(E-mail from Angela Bower at Bower Advertising, to Lynette Scavo at Parcher & Murphy, dated April 25, 2006)
Lynette,
I hope you'll forgive me for getting back to you considerably late and by way of a mail to your place of work at that. I meant to answer your message days ago, but at the moment work is pure mayhem, leaving me little time and space for anything else.
The story of my life, alright, but yesterday we powerpointed our final concept to the guys from Procter & Gamble (you'll remember I told you about this, The BIG One) and if everything continues to proceed as well as I had the impression it did during and right after the presentation, then soon my pension plans may very well be considered taken care of.
Seriously, I started my letter to you day before yesterday, just hitting the keyboard to see if I could work some thoughts on the matter into something remotely resembling coherence, knowing I wasn't going to be able to finish anything useful before sleep would've had me counted out.
All I can say right now, Lynette, is that indeed you're going through a considerable personal darkness at the moment. However, from what you're saying and, more importantly, how you choose to express your concerns about Tom's odd behavior, I think therein lies reason for hope, too: That eventually the light of day will brighten your path again. Honestly, I think Tom has his reasons, and there'll be, I'm sure, a perfectly simple explanation for what he's doing, no matter what "evidence" Ed confronted you with. I've known Tom for quite a while, both professionally and personally, and if you don't mind my saying so: Keep the faith, sweetie. He loves you with all his heart and soul. He's not the kind of man to leave his loved ones behind for one-dimensional pleasures. Trust me, I've known men who are, and Tom never striked me as being one of them. You and the kids are his life. Period.
No, he's not paying me to tell you this, and yes, I can see your smile. It's right there, right in front of me - at the other end of the continent.
By the way, your expression "lead with the fists" for Tom's sudden physical eruption evoked some memorable moments from my past.
Come to think of it, I'm going to attach to this message something that might cheer you up. Your words made me remember the time I realized I was in love with Tony. Sounds improbable, true, but there is definitely an intertextual connection between your remarks on Tom and a journal entry I made in 1987 concerning what I then used to call The Story of Tony and Angela. See if there isn't. (And, no, I'm not a Jungian.)
I've transcribed the journal entry and converted the text into a PDF file (attached hereunder as ). I decided to send it over to your workstation as I wasn't quite sure whether I'd be able to get back to you reasonably soon otherwise; and somehow I feel that my old entry tells you my thoughts on the matter in a more hope-giving way than any kind of dry prose from a disillusioned 21st-century Angela Bower possibly could.
You know what I mean, of course. So you may consider yourself lucky to be blessed with Tom's unconditional love.
In that respect I envy you, Lynette. Believe me, I truly do.
Alright, sweetheart. Gotta go, gotta rushrush, got a heart attack due in four years, and the music just keeps on rockin'. I'll give you a call as soon as possible. This week. Promised. You just hang in there.
Love, Angela
Bower Advertising, Inc.
YOUR ASPIRATION, OUR INSPIRATION
- Angela Bower, CEO -
437 Madison Ave
New York, NY 10022
-
mail sent to
-
Parcher & Murphy Advertising Co.
- Lynette Scavo, Vice President Accounts -
52 Maud Ave
Hayward, CA 94541
File name:
Virus scan: No virus threat detected
Download complete
Open with Adobe Reader 7.0 (standard application)
Sep 24, 1987
Waiting for a red-letter day. So that's what I've been doing these past three years.
And hear ye, hear ye: The shrink managed to drag the truth out of the innermost sanctum of my soul to flourish in the light of day. She did so rather effortlessly, I might add, though not lacking any of the aesthetic elegance the exertion of her profession can produce.
I love him. The housekeeper.
My mind is still going in a whirl. What's next ? I can't tell him.
I tried. Two days ago, upon returning from that memorable session at the mind-reader's. The motivation was sure there, powered by the emotional force of that moment of revelation I had experienced mere hours before. And yet... It shouldn't surprise me that I couldn't find the strength to tell him. I've had one bad experience too much with coming forward first, I guess. Tony stood there, right in front of me, attentively listening for a change, and knowing I love him with all my heart and soul I wanted to jump in his arms, wanted it so badly, but I just stood there, rooted to the spot, and when embarrassment forced the demons of the past to loosen their grip on me for just the tiniest fraction of a second...well, you can't really blame Samantha, can you. She rushed in like a hurricane to tell us she'd just rediscovered the formula for everlasting sunshine in Teenie-Teddyland. Somehow I'm even glad she interrupted. Just before, Tony had successfully insisted that I speak out first, and the result was me struggling like crazy to say what I know is of the utmost importance for our future. (OUR future. Well put, Angela.)
I couldn't do it. I still can't. I'm so scared. I wouldn't want to lose him for the world, but I almost did. Tony rejected Frankie - who's perfect for him - and her proposal, so who am I - who's so very different from him - to believe I can make him play by my rules !
The consequences could be disastrous, I can see that. If I can't find it in me to open my mouth and tell him what I feel, then one day someone else, another Francesca, may come along and succeed in what she failed to achieve, snatching away my Paolo, leaving me in Dante's Inferno.
Time, I know, is not going to be on my side.
If ever there was a better example of love's dualistic nature I haven't heard of it: Worries and fear here, hope and happiness there.
"Love is important", Tony said. Quite so. And love it is, I know my Shakespeare.
Never did run smooth.
That thou art mindful of it, Angela. (Yes, I seem to know my Asimov, too.)
But that doesn't change the fact that I learned my lesson long ago, and now I'm unable to change my ways. Never will I go down on my knees again to offer a man my life, heart and soul on a silver plate. No; not even Tony, who's such a wonderful person.
What is happening to me ? What am I to do ? Who's there for me to listen, to offer me support and advice ? Why am I feeling like I'm the loneliest person in the world right now, amidst all these fireworks of happiness ?
In the end, I think, I will have to make a decision: Keep waiting for Tony to come forward first, or face my fears and jump, with my faith in the power of love as the only source of hope.
CaLoveOrnia or death, ha ha.
To think I couldn't even confess the obvious to mother when she grilled me last year about whether or not I love Tony.
More, to think I couldn't even make myself realize what a treasure lies inside the steel-banded chest I kept locked in my soul for so long...
Once I hated Tony. For about a minute, if that, last year, when he confessed that he was responsible for the derailment of what was then my life, filed under "Wallace & McQuaid - The Final Chapter". But then... I don't know. Without Tony's enthusiasm and support I probably would've lowered myself, wasted my talents, and eventually drowned in sorrow and despair.
Instead, "The Bower Agency" is now a fact and on its way to work profitably in its first fiscal year. Way to go.
Tony. You make me see the bright side of life, always radiating optimism, never giving in to doubt or fear. You took your little daughter and all your belongings, put them in an ancient vehicle and drove off toward what you could only hope would turn out to be a new and better life.
And to think I almost slammed the door in your face. Sorry, Mr Goodmop, it was several eternities ago.
I want you to know, Tony, that you're the best thing that ever happened to me, that neither my life nor my soul could ever be called complete again without your presence and influence.
When I sat there on the edge of my couch, waiting for you to return from Frankie's, my feelings were tormenting me to an unspeakable degree. Then you came home and said Frankie had proposed to you, and that you were considering marriage, good night. I wanted to grab you, drag you down the stairs again, slap you, then kiss you, and then scream at you not to do it, not to leave me, never to leave me, to stay and continue to mend my broken heart, continue to make my life worth living.
Instead, I just stared.
In these trembling hands my faith. Such a shame.
Mother didn't have to tell me. I knew. I made the appointment.
And then, the truth. The terrible, wonderful truth. I guess on some level I've known it for a long time, although I seem to have been quite capable at bypassing the obvious, preferring the serenity I tend to find in traveling the scenic route.
Not anymore. I know now. It's you, Tony. You and me. I want you to know that.
If only I could tell you.
If only I could.