April 1983 – Wallace & McQuade, NYC
Angela blew a strand of hair out of her face as she huffed down the hallway. Some clients can be so pigheaded! It's not Halloween, people! Her new client's ultra-flashy ideas lacked even decent human taste. But trying to explain that they didn't just want to get consumers' attention, they wanted them to regard her client favorably, had been an uphill battle all afternoon. But truthfully, Angela had been tight all week.
She hadn't seen or heard from Michael since she'd gone into the shower last Tuesday night. He'd left his stuff in the room, but he wasn't there when she'd come out. She'd sped home as fast as she could, as grateful not to have gotten a ticket as she was not to have seen him again.
And now she felt even sadder. That wasn't even true. She did want to see him. Like always, he'd broken her heart, and now she wanted him to fix it. Clenching her teeth, she secured her headache to her afternoon plans.
"Oh, Mrs. Bower," Rosie smiled brightly as Angela rounded the corner to her office.
Angela found Rosie's thick New York accent and casual demeanor surprisingly disarming. Rosie was several years older than Anna, but seemed...fun. "Yes, Rosie?" she smiled.
"Your husband's in your office."
Going for mind over matter, Angela's eye ended up twitching, but she was able to keep her voice level. "Oh? …Thank you." He embarrassed me in front of Anna, he's not going to have that same power over me with Rosie. "Did those radio transcripts come in?"
"Yep. They're on your desk."
"That's great. Well, have a good evening."
"Yeah, you, too," Rosie smiled, and grabbed her jacket. "See ya tomorrow!"
Rosie walked toward the lobby, Angela smiling after her. I really envy her carefree attitude.
Taking a deep breath, Angela opened her door.
Michael was staring at the diplomas she'd mounted on the walls, and his back was to her.
She shut her door, but he didn't turn around.
Growing impatient, Angela folded her arms. "What are you doing here, Michael?"
Michael slowly turned toward her. Even through his thick, fisherman sweater, he looked like he'd lost five pounds. His hair was combed, and his clothes were clean, but the sallow look to his skin made him seem unkempt. Angela felt instantly uncomfortable. She was feeling sad for him, and she was mad about it. Plus, that was the sweater she'd borrowed from him in the desert, and seeing it made her blink back the start of tears.
"Can I please talk to you?" he said quietly.
Shit. He's being polite. I'm really more in the mood to fight.
She didn't trust him when he was nice. She didn't trust herself when he was nice - except when she did, and shouldn't have.
Her eyebrows went up as she exhaled, waiting.
Michael nodded, and looked away. "I, um…" He paused a few seconds, then looked toward her again, his eyes looking barely alive. "Can we go somewhere to talk?"
"I don't even want to talk to you, Michael. So, if you have something to say-"
Michael dropped his head to his chest. He almost looked like he was going to fall over. The competition between Angela's pity and anger was wearing her down, and she rubbed her temple.
She looked up at him, and he was staring at the ceiling. Is he crying? …good. I've sure spent my share this last week, and I'm in no mood.
But Michael kept looking off to the side, and shifting his weight, not insisting on anything. Her smoothest transition to rage had always incorporated some help from him. Insensitivity, rudeness, demands - they were the perfect catalysts. But here he was doing none of those things, and she was left to bridge the gap herself. And she was tired.
She was also frustratingly curious. Stupid-ass hope springing eternal…
She watched him for a few more seconds. She sighed internally. It wasn't just that. She really did love him, and she wanted him to understand what he'd done. While she didn't know if he was willing to, something was clearly giving him pause, and she wanted to know what that was.
She sighed, but kept her guard up. "Where do you want to go?"
Michael thought for a second, and looked up at her, "The Waldorf is-"
"No," Angela's eyelids didn't budge.
Michael looked down, then out the window. He nodded toward it.
"What about Madison Square Park? Can we go for a walk?"
Angela looked out the window. It was overcast, but still around 60 degrees that day. And ever since that first week she'd dated Michael, she'd taken to keeping a pair of penny loafers in her office, just in case.
"Let me see if my mother can keep Jonathan for a bit," Angela clipped. "You can wait in the lobby."
Michael nodded, and left quietly.
Angela called her mother, who was fine with it. Angela switched her shoes and put on her jacket, but then sat down primly in her chair. She tried to breathe away the tears that were already starting. It had been a lousy day in a lonely week, and this evening wasn't looking any better. But if he had a mind to talk, maybe listening wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility. There was only one way to find out.
Angela and Michael walked side by side though the park, a few inches between them. He had his hands in his pockets, and she'd folded her arms tightly around herself. There was a slight breeze, and Angela was grateful to be wearing slacks. She didn't care what he was wearing, and how, even in his sickly state, he looked so damned handsome.
Growing increasingly antsy, Angela felt the need to get the ball rolling.
"So, we're talking. What do you want?"
Michael was quiet, but slowly closed his eyes. He opened them, and looked at her as they walked, "I wanted to say I'm sorry."
Angela made an elongated nod. "Okay."
"Will you please just listen for a minute?" Michael strained.
Damn it. That realness to his voice just wouldn't go away. Angela pressed her lips together, and kept pace with him.
"I shouldn't have said what I did. It was…wrong."
"Then why did you?"
"I thought I meant it. But after you said that thing about 'playing in the woods'," he made a sharp exhale. "You really ripped that from the devil's playbook, Angela…"
Angela's eyes narrowed, and he rushed along.
"Anyway, it really stung, you know, because of my parents and everything - always having said that to me about my work…" He shook his head, and cleared his throat. "Seriously, Angela, touché."
Angela opened her mouth to attack, but he held up his hands. "Hang on, hang on! I know. I was worse. But it threw me when you said it, and I went for a walk. That, and your dig about my salary…shit. You are one cold-blooded-"
"You're not very good at apologizing, either," she said, straight-faced.
Michael ignored her, and pressed on. "And uh, as I was walking, my parents came to mind…" he squinted his gaze ahead of him and let out his breath, "and I realized something."
Angela wasn't aware that her body was unclenching.
Michael turned his head to look at her. "I wasn't really yelling at you. You know how I've been telling you since before Jonathan was born, that businessmen don't deal honestly with women? I've always thought that, but I really wasn't thinking about why. Well, Tuesday night I remembered; it's because of my dad."
Angela's head tilted, and her face grew more relaxed. Michael kept talking.
"When I was in junior high, I saw my dad kissing this other woman while I was waiting for him after work one day. He saw me catch them from down the hallway at his school. And I remember, after she left, I looked at my dad, and he looked down at me, really sternly. And that was the end of it. I never told my mom. And I don't know how far it went."
By now, Angela was aware that even her heart was softening, but she stayed quiet.
"My parents never paid any attention to what I did. But remember when I told you I tried to fix that by getting into trouble?" Angela nodded silently. "Well, I had a doozy up my sleeve, and I decided to try it out on my dad. Ya know, just something like, 'Hey, so about that woman?'. I remember he gave me that same hard look again, and the next thing I know, my parents were shipping me off to Lake Forest Academy."
Angela couldn't hide her compassion, but she kept her distance.
Michael scoffed, "Their Anniversary party was such a joke. Their whole marriage is. And I'm so mad at my mom."
Angela's face looked fully confused, and he tried to explain. He shrugged, "I don't know why, exactly. It wasn't her fault; I don't think she ever even found out. But I guess, I'm mad because she's smart, and she should know better or something. She should've found out." Michael braved a look at Angela. He saw something click in her softened face.
Angela spoke up, "You think I should know better."
Michael hesitated, but nodded after a couple of seconds. "I hadn't pieced together why I've been so mad at you about this. I knew I was hurt, especially after Panama." His voice started to get an edge, and he softened it. "But I wasn't really thinking about it as a whole, and..." he shrugged. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you I don't actually think of you like that - at least, not anymore; now that I know what the hell what my problem was. And I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. That wasn't your fault."
He held up his hands, "Now, before you say anything, you need to know I'm still pissed. Even if I was dumping all my parents' crap onto you, what I said about Paxton is true. I guess, if I'm being honest, I don't really know all his motives for keeping you around, but mark my words, he is going to try something someday. That doesn't mean you've done anything with him. It just means that I'm upset about it. It feels like, at best, you're sticking your head in the sand about it, and as we've seen, even enjoying it a bit. It's a real fuck in the ass, sending you over to him every day."
Angela scrunched her face at him, but kept walking.
She didn't know what to say, and for several minutes she didn't say anything. But then she looked at him, and just said the first true thing she could think of. "I'm really mad, Michael. I appreciate your vulnerability here. What happened with you and your parents, that's…awful. I can't imagine how hurt I'd be if something like that had happened in my family. But as far as the reality of where you and I are concerned, I couldn't exaggerate my hurt if I tried."
Michael glanced into her eyes as they walked, appearing to be actually hearing her, and that tiny brush of closeness made her start to tear. But it was her voice that was the real tattletale. "I'd been looking forward to that night since you left for India. Then you sent me that absolutely exquisite scarf for Christmas, when I wasn't even expecting a postcard." Angela's strain was coming out in squeaks and random rises of volume. "I wore that scarf all the time, finding ways to incorporate it into different outfits. But soon, I just kept it in my purse with me, all the time. When I was stressed, I wasn't 'opening my top collar button'. I was holding the scarf you gave me like a teddy bear. Sometimes, I'd just reach my hand into the purse to finger it for a quick jolt of your affection. I was dying for you to come back, for you to hold me. Those five months, and for the five months before that, I was so lonely – wishing desperately for you to be with me. And then you were, and I was lonelier than when I was by myself. Do you know, do you see, how you yank me around?"
Michael looked at her almost like he was in pain.
"And then Jonathan! We have to read that Icelandic horse book every night. He's memorized the whole thing, but he still purposefully stumbles on the word, "preservation", every time, before he tells me, every time, that you told him how to pronounce it correctly. He sleeps with his leopard every night. And he was furious with me when I got to meet you last week and he didn't. I told him you'd pick him up from school the next day, and he hasn't seen you yet. I may have left that night, Michael, but you could've called him! It's not like you don't know where he lives."
Michael started to harden, "You didn't call me, either. You have my apartment number. I didn't know Jonathan was having such a hard time. I'd already been gone months, what's anoth-"
"Are you kidding me? You're really going to act like you don't know he worships you? And why the hell wouldn't you just want to see him?"
Michael let out a steady stream of air, and paused a few seconds. "I haven't really been at my best these last few days."
"Neither have I! But I'm not just assuming someone will take care of my kid! I'm calling and scrambling and paying and running all-out amuck, so I can come home to my sweet baby who sees me as a disappointing substitute, at best! He's certain I'm keeping you to myself on purpose!"
"Well, aren't you?" he glared.
"What!?" she said, exasperated.
Michael answered quietly, "You could've called me. You could've told me. Even if you thought I already should've known. But you didn't. Why? You just want him to feel as abandoned as you? So you can hate me together?"
Angela wanted to jump all over that one. He has some nerve! But she didn't say anything. Guilt slowly snaked around her neck, and she knew it was true. Even if he should've made contact for Jonathan's sake, so should I have.
Angela dropped his gaze and looked straight ahead. She breathed, "Yeah."
A couple seconds went by, and Michael's cold face softened. He nodded to himself.
He waited another few seconds. "I'm sorry I didn't contact Jonathan. I haven't really been awake at normal hours, or eating anything that hasn't been distilled…but I can do that because I know you'll make sure Jonathan's taken care of. And that's pretty shitty."
Angela's head whipped up. She'd never heard that kind of honesty coming from him. She made a self-deprecating laugh in her head. He probably wasn't expecting her to admit her treachery, either.
They'd walked the park already; it wasn't that big. But even coming to a lull in the conversation, or at least a ledge, Angela wanted to make another loop. But Michael stopped, and she followed. He looked down at her, "I really am sorry I hurt you so much. For the record, I was missing you bad, too. You said it better, but I mean the same thing. Must be that advertising gift of yours."
Angela's lower lids rose, and Michael put out his hands, placating. "I just meant you explained it well! …And I was trying to say I can see why someone might want you to speak for them." Angela's heart opened like it had with Greg in the line at Louis', all those years ago. She'd always wanted Michael to give her even a scrap of admission that she was a contribution to her company. She looked up at him in wonder. A hit, more satisfying but less intense than his kiss, flew through her veins. And her indignant breathing slowed to someone paying very close attention.
Michael gently lifted his bent knuckle to her cheek, and Angela turned her head. I can't handle being touched right now. She glanced back at him guardedly, and he stiffened, but nodded before dropping his hand and looking down.
"Well, thanks for listening to me," he said, quietly.
She nodded. "Thanks for listening to me."
"So, can I get Jonathan tonight?" he asked. Angela hoped his casual tone was nonchalance.
She nodded again. "He'd love to see you," she almost whispered.
"Okay, I'll get him from Wendy."
"He's at my mother's today."
Michael let out a pained sigh. "…that's right." He flickered a brief smile at her, then turned toward the gate.
Despite the mild conditions, Angela was still shaking. She wanted him to hold her. Really badly. She wanted him to give her a big bear hug, where nobody mean or bad could get to her. She wanted to ride next to him on the train. Hell, she wanted to be in his lap. But she just couldn't. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She was so afraid she'd tip whatever they'd just built. And she was afraid she wouldn't, and wished she had. So, she held herself, and watched him walk away.
A/N: I got a computer! Yeaaa! Thanks for your patience, guys. You'll never shut me up now. xD
