May 1984 – Wallace & McQuade, NYC

Angela leaned back in her office chair, bringing the phone with her. They need to be more aggressive. There's room. Restless, she leaned back over her desk and raked her left fingers through her hair. She'd spent the last twenty minutes going over Nabisco's numbers for the previous 3 years with their Marketing Manager, but her edginess wasn't new.

"Angela, we're very happy with the results as they are. Your campaigns brought in almost 52 more million than the previous year. We don't need to spend any more than last year."

"I hear you. But your profit margin increased by .75% less than it increased the year before."

"We were coming off the merger, and it's still on an upswing. We're good. We're happy with what you've done. Now, go, and do it again!"

Angela sighed and rubbed her forehead, "Look, Andrew, with Standard Brands under your belt now, you've got much more ability than you had 3 years ago. Yes, the revenues and profit margins are both continuing to increase steadily, but that acquisition could be more empowering. You've more than doubled your size! You could-"

Andrew laughed, "Angela, I appreciate your militance. Really, I do. But we're also rebuilding, and-"

Beep

Angela started.

"-how all the products mesh together," Andrew continued from somewhere.

Beep

"Oh, Andrew, excuse me. I seem to be getting a call. Just one moment please." Angela sat up and took a breath. Oh, what an afternoon! Some birthday…

"No problem," Andrew offered.

Angela pressed her finger to the hook and switched calls in a hurry.

"This is Angela Bower," she said hurriedly.

"This is Michael Bower."

Angela's head flipped up. "Michael?"

"That's the one."

"W- where are you?" she stammered. She hadn't heard from him since he dropped Jonathan off last November.

"Nairobi."

His smooth voice buzzed through the cord. Angela's breath quickened and she almost thought she could feel his presence fly through her veins. Longing and sadness and anger all clawed their way to the top of the heap.

"Angela?"

"I'm- I'm here." She shook herself to consciousness. "Hang on. Just one moment – please?"

Michael sighed. "…Okay."

"Thank you!" Angela clicked the button and returned to Andrew.

"Andrew?"

"I'm still here."

"Oh, good! Would it be possible to continue this later? I have a bit of a family emergency on my hands."

"Don't worry; I'll be in touch," Andrew smiled.

"Thank you!" she said before she clicked back to Michael.

"Michael?"

"Yup…" Michael's dry voice allowed.

"Wh- what's going on? I haven't heard from you in-" she exhaled, "since you left. I thought you were in Rwanda."

"I was. But I had to call you."

Angela's eyes squinted, hearing a shift to his voice. Why does he sound happy? I'm going out of my mind! Wait…my birthday? She softened her voice. "What is it?"

"We did it!"

Disappointment filled her with a blush, and she was glad he couldn't see it. Work.

Angela sighed and leaned back over her desk, kneading more attention into her aching forehead. "What did you do? …Oh, the gorillas? They can talk now?"

"No," Michael said with clear irritation. "Those scientists just did what they do best – annoyed those they worked with. The gorillas were the best company there."

I don't doubt that.

Michael continued explaining, "But thankfully, we're done with them now. The Institute has my footage, and they'll process it."

"Oh? Wh- When do you get here?" she asked, unable to keep the hope out of her voice.

"Well, that's the thing. I'm not."

Angela's head rose as it tightened.

"That's what I wanted to tell you." Seemingly without provocation, Michael was back to being excited. He started laughing, "We found this one Tanzanian tribe in the hills of Cyangugu! Everybody thought they'd just fallen off the map or something. But we found them, and they're thriving!"

Angela's face scrunched. Well, I wasn't expecting that… After a second or two delay, she said, "Wait- what? Whom?"

She could still hear the smile in his voice, "Yeah, that's what I said when we found out who they were!" Michael laughed again. "The Institute has so many orders coming in. Other scientists are getting on board now, wanting our crews to take them in - but Jack can have them. The point is, Africa is a go. The money is here, and the Institute is rollin' that shit downhill!"

"Wait- what?" she breathed, quickly losing her footing. "I'm confused. If you're not working with these new scientists, and you're not coming home, what are you doing?"

"What I did before! We're in Nairobi now to shoot hippos! Talbot finally agrees my time is better spent in the field! We don't have to edit. We can start immediately!"

Angela stopped breathing.

"Angela? Isn't this incredible? It's what I've always wanted!"

One-two punch.

"Angela?" The excitement never left his voice.

Somewhere along the line, Angela started breathing again, and her questions came out genuinely. "Uh- um… so, you're not coming home? At all?"

Michael made an exasperated sigh. "Wow, drama," he said dryly. "It's not like I'll never be back. But we do have a full schedule right now, and-" he paused and then let out his breath, "it seemed like a good time for it anyway."

With that, Angela's presence of mind returned. "What are you talking about? We haven't seen each other in 6 months. How is this a good time to start another expedition?"

Irritation took over Michael's voice, "Well, I guess, I don't know… has anything changed? Are you still into the asexual thing?"

His irritation was contagious, and her previously-cautious lids flew open. "That is NOT fair! You are mean, and scary…and frustratingly sexy… but I can't just jump in the sack!" Embarrassed, Angela's eyes darted around her closed office, and she lowered her voice. "We have real problems, Michael!"

"It's been a year! Couldn't you have used some of that time to sort through them? What have you been doing all this time!?"

Her teeth clenched, clearly fighting this battle alone. "I'm not trying to figure out how my bra unhooks, Michael! I'm trying to figure out how we can stay together when we're always apart – in every sense of the word!" She tried to keep her voice a forceful whisper. "You have to be around! We have to talk about this and listen to each other if we're going to get through this!"

"I was there for 6 months! It didn't do a damn thing!" Michael pelted back. Angela found herself extremely jealous that he was able to yell. She really wanted to let go. "At least this way, I'm doing something I love – I certainly can't do who I love..." Michael's voice drifted off.

A high-pitched laugh escaped her. "And you get on me about self-pity! You know whenever we have sex, we are completely drunk on each other. A little tipsy is cute; drunk is not. In order for us to have sex, we have to agree that all our problems either aren't there or aren't that important. But they are! And they aren't going away, no matter how much we want each other. We have to be able to tell each other, 'No,' when we know something is off!"

"Something is always off!"

Angela didn't say anything.

After a few seconds, she exhaled quietly, "It's hard to argue that one."

She heard Michael's breathing relax from 7,000 miles away, and hers did, too. They allowed each other a momentary respite. But as Angela started to feel each and every mile convert into units of sadness, she tried the manual approach. "Please come home, Michael."

"Why? So you can blow me a kiss? I could catch that from here."

Angela caught his flare-up. "Is that all I am to you? A body?"

"No, but it's an important part of marriage, and you don't get to say that it isn't!"

Angela detected the slightest whiff of his hurt and tried to proceed with empathy. "I'm not saying it's not important! I'm saying it's powerful, and I've been hurt by it!"

"Well, I've been hurt by not having it."

Angela's head dropped to her chest. It was all so exhausting. "Please just come home. I miss you," she whispered.

She needed him close. He was too far away. This conversation barely felt relevant.

"I'd be missing you if I were there," Michael frosted across the line.

Angela's competitive reflex scratched back. "I'd be missing you if we were having sex!" Instantly, she regretted it – even if it were true. She was just fighting, and she knew it. Taking a breath, she reapproached gently, "I'm sorry."

Michael didn't say anything. There was a lot of breathing on both sides of the line.

Angela was drained. At this point, if he were in front of her, she was pretty sure she'd just give in. She needed the air.

"Please come home, Michael," her little voice reached the receiver. We can figure it out in person.

"Why? It looks like distance is the best we can hope for."

Angela felt like he'd shot her. Is that true? It can't be! "Please try," she whispered.

"I can't be the only one," his voice came through like he was standing over her.

"I know."

"…Look, Angela. It doesn't even matter; I've gotta do this. This assignment is big."

"You could choose us; even for just a little while," Angela felt herself steadying again, reaching for common ground. "It's not like you can't go bac-"

It was his turn to release a high-pitched laugh. "Choose you? You didn't choose me. And between you and my job, which do you think is the safer bet?"

Angela squared up and spoke low. "I'm not asking you to play it safe. I'm asking you to come home and give us another try. Please? We'll try to figure it out."

"Yeah, well, I'm going to need a little more than that."

Angela shut her eyes. What else can I offer him? She was so frustrated, but nothing came to mind.

Michael answered for her, "I tell you what: let's just do what we want to do, okay? I'll do my thing; you do yours. You can keep that pretty little ass on ice for me. Then when you thaw out, go ahead and give my office a call, okay?"

Click.

Immediately, Angela was cold.

The receiver was replaced onto the hook, and her upper arms were being squeezed. It hurt.

She looked down at her desk but didn't see anything.

Angela felt something in her hands. It was smooth and cold. The stapler. She gripped it tightly, slowly starting to pinch a staple into her finger. A force surged through her, and she stood up and chucked the stapler with all her might. It crashed into the wall in front of her.

Angela stared at nothing. She felt nothing. But apparently, she was still breathing because her throat hurt when she did.

A few seconds later, a brief knock preceded Paxton's head popping in her door. She was still staring in front of her.

"Angela? Are you okay?"

She didn't respond.

Paxton opened the door enough to step into the frame and looked where she was looking. Frowning, he turned back to her and repeated himself. "Angela?"

Angela's head slowly turned toward the voice. Paxton. "Hmm?"

"I said, 'Are you okay?'" he said with scrunched brows.

The stapler. "Oh, um…yes." Embarrassment started to heat her face, and she blinked. "I'm sorry… Yes, I'm fine."

Paxton made a slow backward nod. "Okay. Well… good." He started to leave, then popped his head back in and smiled warmly. "Oh, by the way, 'Happy Birthday'."