Angela turned back into her office, unable to resist a quick glance at the dark denim-clad ass disappearing through the doors at the end of the corridor. She noted that all of her papers were still in their original untidy piles on the desk, yet she was certain she could taste him, could she not even trust her own imagination when she was around him?
"Angela, the audio people are waiting in the conference room,"
Debbie's voice broke off her thoughts.
In the end the meeting lasted over an hour, it seems putting said meeting off for nearly two weeks had allowed the audio department to summon yet more issues for Angela to sort out than they originally discussed. It was pretty much lunchtime by the time Angela returned to her desk. She took out her pre-packed lunch, being totally averse to anything served in the library canteen, and spun her desk chair around to take in the view of the street from her window. But something made her turn back, something that had caught her eye due to it seeming out of place. She turned back to the desk and picked up the odd yellow square of paper that stuck out amidst the slightly disorganised array of white headed. 32 Wendsley Ave. Lawrenceville.
"Shit," she uttered.
There was a knock at the door that made her jump, it seemed as though the world and his wife were in the mood for interrupting Angela Chase today.
"Yes?"
One of the work experience girls from reception bustled into the office wearing the sort of self-assured smile that only girls of that high school age can wear.
"It's Betty's birthday so we're having cake, I brought you a slice since you never come to the canteen,"
She looked down at Angela with a smile that made little wrinkles across the bridge of her nose, a smile so sugary Angela could have vomited right there and then – with or without the cake.
"Thanks," she responded gratefully, attempting to return the grin … but just looking stupid.
"Hey who was that guy this morning?"
"Hmm?"
"You know," she prompted, in that whine only high school girls can use when discussing boys with their girlfriends, "the guy with the dark hair and the cute butt,"
"I don't know any guys with cute butts,"
"I thought someone said he was seeing you about the Sunny Days scheme. Mr Cantrato or something. I was just wondering if you knew like who he was and more importantly if he's-,"
"Shouldn't," Angela interrupted, "you be helping Betty celebrate, I'm sure you'll be missed if you hang around here much longer?"
The smile slipped as Angela's attempt at sounding sincere failed, and the girl shuffled out of the office, probably off to tell the other work experience morons that Angela Chase was like a total psycho bitch from hell.
--
Whether by some strange twist of fate, some message from the universe or maybe just a random warm front, the sun came out just as Angela parked her car at the bottom of Wendsley Avenue. She was totally clueless as to what she was actually doing there and even more clueless as to why she had felt to need to park somewhere other than in front of the house. What could possibly be wrong with a newly engaged woman dropping by the house of an old school friend?
Wendsley Avenue was a smart enough street, comprised of long rows of dark red brick terraced houses. Number 32 was about half way up, its dark wooden door was adorned with a wreath wrapped with a red bow ready for the speedily approaching festive season. Angela pulled the collar of her coat closer around her neck to keep out the chill. An image flashed through her mind; glossy tears falling from eyes rendered a startling blue from emotion. She forced the image from her thoughts and rang the bell.
Jordan stood in the doorway; a slow, knowing smile crept across his features, "I thought you might not find it in all that mess,"
"Jordan, the paper was bright yellow,"
"I stole it from Sunny Days,"
Angela mock frowned.
The smile widened a little, "you wanna come in?"
She could only nod.
The house inside was more like an art studio, large canvases rested against walls, papers pinned to the doorframes flapped in the draft and unfinished items of furniture, both wood, metal and plastics, littered the floor.
"We mostly live upstairs," Jordan said simply, noting her wide-eyed inspection of the ground floor, "this way,"
She willingly followed him up the curved wooden staircase. All the way up the wall was covered with pictures, some framed others not, of Jordan and Jay in various comic poses. In one, Angela could just make out the Sydney Opera House behind the pair gleefully pulling tongues. In another Jay sat on Jordan's shoulders overlooking a city that Angela could identify with some surety as Paris. Another showed the father and son pair in the basket of a hot air balloon over an African plain. She realised after a few moments that Jordan was observing her from the top of the stairs. She vaguely indicated to the pictures with a wordless questioning.
"My dad passed two years ago. He left me everything," he shook his head.
Angela recalled the icy relationship between Jordan and his father; she remembered the countless times she had fetched the camp bed and extra pillows when Jordan had had to stay over because of some fight or another.
"I figured, before Jay started kindergarten, we could see some of the world,"
Tears sprang into Angela's eyes, she wasn't sure why, as she looked up at another of the pictures, of Jordan holding Jay up in the air with the orange form of Ayre's Rock in the background.
The upstairs of the house wasn't exactly orderly, but it was more of a home than the lower floor. The living room was small and cosy, with a battered leather couch and armchair, and a stout wooden coffee table. Every shelf was cluttered with knickknacks, serving as a gift shop diary of their travels; a snow globe from Chicago, a bust of Alexander the Great from Greece, a wooden carving from Africa.
"Look, I only came because I wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier, I had no right to be angry with you. It was just-,"
"A shock?"
"Yeah, you could say that,"
Jordan took hold of her hand, taking her breath away in the process, and led her to the leather couch, "can I get you a drink?"
She hesitated; sitting down, having a drink – it was the slippery slope, and her grip was faltering. "I should really get home,"
"To your fiancé?"
She shrugged.
Jordan lowered his gaze, instantly regretting having raised the subject and risked Angela leaving even sooner than she would have. He ran his finger over the piece of jewellery, thinking it a little too extravagant for Angela.
"He must be doing well,"
Angela withdrew her hand from his and tucked her hair behind her ear, "we're very happy," she said, as though it was a line she had practised often, even she cringed at the robotic tone. She promptly sat down.
Jordan, sensing words were unnecessary, left to fetch some drinks. Angela tried to relax into the soft leather beneath her but found herself tense beyond measure. She felt guilty, though she hadn't done anything to be guilty about – yet. The room, small to begin with, felt as though it was shrinking further still around her. She had often thought about Jordan, about bumping into him in the street one day, or spotting him in a crowd at the train station. What she would say. What she would do, if she had the freedom to do it.
They had parted as friends when Angela left for college. Well, more than friends. Somewhere in between friends and lovers - a strange place. They would still hold hands, still exchange secrets only with each other, still occasionally meet in the boiler room. Angela had been more open with him than with any other person, she flushed at the memories of lying side-by-side just whispering. Things she never dreamt she would share with anybody. She never asked if he slept with other girls, she tried not to think about it. They never went all the way, but she had gone as far as she dared. The night before she left for college he shed tears, she wasn't sure why.
"I found some cake. It's a bit stale, we kinda forgot about it,"
Angela couldn't help but smile at his relaxed candour. He seemed freed now of the burdens that used to weigh him down, less confused at the world. She took the plate offered to her.
They both smirked as they bit into the cake and found it more than a little hardened. Jordan finally broke into laughter, closely followed by Angela.
"Sorry,"
"No, it's really okay, quite tasty in fact," she laughed.
Jordan put his plate down on the coffee table and sat next to her on the couch. His choice took her by surprise; she had expected him to take the armchair. She immediately tensed, feeling his warmth against her leg.
"Is this weird? I can move,"
She felt him shift, as if to stand, and reached over to place a possessive hand on his leg. He looked up at her, sultry and confused. Frozen by his gaze, it took a few moments for Angela to remember the location of her rogue hand and she quickly removed it back to her own lap.
"This was a bad idea," she utters.
He shifts again, this time turning toward her, his face tilting toward her neck; his words register only as warm breath against her skin, "was it?"
His mouth etched closer to her neck as his hand ventured, dangerously low, across her abdomen. She felt herself take a ragged breath as his lips finally found the sensitive skin and stole a kiss there for the first time since high school. He lingered.
"What is that perfume?"
Angela, a little confused replied, "it's French, Ben bought it for my birthday,"
The hot breath ceased and Jordan pulled away, "I don't like it," he muttered.
"Oh, I'm sorry, maybe next time I'll get my fiancé to consult you first before buying me gifts,"
She took the opportunity to lean forward and set her plate down on the table with sufficient force to indicate her irritation.
"Sorry," he muttered, "it's been a while since there was a woman in the house,"
Angela felt the tension ease on hearing his confession, "you're telling me there hasn't been anyone, not since Rayanne?"
He shrugged, "there was this one girl," he glanced away toward the hallway as if shy to talk about it, "I met her at the supermarket," he began, "she was great but she wasn't up for the whole guy with a kid scenario," he smirked, "she just wanted me for sex,"
Angela snorted; glad to see the old Jordan hadn't been totally deposed by this new mature father figure. She looked up into the blue eyes that had captivated her as a teen, and for a moment allowed herself to be transported. The urge to explore his body like she used to was becoming almost uncontrollable but at the same time her hands were frozen at her sides. It was left to Jordan to make the first move and before she knew it he was lifting her chin toward his face and his mouth was on hers with an urgency that seemed to take both of them by surprise.
"Jordan," she gasped as his lips moved to her neck.
"Uh huh?" he gasped back, taking her ear lobe between his teeth and then sucking at it eliciting a groan from Angela.
Angela could feel her body responding to him, it was a long time since she had felt this way with Ben, and never with this intensity. The heat of Jordan's mouth was now moving along her jaw line leaving a trail of damp skin that cooled all too quickly, whilst his hand was roving over her body, grazing her breasts and rubbing along her collarbone. Without thinking she was arching into his touch, wanting more whilst all the time knowing that it should stop.
His hand rested against her shoulder, inching her back onto the couch. Before she could protest his body was draped over hers, his lips working their way down her chest toward the scooped neckline of her jumper. Her hands found their way under his shirt and all over his back; his skin was warm and soft. She yearned for more; to see him, to feel more of him, to have him closer. She could feel his passion against her inner thigh and pressed down against his buttocks to push him harder against her, he growled against her chest and pulled the neck of her jumper down to expose her bra.
They both knew they were quickly approaching the point of no return. Angela's understanding of how she had let it get this far was hazy; all she knew was his scent and the way his fingernails felt lightly against her skin.
"Jordan," she gasped as he mouthed her breast through the fabric of her bra, "really, stop,"
His mouth ceased its attack, instead he simply rested his forehead against her chest, "sorry," he uttered.
Angela felt her heartbeat slow and the voice in her head gave her some peace, instead she thought she heard laughter. She looked down at Jordan; he was gently stroking her arm and mustering a breathy laughter.
"All we've done since meeting again is apologise to one another," he looked up, smiling.
Angela conceded and laughed.
Jordan sat up, allowing Angela to right her clothing.
"Angela Chase," he sighed, "the things you do to me,"
She watched him rub his face and brush back his hair. She could feel the fabric of her bra was damp from his mouth, and as the damp cooled it was sending goose bumps across her chest.
He turned to her, his eyes darkly serious, "what are we gonna do?"
"We spent years pretending to be friends,"
"Yeah but in private it was different, we weren't so good,"
Angela smiled but the weight of the situation quickly returned, washing away the memories of their high school behaviours, "I'm getting married Jordan, I shouldn't have come here," she stood up quickly.
"I'm glad you did," he joined her, pressing his body against her and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Jordan," she whispered.
"Can I see you again?"
She shook her head.
"Okay maybe not here but maybe we could go out somewhere,"
Angela stood, pulling her skirt straight, "I have to leave now." She made for the door and was surprised to find that Jordan did not follow her immediately, but as she quickly descended the stairs she heard the door close behind her and footsteps on the landing.
"Angela, wait a minute,"
She paused at the front door as Jordan dashed down the staircase.
"There's this new gallery in town showing some of my drawings. It's nothing big but they're having a party the day after tomorrow for the opening. No pressure, I just thought maybe you could come. I'd like you to see some of my work,"
It was quite clear that this was a bigger deal to him than he was making out, the pride that radiated from his eyes was enough to melt Angela's heart despite his efforts to conceal it. A long suppressed urge to encourage and protect him surfaced, bringing to mind the nights spent enthusing about Residue following one of their gigs with Jordan convinced they had blown it.
"A gallery?"
The shy smile that Angela always found so alluring crossed his otherwise sullen features, "yeah, it's a new place opposite the cinema on Falloway. It's a start,"
She smiled, "what about Jay?"
"Mrs Harvey next door, she looks after him sometimes. He likes it there, she has dogs,"
Angela smiles, "all right,"
"Can I pick you up from work,"
"Ha! No chance. I'll meet you in the supermarket car park,"
"Seven-thirty?"
"Okay,"
He took a step closer and lent in toward her. She did nothing to stop him, unable to resist the temptation to have one last kiss, a kiss to savour. He pressed his lips against hers, chaste but no less passionate for it. The way he ghosted his hand up her arm as if afraid of the consequences if he were to touch her again, the way he lingered after the kiss, eyes closed, just … savouring.
"Seven-thirty," he whispered.
--
Angela walked back down the hill to her car in a daze. His scent was still dominating her senses, the skin on her neck could still feel his touch, and other areas were also still sensitive from Jordan's passion.
She waited in the car for several minutes before venturing into the house. Ben's car was also on the driveway so she knew he was home, but she couldn't face him until she was certain he wouldn't be able to tell. Not that she had anything to hide, not really, but she felt guilty nevertheless. In her mind she had betrayed him.
Their home seemed more orderly and soulless than ever compared with Jordan's eclectic residence. She found Ben reading in the kitchen. He liked history; the spare bedroom was full of books about the American civil war, the British monarchy, the Industrial Revolution. Angela approached him slowly, afraid that something about her would give away the fact she had spent the afternoon with another man.
"What's that smell?"
Her entire body tensed.
Ben's solemn face opened into a warm smile, "you're wearing the perfume I bought?"
She nodded, trying to conceal the relief she felt.
He reached out to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her to his side whilst keeping hold of the open book with his other hand, turning over the page to continue reading. Angela ran her fingers up his neck and into his hair and dipped down to kiss his temple. Her other hand made its way down his chest, "we could go upstairs," she whispered.
"Mmmm, what's brought this on?"
Angela unbuttoned his shirt a little way, "is it a crime to want to go to bed with my fiancé?"
Maybe it was because she craved intimacy. Maybe it was because she wanted to prove to herself that Jordan Catalano was not the be all and end all of mankind. Maybe she felt guilty because that was exactly how she felt at that moment.
"Aw Ang, I was just grabbing a few minutes before getting back to the Marburgh account, I'm really snowed under. Maybe this weekend we'll have some time to ourselves," he smiled.
Angela tried not to allow her smile to betray too much of her disappointment. In truth it was the answer she had expected, she just wanted to have it confirmed. How could she marry a man who was already married to his job? When they were at college there were days when Ben would suggest they ditch classes and drive out into the country. They would take a picnic and spend hours sat by lakes and in forests. But as college got more serious and work followed, those days had become few and far between.
Hope everyone had a fabulous Christmas. So this is kind of taking shape in my head, I think Angela is going to be a little more daring in this story than I have written her before but we'll see how it goes xx
