Day One
Angela knew she was awake even though she refused to open her eyes. She rationalized that if she kept them closed she wouldn't have to acknowledge that she had once again awoken to bleak solitude. She was alone. Alone and unloved, she remembered. She crushed her eyelids more tightly together in an effort to ward off the wave of pain engulfing her, but the tactic was useless. Her tears fell and she was forced to open her eyes to grab for the box of tissues. Ironically, as she reached for the tissues, she found a matted and crumpled tissue clutched in her hand. It was beyond use to her at this point, so she tossed it on her nightstand until she could drag herself out of bed to throw it away properly. Looking around to locate the tissue box, she found it next to her in bed. She picked up the box and realized it was now almost empty from overuse. She slumped back against the pillows, still not ready to face the day.
The morning felt gray and lifeless to Angela, no matter how much sun was peeking through the windows. A spark had died, the spark of hope. She looked around her room, numb with recollection of the sorrows of the past seven years. The joys attendant in the same time frame tried to wheedle her into a more positive attitude, but she banished them from her mind. There was no reason to dwell on happiness that could not be repeated, and remembering happier times would only make her more morose now. Desolation was overwhelming her; she was raw, hurting, and questioning every decision she had ever made about Tony over the years. How could she let him get so close? He was an employee. "He's your best friend," her thoughts countered. "He shouldn't be," she argued back, "and whose side are you on, anyway?"
Frustrated at arguing with herself, she pulled the few remaining tissues out of the box and threw it at the closet. At least the box made a satisfying noise before it dropped to the floor, even if throwing it didn't make her feel any better than throwing the stuffed animal or the pillow had the previous night.
She had to get up, face the day. She dragged herself out of bed. For reasons she could not understand she felt a physical weight from the memories she'd put herself through last night. Even breathing felt more difficult. She didn't want to go downstairs. She didn't want to face Tony. But what could she do? To everyone else today was a normal day. To her it was the first day of her...she didn't know what to call it: "Tony Recovery Plan?" "Operation: Forget Tony?" "Picking Up the Pieces?" It didn't really matter, all she did know was that she needed to avoid him as much as possible.
On her way to the bathroom she stopped to pick up the pillow and the ladybug and tossed them onto the foot of the bed. She then picked up the empty tissue box and took out some anger by squashing it as best she could before throwing it into the bathroom garbage. Smashing that box did lift Angela's spirits a little. Her barely elevated state of being was very short-lived as she turned and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She stopped and regarded her appearance harshly. The ravages of the night before were brought into sharp focus. Her eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles underneath; her hair was a disaster, twisted and askew in every direction possible, and even some up to this point she didn't think could be possible. Her face was tear-stained and her overall look was one of defeat. The image she saw in the mirror only added to her already rock bottom self-esteem. "No wonder Tony has never been enticed by you," her thoughts taunted.
Angela was far too severe with herself. There had been many times Tony was more than enticed, many times he had to exercise self-control; in fact he had restrained himself so well that Angela was oblivious to his interest.
Angela splashed some water on her face and tried to tame her hair, "day one of the 'Forget Tony' campaign," she told herself. This was a good way to approach the situation, treat getting over Tony as a simple advertising campaign. Repetition, repetition, repetition; it was one of the primary laws of advertising. If she kept telling herself she was over him; then someday she'd believe it. Maybe. It made logical sense to Angela, this morning. All she had to do was sell herself on the idea that she was over Tony; and it would be true, wouldn't it? Wasn't that the basis of advertising? If you say something often enough, it's true? At this point she'd grasp at any straw.
She looked in the mirror and asked, "So, ad exec Angela Bower, what's the action plan of this campaign?" Her reflection had no answer; there was no market analysis to pour over, no storyboards to create, and the only demographic research she could possibly do would be to analyze herself, and she had been doing that for years, there was no further information to be gleaned from introspection. The bottom line was that there is no tried and true method for getting over anyone. Sure, everyone had an opinion, there were just as many ideas for getting over someone as there were homemade hangover remedies. Angela realized she felt like she had a hangover. Her head ached, her heart ached; and she was still reeling from last night's revelations.
Angela then made a positive choice, she started a shower, hoping the water would wash away the pain of last night. Yes, the water would cleanse her soul, giving her a fresh start to the day and invigorating her "Day One" resolutions. Clearly she was expecting too much from a simple shower; for despite her intentions the shower did not heal her soul at all. In fact, it had the opposite effect, the cascading water pelted her; its insistent rhythm oblivious to her pain. Angela burst into tears, exposing her vulnerability. She hated crying in the shower; she hated crying at any time, but crying in the shower was worse. It was messy, there were no tissues to dry her face with, and even if she reached to bring some tissues into the shower, they would only be ravaged into pieces by the rushing water. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and rinsed it off; begging herself to stop the tears. She hated this; hated being so out of control, and she hated being in the situation which caused the tears in the first place.
She had to get out of the house; go to work. That would be her step one in the "Forget Tony' campaign. The more time she spent apart from him, the more practice it would give her for future life without Tony. Angela settled on this idea quickly; it would be an easy sell to her family. She'd just tell them that she decided to go into the City early, before tonight's Adweek banquet; after all, an executive's work is never done. Satisfied with her action plan, Angela finished her shower and got dressed quickly.
In the kitchen Tony was making breakfast for the family; blithely unaware that his world had been turned upside down overnight. Mona and Jonathan were seated at the table while Tony was at the stove flipping another pancake onto Jonathan's plate.
Angela sailed into the kitchen with her coat and briefcase.
"Ah, good morning, Angela," Tony greeted her, "how about a real breakfast this morning? Why limit yourself to just juice and coffee? Life's a banquet and most people are starving to death."
That last bit was far too ironic for Angela; she'd been starving for seven years and he'd never bothered to notice. Although thrown by his words, she covered well, "no, thanks, Tony. I have a lot of work to do before the banquet tonight. I won't be coming back before, so...Mother, I will see you then; don't even think about skipping out on this." Mona pouted, skipping out had been her intention.
"Bye," she waved to everyone as she breezed out the door.
The family bought Angela's plans without question; after all, Angela working was normal behavior.
Tony wanted to protest her lack of breakfast, but she had flown through the kitchen too fast for him to guilt her into eating. He was still standing there, holding the coffee pot, as he watched her shut the door behind her.
"Let her go," Mona said, far more concerned about her own breakfast than her daughter's choice to forgo her own, "she was moody last night anyway."
"You think she's all right?" Tony asked as he poured more coffee for Mona.
"Her? She's probably got some fabulous idea on how to sell corn chips to the masses," Mona said a little sarcastically. It was typical of her daughter; a work function tonight, and what does she do? Go out and enjoy the fall by apple picking or pumpkin carving or any other activity that didn't involve the agency? No. Instead of spending time with her loved ones, Angela was once again throwing herself into her work. Worse, it was a Saturday night and she was being dragged into Angela's work too. She had half a mind not to show up at that Adweek banquet tonight anyway; she could think of much better ways to spend her time, shopping topped her list for daytime activities...and for the night, that option didn't take much creativity to decide either. A wicked grin appeared on her face. Tony thought it best not to question that grin.
"I'm sure she's fine, Tony," Jonathan encouraged, successfully pulling Tony's thoughts away from trying to figure out the enigmas of Mona and Angela.
"I guess you're right," Tony agreed as he started cleaning up the breakfast dishes.
Safely ensconced in her car, Angela breathed a huge sigh of relief not only for making it through the kitchen without having to face myriad questions from her family, but also for not breaking down in Tony's presence. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself and to mentally prepare for driving; but got onto the streets as quickly as possible because she didn't want anyone following her to the garage, peppering her with questions and demanding that she fortify herself with a good breakfast.
Finally alone in her office, Angela reveled in the solitude. It was a short reverie as her attention was drawn to the mementos of an unfulfilled dream on her desk. She should have been ready to confront these trinkets, but as these items were such a part of the fabric of her desk, she didn't even think about them on her way in. As she sank into her chair, the full force of Tony's presence in the office hit her. He wasn't even physically there, but he haunted her nonetheless. An acute sting of pain wrenched through her heart as she picked up the framed family photo on her desk. They were all so happy in the photo, taken at a backyard picnic last summer. Jonathan had been playing with the timer setting on the camera he'd received the previous Christmas; he'd posed all of them on the picnic table and ran in to join the family. They all had their arms around each other, smiling broadly. She touched the photo, trying to connect with the grinning family she saw there; but felt nothing but the iciness of inert glass. She reluctantly put the photo back on the desk and turned it away from her.
The item next to it was even more difficult to confront: a miniature Jefferson Memorial, souvenir of their tour of the monuments. Her hopes had been so high as Tony rushed out of the dressing room after her that day. They'd left the studio for a make up tour; even daring to go so far as to hold hands as they dawdled on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial, thereby prompting her to mark the occasion with the purchase of the miniature. Up until today, every time she'd looked at that little dome, she'd smiled. No more. Had it only been a few months since that fateful trip? It seemed like years ago. The miniature was relegated to the back of the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. Out of sight, out of mind. She hoped that by removing any reminders of Tony from her desk, it would go a long way toward removing him from her heart as well.
That only left one relic of Tony on her desk; a baseball from their trip to St. Louis. She picked up the ball with a heavy ache in heart. She'd read the inscription so many times before that she could recite it without looking, which is what she did. She closed her eyes and clutched the baseball in her hands and said: "To Angela, the best "wife" a guy could have," he'd even gone so far as to sign it, "Love, Tony." How many times did she have to explain that dedication to people throughout the years? It dawned on her that never once had she minded telling the story behind those words. She took one last, longing look at that ball and then placed it alongside the Jefferson Memorial in the dark recesses of the drawer.
Angela looked at her desk; it seemed to have lost some of its soul. Angela was nowhere close to admitting it, but it had lost part of its soul. "Day one, Angela; day one," she reminded herself. Day one had to be the most difficult day, hadn't it? It had to get easier from here, didn't it? Because right now it felt as though her heart was being wrenched out of her, leaving nothing but a gaping cavern where love used to be.
Maybe she needed something to drink, after all, she'd run out of the house without coffee. Now all she had to do was solve the dilemma of how to use the coffee maker. She confronted the coffee maker. Angela was a woman of many talents, but maker of coffee, was not one of them. That task was delegated to others, both in the office and at home. This was an unfortunate thought as it only brought Tony to mind. She stared at the machine for a couple of moments, unable to move; then decided that she needed to get out of the office. After all, she was in mid-town Manhattan; there had to be a million places to get a cup of coffee. It was a beautiful fall day, so why was she shutting herself up in the office?
"Tony," came the answer to a question she didn't really want answered. She closed her eyes, defeated.
Taking a deep breath, Angela grabbed her purse and left the office to enjoy autumn in New York. She wandered around, looking for solace in the frantic pace of the City. The City did not disappoint, the brisk late September air revived her, the vitality of the streets of Manhattan soothed her aching soul. Angela was even audacious enough to play tourist and indulged in a trip to the observation deck of the Empire State Building rationalizing that as long as she didn't look toward Brooklyn, she'd be fine.
The windy detachment of the observation desk suited her mood. Angela marveled at the fact that she could be on such an iconic part of New York City, yet the height of the building temporarily removed her from being part of the hustle and bustle of the City itself. It was almost like being in an isolation booth; even the noise of the constant car horns on the streets was muted at this distance. It was a little surreal.
Although Angela avoided looking at Brooklyn as best she could, to the point of closing her eyes and turning away whenever her gaze inadvertently traveled in that direction, the visit was still bittersweet. She found herself remembering the last time she was on this deck; her father had surprised her with a day in Manhattan; just the two of them. She hadn't thought about that day in years. It hadn't mattered to her that the day was precipitated by her mother being off visiting her sister and her father being obligated to spend time in his office; she was daddy's little girl and she reveled in every second of being treated as such.
At the office, everyone had greeted her with the polite indulgence due to the boss' daughter, supplying her with paper and pencils to draw with. She'd perched herself on one of the leather chairs in the corner of her father's office and drew a picture of her daddy at his desk. He'd adored the drawing, of course, no matter how little talent had been displayed. She couldn't have been more than ten at the time, but Angela still remembered the smell of the leather and the aura of 'Important Business Decisions' being made. But more than anything else, she remembered how special she felt; she was Daddy's Princess and he made sure she knew it.
She wandered over to a corner, where once she and her father had looked out over the streets of Manhattan, feeling that the City itself was their own personal kingdom. She touched the wall, clinging to the thought that by doing so she could somehow connect to that little girl she had once been, the one whose life had yet to be shattered by tragedy; the one who still had a man she could trust in her life. She closed her eyes, trying to find some solace, willing herself to see the child she had been; but even though she could see the happy, smiling girl; she couldn't bridge the gap between her present and her past. That child was only a memory, lost to the past, a part of Angela's life that was; she had no power to affect Angela's current life. The part that little girl had played in her life was long over and as much as Angela wanted to, she could not draw comfort or strength from a wispy mirage. Her younger self was impervious to the pain her current self was feeling and try as she might, Angela couldn't bring some of her own self's past happiness into her present to help heal her wounds.
Angela realized her cheeks were wet with tears, and this was compounded by the wind which kept blowing hair into her face. She tried to brush away the tear dampened strands of hair, but the wind was winning this battle. Instead of trying to fight Mother Nature, Angela decided that maybe playing tourist today wasn't such a good idea. All it had done so far was mess up her hair and deepen the ache in her heart by making her long for her father. If anyone needed a father's support right now, it was Angela; he'd help her get back on her feet, he'd understand her need for distance from Tony, unlike her mother who always had very unrealistic ideas about their relationship. She'd missed her father very much over the years; but never as much as she missed him at this moment.
It was time to leave, time for another fine New York City tradition enjoyed by both tourists and New Yorkers alike; eating. Reassuring herself that she wasn't eating as a method of suppressing her emotions; after all, it was time for lunch, and she was hungry, Angela dried the remains of her tears and made her way down to one of her favorite restaurants.
The restaurant was a peaceful oasis, she indulged in one of her favorite meals as she watched the world go by. While at lunch she made another decision; the decision to pamper herself through shopping. Suddenly the day brightened and there was a little spring in her step as she entered the hallowed halls of Bloomingdale's. Even better, Miriam was working today; there was no one who catered to Angela's every whim better than Miriam.
Both women had a great time that afternoon, Angela had decided that as part of her "Forget Tony" campaign, she should make a statement with a new wardrobe; a wardrobe that was a departure from her status quo, something a little less buttoned down and a lot sexier. Shorter skirts to flaunt her legs were at the top of her list. She may have had a pang or two of conscience, wondering if it was fair to parade around the house teasing Tony without any intention to follow through. She had a couple of arguments back on that one; the first one being that Tony had paraded around the house plenty of times in sweats...or a tux...or shirtless, her mind was starting to wander, she shook her head to gather her thoughts; Tony had no intention of following through, so why should she? And it wasn't as if Tony cared about what she wore, he wasn't interested in her, so her clothing wasn't going to affect him one way or another. Then those names ran trough her head again, "Frankie," "Betty," "Kathleen," "Christine," this time they strengthened her resolve, she was not going to be Tony's wallflower any longer.
Angela even went so far as to buy a new gown for the banquet tonight. The gown was black, off the shoulders and skin tight. Her conscience bothered her again, "isn't this a petty way to get back at Tony?" She mentally shooed away the annoying do-gooding voice, telling it once and for all that Tony didn't care one way or another what she wore. She believed it too. The afternoon had made her feel like Cinderella, now it was time to board her pumpkin coach and go to the ball. Or, in Angela's case, take a limo to the Adweek banquet.
Arriving at the banquet, Angela saw her office staff seated at one of the round tables on the other side of the room. She was pleased to see almost everyone was already there; and downright shocked to she her mother. In her mind there had been a 90% probability her mother wouldn't show up. Angela made her way to the table, pausing here and there to make small talk with her fellow Madison Avenue cohorts.
Mona saw her daughter working the room and her jaw dropped; not from Angela's schmoozing, but from the dress she was wearing. It was definitely not the one she'd planned to wear; she'd never seen this dress before. Angela must have taken a break from work and done some shopping today, Mona concluded; then wondered what prompted Angela to wear such a dress tonight. After all, Tony wouldn't be here, so what was the point of the dress? Was Angela trying to heighten her anticipation of going home by wearing this dress? Was she thinking about Tony's future reaction? Or was she trying to catch the attention of someone in the room? Or was she reading too much into a simple dress? Mona had no idea; but trying to figure out what was going through Angela's mind would occupy her own mind quite a bit tonight.
Angela finally reached her table and greeted her coworkers.
"Where's Tony tonight, Angela?" Jack's wife, Carol, asked. This was a simple, innocent question, with no innuendo inflected; but it still upset all the work Angela had done throughout the day.
"Tony?" Angela did her best to hide the shock the name alone sent through her; but grabbing the back of her chair probably wasn't her best cover. In fact, it was another bit of evidence Mona added to her growing sense of unease. But Angela wasn't paying attention to her mother, her mind was more occupied with trying to figure out when Tony's attendance at these events had become so habitual that people questioned his absence. Even she wasn't sure; but the fact that everyone expected him to be there was a fact she wasn't comfortable with anymore.
Mona continued to note her daughter's unusual reaction. Usually any mention of Tony sent Angela into a dreamy state, her eyes unfocused, her whole being one of giddy girlishness. But today Angela was unsettled, almost trying to deny Tony's existence. Had she and Tony had a fight last night? Tony hadn't mentioned any altercation between them this morning. Mona was now perplexed and alarmed by her daughter's behavior.
"Why would Tony be here?" Angela pulled herself together enough to ask; pretending to be completely oblivious.
"You're joking, right Angela?" Jack laughed, "Tony always escorts you to these events, it's a given."
Angela's lips twitched involuntarily, "no, he doesn't," she protested. He didn't, he couldn't. Were they really to a point where Tony's presence was expected? Jack couldn't be correct; in fact tonight was a case in point she realized triumphantly, Tony wasn't there. She did her best to ignore the nagging voice in her head that was reminding her that she had asked Tony to be here tonight; but he had plans with his fellow students and had to decline. This fact was not one she was going to admit to Jack; ever. Obviously, Tony had somewhere else he'd rather be tonight; in her mind this was just another example of her wallflower status in Tony's life. If Tony wanted to be here with her, he would have made it a priority. He wasn't, and his absence gave credence to Angela's claimed truths.
She shrugged, "it's the nineties, I'm a liberated woman, I can go places unescorted. I don't need an arm to lean on or someone to pull out my chair." To prove her point she pulled out her own chair and defiantly sat down. Angela was a little agitated, no matter how much she tried to cover and everyone around the table noticed it; Mona more than anyone else. There was obviously something amiss in the "Perpetual Platonic Romance of Tony and Angela," now all she had to do was figure out what it was.
There was a moment of awkward quiet at the table, mercifully ended by the arrival of Stanley Harrington; who was not only one of Angela's strongest competitors, but one of her greatest admirers as well. He was definitely leaning on the side of admirer at the moment, her new dress was already producing results. Although Angela always took everything Stanley said with several grains of salt (he was an advertising guru, after all,) tonight she was glad to listen to anything he had to say. She took his offered hand and rose from the table to head to the bar for a tete a tete. This turned out to be a wonderful distraction for Angela, she was in her element, she was being admired and best of all, Stanley had no interest in discussing Tony so she wasn't spending time pining for him.
"Fascinating," was all Mona could say as she watched them go.
"She and Tony have a fight, Mona?" Carol asked.
"Not that I know of," she said out loud, then wryly added a little something to herself, "and I have a feeling Tony might not know it either," hitting the nail on the head more than she would have liked to have known. She decided to have a chat with him...soon.
Mona watched her daughter carefully through the evening; she was throwing herself into the festivities of the event well. Too well, she thought. She was trying too hard, spending too much time floating from contact to contact. That lug, Stanley Harrington rarely left her side, either. Mona could see Angela forcing herself to laugh at every word that dolt dropped. She didn't trust that man; and she didn't like him hanging around Angela. Mona forced herself to be honest, he wasn't really a dolt, he was worse. He was insincere and overly veneered; he probably spent more time at the beauty parlor than she did. He'd definitely had eye surgery; this only made her wonder which other parts of him were also made of plastic. His personality, for one. She thought her daughter was aware of the fact that his artificial façade fronted an artificial interior; but from her reaction to him tonight, she was having her doubts.
Stanley was blissfully unaware of Mona's misgivings. He was thrilled Tony wasn't here tonight, and planned to take full advantage of the situation. He'd attended too many of these events where Angela was draped on Tony's arm all night, the implication being, "don't even think it." He'd thought it; but didn't do anything about it because it seemed as though Angela's choice was made. Plus, he didn't think he'd fare very well in a fight against Tony, and he wasn't about to risk the loss of face, both psychological and physical; he'd poured a lot of money into this face and he didn't want to risk it, even for Angela. But now there seemed to be trouble in paradise, giving him a chance to create his own paradise.
Angela was more than happy to be the center of attention in Stanley's world for the evening. He was rebuilding her shattered self-esteem; and even though she wasn't attracted to him on any level, she'd take the positive attention wherever she could get it. She was using him, yes; but she justified it in her mind by admitting that he was using her as well. And he was, she knew that; it was who he was, a user. And if speculation was correct, he was a user of not only people, but coke as well. His repeated departures from her only added fuel to that fire. So she enjoyed his fawning; but if he thought their evening was going to continue after the banquet was over, he was sorely mistaken.
In fact, he was enraged mistaken; instead of just sorely mistaken. Angela left with her mother; leaving Stanley feeling like he'd been dumped by the Prom Queen; but not just dumped, humiliated. He'd expected to leave the party triumphantly, with Angela on his arm, instead he was alone and everyone saw his rejection. This was a rejection in his mind only; no one else in the room expected Angela to leave with Stanley, everyone knew she was too smart to fall for anything he might say. There was also the assumption that for whatever reason Tony wasn't in attendance tonight, Angela would still be going home to him. Stanley never had a prayer.
Mona and Angela arrived home well after midnight. All the way, Angela had been thinking that with any luck, Tony would be asleep by the time they walked through the door. It was an unlikely wish, it was far more probable that he would still be up, wanting the full report of the event. They walked through the front door and there he was, sitting on the couch, watching an old movie. At their entrance he clicked off the tv and got up to greet them with a smile. Angela saw him and her resolve slipped; he looked so...so...she couldn't even think of the word. Partnerly? Dare she even think the word...husbandly? Even if she couldn't commit to a word, Tony on the couch was part of her definition of home. Which only made her fear Tony's eventual departure even more. She barely made it through one day without him. How was she going to manage when he was permanently gone? Even tonight she longed to be welcomed home with a nice hug, how would she eventually deal with coming home to an empty house? She wanted to run upstairs, out of his presence as quickly as possible, before she broke down in front of him.
Tony, through no fault of his own, was completely unaware of the turmoil in Angela's soul. Not knowing she wanted a hug, for he certainly would have given her one if he knew such an action was permissible; he gave her a very nice glance, combined with a bit of shock instead, "new threads, Angela?"
"Yes."
"Nice."
"Thank you."
Mona watched this exchange with great interest. Angela was grateful for the compliment, she could see that; but her daughter wasn't meeting Tony's gaze. What was going on? It was obvious that Tony liked the dress very much, but Angela was barely giving him the time of day. Oh, this daughter of hers, when was she going to come to her senses about Tony? It was so frustrating; and if she was frustrated, Tony and Angela must be a hundred, or more likely, a million times more frustrated. So why didn't they ever do anything about it? It was an enigma she was growing tired of trying to solve.
"So, how was the banquet?" Tony was still trying to engage Angela in conversation, but she was still avoiding him as best she could, "fine," was her only answer.
"Sorry I couldn't be there with you."
"It's ok, Tony, it's not part of your job."
His job? This shocked Tony; didn't she know that when he accompanied her to work events, it fell under the friendship column of their relationship? Maybe she didn't, so he let her know, "Angela, I go to these things because I want to be there with you, not out of any obligation."
In Angela's self-conditioned state of wallflower-itis, she was surprised by his words. Surprised and confused. Unable to respond she nodded at him and quickly made her way upstairs. Tony watched her go, a little confused himself. Mona watched both of them, very concerned about what she saw. It was time for a little chat. Mona's, "into the kitchen, buster, we need to talk," startled Tony out of his confusion.
Tony walked to the kitchen, holding the door open for Mona to pass through before him.
"What's up, Mone?" he asked when they were securely in the room.
"You tell me."
"What are you talking about?"
"Just as I suspected, you have no idea either," she was disappointed; her thought that this was some easily resolved misunderstanding was dashed.
Tony was looking at her, waiting for her to elaborate.
She did, "you didn't see anything odd in her behavior tonight?
He thought back, "she seemed a little quiet, but I am sure she's just tired. She was out early this morning, it's been a long day for her."
"That's not it, Tony; she was...different at the banquet tonight, I was hoping you might know why."
"She has a new dress, isn't that always cause for...different? I mean that's one hell of dress, Madonna mi!" he shook his head, but certainly didn't regret seeing Angela in that dress.
"It's not the dress, Tony; it has something to do with you."
"Me? I wasn't even there."
"Yes, and this fact was noted by many."
"Yeah?" he had to admit, he was glad his absence was noticed.
"Yeah, and Angela was squirrelly about it, you were a forbidden topic."
"Why?"
"That's what I was hoping you could tell me."
Tony tried to come up with an answer, but found none.
"To make matters worse she spent most of the evening in the company of Stanley Harrington."
Tony felt his stomach drop. Why would Angela willingly spend so much time with that creep? "Really?" was all he could say as he was trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. "I'll make sure I won't be scheduled for any other activities the next time she has something to go to. No way is that...scum getting near her again."
"Good."
"You're right, something must be bothering her; it's the only reason that makes sense."
"Keep an eye on her, will ya? We need to figure out what's going on before it gets out of hand."
"Sure thing, Mone."
"And now that I have suffered through another one of these banal advertising functions, I am going to reward myself with few hours sleep then an early morning stroll through my little black book."
"Night, Mone; sleep well."
"Oh, I will, Tony, I will. Night."
Tony watched Mona go up the stairs and into her own apartment; she turned and waved good night to him before closing the door. He waved back then shut the door to the house and locked up, all the time vowing to keep a close eye on Angela. If Mona said Angela was acting strangely, there had to be a reason; all he had to do was figure out what it was. After seven years together, that shouldn't be too hard, should it?
Alone in her room, once again, Angela was unsettled. Trying to forget Tony was going to be so much more difficult that she'd thought it would be; and she'd thought it was going to be very difficult. She was so focused on the painful moments in their past that any intrusions of the truth, such as the one she had just been part of downstairs, confused her. She was so used to Tony being involved in the goings on of the office that she never even saw the love behind his support. She never saw that he stayed up just to make sure she made it home safe and sound. She never saw that he escorted her to events not as a chore, but because he wanted to be with her in her work world as well as her home world. She never saw that the primary reason he did these things was because of his devotion to her. Angela's lack of insight was now costing her dearly; and it would only continue to cost both of them for quite some time.
Angela readied herself for bed, exhausted. Even though her day had been filled with activity upon activity, it wasn't the pace which tired her; it was her constant fight to keep any thoughts, or more correctly, feelings about Tony, ignored and buried. It was a non-stop battle and she was worn out from the skirmishes; but she congratulated herself on making it through. Day One was now over, she'd survived and from now on each day had to be easier, hadn't it? If she kept telling herself that maybe someday she'd actually believe it.