August 1976 – New York City

Angela caught up to her fast-walking boss in the hallway and kept the pace. "Mr. Joliet, I was thinking of bringing the metrics on last year's Weismann account to the Sweet Tooth meeting."

He stopped and thought for a second. "Smart, Angela. …Similar size, similar market, they signed the confidentiality waiver for the discount?" She nodded. "I like it. That'll be the extra umph we need. Make it happen." He started powerwalking again.

"Yes, sir," Angela noted as she spun toward her office. Mr. Joliet stopped abruptly, and turned, tapping a finger off his head.

"And Angela, when you're done in there, meet me in my office. I have some plans to discuss with you."

"I'll be there. It shouldn't take more than an hour to close this one."

"I knew I hired you for a reason. Go get 'em, kid!"

True to her word, Angela was out of there in 47 minutes, with the clients smiling from ear to ear. She and her team shook the hands of the Sweet Tooth people and scattered to finish their various tasks. Angela walked up to Mr. Joliet's glass door and knocked lightly. He waved her in.

"Ah, there you are! And how did it go?"

"Smooth as butter," she said smiling. "You were right. Those metrics were a good umph. We got them to sign at 3% higher than Bill's estimate."

"That's what I like to hear! – Though, I'd hardly call that me being right. But that's why I'm telling you this. Angela, we're being bought out."

"What?" Angela felt like her heart had stopped.

Mr. Joliet picked up a bent paper clip from his desk and chucked it into the trash. "Yeah, Tom, Leonard, and I are all ready to hang up our hats. We started this agency almost 30 years ago. Susan and I are ready to travel and spoil our grandkids." He stood up and stretched his back. "And I'm ready to never commute again."

Angela looked down and tried to keep breathing. Mr. Joliet continued, "We'll have an official meeting with everyone later this week, but I wanted to tell my pick individually."

"Your pick?" She looked back up at him quizzically.

"Part of the contract we arranged is that we partners each get to pick a member of our team to be one of several Vice Presidents at the new company." Angela's head cocked a little to the side. Uhh… "We feel it will help the transition process. We are trying to save as many jobs as we can, but these things can be complicated." He shrugged sadly. "Anyway, you're my pick. You're sharp and creative, and I can't think of anyone I'd trust more with this responsibility."

"Mr. Joliet, I'm…shocked." I've only been here a year! Karl and Stephen and Paula and Henry have all been here at least 5! I'm not sure this will smooth things out…but I guess that's not really my call to make. "Thank you."

Mr. Joliet smiled genuinely and nodded. "You deserve it." He paused. "Now, the board was a little…kerfuffled…when I told them you're only a year out of grad school. But at my insistence, and showing them the many accounts you've frontlined, they capitulated. Still, part of the arrangement is that you'll be a sort of junior VP for a year – in both salary and responsibility - with your position and increased compensation already on the books for '77. You'll shadow one of their guys, and report to him constantly. It'll be a pain in the ass, but I know you can do this. It'll be worth it. Trust me. I want this for you, Angela. I have never known anyone with such a natural ability to see the clients and what they need. You can be suave as a diplomat, and feisty as a colt…" He smirked at her. "I'd pity your parents, if I weren't so sure they're as proud of you as they must be." Angela's red face smiled a sweet daughter smile. "I think you'll do very well."

Honored, Angela replied soberly, "That means a lot to me, sir. Thank you for entrusting me with this opportunity. What is this new company?"

"Wallace and McQuade," Mr. Joliet said with raised eyebrows.

"They're international," she said without blinking.

"Mm-hmm." Mr. Joliet looked her square in the eyes. "You can do this, Angela."

Angela held his gaze, trying to draw in his assurance. After two or three seconds, she smiled confidently. "Yes, sir."

"The paperwork has already begun, and we should have you all working with their people by next month." She nodded.

"And Angela?"

"Sir?"

"Congratulations."


December 1976 – Cos Cob, CT

"Angela, this is the nicest sweater I've ever seen! I love it! Thank you!" Ben said as he held up his present.

Angela laughed, "You're very welcome!"

Ben suddenly came to his senses, "Ooh! Better scoot my cocoa over…don't want to muss this up!"

"Try it on," Mona said delightedly. Ben stood up, and slipped the emerald green, cashmere sweater over his white cotton, button up shirt. Angela and Mona clapped. Mona grinned, "Very dapper, Ben!"

Ben held out a flat, crudely wrapped box to Angela. Gently taking the box, Angela read the tag aloud, "To my only granddaughter, Angela - Love, Ben". Angela pressed her lips together to keep her heart from falling out and held the box tightly against her ribcage. Looking up at him with tears in her eyes, she whispered, "Thank you, Ben".

She took a deep breath, and then untied the industrial string. After ripping off the brown butcher paper as carefully as she could, she saw she was holding a thin, cardboard jewelry box. She removed the lid and saw an absolutely exquisite string of pearls on the bed of a red and white paisley handkerchief. Angela looked up, completely dumbfounded.

"It was my mother's. I'd planned to give it to you for a long time," he said, softly. "Now that you're dogfighting in the high rises, you'll need a reminder of who you are."

Angela got up and went over to him and gave him the tightest hug she could. "I love it," she whispered, still squeezing him. Releasing him a little to look into his eyes, she said, "Thank you."

He nodded, and said, "I probably should've given it to you years ago. You've always been worth it." How was I ever granted this gentleman in my life? Angela smiled at him in pure joy. Sitting down, she kept a tight hold on the necklace.

Ben pulled a much bigger box in the same wrapping from under the tree and handed it to Mona. She ripped through it eagerly and opened the box.

"Oh, Ben. A hanging flowerpot!" She lifted it out of the cardboard box and held it up. "Ben!" As she spun it around, she could see all the curlicue carvings he had made on the outside and had stained a light oak finish. Mona ran her fingers along the smoothly sanded edges. "Oh, it's just gorgeous!"

"I thought it would go nicely outside the kitchen window, but wherever you want, I'll put a hanger up this spring. And I'm tending to some roses in my greenhouse. As soon as weather permits, they're yours, and wherever you want them."

Mona danced a little jig on her way around the coffee table. "Come 'ere, Ben!" She leaned down and hugged him tightly. "You are so good to us!" She did an exaggerated back and forth motions of the hug to punctuate her spirits. Plopping back onto the Stickley, leather couch, Mona placed the pot back into her lap and studied it. "How long did this take you?"

"Oh, I'm not sure. I didn't really keep track. I guess I started it a few months ago and worked on it here and there."

"Well, it's just superb. Really, Ben. Great work."

He laughed. "I'm very glad you like it, Mona. And this fedora is something else! I've always wanted one."

Mona smiled brightly, "Good! It looks real sharp on ya'."

Angela had clipped the pearls around her neck and was looking at them in the hallway mirror. Ben looked over at her admiring them in the mirror and smiled.

Ben asked both ladies, "Did you hear if Carwen made it to her family's house?"

Mona piped up on her way to the kitchen, "Yes. She called Tuesday night. She wishes us all a very Merry Christmas." She flipped open the bakery box on the counter and started picking through the contents. "I could hear the kids in the background. Sounds like they've got a full house! …Does anyone want another scone?"

"Oh, not for me, Mother. Thanks," Angela called from the hallway.

"Ben?"

Nothing.

Mona looked over at Ben. He was slumped over the armrest of the chair.

"Ben!" Mona yelled and ran over to him.

Angela's mind went blank, and her whole existence tunneled in a pathway to Ben. Scrambling across the furniture, she slid down on the floor next him and shook his shoulder. "Ben!"

Mona let go of his wrist and ran to the phone.

"Ben!" Angela screamed.


Angela stared blankly into the flames of the fireplace, fingering the pearls around her neck. Mona walked over as silently as the snow that was falling that night. She put a cold can of ginger ale on the coffee table in front of her daughter. Angela didn't acknowledge a stirring of any kind. Mona looked down at her in the dark, orange light waving across her fragile face.

"I know you don't want to eat," Mona said in a quavering voice. "But please drink something, baby." Angela broke her gaze, and for the first time since they left the hospital, she spoke.

"Thank you, Mother," she said in a voice Mona hadn't heard since her daughter was about 4 years old. Angela reached slowly for the can, but Mona got to it first and popped the top. She handed it to Angela, not sure what else to do. Angela took a little sip and held it in her lap. Then she went back to looking at the fire.

After a second or two, Mona nodded, acknowledging the situation. Biting down on her back teeth as the only ballast she had, she made her way around to the other side of the couch. She sat down a couple feet from her daughter, and stared into the fire, too.


Angela woke up with a crick in her neck. She looked over at her mother, whose head was hanging over the back of the couch, with her mouth wide open. Normally, it would be funny.

Angela put her hand up to shield her eyes from the sharp rays of the morning sun lasering off the fresh snow. Stupid sun. I hate that! It's cold! It should be dark. It should be blizzarding. Angrily, Angela got up and yanked close the blinds at every window along the wall. Sun is for the beach. Sun is for summer. Sun is for nice things. At the sound of hissing strings and clamoring metal strips, Mona woke up.

"Oh, ow!" Mona said, massaging her neck with her eyes still shut. She stumbled up and found Angela marching to the kitchen. She followed Angela slowly, a little hesitant to ask her daughter anything. Mona could see she was antsy. "How did you sleep? Better than I did, I hope."

Angela scowled at her mother and snatched the can of whipped cream without looking in the fridge.

"Oh, come on, Angela. Don't have that for breakfast. Have some cereal or someth-" Angela flung the can of whipped cream as hard as she could, and it landed among the branches of the Christmas tree. With unshed tears of fury blinding her, Angela stared down her mother. Saying nothing, Angela marched roughly to her room. She slammed the door shut and threw the lock.

She sat down hard on her bed, but was so restless, she had to get up. She walked around her room, but did it so fast, she got dizzy and stubbed her toe. Falling to the floor in pain and tears, she let her body weight be fully accepted into the embrace of the soft carpet. She felt the pearls flop against the underside of her chin, and the crying turned to sobbing. She kept picturing Ben's face when she looked up from reading the tag. She missed him so much. It was exhausting. Angela felt herself get very tired. With no wish for consciousness anyway, she lost herself in sleep.

Angela woke up to the sound of her mother knocking lightly on the door. "Angela?" Angela noticed her head hurt, it felt…swollen, actually. Drool had pooled by the side of her mouth, and the skin felt tingly. She scrunched up onto her knees and used them to push herself all the way up. Stumbling toward the mirror, she saw the entire right side of her face was red and bumpy from the carpet. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she stunk. Appropriate, she thought blankly.

She really had no thoughts other than noticing minute details around her. She didn't feel anything but anger - maybe peevish, maybe furious - but only anger…No, it wasn't even real anger. It was something…sharp, something sharp she was using to clear her path, her path to somewhere she could breathe. She pictured herself hacking through the bush with a machete…and that brought up thoughts of Vietnam, which led to thinking of Ben as a soldier...Ugh! Angela doubled over onto the vanity and racked out a sob. Her throat was dry. She shook her head back and forth, centimeters from the smooth wood. Ben, when he was vulnerable. Ben, who would still do anything to help her, in whatever state he was in…

Her mother knocked again. "Angela, are you okay?" Her mother's voice sounded worried. Angela rolled her eyes to the back of her head before she squeezed them shut. She slid down to the carpet, tasting stomach acid as another sob escaped.


For about a week, Angela isolated in her room. She'd called her supervisor and let him know she needed some time off. She'd come out of her room briefly for food and to shower, but usually at weird hours. She saw her mother a couple of times. And after a few chaotic pleas to talk, Mona had succumbed to Angela's terms of silence. She would make a flat smile and pat Angela's shoulder as they passed each other, but other than that, Mona left her daughter alone.

The morning of New Year's Eve, Angela decided she wanted to get out. She walked to Ben's house, and stood staring at it for several minutes, shivering in the cold. When she couldn't stand the emptiness in front of her any longer, she spun on her heel, and started to walk away. Then she picked up the pace. In her L.L. Bean boots and sweats, Angela pushed herself along the winding backroads. She noticed how quickly she became out of breath, since she hadn't run in over a week…and since she hadn't been sleeping well, or eating well…hell, she was barely alive. On that note, she felt her body was probably doing pretty well.

She powered up the last hill as hard as she could. Her legs and throat were burning, but she finished strong, for the circumstances. She noticed how fast she felt better when she stopped running. If only I could do that with Ben. If only the pain could leave that fast. Then Angela got a thought. What if I just don't think about it?

Angela stepped tentatively into the house, scared to try her idea. Wow! I really do stink. Shower it is. She felt a little purpose driven as she went for a towel.

When she was done, Angela blow-dried her hair, and put on her makeup. She snagged a wide-neck top and leggings, something easy to take on and off, and headed to the mall. She bought a lemonade, and walked around, watching where college-age kids were going. She found a cluster of girls and saw them enter a store with rather cheap-looking goods. Shrugging, Angela walked in and found a tiny, bright red, strapless dress almost immediately. That's perfect. She tried it on, and it pulled just right at every curve. Well, Greg liked me in a slip. She shrugged again and went to pay for it. Only $30. Shrugging yet again - this "whatever" just may be my new thing - she handed the girl her credit card.

Angela stole into the house and rushed to her room. She touched up her hair and makeup, and spent some time layering on some heavy, dark eyeshadow. She pulled on some nude nylons, black, patent stilettos, and her new dress. Spritzing some Rive Gauche onto her perfectly displayed breasts, she looked in the mirror. The pearls. Swallowing hard and fast, she unclipped them and put them in a jewelry box. She grabbed a simple, gold snake chain, and fastened it before she could think anything else. Angela looked up into the mirror. "Just right, said Goldilocks."


December 1976 - NYC

Angela drove to the city, a giant yellow pages on her passenger seat. When she arrived, she pulled over at a streetlamp, and flipped it open to the nightclub section. She had no idea how to grade them based on the ads themselves. Somebody really should fix that. -Ugh! Not now, Angela! She felt like a tool. Disgusted with her rigidity, she ripped out the first one that caught her eye.

Angela pulled up to The Catcall and found a parking spot less than two blocks away. She slicked on another coat of lipstick and toddled over to the end of the line.

She wasn't there three minutes when she heard, "You! Blondie!" The bouncer pointed at her, "You're in." Not entirely sure how this worked, she pointed at the people in front of her.

"But- I mean, don't I-?"

"I said, you're in. You. Not them." Angela's face felt hot, which she wasn't sure was a bad thing, considering the temperature. She stepped to the front of the line, not bearing to look at the people she was passing. The bouncer waved her in, and the doormen opened up the heavy metal doors.

Music came thumping out the door hole, and she slid in quickly before they shut. She could feel the music pulse through her chest, neon lights flashing in the extremely low-lit room. She made her way to the bar. "Don't ever tell a bartender to surprise you," came Anthony's voice in her head. She smiled, and for a split-second, felt a little less alone. Shaking her free flowing, long, blonde hair back to the present, she heard a woman nearby order a "kamikaze".

Shrugging, Angela stepped up to the bar and ordered one, too. She threw it back and was surprised at how much she liked it. Her eyebrows went up, and the second smile she'd made in a week brightened her whole face. Flagging down a bartender, she ordered another and headed to the middle of the dancefloor.


A handsome, clean-shaven man in his late 20s pushed himself in front of the throng and grabbed the collar of his buddy's leather jacket. "Tim? Tim! You see her? Damn! The girl's got legs that reach straight to heaven!"

"Don't they all?" Tim snorted out a laugh.

Michael laughed and patted Tim on the shoulder, but never took his eyes off her. "Alright, alright. This one's mine."