"Tony, I didn't expect you back so soon!"
He waited till she was done hugging him to say, "Yeah, Mrs. Rossini, I didn't plan to come back for another month, when we play the Mets, but I'm gonna be a pitchman."
"I thought you played second base," Joe Rossini joked.
"Very funny. No, I'm gonna do a commercial in Manhattan and I figured why not take a few days off, see Sam and everybody."
"Does Sam know?" Mrs. Rossini asked.
"No, it's a surprise."
It had come as a surprise to him, too. He'd been in St. Louis, playing the Cubs, celebrating his birthday, when he got the offer. A big ad agency was doing a deodorant commercial and their spokesman had to drop out due to a minor scandal, women or betting, Tony wasn't sure. Anyway they needed an athlete to fill in as soon as possible and Coach suggested him. In a way, Tony was flattered, but it also meant that he thought Tony was the easiest to spare. Still, Tony always tried to look on the bright side of things. It'd be a chance to go home and a chance to make a little extra money. Plus it sounded fun and he didn't have any lines to memorize, since there would be an offscreen narrator.
"Well, she should be home from school soon."
Sam had been staying with the Rossinis while Tony was on the road. It was the first year his father couldn't look after her. It had been over four months since Christmas, but Tony still couldn't believe it. He wasn't ready to stop paying rent on Pop's apartment, because that would mean really staying goodbye.
He wished he didn't have to leave Sam for weeks, sometimes months at a time but it was part of his job. At least he knew she was safe and happy with the Rossinis, old family friends.
Then Sam came home with a black eye.
"Samantha, have you been fighting again?" Mrs. Rossini cried.
"Again?" Tony said.
Sam shrugged. "It's no big deal. And you fought when you were a kid, right, Dad?"
He wanted to say that it was different for him. He'd been a boy. And the neighborhood wasn't as rough then. But he didn't know what to say in front of the Rossinis. He'd discuss this with Sam when they got back to their apartment.
...
Angela was feeling very stressed. Yes, they had another athlete lined up for the next day's shoot but they'd almost lost the account. She'd never heard of the replacement, Tony something, but she didn't follow sports. All she knew was that he was available on short notice, and that was what mattered most.
Some of her stress came from her home situation. Mrs. Hiller was a terrible housekeeper. Well, no, she was good at keeping house but she was making it less of a home. Jonathan was afraid of her, and frankly so was Angela. Mother called her "Mrs. Hitler." Angela would've fired her, but one, she was too scared to, and two, she was afraid of getting someone even worse, or no one. Angela was not domestic herself and she didn't have time for it anyway.
And some of the stress came from Grant Paxson. She knew it was risky dating her boss, but he was handsome, charming, and successful. And Angela had been lonely since Michael left. She'd filed for divorce but hadn't heard back from him yet. She was still technically married, well, separated. So that was another reason why she hesitated about sleeping with Grant. If people found out, it would ruin her career. Even dining and dancing was risky. But she accepted for that evening. Dancing would relieve some stress, and dining out would mean one less meal at home.
Of course that meant poor Jonathan would spend the evening with Mrs. Hiller. Well, maybe Mother could take him out for fast food. Mother was even less domestic than Angela. They had housekeepers when Angela grew up, and she could count on the fingers of one hand the meals her mother had cooked.
Angela knew there were people who survived without servants, but she was glad she wasn't one of them. And it would've felt funny in her posh Fairfield, Connecticut neighborhood, even if she wanted to try. Well, there were days with Mrs. Hiller where she was tempted.
...
The shoot went smoothly, even though Tony Micelli was inexperienced before any camera other than a sports camera. He was down-to-earth, cheerful, and funny, with a warm smile. He was also what Mother would call a hunk, more than the athlete he'd replaced, so Angela was very glad her mother knew nothing about this. Not that Tony was Angela's type, but she couldn't deny to herself that he was good-looking.
Tony felt a little silly shooting the commercial, since it was mostly him acting out playing various sports, not just baseball but also boxing, since he admitted that he'd boxed a little. (He didn't say that he'd lost his one fight, as a teenager.) He also jogged, swung a tennis racket, and kicked a soccer ball. Then he had to strip off his shirt and put on the deodorant. He smiled all the way through. Hopefully this would look less silly with editing and the voiceover.
He was a little sweaty at the end, despite the deodorant. He was also tired and hungry. He went over to what he remembered as "the craft services table." But it had been picked pretty clean.
"Sorry about that. I think the crew got the munchies."
He turned and saw the lady from the ad agency. She was a tall, thin blonde in a power suit, shoulder pads and the whole deal. He was definitely not in the Brooklyn part of New York.
"That's OK," he said. "I should probably get a real lunch, not snacks."
"Would you like me to treat you?"
"Treat me?" Was she hitting on him? She wasn't really his type, although she was cute.
"Yes, I know a wonderful restaurant a block away. And I can write it off since this is work-related."
"Oh, well, as long as Uncle Sam's paying."
She chuckled and then blushed, seeming to have realized he was still shirtless.
"Uh, I guess it's no shirt, no shoes, no service, huh?"
"Actually, they'll expect a tie and jacket. But you can borrow something from the wardrobe department."
"Uh, thanks." He hadn't dressed up because he'd been told to look athletic. He wondered if he thought she didn't even own a tie and jacket. But the snob was offering him a free meal, so he'd ignore the offense.
...
To their surprise, Tony and Angela ended up bonding during lunch, over single parenthood. Well, Angela didn't mention that Michael was still her husband, since it wasn't like he was around much, always off in exotic locales filming documentaries. Poor Tony had lost his wife a few years ago. And he seemed so young, although he must've been about Angela's age, since he had an eleven-year-old daughter, whom he clearly adored.
"...She's so smart. But I worry about her. It's not easy for her with me on the road half the year. And I wish we lived in a better neighborhood."
"Have you thought about moving out of Brooklyn?"
"Yeah, but it's been our home so long. And it's not like there are nice affordable neighborhoods elsewhere in the City."
"Well, no. Maybe you should move to Connecticut," she joked.
"Is that where you live? You and, uh, Jonathan?" She'd said she had a seven-year-old son. Tony wasn't really used to working mothers, at least not ones with high-powered careers like hers. He wondered who was looking after the kid. He doubted she was surrounded by neighbors like the Rossinis.
"Yes, in Fairfield."
"Yeah? You know any places to rent?"
"Well, it's mostly houses, with the owners in them."
"Oh, of course."
"Well, there is my garage," she joked.
"Yeah? Would there be room for me and Sam next to your two cars?"
"Oh, I just have one." She wasn't sure if he was teasing. "But I meant the space above the garage. The people before Mich— me had a chauffeur who lived up there. Of course it would need a lot of fixing up."
"I can imagine."
She glanced at her watch. "Oh, I've got to get back to the office. It was nice chatting with you, Mr. Micelli."
"You, too, Ms. Bower." He was careful to use "Ms." rather than "Mrs." He didn't know if Bower was her married or maiden name. And he figured a career woman would prefer to be called "Ms."
As Angela paid the bill with her work credit card, she found it ironic that it would be easier to find a tenant than a new housekeeper, if she were looking for the former. But Mr. Micelli of course understood she was joking. The last thing she needed in her life was a complication like him. She could imagine how her mother would react if Tony moved onto the property, to say nothing of Grant. Or Mrs. Hiller!