Take Me out of My Envelope, Chapter 3, second half
Title: Take Me out of My Envelope (3B/?)
Pairing: Ben/Leslie
Word count: 5,500 (this post)
Rating: PG-13 (a little language)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
First half here
Leslie got up at 5 a.m., wanting to get an early start. She was determined to comb through every single line of every single department’s budget to see for herself if it was really as bad as Ben kept insisting. There had to be something, somewhere, that the auditors had missed. Something that could be squeezed, or economized, or stretched in some way to keep the parks budget from being mauled quite so drastically.
Except that she didn’t have the copies yet. And Chris’s assistant probably wouldn’t get to City Hall until at least 8:30. So she really didn’t have anything to do.
Why couldn’t Ben just have made the copies for her himself? She bet he didn’t even want her to have them. He was probably hiding something, some pocket of money that he didn’t want her to get her hands on because he hated kids and wanted all the parks to be closed forever.
Actually … that seemed a little harsh, even for Ben. He seemed more misguided than outright evil. It’s not like he was Greg Pikitis.
Except that she was kind of clinging to the hope that he was, pretty much, the equivalent of a teenaged vandal-out to destroy everything she loved just for the sake of destroying it. Because the other possibility-that Ben was right, that there was no good way out of this, that her job as she knew it was gone for the forseeable future, that her entire purpose in life was-
Well, it was a possibility that was difficult to face.
And the fact that he treated everything as so black and white, so robotically detached from it all-how many times this summer had she heard ‘It’s the numbers. It’s the numbers’? Like these were just line items and figures, instead of lives that were going to be altered, and projects she’d poured her heart into, and children and seniors who were getting shafted-
It made her angry. It made her want to call him names. Even if she felt really crappy about it afterward.
But that was yesterday. This was a new day, she thought as she put the pot of coffee on, pulled a bottle of caramel apple creamer out of the refrigerator, and popped a toaster strudel into the oven. Today she was going to start to figure this out.
It was going to be okay.
When her breakfast was ready, she sat down with it at the kitchen table and opened up her laptop to start typing up some notes on some of the issues that had come up in the budget meetings so she could figure out which department’s spreadsheets she should tackle first. But first, she logged into her e-mail account, knowing she’d find a message from her pen pal there. He’d started to become pretty predictable that way, in a way that was really comforting.
And since she’d written to him when she'd been upset last night, she was even more certain there would be a response. He was good like that.
And there was:
The room isn’t empty. Or at least …it doesn’t feel that way when I get a message from you, and I hope that it’s the same for you. If I was actually in the room, I would hug you, or give you space- whichever you needed-and either way, I’d probably make you a meal. My mom was a good cook, and she always said that everything seems better when you eat well. And I think she was right. Her cooking really helped me get through a difficult time in my life. Or maybe it was just knowing that she cared, but I still try to eat well just in case.
Leslie smiled at the idea of getting a hug from him, then frowned down at her strudel. Ann was always telling her that food that tasted good wasn’t the same thing as good food, and she wondered which way Nerd Boy meant it. Just to be on the safe side, maybe she should get some fruit-something sweet and nutritious. No peaches, though-supervillains like Greg Pikitis (and probably Ben Wyatt) ate peaches.
I think I know what you mean. Except, it’s not so much that anyone brings out the worst in me, it’s just that they see the worst, or assume the worst. I have to admit, I don’t help myself much. I’ve been told that I lack people skills, and that’s probably putting it too mildly. But I like talking to you, because I feel like even though we haven’t met, you know the real me. I’m Nerd Boy on the inside, and most of the people I meet in real life don’t see it.
I can tell you’re a kind person. In fact, even though I’ve only known you for a short time, I feel like you’re one of the most caring people I’ve ever known. Whoever this person is who is troubling you, I can’t imagine he doesn’t see that about you. And if he doesn’t-well, then he’s not worth worrying about. I hope you don’t let him ruin another day. You deserve better.
NB
Leslie read the note a few more times, smiling over how sweet he was and how much better he made her feel. He was right, she should probably try not to let Ben get to her so much. It didn’t matter what he thought of her or her department or her town; it mattered what was left after he was gone. And that’s what she was going to focus her energies on.
Once she had the copies in hand, she spent the rest of the week holed up in her office, poring over the spreadsheets from early each morning to late into the night, except for when the task force was in session.
Outside the meetings, she managed to avoid Ben mostly, except for a few times when she ran into him near the wallflower mural, where he seemed to be milling about in the hallway by the auditors’ office. She was proud of the way she managed to nod politely to him each time.
He always looked a little startled to see her, like he thought she was going to attack him or something.
Maybe he had reason to be afraid. Maybe he knew she was going to uncover something that would make him look bad.
At least, that was what she was hoping.
By Friday, Leslie had worked herself through half the spreadsheets and still hadn’t found quite what she was looking for. Disappointingly, most of the information looked identical to what Ben had been showing them on the projector, in those boring gray scale charts. Sure, there were line items that were debatable, but they were already being debated in the meetings. They were something, but they weren’t exactly the gotcha-magic-bullet-smoking-gun discovery she really, really wanted.
Despite her lack of progress,phone calls with Ann and messages from Nerd Boy continued to keep her spirits up. Beautiful Ann was always encouraging, and in spite of her odd hours and tendency to take on extra shifts at the hospital, always managed to make time to be a good friend. And Nerd Boy … everything he wrote to her made her smile and replenished her optimism.
Early Saturday morning, she started working her way through the sewage department’s information, not feeling too optimistic about finding anything there. As creepy as Joe was, he ran a tight ship. And there wasn’t much that was debatable about sewage-people did things, and they needed to be taken care of, and nobody really wanted to mess with that process, including Leslie.
Halfway through the morning’s second cup of coffee, she flipped to the final spreadsheet in that section of her binder. Joe’s department’s information stopped halfway down the page, and then there was some white space, and a narrow grid at the bottom that appeared to belong to some other department. Except there was no header indicating who it belonged to. A line item simply labeled “discretionary” was allotted $35,000.
Discretionary.
Suddenly Leslie felt like she knew what Watergate Special Prosecutor Leon Jaworski must have experienced when he finally was able to listen to the June 23, 1972, tape of President Nixon discussing a coverup with his chief of staff.
Smoking gun, indeed, she thought gleefully, thinking of all the incredibly valuable things she could think of for her department to do with $35,000. It was going to be the difference between maintenance mode and making a difference mode.
Except that it was Saturday morning, and she wasn’t going to be able to confront Ben with the evidence until Monday. He was reliably one of the first to arrive at City Hall-always between 8:01 and 8: 04 a.m., so predictable-but that still was almost two full days away. There was no way she could contain her excitement that long.
Reaching for her laptop, she decided to reach out to the person she was most eager to share the news with.
I had a breakthrough! I’m not positive yet, but I think I may have found a way to fix some of the problems I’ve been having at work. If everything works out the way it should, good things are going to happen. I’m so happy right now, I couldn’t wait to tell you. Are you awake?
PL
After hitting send, she started flipping through the other tabs, making sure she hadn’t missed mysterious lines at the end of other departments’ sections. She didn’t see any, but $35,000 seemed like plenty to reinstate the youth athletics, senior center programs, community-
A little bell sound from her computer startled her, interrupting her train of thought. Glancing back at her laptop, she was surprised to already have a response from Nerd Boy.
Yes, I’m awake-just got back from a nice walk and was thinking of you. The sun was shining, and, well, that always makes me think of you.
That’s great news! I know how much your work situation has been weighing on you this summer. How are you going to celebrate this breakthrough?
NB
That was a good question. She’d been working so hard this week, she kind of just wanted to sit back and catch her breath.
Some red wine and CSPAN maybe? Any suggestions?
PL
Leslie tapped her fingers on her kitchen table, smiling, waiting to see if he’d write her back that quickly again. A few moments later a new message popped up:
CSPAN-wow. Don’t go too crazy! I’m kidding. I would never mock someone for watching CSPAN. Big fan of CSPAN. Although it is a Saturday, and I’m not sure Congress is debating this weekend. Might I suggest something on the History Channel instead? There’s a really interesting looking documentary, “How the States Got Their Shapes,” on this afternoon. The tagline was something like,“Every line on the US map tells a great story.” Well, I thought it sounded interesting. Is that just me?
NB
Giggling, she typed back to him:
No, it’s not just you! I love History Channel documentaries, and I haven’t seen that one yet. I always wondered why Wyoming is basically a box, while West Virginia looks like someone spilled a milkshake. If you’re watching it too, we should watch it together! There’s a messaging component on Hoosier Mate. Do you want to meet up there later?
PL
His reply took longer this time, and as the minutes ticked by she started to wonder if she had completely misread the situation and he was out there somewhere trying to figure out how to let her down easy. It was just a documentary, though. What was the big deal?
Except that it kind of felt like a big deal, now that she had put it out there.
Finally her computer dinged, snapping her out of her momentary freakout.
That sounds good. Meet you online at 2?
Relieved, she wrote back:
It’s a date!
Then she reached for her phone to call Ann for some help figuring out what to wear. How would Nancy Pelosi dress for a situation like this? Something put-together but comfortable, something that said both I’m an awesome lady and I’m super excited about geography. She remembered that Nerd Boy liked globes. Or at least she thought he did-had that been one of the details on his profile that was true? Since he was the one to suggest this particular documentary, it seemed like it was probably true ... Maybe Ann had a T-shirt featuring a map.
Then Leslie caught herself, remembering that he wouldn’t actually be able to see her.
Maybe it was better this way, she thought after a moment. She could tell him she was wearing anything she wanted.
But she put the phone down, suddenly thinking maybe this was not something Ann would understand.
--
Monday morning, Ben woke up in a great mood. He’d pretty much spent the entire weekend (except for a few breaks to sleep and eat) sipping red wine and watching History Channel documentaries while chatting with Pawnee Lover online, and he had that giddy feeling of when you first start dating someone and it seems really promising. She was so easy to talk to, and into the same things he was into, and she had interesting things to say, and she was really sweet and funny. It had been years since he’d spent time with someone who made him feel this way. And maybe it wasn’t a real date, or the beginning of a real relationship, but he had a feeling that she might really like him too. There had definitely been moments when it seemed like she might be flirting with him.
At one point, she’d asked him what he was wearing, and he had felt too silly to confess he had on one his nicer dress shirts and slacks because he’d wanted to look nice for her, even though they weren’t seeing each other in person. Instead he’d lied that he had on a Hillary Clinton campaign T-shirt from the 2008 primary season, because he thought she’d be into that, and it seemed like a more plausible clothing option for sitting around his motel room and watching television.
Then she had told him she was wearing a shirt with a topographical map of the United States across her “chestal region,” and he wondered if she was making that up for his benefit, or if she really had a shirt like that. Either way … it was pretty adorable. (And now he couldn’t seem to get the idea of her chestal region out of his head, even as he was headed into work.)
As Ben approached Pioneer Hall, he noticed Leslie Knope sitting on the front steps, looking intently at something in that binder she’d been going through for the past week. Then she looked up and smiled at him, and he smiled back at her because he was in a good mood, and she hadn’t bothered him much lately, and if she was still studying those spreadsheets, maybe she was coming around to seeing his position. Maybe even his work life was starting to look up.
Then she snapped her binder shut and jumped up to follow him inside. “Ben! You’re early.”
Glancing at his watch, he noticed it was 7:59, and yeah, he’d probably moved a little faster this morning because of that giddy feeling. But just a little faster, and it was weird that she’d notice a two-minute difference in his arrival time, and the suggestion that she might be tracking his movements that closely made him nervous.
“Not that early,” he mumbled, hurrying into the building.
Ben turned toward the stairs that led up to the second floor, thinking this was where she’d break away from him to go to her own office in the parks department, since the task force wasn’t reconvening until 9:30. Instead she followed him into the stairwell, and he didn’t really want her to follow him, so he turned around to face her, warily.
He was in a good mood, and he had a bad feeling that she was about to screw that up for him.
“Do you need something?”
“Yes! I want to set up a meeting. As soon as possible. Now, if that works for you. I have so much to talk to you about.”
She started to open up her binder, and he had the panicky urge to reach past her and make sure the door into the stairwell hadn’t just locked behind them, trapping him indefinitely in a one-on-one impromptu meeting with Leslie Knope. He knew for a fact there was nothing in that binder that changed the outlook for her department, but for some reason she looked so eager and hopeful, which could only mean she was about to suggest something absurd and impossible. He’d be forced to say no to whatever it was, she’d be upset, he’d feel awful, and he’d be stuck here with her for who knows how long until someone else found them. Chris and his assistant didn’t arrive until 8:30 usually, and the rest of the task force members didn’t need to be there until 9:30, and what if they used the other staircase?
As Leslie thumbed excitedly through some spreadsheets, apparently looking for whatever it was she wanted to show him, he tried to subtly reach past her to jiggle the door knob. Just to make sure.
It hadn’t locked. Not that that had ever happened to him before. But thank god.
“What are you doing?” Leslie was looking at him really oddly, and suddenly he realized how closely he’d leaned in toward her to touch the door knob, and as he snapped his hand back self-consciously, it just happened to brush up against her hair, which was really soft.
And suddenly he was conscious of being in an enclosed space with Leslie Knope for entirely different reasons. But that didn’t make any sense. There was nothing sexual about the tension between them, he was sure, so it must be just leftover energy from the weekend he’d just had, the fact that he’d spent days wanting to reach out and touch someone who wasn’t there. And now someone was there, even if it wasn’t the right someone. And that must be all it was.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat. “Um … nothing. I thought I forgot something in my car, so I was going to go back. But it’s okay, I didn’t. I mean, I have everything … I need. So.”
God, he must be the most awkward human being alive. He wished Leslie of all people didn’t have to see him like this. It’s called people skills. You should get some, he remembered her saying. Yeah, he wished it was that easy. Did they sell those at JJ’s along with the waffles? He didn’t think so.
After staring at him for another moment, she returned her attention to the binder, holding it up toward him and running her finger down the page to show him something.
“Um … do you mind if we do this up in my office?” he suggested. Since the door hadn’t mysteriously locked behind them, it really didn’t make any sense to be conducting business in a stairwell. “You could even contact Chris’s assistant and set an actual meeting if you want.” Silently, he willed her to set up the meeting with Chris instead. Dealing with people like Leslie-that was supposed to be Chris’s department. And if she wanted a people person-
She looked crestfallen for a beat, then quickly recovered. “Let’s just do this now. I know we only have”-she glanced at her watch-“87 minutes until the task force meets, but if we don’t get through everything, we can pick it up at lunchtime. Yeah, let’s just do it now. In your office.”
Whatever she wanted to talk to him about might take more than 87 minutes? Um, wow. There went his good day. Ben sighed resignedly, ruffled his hair (which he’d spent too much time on this morning, for reasons he realized didn’t make any sense), and went upstairs, knowing she’d follow him.
In his office, he took a seat at his desk, and she sat down across from him, her eyes focusing for a moment on something over his shoulder, a few disparate emotions flashing across her features before quickly settling into a more pleasant businesslike expression. He glanced behind him, curious what she had been looking at, but only saw the organizational chart for Pawnee’s government.
“Okay. So you wanted to talk to me.” Have convictions. Be friendly. He felt like Eleanor Roosevelt had become the angel sitting on his left shoulder lately, thanks to his online pen pal.
“Yes, I wanted to talk to you about this line item at the end of the sewage department’s section.”
She slid what appeared to be a copy of her copy of that page across the desk to him, which was completely unnecessary, because he practically had those spreadsheets memorized. “That’s not part of the sewage department’s budget,” he said without looking at it.
“No, I know that. I figured that out. It’s labeled discretionary.”
Right.
Uh-oh.
“Um, yeah, no, that’s … I mean, I knew about that. It’s supposed to be there.”
Her expression hardened slightly, and he figured she had maybe been giving him the benefit of the doubt, that he had merely overlooked that part of the budget, and he’d just pretty much admitted to actively keeping it from her. Which wasn’t exactly true. He just hadn’t volunteered the information, because it had nothing to do with her department.
“It’s labeled discretionary,” she pointed out, like a barely concealed accusation.
“Yep,” he simply agreed, not appreciating the tone of her voice.
“Well, whose discretion?” she demanded, becoming less and less successful at concealing her ire.
He took a deep breath, trying to keep his own voice even. “Honestly, it’s your government’s discretion. Whatever the City Council chooses to do with it. But I’m recommending that they don’t do anything with it, for now.”
From the look on her face, it looked like she thought he was doing this to her personally. Which was ridiculous, because one, she was one of dozens of department heads he had to deal with. And two, he was trying to do what was best for her city. So technically, they were on the same side.
“Why would you do that?” she finally choked out.
“Because … because …”-stick to your beliefs as they stick to theirs-“it’s the responsible thing to do. It’s a safety net. A rainy day fund. It’s some cushion built into the budget that will help ensure that your government doesn’t get itself into trouble again like this in the future.”
“This isn’t a rainy day?” For a moment her voice was more disbelieving and sad than angry, and he felt like a jerk for making her sound like that. None of this was her fault.
“Look, your mayor and your city council got you into a bad situation. I’m just trying to advise them on what’s necessary to get it back on track. But it’s still a pretty dire situation. What if I leave, and some unexpected expense comes up, something really necessary. Like … a sewer line that breaks, or an unusually bad winter where the snow plows have to run more than usual. That’s what a rainy day fund is for.”
Leslie seemed to turn that over in her head a few moments, unhappily, then launched into her rebuttal. “You’re such a pessimist!” She spat out the word pessimist like it was a worse insult than jerk or asshole, and he wasn’t even-he was just more cautious than she was. “You don’t know that any of that is going to happen. In the meantime, that money is just sitting there, benefitting no one. I could be using it for valuable programs, for things that benefit real people. I have all of these ideas!”
She flipped to a section of her binder that looked much more colorful than anything that could have been copied from his own binder. He was kind of curious what was in there, even though it probably didn’t matter.
“Is there anything in that binder that would generate revenue?” he asked on the off chance he was wrong.
From the look on her face, he could tell he hadn’t been. “Not everything worth doing brings in revenue,” she retorted.
“I’m sorry, Leslie. If I gave you the money, that’s it. It would be gone. It would be irresponsible of me to do that. Now if you don’t mind … I actually have some notes I need to review before the task force meeting. Okay?”
Her face got all scrunched up as she considered this. Finally she pushed her chair back and stood up, sucking in a ragged breath. “When do you want to finish this meeting? The task force adjourns at 4:30. Does 5 or 6 work for you?”
He was kind of stunned that she wasn’t just going to let this drop. Did she never give up? “Um … actually I sort of, ah, I have plans tonight.” Something about the look on her face, the disbelief over the fact that he might have something else going on in his life, that not everyone in the world hated his guts, made him add quietly, “A date.”
Even though that wasn’t exactly true. He had vague plans to stop by the grocery store, pick up some ingredients, make a nice dinner, and possibly offer to take it to Pawnee Lover, wherever she was. Although, to be honest, he probably wasn’t going to have the nerve to carry out the last part of that plan. But still.
“Are you wearing that?” Leslie asked, a derisive note in her voice.
Ben looked down at the green-and-orange checked shirt that he’d put on that morning because it was bright, and it seemed to fit his mood. His mood then, at least.
“What’s wrong with ...? Fine. You know what, next time I get dressed, I’ll call and get your opinion first.” If it made her feel better to insult him personally, so be it.
“I don’t care what you wear,” she snapped. And then she was gone, leaving him once again to try to figure out where he’d gone wrong with her.
--
There was nothing like a meeting with Ben Wyatt to bring Leslie’s spirits crashing down. She’d had a lovely weekend, rejoicing over solving her budget problem and multitasking like she was Michelle Obama on Sweetums bars. She’d collected all of her best ideas into an attractive and compelling presentation, all while catching up on her documentary viewing and enjoying the company of a nice man who respected her and made her happy. (And who sounded really cute and supportive of female political candidates.)
She had been in such a good mood that she was even starting to picture a world where she could get along with Ben Wyatt, thinking that as soon as she showed him what she had found, and what she wanted to do with it, maybe they could finally work together on something instead of … one of them working really hard on something and the other one working really hard on ruining it.
But he hadn’t even wanted to hear her ideas. Not a single one of her ideas.
Just because they weren’t money makers-as if that was the only criterion by which to evaluate an idea. How did he know the parks department didn’t have a need as urgent as a broken sewer line? Which hadn’t even happened?
Honestly, you’d think a guy who wore shirts like that would be a little more open-minded, or that someone who saw everything in black and white would wear things that were more, well … black and white. It was like false advertising for him to wear so much color. Leslie hoped whatever woman, or man, he was inflicting his company on tonight didn’t get the wrong idea about him. She wished she knew the person, so she could warn them away.
But worst of all, she was back to square one. Maintenance mode. Which sounded an awful like phoning it in, or skating until retirement, or something just really unproductive, and she didn’t see how that was going to be good for Pawnee at all.
On her way home that evening, feeling the anger and frustration and sadness mingling together, she remembered something that Nerd Boy had said about eating well and on an impulse swung by the grocery store to buy some fruit.
Avoiding the peaches, which for all she knew could be the root of all evil, she picked out some pretty yellow bananas, delicious looking strawberries, and a couple kiwi because she liked saying the word kiwi.
Kiwi.
See, she was feeling better already. Maybe she’d make a smoothie tonight, if she could remember where she kept her blender. Wait, did she have a blender?
As she took a step back away from the kiwi display, she crashed into someone directly behind her. “Oh! Sorry …” she exclaimed as she was turning around to make sure the other person was all right.
“Excuse me! God, I’m such a klutz sometimes …” said a familiar voice, and when she turned around, sure enough, it was Ben Wyatt.
Just when she was starting to feel better, too.
“Oh. You,” she greeted him, the words coming out in short, clipped syllables because he made her so uncomfortable.
“Yeah. Me,” he said flatly, looking at her like she was the last person he wanted to see. As if she was the one who destroyed his day. Week. Entire year, probably.
“You should really watch where you’re going,” she said.
“I should …?” For a moment, this seemed to infuriate him, but then he shook his head in that dismissive way he had. “Yeah, okay. Well, I apologized. Hope bumping into me didn’t ruin your evening.”
He was wearing a different shirt, a pale gray pinstripe, and for the briefest moment she wondered if her opinion had actually mattered to him on something. In the next instant she noticed the contents of his basket-carrots, celery, and onions-and went right back to feeling sorry for his date. Blech.
“I’m making soup,” he said, with a note of defensiveness.
Leslie couldn’t help but make a face. “Right. Well you enjoy your … soup.”
They started to turn away from each other again.
“Of course you don’t like vegetables,” Ben muttered as he moved away from her, but loud enough that she heard it.
At that Leslie whirled around again. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means … it means …” He was half turned away from her still, but she could see the flickers of indecision pass across the left side of his face, and she was half sure he was going to try to bring in Chris somehow to smooth things over instead of just telling her what he really thought for once. But then something shifted suddenly, and he was facing toward her, leaning in and talking and gesturing with more fervor than she’d ever seen him use. Which was kind of absurd, considering they were talking about produce, supposedly.
“It means, I’ve seen how much whipped cream you put on your coffee, and I’ve seen how many styrofoam boxes of waffles end up in the parks department. You think you can live on sugar and puppies and rainbows, but your teeth are going to rot, and you’re going to spend your life fighting cold viruses, and, it’s just, it’s just, it’s not a sustainable way to live!”
She stared at him agape, fixating on something from the middle that she knew was inane. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t eat puppies. You eat puppies!”
He shook his head at her. “What?”
“I don’t know. You said it.”
“I’m just saying … vegetables are responsible,” he said in a more measured voice. “Responsible people eat vegetables because it’s good for them in the long run.”
It was pretty much everything she’d ever feared he thought of her, and it hurt more than she wanted it to. “And you don’t think I’m responsible?”
“I think you’re … well, I think you’re a person who doesn’t like to eat her vegetables,” he said more quietly.
Glaring at him, Leslie deliberately started picking up vegetables, whatever was closest, and putting them in her basket. Something she suspected was an artichoke. Beets. Some leafy green stuff she didn’t recognize.
“I eat my vegetables,” she said through gritted teeth. “You don’t know me.”
“Oh yeah, I see that,” he said skeptically. “What on earth are you making?”
“It’s none of your business!” she declared and stalked off.
Honestly, she had no idea.
--
Chapter 4
Pairing: Ben/Leslie
Word count: 5,500 (this post)
Rating: PG-13 (a little language)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
First half here
Leslie got up at 5 a.m., wanting to get an early start. She was determined to comb through every single line of every single department’s budget to see for herself if it was really as bad as Ben kept insisting. There had to be something, somewhere, that the auditors had missed. Something that could be squeezed, or economized, or stretched in some way to keep the parks budget from being mauled quite so drastically.
Except that she didn’t have the copies yet. And Chris’s assistant probably wouldn’t get to City Hall until at least 8:30. So she really didn’t have anything to do.
Why couldn’t Ben just have made the copies for her himself? She bet he didn’t even want her to have them. He was probably hiding something, some pocket of money that he didn’t want her to get her hands on because he hated kids and wanted all the parks to be closed forever.
Actually … that seemed a little harsh, even for Ben. He seemed more misguided than outright evil. It’s not like he was Greg Pikitis.
Except that she was kind of clinging to the hope that he was, pretty much, the equivalent of a teenaged vandal-out to destroy everything she loved just for the sake of destroying it. Because the other possibility-that Ben was right, that there was no good way out of this, that her job as she knew it was gone for the forseeable future, that her entire purpose in life was-
Well, it was a possibility that was difficult to face.
And the fact that he treated everything as so black and white, so robotically detached from it all-how many times this summer had she heard ‘It’s the numbers. It’s the numbers’? Like these were just line items and figures, instead of lives that were going to be altered, and projects she’d poured her heart into, and children and seniors who were getting shafted-
It made her angry. It made her want to call him names. Even if she felt really crappy about it afterward.
But that was yesterday. This was a new day, she thought as she put the pot of coffee on, pulled a bottle of caramel apple creamer out of the refrigerator, and popped a toaster strudel into the oven. Today she was going to start to figure this out.
It was going to be okay.
When her breakfast was ready, she sat down with it at the kitchen table and opened up her laptop to start typing up some notes on some of the issues that had come up in the budget meetings so she could figure out which department’s spreadsheets she should tackle first. But first, she logged into her e-mail account, knowing she’d find a message from her pen pal there. He’d started to become pretty predictable that way, in a way that was really comforting.
And since she’d written to him when she'd been upset last night, she was even more certain there would be a response. He was good like that.
And there was:
The room isn’t empty. Or at least …it doesn’t feel that way when I get a message from you, and I hope that it’s the same for you. If I was actually in the room, I would hug you, or give you space- whichever you needed-and either way, I’d probably make you a meal. My mom was a good cook, and she always said that everything seems better when you eat well. And I think she was right. Her cooking really helped me get through a difficult time in my life. Or maybe it was just knowing that she cared, but I still try to eat well just in case.
Leslie smiled at the idea of getting a hug from him, then frowned down at her strudel. Ann was always telling her that food that tasted good wasn’t the same thing as good food, and she wondered which way Nerd Boy meant it. Just to be on the safe side, maybe she should get some fruit-something sweet and nutritious. No peaches, though-supervillains like Greg Pikitis (and probably Ben Wyatt) ate peaches.
I think I know what you mean. Except, it’s not so much that anyone brings out the worst in me, it’s just that they see the worst, or assume the worst. I have to admit, I don’t help myself much. I’ve been told that I lack people skills, and that’s probably putting it too mildly. But I like talking to you, because I feel like even though we haven’t met, you know the real me. I’m Nerd Boy on the inside, and most of the people I meet in real life don’t see it.
I can tell you’re a kind person. In fact, even though I’ve only known you for a short time, I feel like you’re one of the most caring people I’ve ever known. Whoever this person is who is troubling you, I can’t imagine he doesn’t see that about you. And if he doesn’t-well, then he’s not worth worrying about. I hope you don’t let him ruin another day. You deserve better.
NB
Leslie read the note a few more times, smiling over how sweet he was and how much better he made her feel. He was right, she should probably try not to let Ben get to her so much. It didn’t matter what he thought of her or her department or her town; it mattered what was left after he was gone. And that’s what she was going to focus her energies on.
Once she had the copies in hand, she spent the rest of the week holed up in her office, poring over the spreadsheets from early each morning to late into the night, except for when the task force was in session.
Outside the meetings, she managed to avoid Ben mostly, except for a few times when she ran into him near the wallflower mural, where he seemed to be milling about in the hallway by the auditors’ office. She was proud of the way she managed to nod politely to him each time.
He always looked a little startled to see her, like he thought she was going to attack him or something.
Maybe he had reason to be afraid. Maybe he knew she was going to uncover something that would make him look bad.
At least, that was what she was hoping.
By Friday, Leslie had worked herself through half the spreadsheets and still hadn’t found quite what she was looking for. Disappointingly, most of the information looked identical to what Ben had been showing them on the projector, in those boring gray scale charts. Sure, there were line items that were debatable, but they were already being debated in the meetings. They were something, but they weren’t exactly the gotcha-magic-bullet-smoking-gun discovery she really, really wanted.
Despite her lack of progress,phone calls with Ann and messages from Nerd Boy continued to keep her spirits up. Beautiful Ann was always encouraging, and in spite of her odd hours and tendency to take on extra shifts at the hospital, always managed to make time to be a good friend. And Nerd Boy … everything he wrote to her made her smile and replenished her optimism.
Early Saturday morning, she started working her way through the sewage department’s information, not feeling too optimistic about finding anything there. As creepy as Joe was, he ran a tight ship. And there wasn’t much that was debatable about sewage-people did things, and they needed to be taken care of, and nobody really wanted to mess with that process, including Leslie.
Halfway through the morning’s second cup of coffee, she flipped to the final spreadsheet in that section of her binder. Joe’s department’s information stopped halfway down the page, and then there was some white space, and a narrow grid at the bottom that appeared to belong to some other department. Except there was no header indicating who it belonged to. A line item simply labeled “discretionary” was allotted $35,000.
Discretionary.
Suddenly Leslie felt like she knew what Watergate Special Prosecutor Leon Jaworski must have experienced when he finally was able to listen to the June 23, 1972, tape of President Nixon discussing a coverup with his chief of staff.
Smoking gun, indeed, she thought gleefully, thinking of all the incredibly valuable things she could think of for her department to do with $35,000. It was going to be the difference between maintenance mode and making a difference mode.
Except that it was Saturday morning, and she wasn’t going to be able to confront Ben with the evidence until Monday. He was reliably one of the first to arrive at City Hall-always between 8:01 and 8: 04 a.m., so predictable-but that still was almost two full days away. There was no way she could contain her excitement that long.
Reaching for her laptop, she decided to reach out to the person she was most eager to share the news with.
I had a breakthrough! I’m not positive yet, but I think I may have found a way to fix some of the problems I’ve been having at work. If everything works out the way it should, good things are going to happen. I’m so happy right now, I couldn’t wait to tell you. Are you awake?
PL
After hitting send, she started flipping through the other tabs, making sure she hadn’t missed mysterious lines at the end of other departments’ sections. She didn’t see any, but $35,000 seemed like plenty to reinstate the youth athletics, senior center programs, community-
A little bell sound from her computer startled her, interrupting her train of thought. Glancing back at her laptop, she was surprised to already have a response from Nerd Boy.
Yes, I’m awake-just got back from a nice walk and was thinking of you. The sun was shining, and, well, that always makes me think of you.
That’s great news! I know how much your work situation has been weighing on you this summer. How are you going to celebrate this breakthrough?
NB
That was a good question. She’d been working so hard this week, she kind of just wanted to sit back and catch her breath.
Some red wine and CSPAN maybe? Any suggestions?
PL
Leslie tapped her fingers on her kitchen table, smiling, waiting to see if he’d write her back that quickly again. A few moments later a new message popped up:
CSPAN-wow. Don’t go too crazy! I’m kidding. I would never mock someone for watching CSPAN. Big fan of CSPAN. Although it is a Saturday, and I’m not sure Congress is debating this weekend. Might I suggest something on the History Channel instead? There’s a really interesting looking documentary, “How the States Got Their Shapes,” on this afternoon. The tagline was something like,“Every line on the US map tells a great story.” Well, I thought it sounded interesting. Is that just me?
NB
Giggling, she typed back to him:
No, it’s not just you! I love History Channel documentaries, and I haven’t seen that one yet. I always wondered why Wyoming is basically a box, while West Virginia looks like someone spilled a milkshake. If you’re watching it too, we should watch it together! There’s a messaging component on Hoosier Mate. Do you want to meet up there later?
PL
His reply took longer this time, and as the minutes ticked by she started to wonder if she had completely misread the situation and he was out there somewhere trying to figure out how to let her down easy. It was just a documentary, though. What was the big deal?
Except that it kind of felt like a big deal, now that she had put it out there.
Finally her computer dinged, snapping her out of her momentary freakout.
That sounds good. Meet you online at 2?
Relieved, she wrote back:
It’s a date!
Then she reached for her phone to call Ann for some help figuring out what to wear. How would Nancy Pelosi dress for a situation like this? Something put-together but comfortable, something that said both I’m an awesome lady and I’m super excited about geography. She remembered that Nerd Boy liked globes. Or at least she thought he did-had that been one of the details on his profile that was true? Since he was the one to suggest this particular documentary, it seemed like it was probably true ... Maybe Ann had a T-shirt featuring a map.
Then Leslie caught herself, remembering that he wouldn’t actually be able to see her.
Maybe it was better this way, she thought after a moment. She could tell him she was wearing anything she wanted.
But she put the phone down, suddenly thinking maybe this was not something Ann would understand.
--
Monday morning, Ben woke up in a great mood. He’d pretty much spent the entire weekend (except for a few breaks to sleep and eat) sipping red wine and watching History Channel documentaries while chatting with Pawnee Lover online, and he had that giddy feeling of when you first start dating someone and it seems really promising. She was so easy to talk to, and into the same things he was into, and she had interesting things to say, and she was really sweet and funny. It had been years since he’d spent time with someone who made him feel this way. And maybe it wasn’t a real date, or the beginning of a real relationship, but he had a feeling that she might really like him too. There had definitely been moments when it seemed like she might be flirting with him.
At one point, she’d asked him what he was wearing, and he had felt too silly to confess he had on one his nicer dress shirts and slacks because he’d wanted to look nice for her, even though they weren’t seeing each other in person. Instead he’d lied that he had on a Hillary Clinton campaign T-shirt from the 2008 primary season, because he thought she’d be into that, and it seemed like a more plausible clothing option for sitting around his motel room and watching television.
Then she had told him she was wearing a shirt with a topographical map of the United States across her “chestal region,” and he wondered if she was making that up for his benefit, or if she really had a shirt like that. Either way … it was pretty adorable. (And now he couldn’t seem to get the idea of her chestal region out of his head, even as he was headed into work.)
As Ben approached Pioneer Hall, he noticed Leslie Knope sitting on the front steps, looking intently at something in that binder she’d been going through for the past week. Then she looked up and smiled at him, and he smiled back at her because he was in a good mood, and she hadn’t bothered him much lately, and if she was still studying those spreadsheets, maybe she was coming around to seeing his position. Maybe even his work life was starting to look up.
Then she snapped her binder shut and jumped up to follow him inside. “Ben! You’re early.”
Glancing at his watch, he noticed it was 7:59, and yeah, he’d probably moved a little faster this morning because of that giddy feeling. But just a little faster, and it was weird that she’d notice a two-minute difference in his arrival time, and the suggestion that she might be tracking his movements that closely made him nervous.
“Not that early,” he mumbled, hurrying into the building.
Ben turned toward the stairs that led up to the second floor, thinking this was where she’d break away from him to go to her own office in the parks department, since the task force wasn’t reconvening until 9:30. Instead she followed him into the stairwell, and he didn’t really want her to follow him, so he turned around to face her, warily.
He was in a good mood, and he had a bad feeling that she was about to screw that up for him.
“Do you need something?”
“Yes! I want to set up a meeting. As soon as possible. Now, if that works for you. I have so much to talk to you about.”
She started to open up her binder, and he had the panicky urge to reach past her and make sure the door into the stairwell hadn’t just locked behind them, trapping him indefinitely in a one-on-one impromptu meeting with Leslie Knope. He knew for a fact there was nothing in that binder that changed the outlook for her department, but for some reason she looked so eager and hopeful, which could only mean she was about to suggest something absurd and impossible. He’d be forced to say no to whatever it was, she’d be upset, he’d feel awful, and he’d be stuck here with her for who knows how long until someone else found them. Chris and his assistant didn’t arrive until 8:30 usually, and the rest of the task force members didn’t need to be there until 9:30, and what if they used the other staircase?
As Leslie thumbed excitedly through some spreadsheets, apparently looking for whatever it was she wanted to show him, he tried to subtly reach past her to jiggle the door knob. Just to make sure.
It hadn’t locked. Not that that had ever happened to him before. But thank god.
“What are you doing?” Leslie was looking at him really oddly, and suddenly he realized how closely he’d leaned in toward her to touch the door knob, and as he snapped his hand back self-consciously, it just happened to brush up against her hair, which was really soft.
And suddenly he was conscious of being in an enclosed space with Leslie Knope for entirely different reasons. But that didn’t make any sense. There was nothing sexual about the tension between them, he was sure, so it must be just leftover energy from the weekend he’d just had, the fact that he’d spent days wanting to reach out and touch someone who wasn’t there. And now someone was there, even if it wasn’t the right someone. And that must be all it was.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat. “Um … nothing. I thought I forgot something in my car, so I was going to go back. But it’s okay, I didn’t. I mean, I have everything … I need. So.”
God, he must be the most awkward human being alive. He wished Leslie of all people didn’t have to see him like this. It’s called people skills. You should get some, he remembered her saying. Yeah, he wished it was that easy. Did they sell those at JJ’s along with the waffles? He didn’t think so.
After staring at him for another moment, she returned her attention to the binder, holding it up toward him and running her finger down the page to show him something.
“Um … do you mind if we do this up in my office?” he suggested. Since the door hadn’t mysteriously locked behind them, it really didn’t make any sense to be conducting business in a stairwell. “You could even contact Chris’s assistant and set an actual meeting if you want.” Silently, he willed her to set up the meeting with Chris instead. Dealing with people like Leslie-that was supposed to be Chris’s department. And if she wanted a people person-
She looked crestfallen for a beat, then quickly recovered. “Let’s just do this now. I know we only have”-she glanced at her watch-“87 minutes until the task force meets, but if we don’t get through everything, we can pick it up at lunchtime. Yeah, let’s just do it now. In your office.”
Whatever she wanted to talk to him about might take more than 87 minutes? Um, wow. There went his good day. Ben sighed resignedly, ruffled his hair (which he’d spent too much time on this morning, for reasons he realized didn’t make any sense), and went upstairs, knowing she’d follow him.
In his office, he took a seat at his desk, and she sat down across from him, her eyes focusing for a moment on something over his shoulder, a few disparate emotions flashing across her features before quickly settling into a more pleasant businesslike expression. He glanced behind him, curious what she had been looking at, but only saw the organizational chart for Pawnee’s government.
“Okay. So you wanted to talk to me.” Have convictions. Be friendly. He felt like Eleanor Roosevelt had become the angel sitting on his left shoulder lately, thanks to his online pen pal.
“Yes, I wanted to talk to you about this line item at the end of the sewage department’s section.”
She slid what appeared to be a copy of her copy of that page across the desk to him, which was completely unnecessary, because he practically had those spreadsheets memorized. “That’s not part of the sewage department’s budget,” he said without looking at it.
“No, I know that. I figured that out. It’s labeled discretionary.”
Right.
Uh-oh.
“Um, yeah, no, that’s … I mean, I knew about that. It’s supposed to be there.”
Her expression hardened slightly, and he figured she had maybe been giving him the benefit of the doubt, that he had merely overlooked that part of the budget, and he’d just pretty much admitted to actively keeping it from her. Which wasn’t exactly true. He just hadn’t volunteered the information, because it had nothing to do with her department.
“It’s labeled discretionary,” she pointed out, like a barely concealed accusation.
“Yep,” he simply agreed, not appreciating the tone of her voice.
“Well, whose discretion?” she demanded, becoming less and less successful at concealing her ire.
He took a deep breath, trying to keep his own voice even. “Honestly, it’s your government’s discretion. Whatever the City Council chooses to do with it. But I’m recommending that they don’t do anything with it, for now.”
From the look on her face, it looked like she thought he was doing this to her personally. Which was ridiculous, because one, she was one of dozens of department heads he had to deal with. And two, he was trying to do what was best for her city. So technically, they were on the same side.
“Why would you do that?” she finally choked out.
“Because … because …”-stick to your beliefs as they stick to theirs-“it’s the responsible thing to do. It’s a safety net. A rainy day fund. It’s some cushion built into the budget that will help ensure that your government doesn’t get itself into trouble again like this in the future.”
“This isn’t a rainy day?” For a moment her voice was more disbelieving and sad than angry, and he felt like a jerk for making her sound like that. None of this was her fault.
“Look, your mayor and your city council got you into a bad situation. I’m just trying to advise them on what’s necessary to get it back on track. But it’s still a pretty dire situation. What if I leave, and some unexpected expense comes up, something really necessary. Like … a sewer line that breaks, or an unusually bad winter where the snow plows have to run more than usual. That’s what a rainy day fund is for.”
Leslie seemed to turn that over in her head a few moments, unhappily, then launched into her rebuttal. “You’re such a pessimist!” She spat out the word pessimist like it was a worse insult than jerk or asshole, and he wasn’t even-he was just more cautious than she was. “You don’t know that any of that is going to happen. In the meantime, that money is just sitting there, benefitting no one. I could be using it for valuable programs, for things that benefit real people. I have all of these ideas!”
She flipped to a section of her binder that looked much more colorful than anything that could have been copied from his own binder. He was kind of curious what was in there, even though it probably didn’t matter.
“Is there anything in that binder that would generate revenue?” he asked on the off chance he was wrong.
From the look on her face, he could tell he hadn’t been. “Not everything worth doing brings in revenue,” she retorted.
“I’m sorry, Leslie. If I gave you the money, that’s it. It would be gone. It would be irresponsible of me to do that. Now if you don’t mind … I actually have some notes I need to review before the task force meeting. Okay?”
Her face got all scrunched up as she considered this. Finally she pushed her chair back and stood up, sucking in a ragged breath. “When do you want to finish this meeting? The task force adjourns at 4:30. Does 5 or 6 work for you?”
He was kind of stunned that she wasn’t just going to let this drop. Did she never give up? “Um … actually I sort of, ah, I have plans tonight.” Something about the look on her face, the disbelief over the fact that he might have something else going on in his life, that not everyone in the world hated his guts, made him add quietly, “A date.”
Even though that wasn’t exactly true. He had vague plans to stop by the grocery store, pick up some ingredients, make a nice dinner, and possibly offer to take it to Pawnee Lover, wherever she was. Although, to be honest, he probably wasn’t going to have the nerve to carry out the last part of that plan. But still.
“Are you wearing that?” Leslie asked, a derisive note in her voice.
Ben looked down at the green-and-orange checked shirt that he’d put on that morning because it was bright, and it seemed to fit his mood. His mood then, at least.
“What’s wrong with ...? Fine. You know what, next time I get dressed, I’ll call and get your opinion first.” If it made her feel better to insult him personally, so be it.
“I don’t care what you wear,” she snapped. And then she was gone, leaving him once again to try to figure out where he’d gone wrong with her.
--
There was nothing like a meeting with Ben Wyatt to bring Leslie’s spirits crashing down. She’d had a lovely weekend, rejoicing over solving her budget problem and multitasking like she was Michelle Obama on Sweetums bars. She’d collected all of her best ideas into an attractive and compelling presentation, all while catching up on her documentary viewing and enjoying the company of a nice man who respected her and made her happy. (And who sounded really cute and supportive of female political candidates.)
She had been in such a good mood that she was even starting to picture a world where she could get along with Ben Wyatt, thinking that as soon as she showed him what she had found, and what she wanted to do with it, maybe they could finally work together on something instead of … one of them working really hard on something and the other one working really hard on ruining it.
But he hadn’t even wanted to hear her ideas. Not a single one of her ideas.
Just because they weren’t money makers-as if that was the only criterion by which to evaluate an idea. How did he know the parks department didn’t have a need as urgent as a broken sewer line? Which hadn’t even happened?
Honestly, you’d think a guy who wore shirts like that would be a little more open-minded, or that someone who saw everything in black and white would wear things that were more, well … black and white. It was like false advertising for him to wear so much color. Leslie hoped whatever woman, or man, he was inflicting his company on tonight didn’t get the wrong idea about him. She wished she knew the person, so she could warn them away.
But worst of all, she was back to square one. Maintenance mode. Which sounded an awful like phoning it in, or skating until retirement, or something just really unproductive, and she didn’t see how that was going to be good for Pawnee at all.
On her way home that evening, feeling the anger and frustration and sadness mingling together, she remembered something that Nerd Boy had said about eating well and on an impulse swung by the grocery store to buy some fruit.
Avoiding the peaches, which for all she knew could be the root of all evil, she picked out some pretty yellow bananas, delicious looking strawberries, and a couple kiwi because she liked saying the word kiwi.
Kiwi.
See, she was feeling better already. Maybe she’d make a smoothie tonight, if she could remember where she kept her blender. Wait, did she have a blender?
As she took a step back away from the kiwi display, she crashed into someone directly behind her. “Oh! Sorry …” she exclaimed as she was turning around to make sure the other person was all right.
“Excuse me! God, I’m such a klutz sometimes …” said a familiar voice, and when she turned around, sure enough, it was Ben Wyatt.
Just when she was starting to feel better, too.
“Oh. You,” she greeted him, the words coming out in short, clipped syllables because he made her so uncomfortable.
“Yeah. Me,” he said flatly, looking at her like she was the last person he wanted to see. As if she was the one who destroyed his day. Week. Entire year, probably.
“You should really watch where you’re going,” she said.
“I should …?” For a moment, this seemed to infuriate him, but then he shook his head in that dismissive way he had. “Yeah, okay. Well, I apologized. Hope bumping into me didn’t ruin your evening.”
He was wearing a different shirt, a pale gray pinstripe, and for the briefest moment she wondered if her opinion had actually mattered to him on something. In the next instant she noticed the contents of his basket-carrots, celery, and onions-and went right back to feeling sorry for his date. Blech.
“I’m making soup,” he said, with a note of defensiveness.
Leslie couldn’t help but make a face. “Right. Well you enjoy your … soup.”
They started to turn away from each other again.
“Of course you don’t like vegetables,” Ben muttered as he moved away from her, but loud enough that she heard it.
At that Leslie whirled around again. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means … it means …” He was half turned away from her still, but she could see the flickers of indecision pass across the left side of his face, and she was half sure he was going to try to bring in Chris somehow to smooth things over instead of just telling her what he really thought for once. But then something shifted suddenly, and he was facing toward her, leaning in and talking and gesturing with more fervor than she’d ever seen him use. Which was kind of absurd, considering they were talking about produce, supposedly.
“It means, I’ve seen how much whipped cream you put on your coffee, and I’ve seen how many styrofoam boxes of waffles end up in the parks department. You think you can live on sugar and puppies and rainbows, but your teeth are going to rot, and you’re going to spend your life fighting cold viruses, and, it’s just, it’s just, it’s not a sustainable way to live!”
She stared at him agape, fixating on something from the middle that she knew was inane. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t eat puppies. You eat puppies!”
He shook his head at her. “What?”
“I don’t know. You said it.”
“I’m just saying … vegetables are responsible,” he said in a more measured voice. “Responsible people eat vegetables because it’s good for them in the long run.”
It was pretty much everything she’d ever feared he thought of her, and it hurt more than she wanted it to. “And you don’t think I’m responsible?”
“I think you’re … well, I think you’re a person who doesn’t like to eat her vegetables,” he said more quietly.
Glaring at him, Leslie deliberately started picking up vegetables, whatever was closest, and putting them in her basket. Something she suspected was an artichoke. Beets. Some leafy green stuff she didn’t recognize.
“I eat my vegetables,” she said through gritted teeth. “You don’t know me.”
“Oh yeah, I see that,” he said skeptically. “What on earth are you making?”
“It’s none of your business!” she declared and stalked off.
Honestly, she had no idea.
--
Chapter 4