Tony asks me, the night after we accidentally woke up together, "Did you dream anything?"

At first I don't remember, and he says he doesn't dream. But then we look away from each other, and it all comes back!

I'm at Grant's house upstate. We agreed to not go away together till after the Board's decision. But now that I'm President of Wallace and McQuade, on my own merits, it's time for that weekend away.

I haven't dated much since Michael left me. It's partly that we're still only separated, not yet divorced, and partly that most men feel threatened by my success. That's not a problem with Grant, as he's my boss.

"Let me tell you one thing, Angela. You'd never catch me doing something dumb like sleeping with my employer!"

I hired Tony as Jonathan's nanny, not mine. Of course, my nanny had gray hair in a bun and wore cardigans. She didn't sleep in blue pajama bottoms and a form-fitting sleeveless white T-shirt, when he bothers with a T-shirt.

Why am I thinking about Tony so much? Tony is just my housekeeper. Yes, he's cute if you like that macho, ethnic type, but Grant is just as handsome, not to mention successful. He's witty, too, although Tony makes me laugh harder, those silly jokes that I can't help liking.

Anyway, it's Grant gargling in the bathroom as I wait impatiently in his bed. What will it be like to be with a new man? It's been so long since Michael, who was my first. (Brian and I came close, but thank God that was annulled.) Michael was so passionate and loving in the beginning, but he was essentially selfish, and not just as a husband. Poor Jonathan! If Tony hadn't come along, he'd never have known what it's like to have a good father.

Not that Tony is his father, or would ever be a stepfather. But he's already filling that role, without the fuss of marriage. Grant never spends much time with Jonathan, but he's so busy. I'm lucky he's got time for me!

The light goes off in the bathroom. I prop myself up, seductively but not obviously. I smile at the man in the doorway.

But this man doesn't have distinguished but prematurely gray hair. His is brown shading into black. This man isn't wearing the Brooks Brothers robe and matching nightshirt I got Grant for his birthday. He's wearing blue pajama bottoms and an apologetic smile.

"Ay, Angela, Grant called and said there was an emergency meeting and he had to go."
"An emergency meeting and I wasn't told?"
"Calm down, Angela. It's just for the Board and Grant."
"And that's supposed to calm me down?"

"I'm sure it's fine. No need to get so tense."

"I'm not tense!"

He comes over to the bed and sits on the edge. "I think you're a little tense."

"Well, you're wrong!"

"OK, so I'm wrong. It happens."

"Oh, what else do you admit to being wrong about?"

"Well, remember when I said it's dumb to sleep with your employer? Well, there could be times when that's OK."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, like if your job doesn't depend on it. And if you're really attracted to each other."

"Well, my job doesn't depend on it. And I thought Grant and I were really attracted to each other. And here I am, alone in his bedroom."
"Thanks a lot."
"Oh, Tony, I didn't mean alone-alone. I mean without, you know."

"A lover?"

I blush. "Yes. But I appreciate you being here as a friend." Since it's a dream, I don't question how he got here, or why he was gargling.

"Well, I didn't want you to feel stood up."

"Thank you, Tony. That's very considerate of you."
"Well, I'm a considerate guy."
"You are." More than Grant, I almost say. "And you're right. I am a little tense."

"Would you like a friendly neck and shoulder massage?"

Since it's a dream, I don't question that either. I just nod and turn my back to him.

"I like this nightie of yours. It shows off your great back."

It shows off more than that but I just thank him for the compliment.

And then he rubs my neck and shoulders. His hands are strong but gentle. I can't help crying out, making gasps and moans that I had thought it would take Grant's whole body to bring out in me. In the dream-world, there's no need to hold back. And my sounds guide Tony, teach him what I like. Till I feel utter release and peace, which fades into deep sleep.

That's all that happened, nothing more, but nothing less. I blocked it out when I first woke up this morning, although enough of the feeling lingered that waking up with Tony felt completely natural, which it completely was not. It got further lost in the craziness of the day, including Eye on Hartfield, with Bobbi Barnes almost (but not, thanks to Mother) revealing our accidental sleeping arrangements to the entire town.

Then Tony's question after the broadcast brought it all back. Good thing I didn't remember it when I woke up with him! That would've been so embarrassing! Not that he would've known, but I would've felt even more awkward.

Yes, it was just a dream. People dream all sort of things, some of it nothing to do with reality, or even waking fantasy. I spend a lot of time with Tony, and in some ways he's my friend as much as he's my housekeeper. And it's not like it was a sex dream!

It's just, well, when I remember it now, I feel warmer than I do when I have sex dreams about Grant. It's probably just the taboo aspect. Yes, I work for Grant, but our backgrounds are similar. It's not like with Tony, who comes from a different world.

"Is the fire too warm?" he asks now.

"The fire? No, it's nice. But it's making me sleepy."

"Yeah, me, too."
"Maybe we should go to bed."
He raises his eyebrows.

I hope I'm not blushing. "Different sleeping arrangements than last night."

"Good idea. I think I'll crash here, on the couch, so my snoring doesn't keep Jonathan awake."
"It's funny, I didn't even notice your snoring."

"Yeah, you must've slept pretty soundly, to not even know I was there."

"Yes, probably. Well, goodnight, Tony."

"Goodnight, Angela. Sweet dreams."

Now I really hope I'm not blushing.

…

Sweet dreams. That's what I had last night. Well, one dream but it was sweet. Luckily not wet. I mean, I thought I was sleeping with Samantha! Waking up in a wet spot with my boss would've been much better, but still really awkward.

Well, OK, it would be nice to wake up like that with Angela if we'd planned it. And if she weren't my boss. And if she felt that way about me. But I'm not her type. I think.

OK, I know women enough to know that there's some attraction on both sides. But Angela's not the type to act on attraction unless everything else lines up. Like with Grant. He's her type: distinguished-looking, educated, successful, snappy dresser, yadda yadda yadda. I'm not braggin', but I could probably look as good in a fancy suit. I just don't have that kind of money, or the experience to know what to buy. Not that Angela's after the suit, but it seems to be just as important as what's inside.

Except, well, that dream. And I can replay it now because I'm alone and it's not like it's the kind of dream where I wish I was alone in my bed. Or maybe in my bed, but not alone.

"Tony, just try it on."

"Angela, I don't want you buying me clothes. It makes me feel like a gigolo."

"How can you be a gigolo if you're not getting rewarded for sexual favors?"
"Mother!"

"Put the damn suit on, Tony. Humor the poor woman."
"OK, OK." It probably won't look right on me anyway. Angela's very stylish, but she doesn't buy men's clothes. Maybe she did for Michael before they got divorced. Maybe that's why they got divorced.

Kidding, kidding. Actually, although she's pretty uptight, Angela's quite a catch. I don't know how he let her go. OK, she's not the kind of girl who walks into a room and dazzles you, except sometimes when she dresses up for a social occasion, like for our "dinner for two." And even then, I wish she'd show more skin. From what I glimpsed walking in on her getting out of the tub, she's got fantastic legs, but she always wears those long skirts.

Yeah, Micelli, maybe you should be glad she doesn't show them off, that she is so conservative. Do you think you could live with her and keep your hands off her if she dressed like Mona? Not that she's as curvy of course, but she's got those long, sleek lines I want to run my hands along.

"Tony, is everything all right in there?"

"Yeah, it's great."

"Dear, maybe you should go into the changing room and check on him."
"Shut up, Mother."

Yeah, that's all I need, me in my skivvies, trying to fight a hard-on, and Angela comes in and tries to help me get dressed.

OK, think about baseball. Except I love baseball. OK, think about driving the Rossini fish-truck. You never had this problem at that job, did you, Micelli?

That's better. OK, here we go. I hope I don't look like a waiter.

Hey, not bad. I can't let her buy this for me though. I'll say it doesn't fit right or something. I've got my pride and I can't have a woman buy me clothes. Not Angela anyway.

"Are you going to model it for us or not?"

"OK, OK!" I go out there.

Mona grins. "Very nice." She never has any trouble expressing her appreciation of a good-looking guy, which not to brag, I am. In this suit especially. "Doesn't he look nice, Angela?"

"Nice isn't the word," she says softly. I'm still learning to read Angela. It's kind of like an Asian language, where tone is everything. Her voice is like an actress's. I don't mean fake. But it's versatile. One minute she's the tough no-nonsense president of an ad agency, and then she's schmoozing a client. And then she's silly, or insecure. And sometimes it hits this low register, not like a man but like the most womanly woman who ever lived!

"Does it fit all right?" Angela asks.

I see how important it is to her. That she wants to do this for me. Maybe I should let her. "Yeah, it fits fine."

"I don't know," Mona says. "Now that I look a little more closely, it may be a little tight in the crotch."

It wasn't too tight until I started thinking about Angela's voice.

I expect Angela to protest, "Mother!", the way she does. But instead she says, in a low register, "I think it's perfect the way it is."

OK, maybe that dream was a little hot. But still sweet.

I wonder if Angela really didn't dream anything last night. Maybe she was lying like I was. I wonder if she's dreaming right now.

I know, it's none of my business what she dreams. Maybe I shouldn't even be thinking about what I dream, not if it's about her. I can't have her, and even if I could, it would change everything. Things are good the way they are. And she is my boss.

I'll try not to dream about her anymore, and if I do, well, I won't dwell on it.

At least if I do dream about her again, I won't have to face her when I wake up.