First Draft, Part Four

At 1:00, Tim thinks he should eat something. He makes for the break room to get a candy bar from the vending machine. When he opens the door, he sees that Dave is already back from his food run, sitting in a plastic chair at a plastic table, wrapped in the heady scent of grease that's been fried to perfection.

There's someone else at the table, too. Tim walks in on their conversation. And he hesitates mid-step when he realizes who it is who's eating lunch with Dave: that it's Third-Floor Shelly. Third-Floor Shelly who is funny, actually funny. Third-Floor Shelly who gets a dimple on just one side of her face when she smiles, although Tim can never remember which side. Third-Floor Shelly who made Kara scowl when she said Tim was the only one who looked good in his Hawaiian T-shirt on Hawaiian T-Shirt Day last summer. Third-Floor Shelly eating a celery stick filled with peanut butter and laughing at something Dave has just said. She takes a bite and turns around. She says, “Oh, hi Timmy,” not very embarrassed at all that her mouth is full of food. And Tim says, “Hi,” back as his momentum carries him the rest of the way through the door.

At the vending machine, Tim takes his time with the rows of candy bars. He needs something filling and tasty, but not so ooey or gooey that he has to spend the rest of the day tonguing nougat from the concavities of his teeth. He imagines what his breakup speech will sound like if he has to go through it with the tip of his tongue jammed in one of his molars. It doesn't sound good. Behind him, Dave and Third-Floor Shelly talk about Ron Daltry and the real reasons he must have come all the way up for an afternoon meeting. “Corporate fraud” reasons, and “Layoffs” reasons, and “To experience the transcendent ineptitude of G.T. Kressman first hand” reasons.

Tim chuckles at that. It makes him forget the right number to push for the Milky Way bar he's decided on.

“What? I'm serious,” Shelly says. “Stupidity like that only comes around once in a generation. You should appreciate it”

“I'll appreciate it when I don't have to do his work for him anymore,” Tim says. The Milky Way crashes to the bottom of the vending machine, and he bends over and picks it out.

“Crazy,” Third-Floor Shelly says. “You're crazy. If my boss made me do all of his 'Powerpaint' presentations and called half of his staff Jenny and the other half Jerry, and called his secretary Apple Bottom...” She closes her eyes and a smile crawls over her face. She savors the thought. A dimple pops into her right cheek. “Veuve-Clicquot in a bow tie,” she says. “That's what he is.” Third-Floor Shelly opens her eyes.

Tim takes a hasty bite out of his Milky Way. Because he was staring, and because he doesn't want this woman, this beautiful woman who's smiling at him, to realize that he doesn't know what Veuve-Clicquot is.

He smiles, and Dave laughs, and Third-Floor Shelly turns back to the other man in the room and his laughter. Tim leaves and lets the conversation fall back into its two-person rhythm. As soon as he's outside again, he wishes he were inside again, but it's too late, again, so he walks back to his cube.