September 21, 1984 – Amtrak Train (Southbound)
Angela snuggled back into her window seat and crossed her arms. The train plowed past deep autumn colors of brush lining the track and speckling the landscape.
Fall always felt like the new year to Angela, maybe because the school year was such a large and integral part of her story. But even without considering the academic calendar, January was harsh, and her experience with big change around New Year's Day hadn't filled her with hope in a long time. Some people thought of spring as a time of new beginnings, but Angela didn't find the melting of snow into the bare muddiness that is early spring as pretty or as welcome as the coming of fall.
Fall was decadent change.
There were bonfires and apple cider, mittens and visible breaths. And best of all, the plush foliage of summer flared sharply, one last reminder to not forget about it while it sleeps. It wasn't superficial; it made her smile and excited her with a visible promise that an inhale was coming.
But as soothing as the scenery that morning should've been, Angela was mostly focused on her thumbnail. She'd been gnawing at it since her talk with Tony last night. I'm still measuring Tony's amount of time on the job in hours, and he's already confronted me about my behavior twice. Curiously, she wasn't as annoyed as she thought she should be. She'd actually tried to get as riled up as she had been in the foyer after Grant left, but she couldn't do it. Now that she'd talked with him, she knew too much for indignance.
Mrs. Hiller judged everything I did like she could do it better. But Tony? It's as if he sees what I do and knows I could do it better - for me. He knows it has nothing to do with him. That's… comforting. Even if he's wrong, I feel like he's looking out for me. Like a mother hen, or a brother …or a friend.
Never in my life would I have mouthed off to a boss like that. Tony's not stupid; he said it because he meant it. That's a big chance for him to take - nobody risks like that unless it's important to them. But how could I be that important to him? We just met! And that begs the question: what if he's right?
'You'll never know unless you don't go'… After all I've been through. After all I've sacrificed. After all the effort I put into this job – to have its rewards get mangled with and relabeled as nothing more than sordid compensation …oh, hell no! Could Grant be doing that? I thought I was earning my way. Yes, he's attracted to me. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't also want me as the President, does it? Couldn't they both be true? Are they both true?
Tony had seemed convinced that this was more than vague. Angela, herself, had doubted her prudence since that first night in his office, but it was Tony's voice that had given it weight. She wasn't entirely sure why she cared so much what he thought, but I trust him. …Why? I just met him.
Maybe it was because her street smart mother and sensitive son trusted him. Maybe it was because he thought he was throwing himself into harm's way to protect her last night. Maybe it was because he was willing to yell his truth at her, regardless of the cost to himself. Or maybe… Tony has a peculiarly powerful confidence in me. I didn't get that from Michael in 8 years – and Tony's asking nothing in return.
Angela felt a burning inside the middle of her nose and blinked forcefully out the window. That hurts.
As angry as it made her, she still wanted Michael to be impressed with her. And he wasn't.
Crossing the Hutchinson River, Angela ran the pad of her index finger along the marginalized thumbnail. She wanted to pick at it. She wanted to bite it and rip the whole thing off. But she didn't want it to be half the size of her other thumbnail. Sitting on her hand, she shut her eyes.
I hope Grant's not still mad. Angela rolled her eyes beneath her lids. It was a douche comment, to be sure: 'That makes two meters that got turned off early!' - But it was probably a rude shock to find my new home situation to be what it is.
And with that, an awkward thought emerged.
Does Grant think Tony is competition for him now? How ironic: the man who was supposed to be the one to worry about, could now, not two minutes into this, be worried about another? Oh, brother.
That's not fair! I wasn't doing anything with Grant when Michael started moaning and groaning about him. And now Grant could be ticked about Tony…
Okay, well, that's an uncomfortable train of thought.
Angela shoved down the possibility of men's intuition and focused on the practical.
Regardless, the main issue here is my job. Is Grant angry enough to change his mind about nominating me today? If the relevant factors aren't mutually exclusive, then should it matter what happened last night?
I really want this position. I didn't even know I wanted it until Grant said I was up for it. But now? It's like a springboard into a new life, post Michael. I want this. I can do this.
But does Grant think I deserve it?
There went her thumbnail.
September 21, 1984 – Fairfield, CT
Angela's phone rang just as she was toweling off from her bath. She could still hear Tony and Samantha playing basketball off of the side door, but she hurried to the phone, nonetheless. I don't want Tony answering this particular call.
"Bower Residence, Angela speaking," she prattled off, a little short of breath.
"You mean, Madam President?" Grant's smile taunted.
"Grant! Ha! That's incredible!" she squeaked, and he laughed. "Thank you! – though I probably won't be answering my home phone that way."
"Hey, I did - for at least a month," Grant laughed.
Angela smiled widely, "Well, then I defer to your experience on the subject."
"Oh, don't go soft on me now, Angela. I made a case for your balls in that boardroom today that you wouldn't believe!"
Angela scrunched her face. It's certainly different, talking to men.
"Well, now that you mention it, Grant, I was thinking it would probably still be in our best interest if we didn't go this weekend."
It was Grant's turn to pause.
"…Why not? Angela, you got it. You don't have to worry about how it'll affect anything anymore. We can just go because we want to."
Angela exhaled silently in relief, but she didn't know exactly how to answer that. Is it Tony? What he'd think?
"Damn it- I never should've told you ahead of time. I was just sure Bennington was going to tell Jim, and I didn't want you to be out of the same advantage!"
Angela's voice tiptoed back into the light, "Really?"
"Of course!"
"Why didn't you say that when I tried to talk to you about it this morning?"
"I was kidding around! It was a stupid conversation! I didn't know what the hell you were doing – all that nervous giggling. You know how to talk to me. If it were seriously bothering you, why didn't you just… square up and straddle a fella?" Grant's tirade ended as light in volume as in nature, and Angela couldn't help but laugh. "I promise, you would've had my attention."
Angela smiled as she rubbed her temple, "I don't know that that would've cleared anything up…but my way didn't either." She took a deep breath, "I'm sorry, Grant. I do want to go with you. I just don't want to feel like any of this is why I'm successful."
Grant didn't say anything for a few seconds.
But then let out a little laugh, and she could hear his smile clearly when he spoke, "First of all, Angela, not to brag, but I thought I was making pretty good ground before I said anything about the promotion."
Angela rolled her eyes - Oh, yeah: 8 years, 2nd base. Veni Vidi Vici... Okay- maybe 3rd - but her smile was just as obvious as she prodded him along, "And second?"
Grant exhaled again. "I hate to break it to you, but you can't separate out how you look from your abilities on the job. And that's not just a women's problem. This is corporate America, honey. Everybody has to deal with that. If I didn't shower and wore ratty sneakers to work, it would make a difference in how effectively I could do my job. If you look like a million bucks, that affects how you can do yours."
Angela didn't say anything, and Grant kept trying. "How much effort do you put into looking like you do? Primping, fitness, nutrition, just the sheer cost of telling yourself, 'No'? That says something about you - not just for Wallace & McQuade, but for our clients and the trust your image suspends for them. It doesn't mean you don't deserve to run the show just because you can't rope off your business talent and make people only look at that. If you could, they'd be impressed. But you can't. You are the whole package, and the sooner you come to peace with it, the better."
Angela smiled, "You sound like my mother."
"She sounds smart," he said dryly.
"She is."
Grant sighed. "Look, Angela, you're never going to get everyone's approval. Even if I were just in it for the pu-" he stopped himself. She squinted her eyes, and then heard him take a breath. "…You know you can do this job," he said seriously. "You know you deserve it, whether anyone else does or not. I can't hold your hand through everybody's opinions. And you DON'T need me to. So just stop it, okay?"
Angela was a little embarrassed.
She was a little irritated.
But she was a lot happy and decided to smile.
"Will you take me up to your house, Grant? I want to celebrate."
Angela jogged through the living room and slowed as she got to the side door. Smiling, she heard Tony coaching Sam and waited, gently making a little opening in the lace curtain with her finger.
"Sam, you're two feet tall. You don't run straight up against the forward - use your strengths! You're quick and already almost ten percent from the three. So don't go bargin' toward a defenseman three times your size unless you want a mouthful of leatha'."
"Got it, Dad!"
With an enamored tip to her head, Angela's heartrate slowed. She had no idea what Tony was saying, but Sam seemed to. And despite the roughneck attire, his speech was clearly protective.
Sam bounced the ball away from Tony and then threw it up from farther away.
"Yeahhh!" Tony yelled with both arms in the air. She must've achieved the goal. "That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!"
Sam laughed, "Thanks, Dad!"
Angela opened the door slowly and leaned against the frame. Speaking quietly, she looked to Tony. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Tony, may I please speak with you for a minute?"
"Ah, sure thing, Angela!" He jogged toward her, and she went in the house. Right at the door, Tony spun around. "Yo, Sam? Work on your fakes while I'm gone."
"On it!" Sam yelled back.
Tony tapped the doorframe excitedly and then closed the door. He followed Angela into her office. She walked to her desk and spun around to lean against it. I'm nervous. Why am I nervous?
"Would you please close the door?" she asked, hugging herself tightly. I respect him and I want him to respect me. And he doesn't understand. Crap.
Tony shut her door and walked quickly over. "What's up?"
Well, I want to do this, and I can't please everyone. She dropped her hands to her sides.
"Tony, I decided I am going to go up this weekend."
Tony's disbelief didn't even try to hide. "Are you kiddin' me? Angela, you don't hafta-"
"I know," she smiled quietly. "That's why I want to."
Tony's protruding head straightened slowly as he listened, and she felt free to keep going, "Thank you for looking out for me, but this isn't the situation you think it is." She looked at him soberly and tried to reassure him. "It's okay. Really. I'm okay."
Tony's squinted eyes started to round out, but he still stared at her for several seconds.
"You sure?" he asked quietly.
She smiled, "I am."
Tony took a few seconds to keep reading her.
Angela looked back into his eyes contentedly, and he finally reciprocated. Sighing, he spoke small, "Okay."
A gratitude she couldn't explain almost made her tear. "Okay," she whispered.
He took a couple of moments to process, but then piped up a little louder, "So, when are you leavin'?"
"Grant's going to pick me up at 8 tomorrow morning. We'll be up at his cabin on Lake George; I'll leave you the number. Are you okay to take care of Jonathan through Sunday night?"
Tony's eyebrows went up and he looked at her pointedly. "I'm okay with it all the time, Angela. That's why I'm here."
Angela smiled and stopped herself from giving him an enormous hug.
He was the right decision.
