June 1977 – NYC
Angela let out a slow breath in front of the bathroom mirror. She didn't remove her gaze from her own eyes as she smoothed the front of her dress. She'd talked with Michael the night before, and he'd wished her good luck. I guess that was nice of him…but I sure wish it would've felt like he meant it. I did appreciate his advice to just ask for what I want. He's probably right; women don't do that enough. Still, however this goes, I'm all in. Whether I stay, or whether I go. I'm doing it with everything that's in me.
With that, Angela turned toward the door, and walked into the fray. Her jaw was set. She made her way to Jim Peterson's office, and knocked. Holding the door slightly ajar, she didn't wait to be acknowledged. "You're going to want to be here for this." And she nodded toward the president's office.
Peterson squinted at her in irritation, but curiosity won out, and he followed her down the hall.
Angela knocked on the hardwood door, and Grant Paxton answered, "Come in!"
He looked up at them from his chair. "Angela. Jim. What's on your mind?"
"Mr. Paxton, I need to discuss something with you." She looked over at Jim. "But I'm a firm believer in not jumping the chain of command, so he's here." Angela thought she saw a hint of a smirk on her boss' face.
Peterson didn't say anything, but probably overcompensated in his contrived boredom.
Paxton looked at Angela with his blazing blue eyes, and frowned a little. "What's going on."
She spoke distinctly and authoritatively. "Sir, advancing this agency has been my goal for the last ten months. I'm on track to break a million in revenue before the year is up. I want to keep that goal." At Paxton's confused look, she continued unapologetically, "But I'm pregnant."
Peterson shook his head, laughing conspicuously to himself. Paxton looked like she'd just told him they'd overestimated their budget by millions.
"Wh- What does that mean, exactly: you 'want to keep that goal'?"
"I want to keep working. Here."
Paxton let out a sharp breath, "Oh, good! Don't scare me like that."
An inarticulable sense of relief and gratitude flooded Angela.
Paxton continued a little hesitantly, "So, when are you due?"
"November 19th."
He nodded, "And how long are you going to need off – you know, to keep that projected million within reach?" he smiled.
Only pausing briefly for a running start, Angela said, "4 weeks would be ideal, but I can be working from home for much of that." Oh, I hope that wasn't too much. That would be incredible.
Paxton tented his hands over his stomach as he thought, "Okay. We'll make this work. I don't want to lose you."
Peterson was looking like his boredom was becoming more and more genuine.
Angela smiled professionally. "I appreciate that, sir. I definitely want to be here."
Paxton nodded definitively. "Good. Alright, back to work."
They left their boss's office without talking to each other. Angela kept her chin up until she closed her office door behind her. Putting her back up against it, she slid down to the floor, trying not laugh too loudly.
Angela picked up her ringing home phone that night.
"Hey, Baby!" Michael smiled.
She felt so light and happy, she drifted right up to him through the phone. "Where are you calling from? I can hear you perfectly."
"I'm on a payphone in Ft. Stockton. Grocery run."
"Ahh. Guess what?"
"What?"
"I can stay!"
"Really." Michael said surprised.
"Yes!" Angela said ecstatically. "Paxton said he doesn't want to lose me!"
"Wow… I really wasn't expecting that."
What? Angela thought hard about what next to say, but nothing succinct came to her. She found herself, instead, fixated on the phone cord she was twirling into a tight, gigantic ball around her finger.
"Angela?"
She closed her eyes, and returned to the present. "Michael, what do you think of me? Do you think I just take up space at work? Fill a quota, or something?"
"Angela, look, I'm happy for you that you get to keep your job. I am. I know you like doing that. Why do you have to pick a fight? I was just honestly surprised," he said in exasperation.
"Honestly? I think you're honestly surprised anyone there gives me the time of day."
"Angela, I know you're smart, okay? Shit. You're sharper than I am. But businessmen…they don't negotiate honestly with women. There's always a quid pro quo."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying, you may think they want you there because you're good at your job or something, when it could really be a whole lot simpler than that."
Wow. "Excuse me?" She was so angry, straining so much, she felt a laser-like pain shoot right through her forehead. Still, with the voice of a professional, she carried, "You have no idea how good I am at my job," like it was nitroglycerin.
The sigh he let out was really more like a growl. "Look, Angela. I know you've got to know stuff. They can't hide a phony in the spotlight. I'm just saying, you're really beautiful, and you wouldn't have to be stellar to shine in sales, anyway."
Angela momentarily suspended her aneurism - including the leading factor, that he had no idea what he was talking about - and clenched the wad of phone cord into her fist. "Michael, I'm curious. Why did you tell me to ask for what I want? Were you trying to get me to push them over the edge?"
"What's with the accusation? I was trying to get you to be honest with them about what you needed, not just pretend anything they toss you is fine. Maybe that meant you couldn't deliver what they wanted, but at least you'd both know. And that's the truth. Most women don't ask for what they want, they just bitch about not getting it – in one way or another. I was trying to teach you how to talk to men. If it landed in my favor, fine."
"And you think it didn't?"
"I don't know yet. I'm not real happy about you working after you have the baby. I just don't know how you're going to pull that off without me and our child feeling forgotten…But we aren't even to that bridge yet."
Angela just tried to keep breathing. It was all coming down on her so fast.
Michael continued in a softer voice. "Angela? I don't know how this got so out of hand. I was just trying to say I was surprised, but, Congratulations."
Angela breathed. An olive branch was in front of her. She didn't want to fight, and he was the last one she wanted to fight with. She was so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of defending herself. Tired of the actual things she was doing, like, working a high stakes job in Manhattan, and growing a baby. He's offering you an out, Angela. That would be so much easier. It's right there in front of you.
"Sweetheart?"
Breathing steady but shallow, Angela's voice came out little. "I just wanted to be able to be happy about this. I wanted you to be happy for me." I've been so scared about this, and it turned out to be just fine. I wanted you to be relieved with me. Happy with me.
"I am. And, of course, you should be happy about this. You didn't get canned, and you really could've!" His deflated congratulations wafted through the room like a shriveled balloon.
Resigned and passionless, Angela said a little, "Thanks."
"I mean, we don't know how long they'll keep you around, but for now, it's a really good thing. Extra money and all…"
Angela didn't have the energy to answer. She just hung up.
