Pulpy and Midge. Jessica Westhead

You always give people the benefit of the doubt, Pulpy. That’s what gets you in trouble.’ Midge sighed. ‘Why would she want to go shopping with me?’

      ‘I don’t know. Maybe she’s lonely.’

      ‘How can she be lonely? She’s married.’

      ‘Sometimes married people get lonely,’ he said.

      ‘Not us, though, right?’

      ‘No way.’ His neck was hurting, so he tried to reposition the phone by squishing his cheek sideways, but the motion dislodged the receiver and it fell and swung in a wide arc on its cord. He grabbed for it, letting go of the napkin dispenser. ‘Hello? Midge?’ The dispenser banged onto the floor.

      ‘What happened?’ she said. ‘What was all that noise?’

      ‘Nothing. I just – Nothing.’ He toed the dispenser, unsuccessfully trying to right it.

      Pulpy sat in front of his computer screen and typed ‘Food To Bring To The Potluck.’

      He looked at that for a minute and then changed it to ‘Food I Will Bring To The Potluck.’

      He cursored back. ‘Potluck (Food) Contribution.’

      That one made him nod. He spaced down and typed ‘Employee Name’ and made a bunch of lines underneath. Then he hit Print.

      When he went downstairs to post the sign-up sheet, the receptionist said to him, ‘Do you smell that?’

      He sniffed the air. ‘Popcorn.’

      ‘That’s right. I hate popcorn! I can’t stand the smell of it.’ She glowered. ‘He thinks he’s so smart, but he’s not. He’s stupid.’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘You know who. He comes up to me with a package at the end of the day yesterday. “Would you overnight this for me?” he says. “Overnight this.” Like he’s making up some new language. Like he can’t be bothered saying, “Would you send this by overnight courier, please?” A “please” would’ve been nice. But that’s not even the point. “Overnight this.”’ She sucked on her teeth in disgust.

      ‘So did you?’

      ‘Did I what?’

      ‘Over – Send it by overnight courier?’

      ‘Of course I did. He’s my boss, isn’t he? I have to do what he says, but I don’t have to like the way he says it.’

      ‘Have you met his wife yet?’

      ‘No.’ She scowled. ‘Why?’

      ‘Nothing.’ He waved a hand. ‘Hey, where do you get your hair cut?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘What stylist do you go to?’

      She reached up and touched her hair. ‘You wouldn’t know him.’

      ‘No, but my wife – she needs a new hairdresser. So I just thought –’

      ‘Hold on, I think I might have one of his cards somewhere.’ She picked up her purse, pulled out a business card and gave it to him.

      ‘Thanks.’ He looked at the card. ‘“Artistic Ladies Hair Cut. Dedicated to Your Satisfaction.” That sounds nice.’

      ‘Yeah, he’s good.’ She yanked a pencil out of her pen-and-pencil cage and then fitted it back in. ‘I think so, anyway. Just don’t ask my boyfriend.’ She squeezed the pencil’s pink eraser nub. ‘He doesn’t know anything.’

      Pulpy put the card in his pocket and placed the sign-up sheet on her desk. ‘I’m organizing a potluck for the office. Do you want to put yourself down for something?’

      She glanced at the sheet and then pushed it away. ‘I’ll probably have to cover the desk.’

      ‘Oh. Hmm. I don’t know.’ He picked up the paper and looked at the fish. ‘Maybe I should change the fish’s water.’

      ‘I guess so.’ She put a finger into the fishbowl and swirled it. ‘Just not right now.’

      ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it later, then.’

      ‘Hey, there he is,’ said Eduardo when Pulpy walked into the kitchen. He was eating popcorn with Carmelita from the Parts Department and Jim from Packaging.

      ‘You know, when you microwave popcorn,’ said Pulpy, ‘the smell fills the entire workplace.’

      ‘Yeah, so?’ Eduardo shook the paper bag so it rattled, and Jim stuck his hand in.

      ‘I’m just saying,’ said Pulpy, and turned away to pin the sign-up sheet to the bulletin board.

      ‘What’s that for?’ said Carmelita.

      Pulpy wrote his name on the first line of the sign-up sheet, then his pen hovered over the contribution space. ‘It’s for the company potluck.’ He left it blank and took a step back.

      ‘Oh yeah?’ She picked a piece of kernel out of her teeth and walked a few steps forward. ‘When is it?’

      ‘Next Tuesday.’

      The three of them advanced on him and studied the sheet.

      ‘Do we have to make something?’ said Jim. ‘Or can it be store-bought?’

      ‘Sure, I guess you could buy something.’

      ‘You got a pen?’ said Carmelita.

      ‘I have this one but it’s from my desk. Maybe I’ll put a string up, with a pen attached. In case people don’t have one with them. I don’t even know what I’m bringing yet. Dan just asked me to make up this list.’

      ‘Ooh, the new boss,’ said Eduardo. ‘So this is his idea?’

      ‘I’m organizing it, though,’ said Pulpy.

      ‘Lucky you.’ Eduardo elbowed Carmelita. ‘Stand up and let’s get a look at you.’

      She curtsied, then said in a high voice, ‘What’s a vision statement?’

      Eduardo stuck out his tongue and panted, and the three of them snickered into their buttery fists.

      Pulpy stared at them. ‘I should get going,’ he said, and headed for the door.

      ‘See you later,’ said Carmelita.

      Jim waved, but Eduardo just kept eating popcorn.

      ‘It doesn’t look bad,’ said Pulpy. ‘It looks pretty.’

      Midge’s hand went up to poke at her new hairdo. She still had the scallops, but now there were fewer of them on the left side. ‘It’s lopsided. It leans to the right.’

      ‘I don’t think so.’ He was sitting at the kitchen table and she was standing by the sink. There were two artichokes on the counter.

      She tilted her head at him and the lump of her hair shifted irregularly. Then she pushed one of the scaly green vegetables so it wobbled. ‘The worst part was I had to go around on my route afterwards, Pulpy. I had to ring people’s doorbells and say hello to everyone with this hair.’

      ‘It does bounce a little differently.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘But that’s all. That’s nothing. What’s bouncing got to do with anything? Here, look at this –’ He reached into his pocket and handed her the receptionist’s hairdresser’s card.

      ‘“Artistic Ladies”?’ She looked between him and the card. ‘What is this?’

      ‘The receptionist goes to them. She has nice hair.’

      Midge handed the card back to him and turned on the tap, hard. ‘Thank you.’