"Will it be your usual room, Sir?"
"My usual—Oh, right, the Presidential Suite. Yeah, thank you."
He holds up the key but before he hands it over he says, "Is there a reason you two no longer check in together?"
"Uh, yeah, but it's none of your business." I swipe the key out of his hand.
"Have a pleasant stay."
"Thanks," I mutter.
I go to the "suite," and set down the bag. I can't face getting into bed yet. So I sit in the chair, the chair I fell out of seven years ago, trying to sleep in it, which led to Angela suggesting we share that bed.
I know it's crazy to be here. And not crazy like it was seven years ago.
And I know she probably won't show up. Why should she, after all the mistakes I've made this past year? Here's a list, in mostly chronological order:
-The smothering thing I already told you about. Result: nightmares, including mine.
-I got Jonathan a job as a ballboy, when Angela had already made it very clear that she didn't think anyone should use their influence to get him a job. Results: Angela got angry and the Mets lost their chance at the World Series.
-I took her out to dinner and my credit card was declined. Result: humiliation for us both.
-Soon after that, I went to a charity auction at Angela's country club (I had to use her name to get in), and I told her friends the story of my credit card being declined. Result: further humiliation for us both.
-At the auction, I spent $2000 on a painting for Angela. Result: debt.
-So then I took Ernie's advice and got a job moonlighting as a waiter, except that it was at Willy & Guillermo's and I had to wear a skimpy outfit. Results: humiliation for me, and for Sam when she came in with some friends.
-I confessed to Angela what I'd done and told her I didn't know if I could handle this, dating someone with so much more money than I have. Result: a near break-up.
-You think all that's bad? Wait till I tell you about what happened when I proposed to her. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I proposed. But it's not as romantic as it sounds. See, one of my childhood friends died, Joey C., and I realized how short life is. So I went into this midlife-crisis risk-taking mode, including taking the family skiing. Results: Angela's face was badly chapped by the wind and she hurt her neck and legs going down a slope I was scared of.
-Mona convinced me I was actually looking for something permanent, like marrying Angela. Sam suggested I propose on a romantic sleigh ride. Result: Angela getting a ton of snow dumped on her by a passing snow machine.
-I took her inside, brushed the snow off her, ordered some tea, set her by a nice warm fire, and unwrapped her bandages, so that she could be comfortable while I made a passionate, heartfelt proposal. Results: I set her bandages on fire and put it out with hot tea.
-I tried again at dinner, trying to take Mona's advice to drop the ring she loaned me into Angela's champagne glass, when Angela wasn't looking. Results: I accidentally dropped the ring in Angela's mashed potatoes, and when she bit into it the crown of her tooth came loose.
-Yet somehow, even though I put her through all that, she said yes. But when I put the ring on her finger, she recognized the ring, so I explained how much Mona and the kids encouraged me. Results: she decided that I wanted to marry her for the wrong reasons and she gave me back the ring.
-I came up with an elaborate scheme to get Angela to go to a Giants game with me so that I could propose to her via the Goodyear blimp. Results: Angela felt embarrassed getting such a public proposal, and I felt embarrassed getting such a public rejection.
-I got so unsure of myself that in the end, she had to propose to me. Yeah, I accepted. That wasn't a mistake, I thought. But then I decided to lick all the envelopes for the wedding invitations. Results: an allergic reaction to the glue, which I thought was an allergy to Angela, almost leading to the cancellation of our wedding.
-I let the guys riding me about being "hen-pecked" get to me so much that I lied to Angela to get out of going to see the ballet with her. (And I actually like the ballet enough that I once pressured Samantha into dance lessons.) Results: the guys ended up riding me even more when they found out the truth, and Angela was really pissed off at me.
-I ignored Angela's wish for a simple wedding in a little chapel. Result: Sam ran off to the chapel with Hank, a guy she'd only been dating a couple months!
-Later I befriended my son-in-law, including helping him look at a possible apartment for the two of them. Results: Sam pissed at Hank, Angela pissed at me.
-Then when I tried to reconcile Sam and Hank, Angela got really pissed at me.
-When Angela and I decided to remodel her room, to make it more couple-friendly, we hired Hank's father, Joe. But I ended up pissing off Joe and taking over the job myself. Results: Jonathan getting nailed in a wall, my butt crashing through the attic floor, and my relationship with Angela being strained.
-I finally graduated. I was no longer Angela's housekeeper. Two barriers gone. But I needed a good teaching job and that wasn't so easy to find. Until I heard from Wells Junior College in Branford, Iowa. They wanted me as an associate professor. And Angela urged me to take it, to do something for myself. And I listened to her. Result: me and Angela went crazy trying to coordinate our schedules for our long-distance relationship.
-So she agreed to put her life in the East on hold and move to Iowa, for the rest of the year I'd be at Wells. I thought we would finally be alone together. Result: living in sin, since we agreed to postpone the wedding till we returned to Connecticut.
-With my encouragement, Angela, the most sophisticated woman I've ever known, got a little too acclimated to the Midwest. And some of her pent-up energy that used to go into her ad agency went towards sex (which was great), but also towards knitting and watercolors. Results: tired Tony, and lots and lots of afghans and paintings of cornfields.
-I got offered a three-year contract and wanted to take it, but she admitted how hard it was to be away from her agency. Result: a standoff where everyone loses and there are no easy solutions, or even hard ones.
I haven't seen her in a month. I hear about her from Sam, who's still living in Mona's apartment with Hank. Uh, that's my fault, too, though I meant well at the time. Hell, I almost always mean well. But you know what they say about good intentions.
I didn't tell Sam or anybody I was coming here. I almost didn't come here. I mean, why go all the way from Iowa to here? But Anthony made me.
You know, she technically proposed to him. She got down on one knee and took my hand. She began, "Tony," but I said, "At a moment like this, I prefer 'Anthony.' " Yeah, I'm Anthony, except when I'm not.
And she is Ingrid, and a lot of other women, including whatever you want to call Ms. Bower, the successful businesswoman. And I love that about her, but it's so tough pleasing all of them.
"I could always please you though, couldn't I, Ingrid?" I address the furthest empty bed, where I can still picture her sitting in the pajama top.
And then I swear I can almost hear her reply: Tony, you two divided yourselves up into little pieces from the beginning, the first day she hired you. Maybe it was too early for me and Anthony to reenter your lives, but maybe you should've worked with us. You convinced yourselves you weren't good enough for the other. You let your insecurities take over, again and again. Yes, you pleased me in bed, very much. But you also frustrated me in other ways.
"Frustrated you?"
You wouldn't accept me in everyday life. You kept wanting to pretend Angela was some ice princess.
"I had to. How else could I live with the woman I was crazy about?"
You could've asked her to marry you years ago.
"What? 'Thank you for hiring me. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?' "
Not that early, but later, when you not only had feelings for her but were building a life with her.
"I was scared. You know that."
It seems like you're scared of a lot of things, Anthony Morton Micelli.
"Hey, watch the Morton stuff."
She laughs a ghostly laugh. I guess it's a good thing you didn't create other alter egos, maybe Morton and Katherine to represent your cozy, domestic side.
"Yeah, well, that's never exactly been a side we've had to suppress."
Tony, go to her. You're so close to Fairfield now.
"No, I can't. Angela knows this is our anniversary. If she wants to see me, she can meet me here."
You're a very stubborn man, Tony.
"Yeah, well, she's stubborn, too. And there's only so long you can butt heads with someone before you get a headache.
And then, I must be going crazy, but I can see her float over to me, feel her rub my scalp, my neck, my shoulders. God, I miss Angela's touch! I can't stand the idea that I'll never feel her again, not even a touch on my arm.
But I can't go to her. We'd just end up arguing again about how she doesn't want me to regret giving up my bright future.
The most I can hope for is that she'll show up before this weekend is over and help me celebrate Anthony & Ingrid's twenty-ninth anniversary. Then we'll go back to the separate lives we've chosen. And maybe two days a year was all we were ever meant to have.