Ch 32 – Ode to Angela (2)

India ink-stained / Heart kneeling / Fragment structure / Lamplight dust

ooooooooo

For the rest of the week, the words that Brian Thomas had found to serenade Angela kept echoing in Tony's head. India ink, stain my pants, kneeling on a lamp. Or whatever.

Before Angela started to recite Brian's poetry on their drive to Fairfield Beach, Tony had entertained the notion that he might be able to write her a little poem or two, to show her how truly sorry he was for his initial reaction.

But there was no way he could compete with this level of … what, exactly?

The more he thought about it, the more convinced Tony became that Brian's poetry was just a load of baloney.

And yet.

'My very own poet knight!'

That was how Angela had described Brian to him while they were walking on the beach in the late December sun. She went on to explain how she used to imagine Brian sweeping down and whisking her away whenever life seemed bleak.

Even though Tony had no rational reason to be jealous, that hadn't been easy to hear. But he knew what she meant, in a way. He had had a whole carousel of women that he would imagine himself with.

Of course Marie, during the darkest days and nights, and later whenever he felt sad or nostalgic. Then there were the Tanyas from Brooklyn – for when he was in an adventurous mood. The Futterman twins in case the Tanyas didn't quite scratch the itch. Betty or one of the others from his baseball days on those rare occasions when he needed to punish himself.

Over time, however, he found himself thinking of them less and less, with the sole exception of Marie, who would always have her place in his heart.

But the rest of the memory women gradually faded away in favor of one that was very much part of his present.

"Do you still think of him?" he finally mustered the courage to ask Angela when they were already on their way back to the car.

"No." It sounded almost surprised, or maybe it was the wind that had suddenly picked up. "When I hear someone reciting postmodern poetry, it reminds me of Brian. But I don't think about him like that anymore."

"No?"

"No." She looked at him from under the brim of her woolen hat with an enigmatic smile. "Life hasn't seemed all that bleak in a long time. And even when it did, I had someone new to … pin my hopes to."

"Oh yeah?" Tony was glad to feel a familiar sense of cockiness return.

"Yes."

"So I was your knight with the shining mop and bucket, huh?"

Angela swatted the front of his jacket. "How about the most loving and sensitive man I ever met?"

Tony didn't know what to say to that, so he gave her the next best thing to an answer. Tasting the cold and the salt on her lips, he was once again in awe of his luck.

But Brian's poetry remained, nagging him during quiet moments, until it was suddenly New Year's Eve.

ooooooooo … ooooooooo

She stood in front of the closet on the upper level of her apartment, lost in thought, worrying her right incisor with a thumbnail that she would later have to re-paint.

It wasn't every year that one got invited to a New Year's Eve party on a yacht. She had to select her outfit carefully – who knew how long the night would last, and when she would see land again. Literally, and figuratively.

Maybe she should bring a change of clothes this time, much against her usual habit.

A knock at the door pulled her out of her musings. She hurried down the stairs and found Samantha standing outside, shivering in the miserable cold.

"Hey, Mona,"

"Sam! What brings you here? Come in, come in."

Sam smiled gratefully and let Mona close the door behind her. The weather really was ghastly today. Mona could only hope that the yacht would be well heated. Then again, even if it should turn out that it was not – she could always rely on her ability to generate enough of her own … warmth.

"Uh, I wanted to talk to you about something."

Mona took in Sam's uncertain stance and the way she held her hands clutched together in front of her chest. Either this was about a boy, or about some other juicy gossip.

Was Sam maybe not over that little creep Eric after all?

If that was the case, she would have to give her another stern talking-to. Mona loved attractive men of all shapes and sizes, of all ages and temperaments. But only as long as they knew how to behave. In her time, she had taught lessons to her share of entitled idiots, and she had already imparted some of those lessons on Sam after learning about her disastrous date before Christmas.

"Oh? About what?" she asked, equal parts curious and apprehensive.

Sam sighed. "About … my dad and Angela. I just can't take it anymore." Then she plopped onto the sofa.

"Take what?" Mona asked carefully as she took a seat next to Sam.

"How they're acting."

"All stupidly in looove?"

Mona wasn't the least bit bothered by the display. After years and years of heavy breathing, she felt that Angela and Tony more than deserved to act a little lovestruck. They had waited long enough, and it was nice to see them so absorbed in each other.

But she would understand if one or both of the children struggled a bit. It was a big change.

"Oh, no, that's fine. In fact, I think it's cute," Sam hurried to explain. "I mean, it would be embarrassing if they behaved like that in front of other people, but here at home, who cares. But I think …. I mean, I can't know for sure, but – haven't you wondered? If there's more?" Sam looked at Mona with one of her eyebrows raised, an expression that reminded Mona of Tony.

"More …?" She wanted Sam to say it first, so as not to give her any ideas she maybe hadn't had for herself yet.

"If there is more going on. With them. With Angela."

A-ha. Mona couldn't keep the beginnings of a smile off her face. "What do you think is going on with Angela?"

"I don't know, I mean – she didn't work this week, and I can tell that she's not feeling well. Dad keeps fussing over her, she's sleeping all the time, and she's just – I don't know. I've been wondering if maybe …"

"Maybe?"

"Do you think Angela is pregnant?"

Mona chuckled mildly. She herself had begun to harbor this particular suspicion as soon as Angela brought up Michael's and Heather's baby in the car on the morning that she caught Tony and Angela kissing in the kitchen.

And her suspicion had only hardened as she continued to watch Angela over the past few weeks – she had her head in the clouds, wasn't drinking any alcohol and hardly any coffee, she nodded off on the train almost every night, and Tony looked at her with a mixture of tenderness and concern that was hard to misinterpret.

Mona put a hand on Sam's knee. "What can I say – I think you're right on the money."

"Really?" Sam knit her brows together, and it looked almost as if she were apologizing for something.

"Really."

"Wow."

"Tell me about it. Those two sure aren't wasting any time."

"And when are they finally going to tell us?"

Mona shrugged. "When they feel it's right."

She had kept each of her pregnancies a secret for as long as possible, so this was one subject on which she would never push.

Sam nodded. "Maybe they want us to get used to everything first. Because Jonathan really freaked out about his dad's baby and everything. It just feels so … silly. Having to act like I don't notice anything."

"I agree, it's tough sometimes, keeping your mouth shut. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. But this isn't our news to break. If you need to talk about it, you come to me, alright?"

"Alright." Then a sly little smile appeared on Sam's face. "So … you're going to be a grandma again."

Mona had to laugh despite herself. "Oh, don't remind me." This was mostly coquetry, of course. And part of her effort to keep her anticipation in check, as much as she was secretly looking forward to welcoming another grandchild.

Sam settled deeper into the cushions. "I think it's great. I always wanted a little brother or sister. I guess I got a brother in Jonathan, sort of, so ..."

"You do fight like brother and sister," Mona couldn't help but say, causing Sam to roll her eyes. "And I suppose we'll find out about the newest little Micelli soon enough."

"Dad and Angela look really happy, don't they?"

"They do," Mona agreed. "And I've got a feeling maybe by tomorrow morning they're going to be even happier."

Now Sam sat back up. "Do you think Dad's going to propose?"

"Well, he's certainly been acting weird enough all day."

That afternoon, while waiting for her nailpolish to dry, Mona had spent a considerable amount of time watching Tony through both of their kitchen windows as he sat at the table, scribbled something on a piece of paper, mumbled to himself, then crumpled the paper up and threw it across the room. Rinse, repeat, at least five or six times.

Sam shook her head in amused disbelief. "Those crazy kids. Who would have thought, right? That they'd ever get it together?"

ooooooooo … ooooooooo

"Have I told you how much I love you in this dress?" Tony came up behind her, putting both of his hands on her hips.

"Only five minutes ago." Angela leaned back against him, replacing the lid after having peeked into the pot full of simmering pasta.

Much to her relief, Tony had agreed to keep it simple this year, and in a couple of minutes they would have a nice meal of spaghetti with his famous Bolognese sauce along with a green salad and ice cream for dessert.

"And have I told you you're beautiful?" he hummed, trying to nibble at her lobe without inhaling her earring.

Angela chuckled. Half because it tickled, and half because she didn't feel all that beautiful, more like one of Grover's chew toys after he had mistreated it out in the yard.

But she had decided to make herself presentable for the occasion nonetheless, wearing the same little black dress as on Thanksgiving. It seemed to fit a little differently here and there, but she could still pull it off.

"Hey, what? I mean it." Tony nuzzled the skin behind her ear. "And you smell so good." Then his hands slid forward and gently rubbed her belly. "You feel good, too."

Angela couldn't ward off a smile. But she had to let him down. "I'm just bloated."

"Still looks cute."

"Thank you, I suppose."

Now they both had to laugh.

"Not to mention up here …" Putting his chin on her shoulder, Tony eyed the little bit of extra cleavage, the first undeniable sign of things to come.

"Don't even think of touching them," she admonished him.

"Don't worry, looking is enough for now."

He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, and she responded with a deep sigh. "This is all your fault, you know?" The words were out before she had thought them all the way through. Hopefully he wouldn't misunderstand.

Thankfully, Tony took them in stride. "Oh? Last time I checked, it took two to tango," he said as he moved his hips against her butt in a suggestive motion.

"True." Angela pushed back into his groin, glad that they were alone for the night.

Jonathan was on his way to Times Square with Todd and his family. Sam had left for the party at Julia's less than half an hour ago, and her mother – a dizzying vision in sequins and feathers – had been picked up by a limo a little before six.

This left the two of them, ready to enjoy a quiet, romantic evening at home.

Since she had confessed her first marriage to Tony, Angela felt so much lighter. Yes, she had been dismayed by his immediate reaction. But out of all the possible ways he could have taken the news, amusement was maybe not the worst.

Now that this issue was out of the way, she felt even more ready to settle into this new phase of their lives together.

ooooooooo

"Tony, this whole meal was excellent." Angela put her folded napkin on top of her empty ice cream bowl.

"It was nothin'," he said bashfully, but she could tell that he was pleased. "Your stomach feeling okay?"

Angela nodded. "I think it's best if I don't let it get too empty."

She hadn't eaten much, but enough of everything until she felt sufficiently full. Over the past few days, she had learned the hard way that eating too much or too little could leave her feeling terribly nauseous, so now she was aiming to strike the surprisingly precarious balance between the two.

"Ay, piece of cake. You live with me, remember?" Tony smiled at her, and something twinkled in his eyes.

Angela thought of every slice of toast, every banana, every plate of crackers, every mug of tea, and every non-smelly meal he had prepared for her since before Christmas.

She reached across the table for his hand. "Thank you, Tony. For everything that you do. I mean it. You're wonderful. I couldn't ask for a better … boyfriend." She laughed. "I'm sorry, that sounds so juvenile."

He interlaced their fingers and squeezed. "Anything for you, sweetheart. And yeah, it kinda does."

Angela had half expected him to say something like 'Maybe it's time we changed that, then.' But she had to be patient. Tony would ask her when he was ready. She had lost her cool once before, with Michael, and didn't want to make the same mistake twice. Her marriage to Brian had been more of a mutual (if hopelessly drunk) decision. So now she owed it to herself to let Tony do the asking.

He got up from the table and started to stack plates, bowls, and silverware. When Angela wanted to rise as well to help him, he shook his head.

"Let met do that. You stay here and pick us out some new music, okay?" he said as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Only now did she realize that the record they had been listening to during dinner was spinning on the turntable, the needle tracking dead wax in the run-out area.

"Okay."

Most of the old records on the shelf were from Tony's father's collection, but over the years, both of them had made some additions whenever they came across something they thought the other would like. Angela flipped through the cardboard sleeves and finally decided on Sinatra Sings of Love and Things.

The first notes of 'The Nearness of You' filled the living room, and she could almost feel Tony's arms around her already when the doorbell rudely disrupted her anticipation.

Who in God's name was dropping by at eight-thirty on New Year's Eve?