Tony and I seem to be unable to move beyond a certain point. In fact, we regressed a bit the last few days. Day Three was our first dinner for two, only this time Tony didn't pour the leftover wine down the sink but instead brought it out to me. We sipped it on the couch and kissed, which was lovely, but we left it at that.

For my next revision, I chose insisting that he accompany me to my reunion after Trish made me jilt him on her behalf. That was fun. I got that black dress with the big shoulders and the bare back down from the attic. Tony took that tux out of mothballs. We even pigged out in the kitchen and bitched about Trish!

"You sure? It's your night."

"I'm sure. You'd be a much more fun date than Robert Andrew Holmby III."

"Well, I'm sure you're a much more fun date than Trish." Then we blushed, since he had a one-night stand with Trish.

"I wouldn't have dumped you the next day."

"I know," he said softly.

I wouldn't have. Hell, Ingrid could've walked away from Anthony after that night in the first motel, but she didn't.

"Shall we get going?"

"One more thing." He got Trish's corsage and slid it onto my wrist. "Now you're ready to show them how great you turned out."

"Thank you, Tony."

Then we stood up, linked arms, and entered the living room. For the next half hour we pretended to be at the reunion. Every minute or so I'd shriek some extremely preppy nickname, just to amuse Tony. "Muffy! Buffy! Cuffy!"

He joined in after awhile. "Look, isn't that Chip talking to Skip?"

"No, that's Kip talking to Trip."

"Oh, my mistake. Kip is the one who married Bitsy, isn't he?"

I introduced Tony to these nonexistent people as my "friend," rather than as my housekeeper. And then when I ran out of names, we pretended to take a turn around the dancefloor. This would've been before we danced together in real life, when Tony brought his late father's big-band albums home.

It was a lovely evening, but again we didn't get past kissing.

Day Five got a little racier.

"Tony! We had the best time! We picked up Mother, we all went into the City, we went to Bloomingdale's, we went to lunch—"

"Did you get a bra?"

"Yes! And so did Samantha."

"Yeah, what's it look like? Uh, Sam's I mean."

"It's nice. It's got a little pink bow."

"Great."

I hesitated and then unbuttoned the first few buttons of my blouse.

"Nice. No little pink bow. But nice."

And then we weren't sure where to go from there.

By this point, I was starting to wonder if the reason why we were unable to really make that great leap from Ingrid & Anthony intimacy to Angela & Tony intimacy was because we still couldn't fully accept that we could, or because we'd chosen to relive a time when we hardly knew each other and it was far too early to have been that intimate. Maybe touching each other below the waist had been too much too fast.

But it's my turn again, so I've decided that we might as well face the night we first ended up in bed together. (I thought about trying to revise Michael's return, but I know that Tony wouldn't have wanted to interfere in a marriage, even as fractured a one as that.)

"OK, let me see if I've got this straight. Mona's still in Jonathan's room. I still took Jonathan into my room. But when Sam tried to wake me up so she could sleep in the room, too, she ended up going back to her own room instead of into yours."

"Right. And then Jonathan woke you up because of your snoring and told you that Sam wanted to share your bed because she had a nightmare. So then you went to Sam's room and comforted her. Then Jonathan got lonely, so he wanted to sleep next to his mommy. But I started talking in my sleep—"

"Not 'I love you, Tony,' I hope," he teases.

"No! About the horror movie. So he woke me up and said I should go use your bed since no one was in it, because you'd gone to comfort Sam. So I went to your room and lay down in the empty bed."

He catches on. "And meanwhile, Sam was a blanket hog, so I figured I'd just head back to my room. And when I saw blond hair peeking out from under the covers, I was so groggy I just assumed it was Jonathan."

"Right. And I didn't even notice your snoring." Because I didn't when we first shared a bed. Maybe I subconsciously found it comforting.

"So, uh, are we gonna act all that out? By ourselves?"

"No, we'll start with me getting into your bed."

"Every story should start at that point," he says with a grin.

I shake my head but slip under the covers. I'm wearing that long but lowcut green nightgown I haven't worn in years. It's good to know I can still fit into my clothes from seven years ago. If anything, I'm thinner than I was then.

I curl up, although obviously I can't pass for an 8- or 9-year-old boy.

"You look very cute, curled up like that."

"Tony! You're not supposed to be in here right now."

"Oh, right." He leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Then he quietly reenters, as if afraid of waking Jonathan. "It's OK, Pal, I'm back. Just in case you have nightmares, too."

He's wearing just his pajama bottoms, no undershirt or anything. I can't wait to wake up with that!

And then it occurs to me. Are we going to pretend to sleep all night? Or will we really sleep? What a waste of the nighttime! Especially since we'll have to imagine Bobbi Barnes arriving bright and early.

We do pretend to sleep for awhile, and then I stretch my arm across his face. He pats my arm, and then we turn to each other, our eyes half shut in the dark.

"Hey, Pal, you havin' trouble sleepin'?"

I open my eyes wide. "Tony?"

"Uh, you're not Jonathan, are you?"
Then we both sit up, staring at each other in the dark.

"Angela, what are you doing in my bed? And where's Jonathan?"

"Jonathan is in my bed. He said your bed was empty, because you went to comfort Sam after a nightmare."

"I did. And then she stole the covers, so I came back."

"Oh."
"Yeah. Um, I could go back to Sam's room. I don't need blankets."

"Don't be silly, Tony. I'm not going to kick you out of your own room."

"No, it's fine. It's the chivalrous thing to do."

"Tony, it's a double bed. It's big enough for two people."

"Well, yeah. But you and me sharing a bed, Angela? What would people think?"

"No one has to know. I'll slip back to my room in the morning."

"Yeah? And what about when the kids figure out that they had beds to themselves most of the night?"

"Oh, good point."

"Not to mention, Mona figuring everything out."

"A very good point."

"Hey, I got an idea!"

"Oh?"

"Yeah, why don't I go sleep at Mona's, since her apartment is sitting empty?"

"Then you're still getting kicked out of your own room."

"Then you go sleep there. She's your mother."

"So then I'm being kicked out of my own house."
"Ay-oh, oh-ay, I'm not kickin' you out. But you know, this is my bedroom, even if it is your house. And, well, I feel funny about you being here with me."

"Then I'll go sleep on the couch."

"Come on, Angela, you don't have to do that. I'll sleep on the couch."

"Then you're kicked out of your room again."

"All right, all right, I'll stay! Now we just gotta figure where to put you."

"Tony, couldn't I stay for just a few hours? To sleep, honestly."

"Just to sleep?"

"Yes."

"Well, I guess we could try it."

We both lie down again.

"Goodnight, Tony."

"Goodnight, Angela." A pause and then he says, "This ain't gonna work."

"Why not?"
"Because for some reason you had to put on a sexy perfume before you went to bed."

"Tony, I'm not wearing perfume."

"You're not?"

"No, I'm allergic to most brands."

"Oh. Then, um, that's your natural scent?"

"Yes. Do you really think it's sexy?"

"You kiddin' me? It's driving my nose crazy!"

"Maybe I should go sleep at Mother's."

He shakes his head. "No good. The bed will still smell like you."

"Sorry."

"You may as well stay so I can smell the real thing."

I blush in the dark. "OK."

He puts his nose against my neck and then sighs. "Yeah, there, right behind your ear. I can really smell you there for some reason."

"That's funny. Coco Chanel said to put perfume in places where you most want to be kissed."

"Yeah?" He kisses behind my earlobe. I can't help shivering in surprise and delight. "I wonder if Nature did that for you."

"I don't know. No one ever mentioned this scent before." (I don't mention that Michael would never notice what perfume I wore, when I did wear perfume.)

"Let's think. Where else do women put perfume?"

"Well, they're called the pulse points, where the blood vessels are closest to the skin."

"Yeah, like what?"
I hold up one of my hands. "The inner wrist."

"Yeah?" He takes my hand and kisses the back of it French style. (Or I suppose Italian style in a non-street sense.) Then he slowly turns it over, kissing his way to my inner wrist. Soft, light kisses that make me melt. "Yeah, it's strong here, too. Interesting. Where else?"

"Um, the inner elbow."

"Yeah?" He kisses down from my wrist to my elbow, also sniffing me along the way, which could be weird or funny but is actually surprisingly hot. "Where else?"

"I can't remember."

"Yes, you can."
"Um, the base of the throat."

He kisses up my arm, skipping over the puffy sleeve and lands on my shoulder. Then over to the base of my throat. He lets out a deep mmmmm as he buries his broken Italian nose in my neck. I answer with an mmmmm of my own.

"Next?"

"The, the cleavage."

He hesitates a moment and then continues on down in a straight line to my cleavage, which this nightgown shows off rather well. "Smells so good! Tastes so good! Much better than perfume."

"Well, perfume doesn't taste very good."

"And it smells like cat pee compared to you."

I giggle. "Thank you."

"What's another pulse point?"

"Um, well, the backs of the knees."

"Nothing in between cleavage and knees?'

"Not for perfume. Usually."

"Well, I guess that makes sense. That's a zone that's going to get kissed anyway, without much encouragement."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Like, these for instance." His hands stray over to my nipples, which are very prominent in this nightgown. I never realized it until tonight, which makes the idea that they would've been featured on Eye on Hartford, if Mother hadn't blackmailed Bobbi, retroactively embarrassing. Not that the feature wouldn't have been embarrassing anyway, had it aired, with its lies about my sleeping with Tony. I mean sleeping with him.

"I think no matter how they smell, they're probably pretty kissable."

"I suppose so."

He moves his nose against one. "Well, they do smell real good!"

"Yes?"

"I mean I'd have to smell them directly, without your nightgown in the way, but yeah."

I bite my lip and then ease the silk down, exposing my breasts to his eyes, his nose, his lips.

"Mmm, yeah, definitely kissable." He kisses them for awhile and then murmurs, "Couldn't stop thinkin' about them after that morning, even more than when you flashed them at me a few months before. Baby, you looked so sexy! So sexy! And you didn't even know it, which made you even sexier! Although you're pretty sexy now that you do know it."

He's no longer the Tony of six and a half, seven years ago. He's shifted into the Tony of now.

"What about you? Traipsing around shirtless half the time."

"Not half the time."

"Often enough. Like you were so at home in your body that it didn't even occur to you that maybe it wasn't appropriate to dress that way as a housekeeper for a single woman."

"You never said anything!"

"What was I supposed to say, Tony? 'Stop being so sexy'?"

"What about you later? Going around being sexy, wearing all those short skirts, when you knew I was crazy about your legs."

"If you were so crazy about my legs, why were you flirting, and more, with other women?"

"Because I wasn't good enough for you!"

My eyes have adjusted enough to the dark to see that he looks just as stunned by his outburst as he did by his confession in the Tunnel of Love.

"Oh, Darling, of course you're good enough! You've always been good enough!"

He shakes his head. "No, you deserve the best."

"You are the best. In every way that matters."

He looks like he's going to cry, so I take him in my arms and comfort him. It's not sexual now. It is almost like family, or like dear close friends.

"Why do you think I'm always trying to improve myself, Angela? It's all for you."

"But, Tony, I never asked you to."

"You did, sort of. You were always giving me advice."

"You were always giving me advice!"

We look at each other and laugh.

"Well, I guess we're a mutual improvement society."

"Yes," I say, "and look at the progress we've made in a mere seven years."

He chuckles. "Look, Angela, I don't want to keep reliving the past, but I've got one more idea to finish out the week on. And I think it'll get us past this barrier that still seems to be preventing us from having sex as us."

"What is it?"

"Tomorrow night we're gonna bake a kiss."

I grin at him. "Sounds delicious."