DISCLAIMER: This idea was inspired by Taxifan's 'Love Letter', and was posted on the Fan Fiction Challenges board by Tony&Angela8492. I gracefully accepted the challenge of writing this story, and came up with its title. I do not own 'Who's the Boss?'.
The Written Novel of Sweethearts
Chapter One: Pen Pals
"Dear Anthony,
Hi! It's me, Ingrid, and I just cleaned my room and found your address in a folder of mine. Remember me from camp last month? I remember you. I wish we could see each other again, but that would be pretty hard, considering the distance between us. So, how about we become pen pals? That would be fun, don't you think? Well… I think it could be fun. We gave each other our addresses to write to one another anyway right?
Anyway, I just wanted to write to you, you know, keep in touch. Oh, and by the way, if we are going to be pen pals, I guess I can tell you my real name. It's Angela. Angela Robinson in fact; want to know why I told you it was Ingrid? Well, I didn't want you to kiss and tell. And I had just seen Casablanca three times. Hope you are doing okay!
Your (hopefully) Pen Pal,
Angela Robinson"
'How could I possibly forget…?' Anthony Micelli thought to himself after reading the letter that came for him in the mail. 'Angela… what a pretty name…' He seemed blind to the fact Ingrid had lied to him. Anthony chuckled; of course he would be her pen pal. What could it hurt right?
"Dad, where are the envelopes?" Anthony called up to his dad after finding a stamp and some paper.
"Try looking in my desk drawer. Top on the right." A man said peeking out from the kitchen. He was just slightly muscular, but not so much so you'd actually notice, and he was wearing a white apron that said 'Chef Lé Papa'. "Why do you need an envelope?" He asked his eleven year old son.
"Well, I have a pen pal from camp." Was all Anthony said.
"Okay Anthony, what a fun idea." Replied the man, returning to his job in the kitchen, making an authentic Italian meal for dinner.
As Anthony scurried into his father's bedroom, he was thinking about what he should write. 'Dear Angela… I would love to be your pen pal… no. To personal.' He opened the top right drawer on his father's desk. 'Yo Angela, what's shakin'? I'd be glad to be your pen pal! No. Way to Brooklyn Bridge Gang like…' He pulled out the envelope, and walked out of the bedroom, back to the small living room. He sat on the couch, placed a magazine beneath the piece of paper, and began to write.
"Hey Angela,
How are you? It's Anthony. Anyway, I was just replying to your letter, and I think it'd be fun to be your pen pal! Oh, and, I am really only eleven…
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… Well, I hope you are doing okay too, and I hope you aren't too mad at me.
Your Official Pen Pal Buddy from Brooklyn,
Anthony M. Micelli"
Thirteen year old Angela read the letter carefully, slightly upset that her first kiss had been shared with an eleven year old- but other than that she was glad Anthony had replied. She smiled, and placed the letter back into the envelope, putting it in the drawer of her nightstand. She would reply to the letter later, after she thought of something good to write. Who knows, maybe they would become really close friends. Maybe even secret lovers who lost contact and met again in the future, but didn't know it was each other until a few years after they reunited. Nah, that didn't seem possible, and actually seemed to much like a television sitcom or soap opera.
"Angela… dinner time!" Called the familiar male voice of her father as a door slammed downstairs.
"Coming Daddy!" Angela replied happily, standing up from her bed, flattening the light pink comforter. She ran down the steps and into the kitchen, a smile plastered to her face. Her mother would be back from shopping shortly, and her dad had been back from work for a few minutes. Take out she supposed. So she didn't have a picture perfect family, but she was pleased with what she had.
"Guess who's back home?" A vivacious red headed woman walked into the kitchen, flipped her hair and sat down smiling.
"Hi Mother." Angela said, greeting her with a smile.
"Hello darling…" Robert, Angela's father said to the woman, giving her a peck on the cheek. "Looking lovely today, almost more beautiful than usual." He added.
"Well, I did get a promotion, I'm now customer of the year at Bloomingdale's." She gave a small laugh. Robert smiled, and rubbed her shoulder then walked back over to the stove.
"Does that mean more deals Mother? More late hours out shopping because you can save more money?" Angela muttered, gritting her teeth slightly.
"Of course not Angela. You know I love you and your father very much!" She said, right as Robert put her plate on the table.
"Mona, Mona, Mona… always the one to go after something she wants."
Mona smiled at this comment and shrugged her shoulders a bit. "Eh… always have, always will!"
At this Robert set Angela's plate before her at the table, then sat down with his.
"How was work?" Angela asked her father, trying to start a conversation.
"Nothing unusual sweetheart. All the 'guys' making comments to the ladies, gossip in the executive men's room that I steer clear of. The basics of the business office." He chuckled and took a bite of his steak.
"Oh, okay." Was all Angela said in reply. She stabbed at her steak, not really that interested in it.
"How was school dear?" Her mother asked her, looking up from her plate.
"Oh, nothing unusual Mother… just the same as everyday. Fine. Juuuust fine." Angela said with a sigh.
She finished her fries and her soda, and half of her double cheeseburger, and a cookie or two before she spoke again; listening to her mother and father chat. "Mother, Father, may I please be excused?" She asked.
"Why, certainly honey." Her father piped in, smiling.
"Don't get into to much trouble dear." Mona said, a smirk on her face.
"I won't Mother. Thanks Daddy." Angela stated, placing her dishes carefully into the sink.
She hastily walked up the steps, and into her room. She opened the drawer Anthony's letter was in, and smiled finding some paper, a pencil, and the other necessities for writing a letter.
"Dear Anthony,
Hey! It's me Angela, thanks for replying to my previous letter. I'm glad we're pen pals now; sometimes it gets lonely over here. Not many kids live on my street… but then again, not many kids want to hang out with me…
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...Well, anyway, my hand is starting to feel slightly numb. Bye!
Your Connecticut Pal,
Angela R."
'Not many kids want to hang out with you? I'd gladly hang out with you!' The thought perplexed the eleven year old boy. He barely comprehended the rest of the letter, to concerned for Angela's social feelings to pay much attention. Looking at the letter and re-reading it he smiled. He just might have a new good friend in Angela. Maybe someday he could visit her, and bring her to see the city. Maybe, just maybe- but for now, he liked just being pen pals.
He stood up, and glanced at a framed picture on the mantel of his family before his mother died. He was about six years old in that picture, and was wearing a little-league uniform- up on his father's shoulders. His mother stood beside them both beaming. She had long beautiful dark hair, and deep brown eyes that you could get lost in, and the complexion of her skin seemed to glow with perfection, but Anthony figured it was just him getting lost in his wild imagination.
His mother died when he was only seven, September 3rd being four years ago today. He started to swipe away a tear that began to roll down his cheek, and he sniffled a bit, going into the kitchen to make a snack. His father hadn't yet gotten home from his route today. As he walked in to the kitchen, smelling all of the Italian aromas, he began to calm down a bit. He grabbed up some home-made Italian bread, garlic, oregano, parmesan, garlic, and some pepperonis. He sliced the bread in half, and the half in half, and topped what he had left with the toppings he chose, and then went to bake it in the oven. He thought this up himself, calling it 'Italy's Pizzariffico Bread'. I mean, come on, he was ten when he thought it up!
"Anthony? Anthony I'm home now!" Called Anthony's father, closing the apartment door behind him.
"Hey pops!" He greeted his father with a hug and a warm smile. "Was work okay today?" Anthony asked him, wondering what the route was like this time. His father almost always had a good story to tell.
"Well… the Felipe's daughter just got her license to drive today, found that out… and a few dogs chased my truck… and, Ay oh, Oh ay, you shoulda' seen the look on Mr. Felipe's face when his daughter started talking about a boy who's last name was Rossini. Man was it hilarious!" He said, with a shake of his head and a grin.
Anthony laughed at this. Sometimes his father would have great stories, full of people, other times the only people he would see outside to talk to were the Felipe's. Meaning not the longest story, but a story none-the-less.
"So, what are you up to Bud?" Anthony's father asked, patting the kid's left shoulder. "Well, after I eat my snack I plan on replying to my pen pal's most recent letter."
"Alright then, pen pals are great!" Was all his father said, and went into the living room to watch television.