June 1984 – Wallace & McQuade, NYC

"Wait- Marilena quit?"

"Yes, but don't worry Mrs. Bower. We have-"

Angela held the phone tightly to her head. "Was she unhappy?" I didn't know anything was wrong.

"We aren't at liberty to discuss her reasons, but not to worry, Mrs. Bower. We have another housekeeper ready to start for you this week."

Angela was still flustered. I hate to think Marilena felt she was being treated unfairly. But in that light, Angela decided it was best to respect her privacy. "Uh- okay, Mr. Coleman…who do you have?"

"A Mrs. Adelia Hiller, she's a widow - strong, a licensed driver, and able to commit to long hours, possibly even living there."

"Living with us? I've never employed a live-in staff…"

"Oh, it's a very popular choice, Mrs. Bower. Many of our other clients have been pleased with the convenience it offers. Before and after-school care for their children, shopping, errands, laundry, and, of course, general cleaning, are all wrapped into one provider. Plus, the living arrangements are such that you can get minute changes and wishes fulfilled more fluidly than you could with an hourly maid. And room and board are taken into account with salary. It's a win-win, for both of you."

"Indeed…" Angela considered. "That does sound convenient…" I know Mother loves to have Jonathan over, but it takes from her schoolwork. And Wendy has no problem continuing to help, but Jonathan has been recently preferring to hang out with other boys more than Jenny, anyway. Maybe this is a good time for a lot of changes. Angela thought what a wonderful addition Carwen was in her own life. I'd love for Jonathan to have that. Maybe this Mrs. Hiller can reach him.

"I think you'd be very pleased, Mrs. Bower. Can I set this in motion? Draw up a contract?"

With a decisive nod that felt good to enact, Angela agreed to the change. "Yes, Mr. Coleman; please do. Let's set up an interview. I look forward to hearing from you."


July 1984 – Fairfield, CT

Angela hugged herself as she looked out her bedroom window. Jonathan and Joey were playing soldier below her on the lawn, laughing and yelling as they ducked out from behind landscaped boulders and ditches. She smiled, glad Jonathan had a friend, glad he was happy - at least for the moment…even if he was playing in the dirt. I guess he gets that from you, Michael. She shook her head, amused. – not necessarily a bad thing. You have some definite good points...

Angela spun slowly to look at her nightstand where their wedding picture stood guard over her room. She'd trashed the one on her desk at work the very next morning after their last conversation, allowing her office to be her one sanctuary. But even all the frills with which her newly customized bedroom comforted her, Angela was still subject to that shot – the one which somehow captured every bit of desire she and Michael had for each other in a PG-rated wedding pose.

Angela walked toward the bed and flopped onto her stomach, the crocheted lace canopy wavering with the jolt. She reached for the frame, and held it in her hands, wishing she could communicate with her husband as easily as she could think.

You know the reason I hate you as much as I love you? Because you've hurt me to the same degree. And as angry as I am about it, I still love you a LOT. And I keep giving you those opportunities. I still wish it were different. I want you to care if you hurt me, but I NEED me to care about it… So, if you won't fight for me, I will.

Angela put down the frame and reached for her phone.

She called her lawyer. It was time.


"Mom!" Jonathan called from upstairs. He hurried down to where Angela was on the couch. She'd sprawled her work that evening all over the coffee table, and Mrs. Hiller was bringing her tea.

"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Hiller!" Angela gushed and took a sip. "Mmm, this is wonderful."

Mrs. Hiller gave a stiff, closed-mouth smile, more pointed at the cluttered coffee table than Angela, and nodded before turning back to the kitchen.

Angela looked after her. She's not exactly as friendly as Carwen, is she? …Maybe she just needs more time to warm up.

"MOM!" Jonathan repeated as he ran right up next to her, pulling her attention back toward himself. "Daddy's picture! It's gone! Where'd it go?"

Angela looked sadly up at her son. This is what she'd been so afraid of. And even though she shouldn't have been so passive about it, she knew she had to deal with it now. Tilting her head toward the couch, she sighed. "Sit down, honey." He complied, eyeing her warily.

Angela started slowly, "Jonathan, I know I kept that picture up a long time…but now I'm putting it away." Then she started to rush. "You can have it if you want it." Slowing down again, she touched his cheek. "I know how much you love your daddy - I love him, too…" Taking a breath, Angela squared up as gently as she could, "but we aren't going to be married anymore."

Angela's whole throat tightened at the look on Jonathan's face. "Why?" He started crying and she leaned over to hug him.

Oh, this hurts! My poor baby!

Jonathan slowly lifted his red, wet face.

"Why, Mommy?" he sobbed, and his voice rose to catch up. "…If you love him, why do you not want to be married?"

Her pained face gingerly tried to find the words, "There are just things grown-ups have to deal with, baby-"

"Please, Mommy! Please don't do this! Please let him back!" Jonathan yelled, anguishedly trying to plead her into compliance.

"Sweetheart, I know it doesn't make sense to you… I have a hard time making sense of it…"

Jonathan dropped his head and kept sobbing.

I wish I could fix this! He never did anything, and we hurt him so badly!

Angela rubbed his shoulder and Jonathan's face twisted up sharply, shoving her off.

"You said you love him. You said you miss him! …You lied!" He bolted from the couch and scrambled upstairs.

"Jonathan!" Angela reached after him.

Mrs. Hiller's formidable arm swiftly pinned the swinging door ajar. "What is all the ruckus in here?" she bellowed.

Dipping her forehead as she turned on the couch to answer, Angela looked at Mrs. Hiller. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs. Hiller… We're going through some struggles."

"Humph!" the older lady grunted. "I'm making a cake! Does he want it to fall?"

Standing slowly and making a concerted effort to not roll her eyes, Angela put out her hands to placate the woman, "I'm sure he doesn't."

Both women turned away.

Mrs. Hiller's voice carried easily past the swinging door, "In my day…"

Sighing, Angela walked to the bottom of the stairs and looked mournfully up to the landing. I should give him some space. Besides, like with his father, sometimes there isn't anything more to say. We just don't agree.


August 1984 – Fairfield, CT

"Ohlfff!" Angela tripped as she stepped out of her bedroom door and barely caught herself before nose-diving onto the hardwood floor of the hallway. Catching her breath, she looked down to see a large clump of dinosaur toys lined up in front of her door.

"Jonathan!"

A too-sweet voice drifted from down the hallway, "Yes, Mom?"

Angela scowled. This isn't fair. Why am I the only one deal- Angela shook off her bitterness. No. No, he's right to be angry. I'd be angry, too. "Darling? When you have a minute, would you please come pick up your toys?"

"Maybe…" Jonathan answered lightly.

Straining, she kept her reasoning voice fairly level, "I'm sure you'll want to play with them sometime, and they'll be easier to find if you keep them organized in your room."

"Yes. That makes sense."

She waited.

"Jonathan?"

"Yes?" that same sweet voice answered.

"Are you coming?"

"No. No, I don't think so…"

Angela sighed, I don't have it in me right now… And he has a right to be mad. This is such a terrible thing to do to a kid. Dropping her head, she picked her briefcase up off the floor and shook her long curls behind her shoulders. Ugh! These really are in the way…

She stomped down the steps thinking of Michael fingering her curls in Arturo's and almost audibly relived his compliment, 'I've always liked your hair down'. She stopped in the middle of the stairs. The long lengths suddenly felt oppressive.

Spinning around on the ball of her foot, Angela scrambled back up to her room for a couple of combs. I'll pull it up on the trai-

Angela tripped over the dinosaurs again.


That afternoon, Angela took her time packing her things up from an end-of-day meeting Paxton had called. She'd been dragging all day. Weighed down by Jonathan's anger, Mrs. Hiller's expectations, and even her own hair, 5 o'clock couldn't come fast enough. But why? Why am I rushing back into that? She couldn't answer that. She just felt antsy.

"You alright, Angela?"

Her head flipped up. "Hmm?" She shook her head to clear the fog. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Paxton." She tried to smile. "Yes, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

She hesitated but restated her affirmation with a nod.

Paxton squinted at her slightly. A couple seconds went by.

She exhaled a little laugh. "I'm just having a hard time with some things at home, and I'm not really looking forward to dealing with them."

His bright blue eyes danced at her. "Well, if you're looking for a worse offer, I've got to come up with this new Motorola campaign by Monday, and, clearly, we've got bubkes." His brow dipped up, "I sure could use the help?"

Angela bit her lip, but her smile didn't turn from his.

"I'll call my housekeeper."


"So, what made you go into advertising?" Paxton asked Angela as he stared at the sesame chicken between his chopsticks.

Her boss' efforts to distract her from his charming ineptitude were futile. "Oh, for this very moment, right here, sir," Angela laughed. "Are you trying to keep that on with sheer will?"

"Well, skill isn't going to keep it there," he said absently, still watching the piece of meat as he moved it closer to his mouth.

Mere inches from his face, the chopsticks twisted and the chicken fell back into the container he was holding. Paxton slumped back in his office chair with only semi-faux exasperation. He looked in consternation across his desk to where Angela was sitting in the chair she'd pushed in from her own office. With a merciless smirk, she silently presented him with a plastic fork.

Smiling in defeat, Paxton succumbed. "Thanks," he said, taking the fork. His fingers brushed hers in the process, and he raised it in mild salute before begrudgingly stabbing his food.

Angela internally rolled her eyes at herself. How juvenile - I barely touched him, why did I even notice?

It really has been a long time…

Paxton seemed a little uncomfortable, himself. When he finished what was in his mouth, he looked up at her. "Can I ask you something, Angela?"

Outside, the sunset was barely visible through the large windows of Paxton's office. Inside, their solitude in the normally busy office space became more pronounced with each second that passed. Angela swallowed her bite of sticky rice so she could answer, albeit nervously, as fast as she could, "Of course."

"We've been working together for almost 8 years, and you've been a Vice President for 7 of them..." Angela retained eye contact but was very aware that she was holding her breath. "Why do you still call me, Mr. Paxton?"

Angela felt her face get hot. She tried to shrug out an exhale, "Decorum?"

He kept looking at her but didn't respond.

Angela sped up, "Jim does it, too!"

"Jim is a kiss ass," Paxton said dryly.

Angela laughed out loud, "Boy, that sounds good out in the open."

"It does, doesn't it?" he laughed. "…But you're not like that. So, what's the deal?"

Thoughts pinged all over her head, begging to be grounded. "…Well, it's kind of a hard habit to break. I mean, I've been saying it since I was a Junior VP. What, I'm just going to come in one day and smack you on the ass?"

Paxton laughed loudly. "Point taken," he said, eyebrows acquiescing.

They chuckled to themselves as they each took another bite of Mr. Ling's Entrees 18, 27, & 34.

Paxton was still looking down at the contents of his container when he spoke quietly. "You didn't in Panama."

Angela's head whipped up, "What did you say?"

His head tilted as he looked up at her. "When you called me from Panama, to tell me you weren't coming back for a while – you called me, 'Grant'."

Her lungs were working again, a little too well for her liking. She tried to shallow her breathing as she stumbled out an answer. "It was- I was - I mean, we were – having a hard time, and… it was all just in the heat of the moment, I guess."

"Oh," Paxton said quietly, looking back down at his food. Now, Angela couldn't breathe at all, but didn't look away.

Paxton popped his head up. "Well, I liked it. Actually, I was pissed when you called me. You'd already been gone for three crucial workdays, and then you wanted to tack on another week? I hated to lose you, Angela, really - but I seriously thought about taking you up on your suggestion to fire you." He squinted his eyes and spoke slower, "but then you said my name."

Angela couldn't believe what she was hearing, and she never looked away. She did start breathing again, again much more deeply than she wanted to be. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she took it all in.

That's why I'm here? Michael was right? And this is my JOB. I still have to be careful! Damn it - I am so sick of these games! …And why does Paxton look so fucking hot? I'm furious!

"What's the matter?"

She shoved down everything but what was most important to her. "That's why I'm here? All this time?" Her voice rose. "I thought you valued the job I do, and knew I wasn't trying to freeload!"

"Angela- what are you- Of course, I value the job you do. I trust your judgment over anyone else's here!"

"…Then why would you almost fire me before I said your name?"

Paxton sighed and slouched back into his chair. He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "Because, I lost sight of what was important, having you working here. You were asking for a lot." He looked at her pointedly, "I wouldn't have even pulled that shit." Then his eyes and voice softened, "But you're worth it."

Angela's heartrate had slowed but she kept staring at him. She pressed quietly, "How did me saying your name remind you of that?"

He didn't speak for several seconds. "The reason I lost sight of it was because of your reason for being there. And your reason for staying longer."

"Michael."

Paxton made a shallow nod. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. "I just lost my head for a second. You saying my name reminded me who you are – to me, to this company - who you could be. I remembered I didn't want to lose you - as a Vice President, or anything. It wasn't worth it to me." His executive level stare was calling out every bit of crap she hid behind and laid it on the table. He finished in a whisper, "And then I realized I wanted to hear you say it again."

Angela wasn't sure the last time she breathed, because all she could do was listen and stare. But her body confirmed for her that she was still very much alive. "Why are you telling me this now?" she whispered back.

Paxton's eyes didn't move. "Why did you take that picture off your desk?"

Angela's heart started to hammer.

He made the tiniest of coy smiles but kept his voice low. "Why aren't you wearing your ring?"

He got up and slowly rounded his desk. "Why did you agree to work late with me tonight?"

He squatted down next to her chair. "And most importantly, why are you still here?"

Angela was frozen but nodded quickly. "Those are some interesting questions."

"Can you answer any of them?" he smiled wryly.

Out of nowhere, Angela realized she wanted this. I like him. Coming to, she snatched her composure from where she knew her nervous confusion was hiding it. She slowly rolled her chair back so she could put her face near his, her elbows leaning on her knees. "Haven't I already?"

Paxton looked at her mouth for a second or two, then back up at her eyes. "Angela…if you saying my name shook me out of my jealousy enough to keep me from being an idiot and giving up my most valuable asset here, so what?" He smiled wider. "Now, why do you still call me Mr. Paxton?"

Her lids dropped halfway down her eyes, and she slanted her jaw. "I don't know what you're talking about, Grant."

She popped her eyebrows up in challenge, and Grant kissed her fast.

It was faster than she expected. Rougher than she expected. He stood up and pulled her with him by her waist.

Angela's mind whirred through whatever they were doing here but decided she could play this game. She kissed him back harder, feeling his arms through his suit.

Shots of Tucker and Michael pierced through her mind, and she pushed them away. I'm done with that! I just want to be here, doing what I fucking want to do!

She felt his hands go lower and curve around her butt. She gasped and pulled her mouth back. It had been a really long time, and the buzz she received felt 100 percent narcotic. But something about this scared her. She looked Grant in the eye, breathing deeply.

"I don't know what the hell I'm doing, Grant," she breathed.

"I beg to differ," he said, pushing his hips back up to hers.

Her eyebrows went up, and she made a panicky, little side nod of acknowledgement.

"I want to say I'm sorry," he breathed deeply, "but I can't lie that well."

Angela tried to laugh, "You don't have to apologize." She glanced around as she cautiously moved her hands down to her awkwardly arched waist and nervously tucked her elbows back like wings. Grant stared down unapologetically at her now-protruding chest.

Looking back up, he tried to make eye contact with her, and spoke seriously, "Do I have to stop?"

She looked up at him and almost wanted to cry. She was so lonely. Grant was handsome and warm and wanting her, but there was something about all this that didn't sit right. Is it Michael? I filed for divorce. As soon as the lawyer finds him, we can finalize it. I've done what I can do. What's my problem?

"Angela?"

She looked up at Grant with wide eyes, and he made a much slower advance. Her heart slowed at his gentleness, and she met him halfway, softly kissing his upper lip. Did I do that because I wanted to? Or because I didn't want him to be upset? He kissed her back slowly, but deeply, his hands rubbing her back.

Shit. Have I learned nothing?

Angela's participation started to wane, and Grant noticed. "Angela? What's wrong?"

She paused. "You know, I think I'd really like to slow this down a little."

Grant sighed but smiled and stepped back. "Okay," he said softly.

They both took a breather, leaning side-by-side up against his desk. He turned his head toward her, "Thank you?" he said in a smallish voice.

Angela's nerves came out in a laughy exhale. "Thank you." She glanced down, then back up at him again. "You're good at that."

He made a self-deprecating laugh. "Apparently not."

Her face lost its jokey mood, and she spoke seriously. "No, Grant, I mean it. I just- it's been a long time. …I'm just not sure what I want to do yet. But it's not because it didn't feel good."

Grant paused a second, but then gave a slow backward nod. "I get it. It took me a bit after my divorce, too."

He'd never spoken about his relationship status before. Angela was able to admit to herself that she had checked his left hand on several occasions during her time at Wallace & McQuade, but this was all new.

"When was that?" she asked shyly.

Grant answered in acid, "Seven years ago, this November."

Seven years! Am I going to still be unattached in seven years? Realizing she'd made it about her, Angela returned to the present. "I'm sorry, Grant. This stuff is terrible."

"Yup. She took the house. She took the kids. She took the dog."

Angela started to feel heat in her face. Yeah, that's my plan, too…

But then she was curious about something.

"Grant, how did your kids take it? I'm not technically divorced yet, but the papers are filed and my son hates me."

He tipped up a half-smile, "Par for the course, I'm afraid. You're not likely to get a kid to agree to busting up his parents. It doesn't matter why."

Angela sighed, "I guess…"

"It was so bad with my middle daughter, that we ended up taking her to a shrink." Grant scoffed, "Well, Holly took her, and I paid for it."

Holly, huh? Interesting. …Lots of new information today.

"Did it help?"

"Oh, she still goes. And I guess so. She finally started talking to me after a year or so."

Angela's head whipped toward him, "A year!?" At his sad smile, she slumped back down next to him. "Damn. I don't know how I'll hold up that long."

"Well, your son lives with you, and he's younger. And Michael's not really around much, is he?" Angela shook her head shyly. Grant shrugged, "That's all got to factor in, so, it could be different with yours. It'd probably be interesting to see the stats on this kind of stuff. My kids were 16, 12, and 10 at the time… But hey, I've got the name of the child psychologist, if you want it?"

Angela smiled at him sadly. "Sure. Thank you," she said quietly.

They stayed quiet for a minute or two, just processing everything.

Then Grant let out an awkward laugh, "Well, that was kind of a wet blanket, huh?"

Angela met his laugh with her own, "Yeah..." She turned her face toward him shyly and bit her lip. "It started out sexy, though."

His eyebrows went up a little, and he smiled his gorgeous blue eyes at her. "You think it could do that again?"

Why did I just restart this? I was in the clear… I really do like him. And he felt great… Angela's face was stiff, but a shy smile came through her eyes. "I've never done anything like this at work before."

He turned toward her and glanced down at her body before looking back in her eyes. "Is that all that's stopping you?"