Author's Note: Anybody else think that Angela let Tony off too easily after "The All Nighter" (aka, the night he stupidly slept with Kathleen)? Angela was so gracious and understanding—too much so, in my opinion. By the time Season 7 rolled around, Tony and Angela were "perfectly fine" with this "whole dating others business". Blech. Here is my take on how an evening might have gone during that horrid summer when Tony cheated on Angela. Just a short one-shot. Angela's POV.
And a special thanks goes to MissBowerMicelli for proofing, encouraging, and suggesting a couple of great lines! We are all united in our trauma over TAN.
One Saturday Evening in July 1990
Come on zipper, don't get stuck now. Please, zip all the way up, I silently beg as I suck in my breath and pull as hard as I can on the tiny zipper at my back. I hear a thread pop and my bra strap gets in the way. Damn. This dress . . . this dress is a killer. I don't usually buy dresses like this one, but I desperately needed some retail therapy at Bloomingdale's and there it was, beckoning to me from a window display mannequin. From one dummy to another, I figured for who could resist its shine, its elegance, its sheer exquisiteness? As for the sticker price, a real shocker but who cares? I don't care. I don't care about much these days anymore.
It's over. It never began and now it's over. I feel bereft, cheated, discarded. He's with her now. The thought of those two sharing a bed fills me with so much revulsion and horror that I cannot let my mind go there. But does my mind listen to me? No, of course not. I'm repeatedly tormented by images of Tony making love-no, not making love-screwing Kathleen. Why her? Why now? In the three emergency sessions I had with Dr. Bellows, she listened to me cry on her couch while tears and snot poured down my face. With exquisite compassion; she handed me a box of tissues and listened to me as I sobbed uncontrollably about Tony's betrayal. Even she seemed perplexed by the whole Kathleen calamity. Like me, Dr. Bellows thought that Tony and I were moving towards something permanent after our trip to Jamaica. He only needed time. And I'd given him the time and space he'd requested and waited patiently, too patiently. Damn! I will not cry again. It took me twenty minutes to get this makeup right; I will not let Tony Micelli ruin it. Not again. I've had to switch to waterproof mascara because of him. It's not just for poolside anymore; it's the ideal makeup for a woman scorned.
I check myself out in the mirror and deftly wipe my tears with a tissue, salvaging my eye-makeup as best I can. As for the dress, it's got to fit. I feel powerful in it—powerful and sexy and very, very hot. And I'm going to wear it. I donated a closetful of shoulder pads, floral prints and drab beige separates to Goodwill. Wallflower Angela is a girl of the past. I struggle with the zipper but it resists my tug; the bra strap prevents me from closing the dress. Quite the dilemma I've got now. Wear another dress, a dreary dress or keep this stunner but go braless. Throwing caution to the wind, I go with the latter option and unhook the bra, angrily flinging it to the floor. The dress zips up perfectly now; it's tight enough to hold everything in and up. This dress has magical lifting powers—who needs a bra now? I twirl in the mirror and have to concede that I look absolutely amazing. I've grown my hair out somewhat and have gone with a darker, golden hue of blonde. It's warmer and suits my complexion better. It falls past my shoulders, straight and thick but it's a warm night so I twist it up into a haphazard chignon with tendrils of hair escaping the sides. Long dangly earrings complete my look. As for the dress, it's black, tight, and short . . . and showcases my long legs to perfection. Perfect for tonight.
From my room upstairs, I hear the doorbell ring and Tony hurrying to answer the door. Tony has his own date tonight, with whatsherface. I've developed such an aversion to the name 'Kathleen' that if I ever meet some poor innocuous woman on the street with that same name, I'm liable to kick her in the shin. She'd better not show up here again; she has a nasty habit of wanting to pick up Tony at my house. What makes her think she's welcome here anyway? What makes Tony think it's appropriate to bring her into my house? When I caught them kissing on the couch, I literally thought I was going to throw up. But I'm a nice person; I can't very well kick out my best friend when he's entertaining his concubine, now can I? I wish I could have kicked them both out on their asses but social norms and mores must dominate such hellish circumstances so that nobody feels uncomfortable. Well, so that nobody openly feels uncomfortable. Still, if that little bitch shows up at my house tonight, I'm going to . . .
"Angela!" Tony is calling me from downstairs. "Peter is here. Are you almost ready?"
Rather than yell down the stairs, I leisurely walk to the landing, peering downstairs to make sure that the blonde nitwit isn't there. Nope, coast is clear. So, I take my time and throw a little sauce into my walk—I saunter down gracefully.
"Hello Peter", I say. "How are you this evening?" The fake smile on my face must appear genuine in this charade that we're playing. While fond of Peter, I have no real interest in him. He just happened to be at the right place, at the right time when the bottom fell out of my world. I was a drowning woman and he was a well-placed set of water wings.
"Wow!" Peter lets out a low wolf whistle. "Angela, you look amazing! That's some dress!"
"Oh this old thing?" I say. He urges me to twirl around for him so I oblige, but it's Tony's expression that catches me off guard. He's staring at me, for lack of a better word, hungrily. His eyes are dark and sombre as they slowly linger over me, pausing at my cleavage, ass and legs. His mouth is drawn into a tight line and his fists are clenched. I do one more demi-twirl for his benefit and lock my eyes with his hungry ones.
"Tony?" I ask, my voice as light as air. It catches him off guard. He looks up at me somewhat confused as though he didn't expect me to speak.
"Could you please grab my overnight bag? It's in the hallway upstairs." My words have an unsettling effect on him. He draws a deep breath and I watch fascinated as his complexion goes from provoked pink to perturbed pale.
"Overnight bag?" he squeaks, sounding horrified.
"Yes, Tony. The burgundy one. It's beside my bedroom. Could you bring it down, please?" I turn away from Tony and give my full attention to Peter. He is my date, after all.
"Hi, you all ready for tonight?" I ask Peter seductively in full earshot of Tony. This will be our first night together, officially. Although, we did have unplanned sex once before when I was crying uncontrollably. One good thing about Peter, is that he loves to comfort me and appears to worship the ground I walk on. I couldn't have found a better ego-booster had I gone searching. But still, he's a set of water wings and I'm still drowning. And while the sex was pretty good, physically speaking, that's all it was. My emotions are not tied into it one bit. It was a much needed release from my tears. Nothing like a good orgasm to chase away the doldrums. As far as water wings go, that's fine but I've been cheated out of the body/soul connection that I sought with Tony. For now, pity sex, recreational sex, comfort sex, will have to do. And Peter's okay for that, I suppose. Not that I ever wanted to sleep with anybody but Tony. I'm still in love with him, dammit. I'm smiling at Peter but a lump suddenly fills my throat and I have to swallow back a cry from deep within my heart. Stifling all of this grief and pain isn't healthy, Dr. Bellows keeps reminding me. She thinks I'm making a big mistake in sleeping with Peter this weekend. She says I shouldn't ignore my heart. I told her that if Tony can do it, then I'm sick to death of living like a nun. She asked me if I was having "revenge sex" and the thought frightened me. That it could come down to this between Tony and me? After years of a warm, loving, nurturing friendship, his betrayal has me seeking "revenge sex"? I emphatically told Dr. Bellows that I enjoyed Peter's company and that he's an attractive, successful man. Sex is a bonus, I explained to her. She didn't believe me but I refuse to accept what she's suggesting!
"Angela!" Tony calls me from upstairs, interrupting my thoughts. He sounds annoyed.
"What is it?" I answer back as airily as possible.
"Can you come up here please? I need your help with something." His voice is sand in my wounds.
"Angela, I'm just going to wait for you in the car", Peter announces suddenly. "I have to make some calls from my car phone. Don't be too long." He kisses me on the mouth but instead of responding to him, I politely pull away and head up the stairs to see what Tony could possibly need help with. It's a small overnight bag, weighing ten pounds at most.
Tony is waiting in front of my bedroom door, standing beside my overnight bag. His arms are crossed and his face is drawn into an angry scowl.
"What is it, Tony?" I'm genuinely perplexed. "Bag too heavy for you?"
"Very funny, Angela. Nooo, the bag isn't too heavy!" he responds angrily.
"Well what? What's the matter? Peter is waiting for me in the car. We have reservations." I want to get the hell out of here, away from him.
"I have some reservations of my own, Angela!" he shouts at me. "You're goin' somewhere overnight with this bozo? So soon? Don't you think you're movin' a little too fast?" Tony's going into overprotective mode like he does with Samantha. I blink in surprise and shake my head at him.
"Soon? Soon Tony? Really? I've been dating Peter for six weeks now. How is that soon? And it's not like we haven't already . . ." I trial off to let him understand my unspoken meaning.
Tony's eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he looks at me as though completely shocked. "You mean to tell me that you and Peter, that you and Peter, that you . . . you . . ." he can't finish his sentence so I complete it for him.
"Had sex? Yes, we had sex. Not that it's any of your business, Tony. I'm certainly not going to ask you a thing about your sex life because I really don't want to know. Really not. Can I have my bag please?"
"No, Angela. I don't want to give you your bag. I think you're makin' a mistake." Tony as father figure can be the most frustratingly stubborn person on the planet. I take a deep breath and grab for my bag, pushing past its surly bodyguard. Tony surprises me by tugging at the bag, hard. I lose my grip and my balance; Tony catches me before I face plant at his feet. But I don't want his help and pull away from him, almost violently. His touch is too intimate, too searing and I would succumb to him in a millisecond if I allowed myself.
"What are you doing?" I hiss at him. Now I'm angry. "You have no right to try and prevent me from leaving with Peter!" I yell. "Of all the people in the world, you have the least right. Not when you're going to be with Kathleen tonight!" I immediately regret my words because I've uttered them in anger and hurt. And I don't want to give him the satisfaction.
"Angela, you can't go." He states as though he had any say in the matter. I glare at him.
"Tony, I don't know what you're trying to pull but I'm getting angry here. Let go of my damned bag", I'm breathing heavily now and desperately trying to keep my voice from rising into hysteria.
"Angela, I'm just lookin' out for you", he has the audacity to reply. That's it, he's gone too far. I can hear 'the shrill' come out of me before it can be controlled.
"You're looking out for me, Tony?! Of all the hypocritical things to say, we have a winner. Who the hell do you think you are, Tony Micelli? Who do you think you are to tell me what to do? You, the Italian, champion of families...What was it you once told me? Oh yes, 'families stick together'. Well you messed that up, Tony. And I'm going to do whatever the hell I please. And if doing Peter pleases me, then that's what I'll be doing tonight." Fury and hurt are driving me now. I hurl my bag out of his fists and run down the stairs with it as fast as my high heels allow me.
"Wait, Angela wait", he cries out to me. I ignore him. He has no right, not after what he's done to our family. Not after the way he's broken my heart. I hate him! I love him! I want to tear off his clothes and have him right here, right now, on the staircase but I also want to punch his face in. Well, he could never accuse me of indifference.
He's running down the stairs behind me and catches my arm as I'm about to escape out the front door.
"Let go of me", I say. He's not playing fair—he has no right to touch me.
"Turn around Angela", his voice is soft and firm and begs to be obeyed. I hesitantly turn around and face him. His eyes are sad, the anger is gone from his face. The livid father figure has morphed into a lost little boy. His warm brown eyes speak volumes but I can't let myself fall into them right now. He's with Kathleen. My heart is hammering so hard in my chest that I fear he can see it lurch through my tight, braless dress. I can't help myself-his eyes are drawing me in. I touch my hand to his face and look into his tear-filled eyes through my own tears.
"Good-night Tony. I'll see you tomorrow morning." I can't seem to let go of his face and feel one hot tear fall onto my index finger, closest to his eye. I'm dying inside and he's the one killing me. So I stand up straighter and say, "Have a nice date with Kathleen."
He looks ashamed of himself now but he lets me go. There's nothing he can say to me. Neither of us has won this stalemate-both caught in our liaisons-ridiculous as they are.