his head sideways and looked across the empty room. There was a small puddle on the carpet runner, from Midge’s boots or Mr. Fins’ bowl. He eased himself off the cushions, walked over and soaked up the water with his socks.

  Pulpy stood there with wet feet. He couldn’t think of anything to do except get ready for work, so he showered and dressed like usual. Then he went to grab money for the food court but stopped, and headed to the kitchen instead. He needed a new routine. There was a loaf of bread on the counter and he put that in a bag. He opened the fridge and found the jar of Peach Delight and put that in the bag with the bread, squishing the first few slices.

  Then he headed back to the living room. He put the bag of bread and jam on the loveseat and sat down next to it to put on his boots. And then he noticed the black-and-white grin of their keyboard poking out from under the coffee table.

  He leaned forward and pulled it out. Parts of it gleamed and other parts were smudged with Midge’s fingerprints. A tiny light lit up when he turned on the power.

  He went for the pre-programmed songs first. With the jab of a button he unleashed a Motown hit, a power ballad, the dirge Midge had played for him before. He played the dirge twice and then he laced his long fingers together and cracked his knuckles.

  The receptionist’s mug was still lying on its side on the rug next to him. He picked it up and righted it so the poor, stressed-out duck was facing him. That yellow beak, those crooked glasses. Those white wings.

  ‘Here goes nothing, duck,’ he said, and started to play. After a few uncertain minutes his wrists relaxed into it, channelling the melodies he kept remembering. He swayed a little to the music he was making.

  He was going to be late.

  When Pulpy got in, the receptionist was packing her belongings into a cardboard box on her desk. ‘What are you doing?’ he said.

  She didn’t look up. ‘What does it look like?’

  He had her mug in his coat pocket and he fit a few knuckles into the smooth ceramic hollow it made. ‘Oh.’

  She paused with her hole punch halfway into the box. ‘They said I disobeyed a direct order. They said that’s cause for immediate dismissal.’

  ‘But that’s not fair to you. You’re good at your job. They shouldn’t let you go over this.’

  ‘If it wasn’t this it would’ve been something else. They don’t want me here.’ She continued her packing. ‘Anyway, Lester said he can pick up a couple of extra shifts at work until I get another job.’

  ‘Who’s Lester?’

  She made a face at him. ‘My boyfriend.’


  ‘Oh.’ He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Les?’

  ‘What, you know him?’

  ‘No. I just wondered if you called him that. Les.’

  ‘Oh.’ She gave her hole punch a quick polish on her blouse before putting it in the box. ‘No, I don’t. I call him Lester.’

  ‘Right. So, are you on your way out, or –’ He slid his fingers around the handle of her mug.

  ‘Well, she’s not here, so he asked me to cover the desk. To cover my own desk! I should just walk out.’ She sighed. ‘But I don’t think I will.’

  ‘That’s good. I mean, it’s good you’re not going right away.’ He took his hand out of his pocket, leaving the mug in there for now. ‘Why did you just leave the registration stuff in the recycling bin like that?’

  ‘I didn’t need it anymore.’

  ‘I guess that’s reason enough.’ He looked at her half-full box. There was some old tape stuck to one corner. ‘So how was the rest of the seminar?’

  She held her eraser dish up to the fluorescents and examined its underside. ‘It wasn’t really what I expected. I thought it would be more in-depth.’ She dropped her arm and put the dish into the box. ‘But it was worth it.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ He headed for the hallway.

  ‘Aren’t you going to take off your coat?’

  ‘I will later.’ He walked into the kitchen and put his sack of bread and jam in the fridge.

  The empty fishbowl was sitting on the table, and he pressed his hand against the glass and craned his neck so he could observe the pink smear of his palm from the other side. Then he returned to the welcome area, smiled at the receptionist and went upstairs.

  When he reached the top he saw Dan standing near his desk, talking to Eduardo. The two of them watched him approach.

  ‘Pulpy!’ said Dan. ‘I was just asking your cube-mate here if he’d seen my mug.’

  ‘What mug?’ Pulpy hung his coat, with the mug still inside, over the back of his chair.

  ‘You know –’ Dan raised his elbows and flapped them up and down.

  Eduardo narrowed his eyes when he noticed the way one of Pulpy’s coat pockets was hanging lower than the other.

  ‘I’m not really sure which mug you mean, Dan,’ said Pulpy.

  ‘Brrr,’ said Eduardo. ‘It’s cold up here, isn’t it? I wish I’d brought my jacket to my desk.’

  Pulpy frowned at him.

  ‘You know –’ Dan rapped the top of Pulpy’s monitor. ‘“My schedule’s full”?’

  Pulpy chewed on his upper lip. ‘Oh, you mean the receptionist’s mug.’

  Dan stared at him. ‘Could I see you in my office, please?’

  Eduardo smirked.

  Pulpy watched him over his shoulder as he followed his boss down the hall.

  Dan sat at his desk and turned to his computer screen. He gave the Return key a couple of light taps and said, ‘I’m onto you, Pulpy.’

  Pulpy squirmed in the leather lounger. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ve got a thing for that secretary and it’s tearing you apart. It’s tearing your marriage apart.’

  Pulpy blinked at him. ‘No, I don’t.’

  Dan increased his pressure on the Return key. His tone was low and measured. ‘Then why do you care if she’s leaving?’

  ‘Because she didn’t do anything wrong. I just feel bad for her.’

  ‘Did you hear anything when you came in this morning? That’s right, you didn’t. You didn’t hear the Winter Flute, that’s for sure, because she disconnected the wires. What kind of a person doesn’t like the Winter Flute? I’ve tried to hook it back up but I can’t, so now I need to get the guy back in. But until then, no music. She stopped the music for everyone.’

  ‘I think she was worried about electrocution.’

  ‘Then what was she doing messing with the wires? She’s a menace, that woman, and I’m glad she’s going. She’s been poisoning our work environment, Pulpy – she is a toxic employee. You can’t approach her. You can’t ask her to do anything. And you’d better not touch her duck mug, because if you do you’re in big trouble. You are in big trouble.’

  ‘But you touched it,’ said Pulpy. ‘You took it.’

  ‘So what?’ Dan’s phone rang but he ignored it. ‘So what if I did?’

  Pulpy focused on Dan’s mouse pad, with the lion who would rather be at the watering hole. The big cat was smiling with sharp, sharp teeth. ‘Why do you hate her so much?’

  Dan picked up his phone. ‘Hello? Oh, hi.’ He frowned. ‘Yeah, he’s here. Why? Yeah, hold on.’ He activated the speakerphone. ‘It’s Beatrice,’ he said to Pulpy. ‘For you.’

  ‘Pulpy!’ said Beatrice. ‘I’m at Passionate Bath!’

  Pulpy leaned closer to the phone. ‘Where?’

  ‘Listen, I need your advice. I’m buying a parting gift for the secretary.’

  ‘You’re buying her a what?’ said Dan.

  ‘Why are you asking me?’ said Pulpy.

  ‘You’re friends with her, aren’t you?’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, and sat up a bit straighter. ‘Well, I guess I am, yes. We’re friends.’ He thought about the receptionist’s rude forward, which he still hadn’t deleted.

  ‘So what kind of bath products do you think she likes to use?’

  He considered that for a second. ‘Do they have any Tropical Mist?’

  ‘What the hell does she need a parting gift for?’ said Dan. ‘We’re talking immediate dismissal. We’re talking walking papers. We’re talking termination here, for – We are not talking about anything that involves a gift.’ He furrowed his brow at his red-and-white mug.

  ‘She took that course to better herself,’ said Pulpy.

  ‘I told her not to go,’ Dan said slowly, ‘and she didn’t listen to me.’

  ‘Well, anyway, I think Beatrice has the right idea.’

  ‘Thank you, Pulpy,’ said Beatrice. ‘I was actually thinking about buying her some spray lotion.’

  ‘We’ll just see about that,’ said Dan. ‘We will just see what I have to say about that.’

  ‘Is that possible?’ said Pulpy. ‘Can you spray a lotion?’

  ‘There’s three kinds here,’ said Beatrice. ‘Vanilla, peach and Brazil nut.’

  ‘Get the peach.’

  ‘You think the peach? I was more thinking the Brazil nut. Brazil nut is big now, especially the butter – they lathered it all over me at the spa. But I did ask your opinion, so I’ll get the peach. I’ll get the medium size because the large is too expensive.’

  ‘The large would be a nice gesture,’ said Pulpy. ‘And you should probably pick up a cake.’

  ‘No cake,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t deserve a cake.’

  Dan bounced his fist off his desk. ‘Now, that is more like it!’

  ‘I’ll be there in an hour or so,’ she said.

  ‘We’re doing the Frisbee picks in twenty minutes,’ said Dan. ‘I need you here sooner.’

  ‘Then do the Frisbee picks later,’ said Beatrice.

  ‘I said twenty minutes!’

  Pulpy stood up. ‘I’d better get working on that sign-up sheet.’

  ‘An hour at the least,’ she said.

  Pulpy stood next to Dan at the front of the boardroom with the rest of the workers ringed around them in a horseshoe formation.

  Roy from Customer Service was beside Cheryl from Active Recovery and Carmelita from the Parts Department, and all of them were giving Pulpy sympathetic looks. Eduardo stood with his arms crossed, sneering.

  Dan cleared his throat. ‘There are a few issues I plan on raising at this meeting. I know that may sound obvious, but these are things that are on my mind and in order to clear it I have to raise them.’

  One of the fluorescent ceiling tiles was flickering, casting shadows over the faces of Pulpy’s co-workers. He looked away from all the down-turned mouths and toed the thin carpet.

  ‘I mean, you really have to wonder about people who don’t care about their place of work,’ sa
id Dan. ‘Don’t you have to wonder? I said to Pulpy, “This is unacceptable, and we need to take action.” “What kind of action?” he said to me. “Serious action,” I told him.’

  Pulpy could feel everyone’s eyes on him and he turned to his boss. ‘I don’t really remember that conversation, Dan.’

  ‘You were probably drunk.’ Dan addressed the assembled employees. ‘Pulpy and I go drinking together, did you all know that? This man here has the inside track on pretty much the whole shebang. I confide in him and he confides in me.’

  Eduardo started to sneeze into his hand but, to Pulpy’s horror, the word ‘blow job’ came out instead.

  ‘Now, see?’ Dan pointed at him. ‘That’s your problem right there, that kind of ignorance. Just because two men get together for a few stiff shots does not imply anything more than that.’

  Eduardo guffawed loudly and a few other employees, including Jim from Packaging, tittered.

  Pulpy scuffed his feet on the carpet some more and felt a static charge building up in him. The air ducts made rushing and rattling sounds overhead.

  ‘But you know what? That kind of acting out doesn’t faze men like me and Pulpy. Because the only way to get by in this world is to keep your sense of humour. And the way to accomplish that is –’ Dan reached over and put his arm around Pulpy’s shoulders. ‘Pulpy?’

  ‘To play Frisbee,’ said Pulpy in a very small voice.

  ‘That’s right!’ Dan punched the air. ‘And now I’m going to turn the floor over to our Frisbee team captain so he can sort out the teams.’

  ‘In case you didn’t notice,’ said Eduardo, ‘it’s snowing outside.’

  More laughter.

  ‘Oh, I noticed,’ said Dan. ‘And it’s comments like that that separate the clowns from the ringmasters.’

  Eduardo furrowed his brow. ‘What does that mean?’

  Pulpy noticed something red in a far corner of the board-room, and realized it was one of Al’s retirement balloons. It still had quite a bit of air left in it, and it bobbed with the slight breeze of so many shuffling feet.