Chapter 5
November 1971 - Yale University
The next day, Angela hit her run hard. She didn't waste any time doing anything. She even upped her workout by continuing the running/walking intervals on the way back to her car. After a quick shower, she decided to stay in and study in her room that night. She didn't want to waste time with hair and makeup, and now that Greg had seen her dressed up, she was a little afraid to go back to her no-makeup look in front of him. That's alright, she beamed. When he sees me on Saturday, he's going to be blown away.
Angela had been eating 3 moderate meals per day, with no snacking, and her clothes were fitting much more comfortably. Occasionally, she got very hungry in the evening and would allow herself an apple or a banana. This is going to work, Angela thought, determined. Wait, what am I trying to accomplish? She thought about it, but she didn't know. …Whatever it is, I need to do this.
The night of the sorority ball, Angela was starving. Frustrated with the pace of her weight loss, she'd decided to eat less and less as the week progressed. But that morning, she had seen that she was down 6 pounds, and that almost made her disregard her disturbed stomach. She had a hardboiled egg at 9am, and drank cold water all day at the salon. Her skin had never looked better, and overall, she considered her plan to be unfolding nicely. Angela spent the day getting her already blonde hair frosted, so wisps of white blonde would feather the surface. The stylist then orchestrated her long locks into a high chignon, and embellished with gold pins, the front slanted stylishly across her forehead.
Angela's empty tummy kept tattling on her, so she grabbed a grapefruit from the kitchen. She ate it to quell the thrum in her head as much as the growl in her stomach. Grabbing another glass of ice water, she pulled herself back up the stairs to finish getting ready.
Angela was getting pretty good at her makeup, and even decently copied an eye makeup look from the November Vogue. But mostly, Angela was excited to put on her dress. She had worked out so hard, but the dress fit even a bit looser than she'd expected. Her bare neck and shoulders displayed her single diamond necklace like it was a crown jewel. She had matching diamonds dangling on two inches of gold chain from each ear. Her black satin gown spiraled loosely down around her from her chest to the floor, interrupted only by a magnificent slit up her right leg. Angela didn't just feel put together, she felt sexy and independent – like, the most intense version of herself was staring at her from the mirror. Though she wasn't exactly sure why it was sexy, she imagined something Trish had once referenced - Angela pictured herself slowly eating a strawberry in front of Greg, never dropping eye contact. Mmmm, straawwwberries…she thought, dreamily. Ugh! I'm so hungry!, Angela stamped her foot and took another swig of water - neither of which really helped her headache.
She heard a knock on her door. It was Mrs. Abbott. "Good evening, dear. Your gentleman caller is here to pick you up."
"Thank you, Mrs. Abbott. I'll be right down," Angela smiled, and slid a white rose corsage onto her left wrist. After triggering a single shot of Rive Gauche on her chest, Angela gently picked up her rabbit fur capelet and white, satin clutch from the valet, and left her room.
Greg was waiting at the bottom of the spiral staircase. He was so handsome. His hair was slicked back, and he was in a black tuxedo, complete with black bow tie and studs. Angela felt a little wonky, but could still easily focus on his enchanting smile. She put one 4-inch, peep-toe-sandaled heel forward and it snagged mercilessly onto the front of the gown.
That was all it took to derail the perfect night. Greg had yelled an unintelligible, "Agghck!" as Angela fell, and reached his arms out to stop her from 25 feet away. She jostled upside down against the banister, and then right-side-up to the wall. After about 5 horrifying seconds, she sat at the bottom of the stairs in the tiniest silk slip, looking up at his stupefied face. She had absolutely no frame of reference on where to go from here. She was sore and scratched all over. The sweat that hadn't existed ten seconds before was chilling her quickly, but not enough to distract her from her still thumping head. Finally, Greg regained awareness to stumble out, "Ar-Are you okay?" He squatted down to help her up, and moving a lock of hair out of her face, he smiled. "Slow down, there, Jackie Robinson. I'm not in that big 'a hurry."
