‘I don’t want to disappoint you.’
‘You won’t.’
So Pulpy lined up and paid for his ping-pong balls, and lobbed them.
The first two missed, but the second two landed with tiny splashes in two small fishbowls with rainbow-coloured gravel and startled goldfish inside.
And Midge said, ‘You did it, twice!’
Pulpy smiled. ‘I did, didn’t I?’
She hugged him. ‘You can take one to work and I’ll keep the other one at home with me. I’m going to call our home fish Mr. Fins.’
They went home after that and when they got in the door Midge said, ‘It’ll be nice for you to have a fish at your desk. He’ll keep you company.’ Then she said, ‘Now let’s make out like banshees.’
‘What does that mean?’ said Pulpy. And he stood there holding the two fishbowls until Midge took them from him, one by one, and placed them gently on the coffee table.
‘It means,’ she said, ‘that you do things to me and I scream.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘let’s get started, then.’
The next morning Midge said, ‘I think you should take my Candle-Brations catalogue to the office with you today.’
‘You do?’ said Pulpy.
The alarm hadn’t gone off yet and they were still lying under the covers, staring at the ceiling. Mr. Fins and Pulpy’s fish were side by side in their bowls on Midge’s night table, swimming.
‘I got thinking last night that this new boss of yours could be a great new opportunity. All you have to do is show him the catalogue, and then he’ll tell his wife about it – does he have a wife?’
Pulpy nodded, thinking of the up-and-down look Beatrice had given him.
‘So he’ll tell his wife about the candles and the wife will get excited about all the candle deals I can offer her and then she’ll tell her husband to give you the raise!’
Midge’s eyes were all lit up, and Pulpy imagined she had a couple of her candles in there, the Cinnamon Dreams maybe, or the Towers of Mint. ‘Hmm,’ he said, ‘I don’t know how to sell candles, though.’
‘You don’t have to sell them, you just have to show them. Then it’s my job to burn it and earn it!’
‘But I’m just not sure –’
Midge kissed his forehead. ‘And you should wrap a blanket or a towel around your fishbowl on the way to work, so it doesn’t freeze.’
‘Okay,’ he said, and the alarm went off.
‘What’s that you got there?’ asked the bus driver when Pulpy stepped onto the bus. He was hugging the fishbowl to his chest and squeezing Midge’s catalogue under one armpit.
‘A fish.’ He looked at the crowd ahead of him. All the seats were taken.
‘Who carries a fish around in weather like this?’
‘That’s why I wrapped his bowl in a towel. So he doesn’t freeze.’
‘You better hope it doesn’t. Move up the bus, please.’
He took a few steps and stopped when the bowl nudged someone’s back.
‘Keep going. I need you on the other side of the line.’
Pulpy looked down. ‘What line?’
The driver sighed. ‘I need you on the other side of that line or else this bus doesn’t leave the station.’
‘Get on the other side of the line!’ one of the seated passengers shouted.
Pulpy shuffled another step along and the swaddled fishbowl pushed into a teenager’s backpack. ‘Sorry,’ he said.
The teenager sneered at him.
‘Here we go!’ said the driver, and started the engine.
The bus lurched forward and Pulpy stumbled backward, dropping the catalogue onto the floor of the bus and spilling water from the fishbowl. The bus stopped.
A rumble of discontent rose from the other riders.
The driver looked at Pulpy. ‘Once more and you’re off. I cannot abide fish water on my vehicle.’
‘I tripped,’ he said.
‘I will not repeat myself. One more time and you are off this bus.’
Pulpy nodded and braced himself.
The receptionist turned to look at the clock when Pulpy walked in. ‘I think the clock is dirty. See it?’ She pointed.
The time was 8:39. As far as he could tell, there was no dirt.
‘I think I’ll have to clean it,’ she said. ‘I should make a note.’ And she looked at the clock again, eyeballed Pulpy and reached for a pen and paper.
Pulpy stood on the welcome mat with the towel-wrapped fishbowl. ‘How was your weekend?’
She put her pen down and clicked her pink nails on the desk. ‘Over too fast.’
‘Start of the week,’ he said.
‘Uh huh. Under new management too. I didn’t think I’d say this, but I miss Al already. At least he included me in things.’
Pulpy stood there while she stuck and unstuck paperclips to the magnetic top of their container. ‘I told Dan you should’ve been invited to the party,’ he said.
She paused with a paperclip at her lips like a tiny silver trombone. ‘You told him that?’ She put the paperclip down. ‘What are you doing with that towel?’
‘Oh, this.’ The towel was soaked and so was his coat. He unwrapped the bowl and set it on the ground. ‘It’s for my fish.’
‘Well, don’t leave the bowl on the floor like that. Here, put it on my desk.’
The fish was orange. It swam in a circle one way, then the other. He set the bowl gently on her desk.
She peered at it. ‘It’s moving pretty slow.’
‘He’s probably cold,’ he said. ‘He’ll warm up.’
The receptionist nudged the little bowl and the water sloshed. ‘Where’d you get it?’
‘The winter fair.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I won him at the fish game.’
‘Good for you.’ She dipped her finger in the water and swirled it around.
He puffed up a little. ‘It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.’
‘This is a nice fish. The gravel’s nice.’
‘Rainbow.’ He watched the ripples she was making, then shook off his coat.
The closet was full again but there was room on the floor. He deposited his coat and then reached for the fish. ‘Well, I guess we should be getting upstairs.’
She pulled the bowl toward her. ‘I think it likes it here.’
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Actually, I was going to put him on my desk.’
‘But it’s so nice and bright here, with the window. I think it wants to stay with me.’
‘Well,’ said Pulpy.
‘Besides, you have to get to the boardroom. It’s the new boss’s first meeting so you better hurry up. It’s an all-staff meeting, except I have to cover the desk. So now I’m not included in parties or meetings.’