I own nothing... So my last couple chapters have been transitory/fillers... I thought I'd reward you all with some J/A facetime (swooon). I hope you like where this story is going. If you have any comments or suggestions give me a shout.
"Shit. Shit. Shit." Charlotte riffled through the pile of orders on the rickety old office desk. "Ren! Did you move the order listings for today? I could have sworn that I left them right here on the desk last night before I locked up!"
"No. I haven't laid a finger on an order sheet in two weeks. I've been up to my elbows in single stems and repotting the hanging baskets everyday this week. When is Angela coming back to work? Things are getting out of control around here without her." Ren picked at the dirt embedded under her fingernail. Repotting the outdoor plants into larger pots was a job that generally got doled out to two or three employees, but since Angela had been on vacation and then had come down with a bad bout of the flu shortly after her return home, Ren had been faced with the task alone.
"She said she should be back on Monday. The doctor said she was no longer contagious, that the virus had pretty much worked its way out of her system, but he wants her to stay home and get plenty of rest over the weekend before coming back into the shop." Charlotte yelled her response as she continued to dig through the piles and piles of paperwork on the desk. It was hard to make heads or tails of everything in the office. Mrs. McWindle had decided last week that she would be taking leave of the shop indefinitely. She had recently celebrated her 65th birthday and simply just could not handle the day to day any longer. That left all of the technical business aspects to fall on the shoulders of Charlotte. Having never been a very organized person, she was just barely keeping her head above water.
"Oh Char? I think there's a problem with the green sink in the back room. It drains really slow, makes a weird gurgling noise and sometimes spits up water. We probably should get a plumber out here sometime soon." Ren was in the middle of loading the bags of premium soil that had been delivered that morning onto a two wheel cart so she could get them out to the greenhouse.
Great. One more thing to have to deal with… Charlotte thought as she paused her search to compose herself. "Ah Hah!" After having overturned every pile of papers on the desk, Charlotte finally came across the orders that were due that day. She kept her fingers crossed that most of arrangements had already been completed and that they would just have to be finalized before the customers picked them up. She scooped up the eight yellow slips and jaunted across the shop to the cooler where the finished arrangements were held. "Schooler – Done. Arron – Done. Clindes – Done. Zimanski –Done. Upton x3 – Done, Done, and Done. Barker – Done. Thompson – Not done. Rosenberge – Done." After she had checked the orders in the refrigerated unit she noticed an odd order slip. I didn't have a name or delivery address. The arrangement that had been requested was quite large and more expensive than most of the other arrangements in the cooler combined. As she studied the order, she recognized the frantic handwriting to be Ren's. Charlotte stepped into the shop but couldn't see her co-worker anywhere. After searching a bit longer she found her surrounded by empty hanging baskets in the green house.
"What's up with this order? There's no name… no credit card listed to hold the order… no delivery instructions…" Charlotte's eyes skimmed the skeletal order form as she tried to make sense of it.
"Oh. That guy. Ugh. He called last week and was a complete asshole. All he said was that he needed a large arrangement of ranuculus, in as many colors as he could get. I told him that it would be pretty pricey because they aren't really in season and that we'd have to special order them. He said he didn't care how much it was going to cost, just that it was really important and there absolutely could not be any substitutions. He also asked what my name was and wanted to make sure that I would work on the flowers in secret." At this point Charlotte was looking at Ren while she recounted with a scrunched look of confusion on her face. "I know. Weird right? Well, its gets even more odd. He refused to give his name, or phone number, or a name for the order. When I told him that we would need a credit card number to start the special order, he said he couldn't provide that information due to certain privacy issues he has. He swore on his life and the grave of his mother that he would pay, and offered extra for my troubles. I asked him just how he planned to do that and he said he'd be here to pick up the arrangement. After he made me swear a couple more times that I wouldn't tell anyone else here at the shop about the order he said to expect him today… at 2:30 and then hung up. I know I probably should have cleared it with you first, but I had a gut feeling about it so I didn't say anything."
"So, it's done?"
"Yeah. I finished it yesterday. I almost threw my back out trying to carry it into the smaller cooler where I didn't think anyone would see it. Too bad Angela isn't here today; I think she really would have dug it. You know how much she loves those dumb flowers."
Charlotte checked the unnamed order off her to do list. She left Ren in the greenhouse and went to look at the mysterious arrangement for herself. "Whoa…" she said softly as she opened the heavy steel door to the cooler. The flowers were crowded into the largest, most substantial vase the shop carried on hand. The bent and twisted out in all directions. The tallest stems stood about three feet above the countertop. It was about two and a half feet in circumference. If the customer had wanted the flowers to make a statement, they would certainly do their job. She exited the cooler and began to take care of the rest of tasks that awaited her.
A little after two o'clock Charlotte heard bells attached to the front door chime, signaling that a customer had walked in. She stood up from the desk in the office and walked to the front register to greet them. "Welcome to McWindle's Floral. How can I help you?"
A man with shaggy chestnut hair stood with his back to her. He was running his fingers over the waxy leaves of a peony bouquet. Upon her greeting he turned to face her. She recognized him instantly form the television promos and tabloid covers - Jordan Catalano.
"Hi. I, uh, placed an order a few days ago. Do you know if it's ready?" Jordan spoke softly and politely. His clear blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. He had tried to dress as unremarkably as possible in an old grey t-shirt and faded jeans, but he could tell that the woman behind the counter realized who he was.
"What name did you place the order under?" Charlotte knew that there wasn't anything in the back for a Catalano, that name would not have gone unnoticed. She had a suspicious feeling that he however belonged to the giant arrangement that Ren had put together.
"Actually, I didn't leave a name. It was supposed to be a bit of a secret. Well, more like a surprise. Is Angela Chase working by any chance?" Jordan could not believe how nervous he got at just the idea of seeing her. He habitually began nibbling on his thumb nail and waited for the girl's answer.
"No. No, she's not here. She's been sick for the last few days. Was she supposed to help you with your order?" Charlotte had remembered Angela mentioning a few times that she knew Jordan when she was younger. But she had never really gone into detail about how well they knew each other.
"Seriously?" He sighed exasperatedly. Jordan couldn't believe his luck. "These are supposed to be for her." He had planned to surprise Angela at work with a huge bouquet of her favorite flowers, something he thought would be a chivalrous, noble gesture. That she wasn't at the flower shop was disappointing news, the fact that he had no idea how else to find her was even worse. He really hadn't thought too far beyond the flowers and showing up at her job, which was the location for the address which Cherski had scribbled down for him weeks ago. "Sorry. I'm just a little frustrated. Do you know of any way I could get these to her? It's pretty important."
"Yeah. We can figure something out. How much time do you have? I have an idea that I think Angela will really love…"
The room had stopped spinning and her body no longer ached. She had been able to keep down six entire meals. Yet, she still felt completely exhausted. Angela had gone to her doctor that morning, and was thankful to hear from her that she should rest up for a few days before returning to work. The wooden clock that hung on her living room wall chimed 4 o'clock as Angela stretched herself across the large cushions on her couch. She couldn't lie in her bed any longer and had stripped all of the sheets to wash them. Having been sick for the last few days, she felt claustrophobic in her apartment. She wanted to get out of these walls, but her body just had no energy to allow her to do so. Indiana sat despondently on the floor. He had also been mostly confined to the apartment while Angela had been sick. She had made sure to open up all of the windows to let some fresh air in, to right both of their brains. As she sat on the couch reading a Margaret Atwood novel, Angela heard a soft knock on the door. At first she thought she might be hearing things. After being alone for so many days, here head had started to play more than a few tricks on her. A few minutes later, the knock came again more forceful and insistent this time. This louder knock got Indiana's attention and sent him bounding off toward the door.
Angela wasn't very accustomed to getting unannounced visitors or solicitors at her apartment. The main door off the living room could only be reached through the common area of the apartment building, and to get into the building you needed a key. She had another door, which was currently being knocked on, that was on her back porch and opened into her dining room. Considering that she lived on the second floor of the apartment building, and there was a hefty flight of stairs leading up to her back porch, random visits from people she didn't know or invite weren't a common occurrence. She pushed herself off the couch and shuffled into the dining room, carefully parting the curtains covering the window next to the back door to get some idea of just who had come a'calling.
On her back porch stood a man holding a large bouquet of flowers in a white porcelain water pitcher. His face was hidden by the blooms, but his body language conveyed that he was either impatient or nervous. Angela slowly opened the door and as she did Jordan's face snapped into view. Her heart sank into her feet and she swallowed her breath.
"Jordan? … What? … Why?" Angela stammered in utter confusion as she took in the scene on her porch. Not only was Jordan Catalano standing at her back door holding a bundle of flowers, but he was surrounded by five other arrangements. They were divided into all of her favorite color varieties; the one in Jordan's arms was an amalgamation of them all.
"Hey…" Jordan was instantly struck dumb. The flowers were supposed to be his grand gesture. And the nice young lady at the flower shop had helped him load all of the bouquets into the flower shop's delivery van to bring over to Angela's. They had stopped at second hand store on the way to her apartment and picked out five other containers and then divided up the flowers according to color. He was surrounded and hoped that this would make an even stronger impression than just the individual bouquet he had originally planned on delivering. "I thought I remembered you saying these were your favorite."
"Oh yeah. They are. Wow. This is… I'm just… wow." The words tripped and tangled up each other as the tumbled out of her mouth. She was completely in shock to find Jordan Catalano on her back porch. Her brain was already spinning trying to figure out just how he had managed to find her. Angela took a deep breath and allowed herself to appreciate the happy surprise. "Jordan they're beautiful. Do you want to come inside?"
"Yeah, that'd be great." Jordan carried all of the floral arrangements into the house and set them all on the dining room table. With them all piled up like that he thought to himself shit.. maybe I over did it a little…
Angela looked all out of sorts. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun on top of her head. She had on an old Bulls jersey #23 circa 1993 that hung down to mid thigh. Jordan wasn't sure if she wearing anything underneath it and the mystery of it made him a little dizzy. Even though her skin looked pale and she had dark circles under her eyes, which were apparent due to her complete lack of makeup, seeing her again reaffirmed that he had never been around someone so naturally beautiful, flu or no flu.
"I, uh, wasn't expecting any company. I'm sorry I'm such a mess. What.." Angela's train of thought trailed off. As she closed the back door she saw the white van with McWindle's logo splayed across the side back out of her parking lot. Charlotte. This must have been all her idea… but how in the world would she ever get in contact with Jordan Catalano. None of this makes any goddamn sense. "Jordan. What the hell are you doing here?"
"We finished up our Eastern leg of the tour, and I have a few days before I have to be back on the bus. I didn't feel right with the way we left things in Chicago.." Jordan was trying to subtly take in all of the details of the room he was standing in. So this is Angela Chase's apartment. It's exactly like I imagined it would be, yet completely different at the same time. How is that even possible? "I planned to surprise you at work with all of these, but when I got there this afternoon your friend Charlotte said you were out sick and offered to bring me over here. But I can go if you want me to." Jordan suddenly realized that he couldn't just go. He was completely stranded. He had taken a cab from the airport to the flower shop and then gotten dropped off on Angela's back porch. Forethinking wasn't really in his nature. He started toward the door he had come in through, "I'll just call a cab or something…"
"Wait. No, you don't have to leave. I'm just kind of shocked over all of this. I've been locked up here in my apartment for the last couple days and now all of a sudden you show up out of the blue. I haven't even showered in two days." Her last statement was supposed to be a personal thought but she just blabbed it out loud. Angela's face reddened. "Could you give me a few minutes to clean up? The living room is right through there if you want to…"
"Well, why don't I go out and take a walk for a bit?" He was too anxious to sit still, but he wasn't going to admit that to her. "The weather is great. And on the way over here I saw that there is a park just up the road. I can wander around there for a while. I'd probably go crazy just sitting in your living room."
"Okaaaaay." Angela was still completely dumbstruck. Jordan Catalano was in her dining room. What alternate universe was this? "I won't be any longer than twenty minutes or so."
"Great. I'll be back in a bit." Jordan practically turned and ran out the door while Angela stood temporarily frozen on the hardwood floor. As soon as the door shut behind him Angela hopped into the shower. She combed her wet hair and threw on jeans and the first t-shirt her hands touched in her closet – faded chocolate brown with a screen print for the cover of New Miserable Experience barely still identifiable on the front; it had been Rayanne's and it always made her feel a little more comfortable in awkward situations, like her friend was with her keeping an eye on her. After brushing her teeth, Angela picked up the phone and dialed the number to the flower shop.
Charlotte answered, "McWindle's Floral."
"You know you're a dead woman when I get back there, right?
"Oh don't you dare pretend that you're actually mad at me for dropping off a beautiful man bearing heaps of your favorite flowers. Now stop calling me and go enjoooooy yourself." And with that Charlotte hung up the phone. Angela stood their looking at the receiver and smiled to herself.
Forty five minutes had passed since Jordan Catalano had been standing in her apartment. As far as Angela was concerned, it felt like it had been months ago. The situation was completely surreal and she hadn't quite grasped what was going on. She had told him it wouldn't take her that long to shower, yet he still stayed away. Maybe he got lost? Why didn't I let him leave? Stupid Angela! THE Jordan Catalano shows up on your doorstep and you let him walk away? Good job. He said he was going to the park… I should go see if he's strung up in a mulberry bush or something. But what if I leave and he comes back and thinks I'm avoiding him… UGH! I'll take my chances. If I sit here any longer my brain is going to explode.
She hopped off the couch and snatched Indiana's leash off the hook. They walked past the park but she didn't see anyone languishing on the grass or traversing the paths. Where in the world did he disappear to? He's probably been abducted by a pact of hormone crazed teen age girls… that would be my luck.
"Angela!" Jordan was a few yards up the sidewalk. He was burdened with two very large brown paper bags. The two met half way, standing far enough away from each other to occupy their own squares of concrete. "I got a little turned around on my walk back from the park. Good news though is that I ran right into your local famers' market." Jordan had a broad grin on his face. He looked quite pleased with himself. The lower portion of his chin was obscured by some zucchini and a leafy herb sticking out of the bag.
"And you felt the need to buy out all of the vendors? Do you want some help with those?" She said light heartedly as Jordan handed her the lighter of the two bags. Angela nosily dug through the contents of the bag she was carrying. Tomatoes, cucumbers, garlic, peppers in all variations of color, a big bundle of cilantro, onions, and a handful of items at the bottom of the bag that she couldn't get to. "Jordan you didn't need to buy all of this. If you're hungry we could just grab something at the diner around the corner."
"Actually, I have a bit of a tradition for the first meal I don't have to cook on that bus. It started after the first small tour we did; me and the rest of the guys must have eaten at fast food places for every meal while we were playing. We didn't know what kind of food to bring along with us and everyone had been too excited to really even think about that kind of thing. So, by the time we finally got back to New York, I felt like I needed to binge on some veggies or something healthy. A friend of mine at the time had mentioned a soup called gazpacho. I tried my hand at making it the night we got home, loved it, and now it doesn't really feel right if I don't make a batch after a tour." Jordan rambled through his story as they reached Angela's apartment and climbed up the creaky stairs. "Would you mind if I made us some for dinner instead of going out to get something?"
"That sounds wonderful. After being sick for the last few days my body is craving some vitamins and minerals." They set the bags down on the counter and started to unload all of Jordan's purchases. Angela noticed that along with the veggies, he had also picked up a few bottles of wine. "I've never noticed these for sale at the farmers' market…"
"Oh. Yeah. I passed a nice little delicatessen while I was wandering; Wayne's, I think it was called. I wasn't sure if you like red or white wine so I grabbed a couple bottles of each." Jordan set to work washing all of the vegetables. With Angela's direction he located her cutting board, chopping knives, mixing bowls and food processor. While Jordan was busing himself with preparing dinner Angela opened up the bottle of Pinot Grigio and poured them both healthy glass of wine. She didn't want to get in his way, so she distributed the various arrangements of flowers that he had brought into each room of the house. Once she had finished that, Angela perched herself on the bar stools that sat next to the breakfast nook in her kitchen. Is there anything that Jordan Catalano doesn't do flawlessly? She thought to herself as he prepared their meal fluidly. While he cooked they laughed and drank. He told her about seeing The Life and Times play with Engine Down a few days previous. She was unbelievably jealous, knowing that Engine Down was breaking up and that type of opportunity would never present itself again. And then they drank and laughed some more. When the gazpacho was finally finished, they agreed that since the weather was so nice that they should eat dinner out on her porch.
Somehow, over the course of dinner their conversation topic had touched literature… a place it wouldn't have wandered to when they had been younger. The crowded bookshelves in Angela's apartment had not gone unnoticed by Jordan. He told her how after the help for his reading difficulties, which she had encouraged him to seek; he found that he loved the escapism that books provided him. They talked about their favorite authors; they found that they both agreed on their love for the works of Hemingway, Salinger, P.D. James, Atwood, Palahniuk, Butler, Proulx, and McCarthy. By the time they had finished the sun was setting below the wall of Oak trees that bordered Angela's street. The sky had a soft watercolor wash of pastels. Wisps of clouds drifted across the sky and seemed to stir the colors together.
"This is quite a nice set up you have here, Chase." Jordan ran his finger along the edge of one of the cushions populating the bench that he had sunk into.
"Thanks. Who ever lived here before me built the benches, but I thought they'd be a hell of a lot more comfortable with some padding to them." Angela tucked her legs underneath her and cradled her wine glass in her hands. With the sun going down Jordan's eyes were no longer so startling, they now reflected the gentle colors of the sky above them. Maybe it was the three bottles of wine that they had managed to finish off, but Angela had never felt so comfortable and content in her life. She knew without a doubt that here, seated inches away from Jordan Catalano was exactly where the universe needed her to be.
"You've come a long way from that bag you sewed in high school… the one with the secret pocket. You're quite the seamstress now." Jordan chuckled to himself and he patted the full cushion behind him. Angela was taken aback at Jordan's comment. She was flattered that he had remembered such a minor detail. He had only seen the bag once and it had been for a brief for a moment. Angela leaned her head back on the cushion, shut her eyes, smiled softly and breathed in deeply.
"Listen. Do you hear that? I love the sound of that bird." Angela said as she tried to scan the branches closest to them to try and find the songbird that was serenading them. "It's a Nightingale. It sounds like six different birds rolled into one… like it can't decide what song to sing. Or like it's not entirely sure who it is. "
"She's morning the loss of her child." Jordan said sedately. At such a random statement Angela sat upright, cocked her head, and looked at him quizzically. "Greek mythology says that the sisters Procne and Philomela were turned into birds by the Gods. Philomela had her tongue cut out long ago and was turned into a Swallow, because the Swallow doesn't sing, it only chirps. Procne was turned into a Nightingale; the bird's song represents the lamentation of the woman who killed her son because he too closely resembled his horrible father, Procne's husband, who had betrayed her repeatedly."
Angela could not believe what she was hearing. Jordan Catalano was reciting Greek Mythology to her. He was so different from the boy she had fallen in love with years ago, but being with him felt the same, if only stronger and more defined. She was well aware of the fact that he seemed to have the world in the palm of his hand: an envious record deal, various brand endorsements, an affluent lifestyle that allowed him the ability to travel where ever he please when he wasn't touring, and plenty of other perks that Angela Chase knew nothing about. But right now, in this moment, he was with her and her only. The whole idea of it made her heart swell. She started laughing at the absurdity of it all.
"What's so funny?" Jordan asked smiling as he leaned forward to place his empty glass on the small table in front of them.
"Oh nothing. Just you… being here… telling me about Greek myths, drinking wine, and cooking me dinner. I never could have guessed that you would end up on my doorstep. Sure, I wished for it about a million times… but I'm sure the majority of the female population between the ages of 18 and 35 has done the same thing. I guess I really lucked out." Angela slightly resented the wine for having coaxed her to speak so freely, but in the next moment Jordan had shifted closer to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He pulled her in next to his side and she rested her head on his chest.
"I just wish I could have made it here a little sooner." Jordan paused for a long while, welcoming the closeness of Angela. "Do you want to hear more about the Greeks?" She nodded in affirmation against him. He spent the next hour defining the constellations for her. Pointing out which starts belonged where and the stories behind them. Jordan told her about of The Pleiades, Cassiopeia, Cygnus, Orion, and Callisto. Angela absorbed everything he was saying, not because she expected ever to need such information, but because they were his words and no one had ever spoken them so sweetly.
Jordan leaned down and said softly enough to be considered a whisper, "Hey. It's getting pretty late. Do you want to go inside?"
Angela blinked away the sleep that was threatening to take hold. She stood up and stretched. Jordan took advantage of the dimly lit porch to drink in the woman in front of him. As she stretched her arms her Gin Blossoms t-shirt hiked up slightly and he could see the creamy skin of her stomach and how her jeans hugged her legs in all the right ways. Before he knew it she had walked over to the table and was noisily gathering their dinner dishes, breaking him out of his daze.
After they had gathered everything in the kitchen, Jordan was suddenly aware of how much liquid he had consumed of the last few hours and asked Angela where her bathroom was. She directed him down the small hallway to the door on the left. Jordan made his way down the hall and was confronted with a problem. There were two doors on the left, both of which were closed. He knew one was the bathroom and assumed the other might be Angela's bedroom, which if he opened the portal to he knew he might not be able to resist the temptation of stepping inside. Ultimately he decided on the last door. He turned the tarnished brass knob and flicked the switch close at hand.
It wasn't her bedroom, and it certainly wasn't a bathroom. The room Jordan had entered had piles and piles of objects that initially seemed completely foreign to him. There were lace globes that were strung all about from the ceiling in one corner. Yards of fabric came cascading out of the closet and draped the flower. In another corner there were boxes of what looked like different color silk flowers. Four jars of buttons were stacked along the back of a desk, which was also littered with scissors, pens, rulers, pin cushions, and fabric glue. Stacked against the far wall there were twenty some odd, empty frames – all of them ornate and in various colors of brass and gold. Groupings of dried flowers hung upside down from a clothes line that stretched the width of the room. On the desk there was a small solitary book. It looked vaguely familiar but he couldn't place it. The cover was a honey colored leather with an embroidered spine. The corners were well worn from years of repeated use. Jordan stepped gingerly over the piles of fabric on the floor, careful not to disturb anything. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he was drawn to the small journal. When he picked it up and thumbed through it, he recognized Angela's elegant script on all of the pages. He remember being impressed with her fluid penmanship when he had found the five page confessional letter that she had addressed to him and then conveniently lost in the museum years ago. Jordan noted the dates along the top of the pages. They ranged from 1993 up through 2002. Instead of the diary entries that Jordan had half expected to find, within the pages of the book he was confronted with countless poems. Their small stanzas centered gracefully down the each page. Some entries skipping ahead months or even years before the next one began. He flipped to the beginning of the book and found the date that he dreaded.
JANUARY 15, 1995
I let it fall, my heart,
And as it fell, you rose to claim it.
It was dark and I was over
Until you kissed my lips and you saved me.
My hands, they're felt
But my knees were far too weak
To stand in your arms
Without falling to your feet.
But there's a side to you
That I never knew, never knew.
All the things you'd say
They were never true, never true,
And the games you play
You would always win, always win.
But I set fire to the rain,
Watched it pour as I touched your face,
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name.
Sometimes I wake up by the door,
That heart you caught, must be waiting for you.
Even now when we're already over
I can't help myself from looking for you.
I set fire to the rain,
Watch it pour as I touch your face,
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name.
I set fire to the rain,
And I threw us into the flames
Well, it felt something died
'Cause I knew that that was the last time.
Let it burn
Let it burn
Let it burn
The entry marked the date just a few days after Angela had found out about he and Rayanne. The words in front of him illustrated for him just how hurt she had been. They were breathtakingly beautiful, but he knew it was written in agony. Jordan could remember the way she had walked through the halls of the school like a zombie for weeks after she had found out. A drunken impulse of his had nearly ruined everything. He had regretted that night every day thereafter, and upon reading the poem he hated himself again.
Hoping for some insight into the life Angela had led which he hadn't been a part of, Jordan leafed further through the journal. He knew it was an intrusion of her privacy, but once it was in his hands he couldn't help himself. He came across another date that was all too familiar to him.
AUGUST 19, 1997
If you could only see the beast you've made of me
I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free.
Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart;
drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart.
My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in,
You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl.
Now there's no holding back, I'm making to attack.
My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out.
The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound,
I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallow'd ground.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
I want to find you tear out all your tenderness
And howl
Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers
Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters.
If you could only see the beast you've made of me
I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free.
The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound
I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallow'd ground.
The poem this time stung him. Her words were gothic and jarring. She wrote with a perspective beyond that of a seventeen year old. The graphic and borderline erotic lyrical confessions of the first two stanzas burned Jordan's eyes. He had never been particularly stirred by poetry, but these words, that Angel had put down on paper following the night they had slept together, turned him on more than anything he'd ever encountered. He realized then that he had only begun to imagine the passion that was walled up within Angela Chase. All he could think of was how badly he needed to feel her hands and mouth upon him. He knew then that what he had been missing all these years was her, and the freedom to lose himself within her.
Before putting the book back on desktop, he noticed that there was one loose sheet of paper that stuck out. He pulled it from his resting place and saw it to be scattered with music notes. The top of the page read "Waiting: Music by Rayanne Graff; Lyrics by Angela Chase". He glanced over the notes and could mentally hear the sorrowful melody.
Hold me closer one more time
Say that you love me in your last goodbye
Please forgive me for my sins
Yes, I swam dirty waters but you pushed me in
I've seen your face under every sky
Over every border and on every line
You know my heart more than I do
We were the greatest, me and you
But we had time against us and miles between us
The heavens cried, I know I left you speechless
But now the sky has cleared and it's blue
And I see my future in you
I'll be waiting for you
when you're ready to love me again
I put my hands up,
I'll do everything different
I'll be better to you
Let me stay here for just one more night
Build your world around me and pull me to the light
So I can tell you that I was wrong
I was a child then but now I'm willing to learn
But we had time against us and miles between us
The heavens cried, I know I left you speechless
But now the sky has cleared and it's blue
And I see my future in you
I'll be waiting for you
when you're ready to love me again
I put my hands up,
I'll do everything different
I'll be better to you
Jordan put the sheet music back in the book and set it down. He recognized the song. Tino had shown him a video of Graft performing it in her apartment the last time he had seen him. As the words sank into his soul, he began to think about how it seemed that Angela had penned the song from his point of view; how he felt for her. The words echoed through his brain. Jordan knew he was going to have to find away to show her just how true the lyrics to that song had turned out to be.
He turned to leave the room, and actually locate the bathroom. He stopped dead in his tracks. Angela was standing in the doorway, with her arms folded against her chest.
"So I see you found my workspace. Sorry about all the mess. I'm pretty unorganized."
"Sorry Ang. I didn't mean to snoop. I thought this was the bathroom… and then I saw all this stuff in here, I couldn't help but explore a bit. What is all of this?"
"All different sorts of stuff. Those over there are lace lanterns… I use the picture frames to matte dried flowers or make collages from old magazine photos… I make those silk flowers over there into corsages or boutonnieres for weddings and events. That's my screen printing press… It's all just a bunch of junk I mess around with in my spare time. Sometimes I go to local craft fairs and sell off my inventory. It's basically just to keep me busy so I don't lose my mind. If I'm not making something, I tend to go a little stir crazy."
As Jordan went to exit the room, his hip bumped into a folder that was on the corner of the desk. The collision sent the folder and its contents tumbling to the hardwood floor. He bent down instantly to pick up the sheets that had scattered at his feet. Jordan turned the sheets over in his hand to be greeted by familiar faces. A much younger Brian Krakow, Rayanne Graft and Ricki Vasques. A young girl, who Jordan assumed was Angela's sister. Patti and Graham Chase, leaning against the kitchen counter. Sharon Cherski, looking more like he remembered her in school, than like the girl who had just been on the tour bus with Shane. There were countless multiples of each person. Since Angela's face was nowhere to be found, he considered it safe to assume that she had been the photographer. Everyone looked so happy in each picture. There was a soft light and artistic contrast in each of the pictures. Jordan didn't know much about photography, but after years of promo shots, he could recognize quality when he saw it. She is a never ending string of surprises. Jordan thought as he leafed through the photos. He stopped once he came across his own face staring back at him. He was standing completely alone on stage staring directly into the lens. There was a spot light burning behind him and flaring out everything else in the frame. He knew instantly when the picture had been taken. The night Residue had played the Aragon. He remembered feeling some sort of strong connection that night. He knew then that it had been when he had unknowing laid eyes on Angela and stared down her lens.
"Did you take these?" He asked the question, which he already knew the answer to.
"Yes. I don't shoot as much as I used to, but I was heavy into photography for a long time. Sometimes I miss it. I just don't have the means here to do my own developing. There just isn't enough space for a darkroom."
"Angela. These are amazing. You could really do something… not to say that working in a flower shop isn't a nice job… but.." Jordan didn't know how to continue. He felt like if he said anymore he'd be insulting her choice of lifestyle. He just couldn't believe how talented she was, and all he had seen were simple shots of her loved ones.
"That one is my favorite." She pointed at the photo that Jordan was holding of himself. "I must have looked at it a thousand times over the last few years. Wondering where you were… what you were doing… who you were with." Her voice trailed off and she looked at the wooden door frame that was supporting her weight so that she didn't have to meet his questioning eyes.
"Angela." Jordan had set the folder of photos back and had stepped in front of her. He knew that he couldn't let another moment pass between them without telling her how he felt, why he had shown up at her doorstep. "I have thought about you every day since I left Three Rivers. Driving away from you was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Seeing you in Chicago ignited everything I felt for you when we were in school. And now being here, with you again, I can hardly think straight."
Before Angela could utter a response, Jordan had covered her lips with his. He kissed her softly and honestly. His arms wrapped around the small of her back and pulled as physically close to him as possible. Angela allowed herself to melt into him. The feeling of his lips and his hands washed over her senses and she was drowned blissfully. Jordan deepened the kiss slightly so he could taste more of her as he felt Angela's hand run up the length of his side. He could feel her pressed against him and knew that if they stayed connected this way things were going to quickly escalate.
He pulled back from the kiss but didn't release her. She let both of her hands rest on his chest and stared wantingly into his eyes. How could he tell her that he wanted her, but didn't want to rush into things without sounding like an idiot? He searched face looking for the right response when she spoke softly.
"Jordan… this… you being here is unreal. It's like something right out of a dream or a movie or something. But maybe we shouldn't rush into anything just yet. It's been half a decade since we've spent more than a few hours together. Let's take this… slowly." She said as she stared intently into his eyes, looking for any trace of regret over the kiss they had just shared. He nodded in agreement before letting his forehead rest against hers, and breathing in deeply the sweet smell of her.
"I put some blankets for you on the couch." She said as she backed out of his embrace and crossed the hall over to her own bedroom. "Goodnight Jordan."
"Goodnight Angela." He closed the door to her workroom quietly behind him. And after finally locating the bathroom, Jordan curled up on the couch hoping to sung to sleep by the faint varied song of the Nightingale.
AN: For the poems in Angela's journal I used lyrics from two different artists (mainly because I am horrendous at writing poetry... ask any of my previous professors). The first is Set Fire to the Rain by Adele. The song written by Angela/Rayanne is also by Adele, its real title is I'll Be Waiting. The second poem in the journal is from Howl by Florence & The Machine. I did rework the lyrics so they came across more like poetry. I removed any repetitious choruses/verses. I picked them because I thought these songs had strong imagery that tied into the A/J history. Also, the imagery in them reminded me a bit of the poem Angela wrote in The Substitute episode.
Thanks again for reading! -K