September 1983 – Wallace & McQuade, NYC
"Hey, Sheila," Michael said sauntering up to the front desk.
Sheila smiled politely, "Hello, Mr. Bower."
"Can you call my wife up, please?"
"She's in a meeting, but I know they're due to adjourn shortly. Would you like to wait in her office?"
Michael's annoyance weighed on his eyelids. He sighed, "Sure. Thanks." He absently patted the counter as he slumped back toward Angela's office.
Michael circled Angela's desk 37 ½ times before she power-walked across the threshold with an armload of files. She started when she saw him.
"Michael!"
He smiled a little.
"What are you doing here?"
He didn't smile. Rolling his eyes a little to himself, he exhaled and then walked over to the door. Angela glanced nervously toward Rosie's desk, but thankfully, she wasn't there.
Michael stopped a couple feet in front of her. "I wanted to know if you wanted to hit Arturo's for lunch," he said quietly.
She knew that voice.
She liked it. And he knew it.
Damn it.
Angela stared at him with just a hint of a smile and scratched a non-existent itch by her lip. "You came all the way down here for lunch?"
He put his hands in his front pockets and pushed his weight down onto his fists. "I came all the way down here for you."
Michael's smoldering gaze flickered upward as someone passed by her door. His eyes met Paxton's and his features instantly hardened. Paxton dropped eye contact and kept walking in smooth dismissal.
"Michael?" Angela said looking up at him, then glanced over her shoulder to see her boss walking away. Michael didn't acknowledge her but stepped forward and kept watching until Paxton rounded the corner. Then Michael brought his attention back to Angela.
With the straightest of faces, he looked in her eyes and whispered, "I hate him."
Angela tipped a sad smile and held his gaze. "I know," she whispered back. "I'd love some pizza," she said in a hopeful pitch.
After a couple seconds, Michael broke their serious stare with a little smile. "Alright. Let's go."
Angela got her purse, and they walked out. Michael let her go first, his hand at the small of her back.
They passed Paxton's open door, and Michael's gloating glare caught the man's eye.
Paxton's only response was none at all.
As soon as Angela got a whiff of the deep, savory aromas in Arturo's, her stomach growled loud enough for Michael to hear. He smirked at her, but his attention was diverted when he saw a table open up in the tight quarters.
They scootched in, and Michael smiled at her. "You look beautiful. I've always liked your hair down."
Her eyes dropped from his when he fingered a curl. The intimacy annoyed her. Angela looked back up at him for a moment, then took a breath.
"What's going on, Michael?" She tried to keep the edge out of her voice; she really did want to know.
Michael's brows furrowed a little. "I wanted to have lunch with you."
"Michael, we…you haven't even seen Jonathan in two weeks, much less talked with me. Then you show up at my office and want to go on a lunch date, acting like we're completely fine? I'm confused."
Michael rolled his eyes. "Look, we've been working around the clock. I've only been to the gym four times in those two weeks. There's a lot to be done, and I'm just trying to do my job." He paused a moment. "Besides…it was a little awkward where we left off, and I thought you could use the space."
Angela's eyes narrowed. "You know, I was with you up until that last bit. I understand deadlines. But I don't understand 'giving me space'. Did you think I needed to process something on my own about what happened?"
Michael dropped both palms flat on the little table and he leaned toward her. "Honest to God, Angela, I don't know what you need. I'm just trying not to upset you."
Angela squinted. "You're worried about upsetting me?"
He held her stare, "Yeah. Every time I think we're going to be able to make this work, you get mad at me and I can't talk to you for a while."
Angela sat back, trying to shake off the fog. "Is that how you see it?"
"That's what happened, Angela. We were in the moment, I brought up a concern, and you got hung up on it. When you brought up a concern, I listened and answered you. Then we got back on track. But you won't do that when it's my issue. So, I have to tiptoe. It's exhausting, really."
"Is it," her monotone voice said more than asked.
Michael's wide-eyed face nodded. "Oh, hey, do you mind if we order a whole combo pie? I'm gonna be staying late at the office tonight."
"Fine," Angela said through her teeth, wishing she could get something stronger than a soft drink. Michael put in their order and brought back two Cokes. She sucked up two-thirds of hers before he could sit down.
He blinked at her. "Anyway…I know things were kind of on-edge, but I was hoping, now that things have cooled off a little - maybe we could try again?" Angela just stared at him, her straw at the ready.
He waited. "Angela?"
"One, you didn't just get triggered and ask a question, Michael. Your question was an assumption and an accusation. I was hurt and instantly all by myself. I thought we'd just had this great moment, where we'd finally connected over a huge division we'd had. But when you said that, it was like I was crazy and foolish, and what I'd experienced wasn't real. Two, when I'd brought up a concern, it had been me overcome with remorse about something that I'd done to you. And yes, you listened, and I was so grateful. That is, until you threw it back in my face five minutes later."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa – we both know I wasn't really okay after you brought up what you did. You can claim to have been blindsided all you want, but you know you…convinced me to keep doing what we were doing. And I did. But I really wasn't okay. Then when it came up again, and I hurt you, you didn't extend me the same courtesy."
Angela's scrunched face tried to keep track of all they'd said. She felt like they were playing pin the tail on the donkey, and they were both spinning each other blindfolded. She shook her head, trying to balance herself; irritated at how well he seemed to follow them.
Sighing, she sat back in her chair and stared at her drink for a few seconds. "I guess part of what you're saying is right. I did try to gloss over your hurt when I just wanted to be forgiven. I felt really bad, and I didn't want to anymore." Michael's face noticeably relaxed, and she looked him in the eye. "Not that you didn't give in… But I was leveraging you, and I shouldn't have. It had been a long time," she said, tipping her head back and forth.
He smiled widely, "I'm saying! I'm surprised I showed you any resistance at all!" He leaned forward and whispered sharply, "Do you have any idea how hot you are?"
Angela smirked dryly and held his gaze. After a few moments, she answered, "This really is awful."
"It doesn't have to be," Michael popped his eyebrows up. "We could try again."
Angela's face didn't move. "Is anything different? Aren't you still just as upset? I know I am."
Michael looked up to the side, trying to track down her grievance in his mind. "What are you upset about again?"
Her lids fell down halfway. "That you freak out and accuse me of terrible, shocking things without warning - not to mention you have absolutely zero situational awareness. It was like what happened at the Waldorf. I get as vulnerable with you as I can, and you let your insecurity capitalize on it." She leaned forward to finish in hushed hurt. "You're supposed to love me! If you do, why wouldn't you just ask me a question? Instead, you come at me, convinced I'm being cold and cruel. Why?"
Michael's face had all but turned to stone, but she could see just enough of his eyes to know he was definitely present. Quietly, he answered. "I told you. It still hurts. I'm sorry if I'm not dealing with it according to the 'book'."
Angela's own face relaxed. "Well, that's a whole lot easier to understand than you airily asking if I want to get some pizza after two weeks of silence. You're allowed to not be okay."
"Hey, that hasn't been my experience with you. Didn't you just admit to seducing me to get out of a jam? Did I just imagine that?"
She exhaled. "No. No, you're right. I haven't been playing fair, either. If you're upset, that's okay. I'd much prefer that than getting all worked up only to be disappointed."
Michael leaned forward. "Same. Here."
She nodded, then he did, too. They stared at each other for a while, and then their pizza came.
They each took a slice. Partway, through his first, Michael looked up, considering. "However…it really has been a long time…and November is getting close…"
Angela looked at him, but kept chewing.
He kept talking. "…I mean, if we wait until we're no longer hurt by each other, we may never," he glanced briefly at their surroundings, "have fun again."
Angela got up to refill their glasses. Coming back, she sat down, and drank half of hers straight from the cup.
She put her glass down, and looked at him. "I don't know that we're dealing with the same fears, here, Michael. Because, as much as I want to," she leaned forward and whispered, "and don't pretend you don't know it's true." She sat back up, "I'm still immobilized, and you seem ready to go."
Michael let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Angelaaaa – come on. What do you need?"
She gave out a little laugh and a shrug. "I have no idea! I thought I needed you to understand what you'd done to me at the Waldorf. But just when I thought you did, you did it again! So, what do I know?"
His face looked irritated. "Back up the self-pity, would you? Both of us are just trying to figure this out. How about we have a little compassion for stumbling through this one step at a time? I'm willing to!"
Angela met his volume. "That's what I'm saying. There must be a difference in what we're experiencing, because I'm not – and it's not for lack of desire!"
The people in the adjoining tables turned to look at them, and Angela closed her eyes, wishing she could evaporate. Michael smiled them off, and by the time Angela opened her eyes, most of them were back to ignoring her.
"Maybe you should get a box for your dinner," she said quietly. "I'm ready to go."
Angela and Michael were quiet on their walk back to her office, the sounds of the street more than making up for them.
Halfway back, Michael sucked in his breath and smooshed his lips together. Then he looked at her. "Can I hold your hand?"
Angela looked at him, encouraged by his sweetness, but still nervous of the trajectory. She hesitated, but then held out her hand. He smiled and switched hands holding his pizza. Taking her left in his right, he smiled and looked straight ahead.
"Thank you," he said.
She squeezed his hand. If I fall from here, that's not so bad, right?
