April 1982 – Panama City, Panama

Michael walked back into their room a few minutes before 4pm. Angela was sitting at the desk, leaning back against the chair.

"That's wonderful! Yes. I'm very happy to come to an agreement, Mr. Belmont. I'll call you Tuesday to confirm which model you want to use. Alright. Yes. It's been my pleasure! Goodbye."

Angela hung up the phone, grinning, and spun around to look at Michael who was changing his shirt. "That could not have gone better! After yesterday's debacle, and Paxton demanding to sit in on this meeting, I was not looking forward to today. But I've never had a smoother encounter!" Michael frowned up at her from where he'd been blankly doing up his buttons. "This company loves me!"

"That's great, baby," Michael said somewhat guardedly.

Their room phone rang, and Angela frowned, but turned around to pick up the receiver. "Hello? Oh, Mr. Paxton! Hi!" she said smiling widely and leaned forward with her elbows onto the desk.

Michael sat on the bed and watched her.

Angela listened for several seconds and then laughed delightedly. She brought her left hand up to rub her neck and continued smiling aimlessly down at her paperwork. Several more seconds passed, and her fingers fell to her collarbone.

"Thank you, sir. Right," she laughed again. "I'll see you Tuesday. Bye."

Angela was still grinning when she turned to Michael whose eyes were now a little squinted.

Her face straightened. "What?"

"Nice chat?"

"Yeah. Paxton just called to tell me what a great- Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You just looked like you were having a really nice time for a work call."

Too elated to take him seriously, Angela tilted her head to the side dramatically. "Michael," she said dryly. "I have a personality. It's okay," she said with moderately patronizing sarcasm. She got up and walked up in front of him. Pulling her loose shirt over her head, she tossed it behind her. "Now, I seem to remember us having plans to work out together," she said with a gravelly coyness.

Michael didn't say anything but kept staring into her eyes.

After a few seconds, he stood up without changing his straight expression. "Actually, I think I'm more in the mood to get fat." He eyed her as he turned around to walk out of their room. "I'll be in the bar."

"It's 4 o'clock," she said, bewildered and stressing at their shift.

Michael stopped in the middle of the open door and looked back at her. "Why don't you pretend this is New York?" his eyes narrowed into a glare, but he kept his voice level. "You seem to be good at that. Maybe this isn't the first time?"

Michael walked out, and left Angela standing by the bed.


Do I flirt? With Paxton? With anyone else? Angela thought of Peterson and shuddered. But she really didn't have a negative reaction to the thought of giggling with Paxton. Except shame.

Shit. I usually try my best to be professional, but sometimes, maybe…

Angela took a quick shower and trudged to the closet. Still hoping to talk Michael into going out tonight, she pulled on one of her new outfits: a flowy, linen peasant top tucked into a short, white skirt. She slung a loose chain belt around her hips and pinned in the silver hoop earrings. Slicking her hair up into a tight, side ponytail, she poofed the tail with a mass of curls. Angela retouched her makeup and swiped on a deep red lipstick.

Every task took a ridiculous amount of effort. She felt awful. Why did I do that? Angela tied the ballerina ribbons on her espadrille sandals and went to find Michael.

She'd seen girls giggle all over themselves around guys, getting up really close to them and touching them. She didn't do that. Yeah…maybe it's not so much what I've done that's been so massive, as it is why.

She strode through the hallways to the elevator. I was happy – ecstatic, really. Yesterday had been so awful, I was…celebrating? And with Michael there to witness it…I don't know, maybe I just still want Michael's attention in this area.

And, truthfully, it felt so good to get back on Paxton's good side. I hated for him to be upset with me, especially since I know I wasn't giving my best yesterday. But I think I like it when he smiles at me, too – and maybe not just because I'm great at my job.

Angela felt physically sick. She'd gotten pretty adept at deciphering Michael's moods, and the man looked hurt.

Paxton values the job I do. Michael doesn't. Michael thinks it's stupid, whether I'm good at it or not. That really hurts…but I didn't want to do this.

She spotted Michael at the bar, staring at a full pint next to his empty one. Angela came up to sit on the side that wasn't obstructed by her voluptuous ponytail. She looked down and took a breath.

She turned to him. "Hi," she said quietly.

Michael looked over at her, then down at her clothes. Shaking his head, he let out a sarcastic laugh, and said and exaggerated, "Hiiii."

Angela looked back down at the bar. The bartender came up to her.

"What would you like?" he asked her.

Michael took a drink of beer and leaned against the back of his stool. "Yes, what are your tastes nowadays?"

Angela shut her eyes and let out a long breath. Looking at the bartender, she said, "Can I have a ginger ale, please?" The man nodded and went off to fill her request.

Angela looked at Michael. "Michael, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Are you attracted to that pretty boy?"

"I don't want to do anything with him!" she shrugged, wide eyed, trying to keep this at the level it was.

Michael leaned toward her and spoke quietly. "That's not what I asked."

Angela held his stare as she breathed for a moment or two, then she looked away.

"Fuck," Michael exhaled sharply, and slammed back into his stool.

The bartender brought her her drink and walked away.

Angela tilted her head "What do you want from me, Michael? I can't help who I'm attracted to. I don't want to be with him, I want to be with you!"

"You sure cozied up to that phone call today."

"Michael, I'm sorry I hurt you. I really am."

"You do that often?"

She paused a beat. "I don't know, sometimes, I guess - I try really hard to be professional!"

His angry face relaxed slowly into comprehension. "You 'try really hard to be professional'…" He shook his head and let out an angry laugh. "This guy is on your mind so much, you have to try really hard to ignore it…Nice."

Angela tilted her head back and shut her eyes. Michael stood up. Angela looked at him, slightly panicking, as he fanned out his wallet and plucked a few bills.

"Are you leaving?" she asked, turning in her stool.

He leaned down closer to her face, and nodded clearly, "By myself."


Angela felt antsy and vacant at the same time. Her heart was pounding. She had watched Michael leave in the direction of the elevators and turned back toward the bar. She stayed standing while she tried to get down at least half of her ginger ale. Leaving money on the counter, she drifted slowly outside.

There were plenty of open deck chairs, and she sat down off the side of one to untie her shoes. Snagging a complimentary towel, she tossed it onto the edge of the pool so she could sit and let her legs dangle in the water.

How did this unravel so quickly? You'd think I'd be used to it…

But something in her knew better. This is a different species altogether.

That was the truth. I don't want to be with Grant- Paxton! I mean. -Shit! What is wrong with me? Her stomach cramping got worse, and she leaned forward and started to cry.


A million miles away, Michael stared down at her from the atrium's balcony two floors up. He leaned against a supporting beam with his arms crossed.


Angela lifted her head and looked out as the sun set on the horizon in front of her. She sniffed up her renegade snot and let out a raggedy breath. She spun around to place her feet on the deck and tied her sandals. She ached for Michael to hold her - just like that first night, on the stairs of the diner. Something about that caught her off guard.

I think about the old times with Michael a LOT when I'm sad. I mean, shouldn't we be progressing by the moment, not just constantly pulling ourselves up by a couple flagship moments? Frowning in thought, Angela walked into the hotel though the vaulted atrium, and over to the elevators.

As she waited for the car, she tipped her head back in exasperation. I can't go up to the room. What if he's up there? He said he wanted to be alone. If I were him, I'd want space, too. Stamping her foot, she spun around with her hands on her hips. What am I supposed to do?

Come to think of it, I don't know if he's up there. I don't know where he is. Curiosity and panic embarrassed her with their presence, but she turned around and pushed the 'Up' button, just the same.


Angela turned the key into their room and peered in as she entered. "Michael?"

The room was empty.

She looked around the room for a note but didn't find one. Walking slowly over to the balcony, Angela stared off at the city as the near-neon red light of evening made her hollow face glow like hell.

Her stomach still hurt, maybe worse, now. She could hear music and laughing, and just wanted to cry. Groaning, Angela curled back toward the bed. She lied down on top of the covers and snuggled herself with unconsciousness.


Angela's lashes felt crusty when she opened them, and her eyes muscles felt strained when she blinked. Her eyebrows furrowed as she sat up to take in her surroundings. Except for the few buttons on the phone and the numbers on the cable box, the only light in the room was the ghostly moonlight that had full access to her through the sliding glass doors. She felt every bit as alone as she was.

With a jagged breath, Angela spun her feet over the bed and stood up. The clock said it was 11. Taking a wishful glance over at the clearly empty bathroom, she walked back to the balcony and opened the doors.

The music hit her with the same heft as the humidity, and she wanted to smile. But Michael's absence was overwhelming. They didn't speak of it much, but they loved to dance. Those have been some of my favorite times with him. Angela's eyes drifted shut and she imagined Michael coming up behind her to put his arms around her and hold her close... She opened her eyes to a fresh sheet of tears.

Turning around at the dark room, Angela suddenly wanted to get out. This is what people mean when they say some place is like a tomb. She flipped on every light and made her way to the bathroom to freshen up.


Angela exited their room in a rush. She didn't really have a defined purpose, other than relief. Maybe I'll find Michael! But awareness smothered her excited features as she remembered he didn't want to be found. Her tired body pushed itself from the wall of the elevator as it opened on the main floor.

Many more people trafficked the lobby now. This place really doesn't pick up 'till late, she marveled. It is Friday night…

Angela veered toward the noise and found herself back at the bar. Voices of all kinds fought against the live music, but the bodies looked peaceful and rather to be enjoying themselves. Angela started to breathe easier, and even felt a little smile arise of its own volition.

She stepped into the outer ridge of patrons and tapped the shoulder of a young woman swaying her hips to the beat. "Excuse me, what kind of music is that?"

"Cumbia," she said with a smile that reached her eyes.

"Ah, thank you," Angela smiled back, and her head started bobbing smoothly in time. This is great! Angela scanned the crowd, trying to just enjoy herself, but still secretly hoping to find Michael. I really want to see him. Maybe he's calmed down. She didn't know what he'd do in this kind of situation, and as she as she was scared to find out, she felt if they could just start talking, maybe they'd be okay.

Angela made her way to the bar, but she didn't feel in the mood for a martini. Biting her lip, she looked from all the glass bottles and tap handles in front of her down to the little, grapefruit-garnished glass of the woman sitting next to her.

The woman turned from her conversation with a man to take a sip, and Angela caught her eye and nodded toward the drink. "What is that?" she smiled.

"Chombolin," the woman replied with thick accent and a knowing raise to her eyebrows. "Seco Herrerano, hibiscus, lime… is good!" she nodded encouragingly.

"Okay!" Angela laughed and ordered one.

She sipped it, and her eyes widened. "That is good - spicy!"

The woman smiled back widely, "Sí! Try it with the patacones."

Angela put her hand lightly on the woman's shoulder, "Thank you!"

The woman nodded and turned back to her date.

Angela drank some more and paid for some patacones. Angela took a small bite of the fried …thing, and nodded acceptingly. "That'll work," she said to herself. It's kind of like a cross between a French fry and a banana.

Angela finished two and sipped on her drink while she listened to the band. But the newness of the experience started to lose its weight as she remembered why she was so alone in this cheerful crowd. Sighing, she downed the rest of her drink, and grabbed a patacone?… is that the singular? - for the road.

She walked toward the exit, and from the middle of the room, she looked up to see Michael in a wide, corner booth near the band, laughing with his crew and their dates. But there was a woman sitting on the edge of the booth next to Michael who said something, dropped her hand onto his shoulder, and leaned in laughing loudly. He laughed back and took a sip of the drink in front of him before continuing to participate in the discussion.

Angela was frozen, staring at him with her mouth open. People brushed past her, but she didn't move. The shock lifted enough for her to formulate, -the hell… She then regained enough of herself to walk toward them. Not even bothering with his bouncy friend, Angela zeroed in on her husband. As she got closer, Michael saw her, and his eyebrows went up while hers went down.

"Angela!"

"Michael," she acknowledged. "Feeling better?"

Michael's eyes narrowed, and he turned to the woman, "Perdóname, por favor."

She looked nervously up at Angela but got up to let him out. They forced their way through the increasing crowd of the bar and marched together through the lobby to the pool deck, both staring straight ahead.

Finally finding a secluded area under the stairs, Angela spun around. "What the hell is going on?"

Still glaring at her, Michael answered. "Is this not what we do now? I'm just catching up!"

"Are you kidding me? I've spent the evening with my stomach in knots, crying myself to sleep because I realized how much I've accidentally hurt you! I've gone over and over if there could possibly be any truth to what you're saying…And you're down here rubbing up against some bimbo?"

Michael rolled his eyes, "Oh, yeah, she's wearing so much less than you are."

Angela's eyes widened. "You are such an ass! I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"You're with him every day! Not around me! I never see you! We finally get away to a tropical paradise for just the two of us, and you're still laughing and fondling yourself whenever you talk to him. Maybe you should tell me what the hell is going on!"

Her mouth fell open indignantly, "I wasn't fondling myself!"

He rubbed all over his neck in exaggerated prissiness. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Paxton. See you Tuesday!" he mocked, giggling like a teenage girl. His eyes flashed back to normal, "I'm surprised you didn't cop a feel!"

Angela's mouth never seemed to shut, but it fell farther open. I cannot believe his arrogance! She paused a beat, before her wide eyelids pulsed open in decision. I'm out of here! She marched back into the lobby, Michael hot on her heels.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

Angela halted, looking up and around, appreciating the acoustics the spacious atrium provided the festive music. She brought her chin down, so she was squared up to him.

"I'm going dancing," she said definitively.