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I don’t know what to do.
It started when we had the big end-of-year push. People were working major hours, pulling down the money, honey, and Pace was right there. From the day I hired him, I knew Pace was going to be a go-to guy, and he’d proven me right.
We were working 18-hour days, and Pace was there when I left and there when I came back. I should have known, I guess, that something was going on. But I was half-dead; we all were. It wasn’t till the day I came in early and caught him rolling out from under a work table wrapped in a sheet that it clicked.
He didn’t see me. He half-crawled, still cocooned, over to his lateral file, and began poking in the bottom drawer. I saw it had clothing folded in it. When I coughed from the dim corridor between the cubicles, he jumped.
“Oh! Sharon. . . um. . . how are you?”
“I’m a little surprised right at the moment, Pace. What’s going on?”
He shook his head, almost to himself, and walked on his knees to his desk chair. He pulled up into it, unwrapping himself in the process. To my vast relief he was wearing pajamas. To my vast amusement, they were Stewie Griffin pajamas. There was no one I could think of who was less Stewie-like.
“Pace, are you sleeping here?”
“Yeah. Sleeping. Eating. Pretty much everything.” He stared at his bare feet, which must have looked as vulnerable to him as they did to me. He slid them under the edge of the discarded sheet.
“When I told Marty it was coming to end of year and she wouldn’t be seeing much of me, she said she already didn’t see enough of me to make any difference, and why didn’t I just sleep here from now on. I couldn’t raise her on her cell from work the next day, I knew she was mad but I never thought . . . when I went to put my laptop in the trunk to go home, all my clothes were there, in shopping bags. I went home and my key didn’t work. She put this in,” he lifted the sheet a little, “and a pillow, but it was one of the feather ones. I can’t sleep on those.” He looked at me. “I think she must have forgotten I can’t sleep on those. Don’t you think she just forgot?”
Oh, buddy, I thought, how many women have you known?
I didn’t lie to him. I spoke with respect, I spoke from long hard experience (I don’t pay alimony to two ex-husbands for nothing), I spoke out of honest friendship. I did not get where I am without costs. I took a deep breath and I told the poor guy the truth -- that I was pretty sure he was going to get papers as soon as her lawyer figured out how to serve him -- and that Marty probably remembered very well he couldn’t sleep on a feather pillow.
He nodded, thoughtful. “Yes. Yes. I can see that. I appreciate your making me see that, Sharon. I do.”
“Well, that’s good of you, Pace. What we’ve got to do now is figure out how to get you squared away, get you a place. . .”
His voice was calm. “I don’t really see the point of that, do you? I mean, it’s just me. How much room do I need? I use almost no gas this way, I have access to the showers in our gym, I can go to a laundromat or send stuff to the cleaners, and there’s a fridge and a microwave in the break room. Honestly, Sharon, I probably get more sleep staying here. My back’s even improved.” He smiled. With some effort, I smiled back. Like his, mine didn’t reach my eyes.
So he stayed. It was year end, okay? It doesn’t go on forever. I told security to let him come and go, and yes, they loved that. I went easier on him in meetings. I called Cindy, a real estate broker specializing in rentals. (She’s also a very cute single girl.) I told her that I knew somebody I was sure she’d get on with, and she that should start looking for a furnished rental near our office. Someplace with maid service, near restaurants.
You don’t get where I am by flinching. When he decided the break room was too far to go for a microwave, and got one of those teeny ones, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even say anything when he washed dishes in the bathroom. He only had a mismatched plate and bowl and his coffee cup. He didn’t do it during work.
I waited, and the day his papers finally showed up, Cindy and I took him out for drinks and dinner. He woke up the next morning in his brand new apartment, his drawers and closet filled and a copy of the signed lease on the kitchen table. He and Cindy have had five dates, and even though he keeps calling her Marty by accident, she really likes him. She does. It’s working out fine.
But I found Harrison sleeping in his cubicle this morning.
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