Free Pulpy and Midge by Jessica Westhead Page B

head at them. ‘They pile up. I used to have someone in here to do the filing, but not anymore.’
    He went through the colour-coded folders, careful not to move anything out of place.
    â€˜I haven’t had time to do my work today,’ said the receptionist. ‘I’ve been busy all day doing other people’s work and I haven’t had time for any of my own.’
    â€˜There’s never enough time.’ Pulpy was halfway down the pile now.
    â€˜I mean, I’m only one person. I’m just one person here.’ She unscrewed the cap on a bottle of correction fluid and started painting little white streaks on an important-looking document. ‘Filing is for temps. I had a temp in here and they took her away. And how do you think that made me feel? I’ll tell you how it made me feel, it made me feel like saying, “Fine, then you can go and get your own damn files.”’ Her hand sped up and the tiny brush zipped across the page, leaving bigger and sloppier streaks in its wake.
    â€˜I remember when she was here.’ Pulpy found Dan’s file and eased it out carefully. ‘Aha. This is the one.’
    The receptionist frowned and stopped working. ‘I used to have peanut shells all over the floor from her. They never got cleaned up. I said to her one time, “Must be a nice job where you can sit and shell peanuts all day.” And she said, “I do notshell peanuts all
day.
I have them for my
snack.
” So I told Al about it and that was that.’
    Pulpy blinked. ‘But I thought you said –’
    She straightened in her chair. ‘They could have brought in someone else. But they didn’t.’
    Pulpy handed the file to Dan. ‘Here you go,’ he said, and put his hands in his pockets. There was a bit of fluff in the left one, and he balled it between his fingers.
    â€˜Did she get it for you?’ said Dan. ‘Or did she make you get it yourself?’
    â€˜Well.’
    â€˜I knew it.’ Dan leaned back in his big chair and crossed his arms.
    â€˜It’s the file you wanted,’ said Pulpy.
    â€˜That’s not the point.’
    â€˜She’s really busy.’
    Dan snorted. ‘She’s useless, is what she is.’
    â€˜They used to have a temp in for the receptionist. She’s all by herself out there now.’
    â€˜I heard the temp wouldn’t stay with her. I heard she ate the temp alive.’ Dan lifted the file and gave it a shake. ‘She needs supervision. She needs quality control, is really the thing. She’s a loafer.’ He slapped the file down on his desk.
    Pulpy stared at him. ‘She has a lot on her plate.’
    â€˜Uh huh. Well, Beatrice’ll get things sorted out soon enough. She’s around here somewhere – she said something about liaising with Building Maintenance. She’s doing a few spot checks today and tomorrow she’ll start nine-to-fiving proper.’
    â€˜Oh.’ Pulpy glanced over his shoulder. ‘I haven’t seen her.’
    â€˜Well, she’s around, like I said.’ Dan coughed, and pulled the file toward him. ‘You and Midge have plans for tonight?Because Beatrice and I don’t have any plans, and we thought maybe we could all do something.’
    â€˜Well –’
    â€˜Great! It’s settled. You’re coming to our place for dinner.’
    Pulpy warmed both quarters in his hand before he dropped them into the pay-phone slot.
    â€˜Hello?’ said Midge.
    â€˜Hi, Midge.’
    â€˜Oh. Hi, Pulpy.’
    He watched the blue digital message scrolling across the pay phone’s little screen, telling him to press the diamond button to start a new call. ‘Did anything interesting happen on your route today?’
    â€˜Not really.’
    He took a breath. ‘I’m really sorry about last night.’
    She didn’t say anything at first, but then she said, ‘Well, there was this