Addendum #1.1: "Angela's Ex pt.1"

February 1985 – Fairfield, CT

Michael.

Angela exhaled a smile from deep within her chest. Something she never thought she'd want again was gently snuggling her lonely back up against him.

She remembered those hands, and even from a hug, she could tell they remembered her. Their haunting memory knew exactly where and how hard to press. She knew how it felt when he welcomed her. It felt like relief.

Her chest acknowledged the full benefit of adjoining to his. Strength, peace, and acceptance breathed through the familiar warmth, filling some place in her she'd forgotten was empty for only him.

Grant had done much to build her confidence, and she would always be grateful. But he was gone.

Robert, Mitch, and Fred were pleasant, but mostly mild, diversions, if that.

Jeffrey…well, he was part of trial and error.

But it had been almost two months since anybody had even gotten close to her like this. And this wasn't just anybody. This was Michael. And nobody did to her what he did.

Before her mother's wails could intrude anymore, Angela stepped backward out of the embrace, staring at the ready into Michael's eyes. She skimmed her touch down the thin, crumpled denim of his sleeve to his left hand and guided him out of the kitchen.

The immature hesitancy she'd come to expect from herself around Michael now felt obsolete. She felt like a different person. She didn't know why, exactly. Maybe deciding she didn't need him was freeing her to accept him for who he was. Whatever the case, a visceral boldness powered through her, and she didn't feel like the underdog anymore.

Pulling him through the living room, Angela squeezed his naked fingers with her own. As old as this felt, it also felt new, a fresh start.

A choice.

She stood above their old relationship where she had to fight for significance and looked down on it from confidence.

He's proud of me. Finally.

She had always known her husband hadn't valued her, not really - and the gut ache to hear him say these words was quieted at last. She could feel something else behind her checklist, something still wanting. But with him valuing her professionally, creatively, it was difficult to appraise. This hurt had been so imposing that its absence, coupled with their undiminished heat and whatever primeval force was pushing her, proved more than a little distracting.

But Angela slowed her eager gait as she started up the staircase. Turning cautiously, she looked down at him from the second-to-last stair.

She bit her lip and raised her eyebrows sincerely. Becoming quickly enamored with the idea of mutual respect, she had no interest in taking his participation for granted.

A small smile flipped up the corners of Michael's lashes and mouth, and he took his time stepping up to the same stair as she.

Michael brought his fingers up to lightly hold her chin, and looking softly down into her eyes, he slowed in toward her lips. Right before he kissed her, he answered, low and quiet, "You know you don't have to ask." Her hands landed lightly on his chest, and her breaths deepened.

Throughout the years, Angela had held back, in increasing measure, part of her heart, eventually even part of her body. She couldn't fully relax knowing, even subconsciously, that Michael held her in some level of disdain.

And here he was, his eyes smiling at her as he kissed her on the stairs of their house, having just declared her long-lost worth. Even finding his realization painful, she smiled gratefully back at him. The open-eyed kissing was admittedly a little awkward, but, again, kind of new. Its slowness and sweetness felt like a tiptoe, like respect. She had grieved for that for so long, and here he was offering it to her without question.

Angela was pretty sure his eyes were still open when he started to coast his lips along the side of her face, but hers weren't. She felt the pads of his right fingers leave her chin and brush faintly down the front of her neck. He bent down so his mouth could follow dutifully behind and anchored his left hand at her waist. With Michael straight in front of her, Grant's protective charge flew open across the front of her memory: 'Promise me you won't settle for another jerkwad.'

Angela had to stop herself from physically shaking off the omen. Opening her eyes, she pulled back, but her fear immediately simmered down at the joyously mischievous expression on Michael's face. She knew that smile. She'd seen it in Texas. She'd seen it in Chicago. She'd even seen it in Panama. It felt like she finally had her friend back. Her favorite part of being with him, that intoxicating way his whole being lit up around her, was now not lacking respect. She had no idea what this was going to be like, but she couldn't wait to find out.

Michael leaned down again, obnoxiously mouthing half-kisses against her lips. She couldn't help but smile as her mouth played back.

She'd known this man long time, and Michael never felt an obligation to puff up her professional sense of self. He was honestly impressed – she felt it - and that was different. That was huge. A new strength and confidence lifted her head.

It's not the situation anymore, Grant. But thanks, anyway.

Angela smiled in wonder as she ran her fingers through Michael's short, dark waves, his mouth still inviting her closer. But the faint sound of a cheesy horror movie sent her gaze drifting up the stairs. A lot of things are different now, she thought, mildly disheartened by the fresh lack of privacy in their own house. What am I thinking? I love having Tony and Samantha here. …We just have to be careful.

Angela bit her lip and made a little nod up the stairs as she turned. She was so excited, she started to jog up the steps, and Michael followed her fast. She went faster, until he did. But when the hallway turned again in her favor at the top of the stairs, she slid in front of him and tried her best to stifle a laugh.

"Hey!" Michael bellowed, reaching for her waist. He picked her up high, turned around, and set her down behind him. Angela's eyes widened, midair, and she forgot about their competition. "Shhhh!" she chastised worriedly as she followed him quickly, her finger to her lips, the whole way in from the hallway.

Michael's eyelids dropped halfway down, and he swung his arms in calculated annoyance as he went to shut the door. He was still breathing heavily as he clicked it shut, locked it, and turned to look at her. His eyebrows went up, "Really? You're already shushing me? We don't even have a baby anymore."

Turning on her bedside lamp, Angela dropped her forehead a little and slowly walked over to him. She knew this was an old wound. But some sort of wifely maturity internally rolled her eyes for her and decided to squash the drama of it all.

Staring dryly into Michael's sulky eyes, she reached confidently at the front of his shirt, like she did it every day, and started to pull it free. Her low voice entered the expectant space like background noise. "I know, but we still aren't alone, and I'd like this to be between us."

Apparently appeased with her activity, a half-smile tipped up Michael's face. Still slightly uncertain, he watched her unbutton his shirt, from the bottom up, in the same pissy poise with which she untucked it. His growing smile briefly wandered up and looked around the room, where it stopped and started to curl in disbelief.

Just as she finished unbuttoning, Tony's comical scream iced the warming silence between them.

With an indignant spin on his heel, Michael glared at the backside of the door. Turning back to Angela, he shook his head, shrugging out of his shirt as he spoke. "What's with this guy, anyway?"

Angela crossed her arms in front of her and pulled the loose, pink, sweater vest up over her head. "What do you mean?"

Michael started unbuttoning her blouse. "Mr. Romance Novel," he said, nodding back toward the door. "Why is he here?"

Angela shrugged, "I needed a housekeeper. We'd gone through a couple, and he's been great."

Michael's half-lidded scowl stayed on her eyes as he finished, and he opened her shirt to take it off. Glancing down at her lamplit torso, he dropped his head and smiled wide. Looking back up into her eyes, he shook his head, "Damn, I've missed you."

A genuine smile forced its way onto Angela's face. Reaching behind herself, she unclicked her bra, and didn't drop eye contact as she flung it off to the side.

Instantly, her breasts were re-covered with Michael's hands and mouth. She closed her eyes in approval, and then somehow Michael was on top of her on her bed. Arching her back, Angela scooted higher up on the mattress, Michael crawling after her.

Somewhere between the dismissal of her pants and his, the awkwardness and forced nonchalance left them. Michael lied the length of Angela. Brushing the side of her face, he softly kissed her lips. Angela didn't know why she'd been pretending to be unaffected. That could never be true with him. It had been nearly two years since their last time at the Waldorf, and she knew both of them were foaming at the mouth. But if they both had such a need to be aloof with each other, why were they having sex? Instead of answering these questions, Angela decided to get serious.

Scootching out from under Michael's arm, Angela climbed on top and gently pinned his wrists above his head with one hand. She leaned down and kissed him, softly and sincerely.

She'd just started sweeping her fingers back down the underside of his arm when an echoey version of 'That's Amore' wafted through the walls. Angela's lashes fluttered shut in embarrassment - not that she could help the situation - and that deeply annoyed look reimplanted itself on Michael's face.

"Are you kidding me?" Michael whispered sharply. "What am I doing?" he said out loud to himself. "Why am I whispering? I could be singing!"

Angela let out a breath and kept her voice low and smooth. "Look, he's just going to get a shower, and then he'll go to bed. No big deal."

"You know his shower schedule?" Michael glared at her.

"We're all living here together, Michael," she snapped back. "You learn people's habits."

Sure enough, a few seconds later, the water turned on and the singing was back.

Angela released yet another purposeful exhale. She wanted to refocus. Despite his irritable face, Michael's body was still warm against hers. She decided to do things his way. Watching his eyes closely, Angela leaned down again to kiss his mouth. It wasn't long before he joined in, and they both allowed themselves to close their eyes.

She moved her mouth back toward his ear, and Michael swiped both hands from her butt down the backs of her thighs. He groaned in self-deprecation. "I guess you always did have a thing for toeing the line, didn't you?"

Angela let go of his earlobe, mid-nibble, and pulled back a little. "Excuse me?"

Michael opened his eyes and looked up at her seriously, "You know: Paxton. You like to be close to danger. You like to toe the line. That's just you."

Angela shut her eyes again. It's always this way. Just like at the Waldorf. Undeniably knowing their way around, pain and humiliation made themselves at home. He really does love to ruin these moments, doesn't he?

But instead of shrinking back, Angela felt herself harden, and that foreign moxie she'd sensed was becoming clearer. Well, shit. Two can play that game.

Angela sat up, straddling his waist, and squinted down at him. "What makes you think I didn't cross it?"

A couple beats went by.

Michael blinked.

She didn't.

"Are y-" Michael swallowed hard and blinked again. "Are you fucking kidding me!?"

Angela kept her stare cold and serious.

More seconds went by.

Then suddenly, Michael boomed, "Holy hell, Angela! You seriously cheated on me? With that fancy fucker!?"

She didn't drop her gaze for a second. "I didn't cheat on you, Michael. I was done with you - hence, the divorce papers! It's not my fault you made yourself impossible to find!"

Michael raked his hands back through his hair, letting the base of his palms sink into his eyes.

Angela kept reading the situation acutely, like the fight were physical. It could be.

His move.

She could feel him breathing hard underneath her.

Michael's hands lifted cautiously from his eyes, and he looked around the room in erratic horror. "Was Paxton in here!? Is this kinky grandma shit his idea?"

"Nobody's been in here, Michael." Angela tossed her hands in the air and let them slap against her quads. "See, that really ticks me off. You think I'm just talked into whatever anyone else wants, like I don't have a mind of my own! Well, I do - and you don't know it at all. I love this room like this. It was my idea – for me!"

Michael stared at her for several seconds, while Tony's lovely, but inappropriate, voice mocked the absurdity of their situation from down the hall.

Then Michael's voice came out, quavering. "What do you mean, 'Nobody's been in here'?" Angela watched in freakish satisfaction as Michael's eyes were opened. "…Were there others!?" he shrieked.

Angela's lids dropped halfway, and she yelled right back. "That's not your business, Michael. Like I said, I did what I could to get rid of you. You just finally got around to coming back!"

Michael's open mouth started to shake, and he crossed his elbows over his eyes. Angela felt his torso jar underneath her. His mouth snapped shut but still let out squeaks of wails he couldn't keep in. She looked up to the canopy above her and closed her eyes.

Even if she wasn't sorry that she'd slept with Grant, the present level of fun was inarguably dropping with impressive speed.

She was sorry Michael was hurting. She was surprised to find she didn't actually like that.

She really did love him.

Damn it.

Michael pulled his arms off his eyes like they weighed 50 pounds apiece and his breathy voice skidded out, "What do you mean, you were 'done with' me? When did that happen?"

Angela's eyes narrowed. This was something for which she certainly was not sorry. "Well, after your last panic-attack-inducing phone call, I did a lot of reevaluating. It took me a bit to decide what I wanted, but as you can see on the papers, I filed last July."

"Why did you do that? We had a fight! So, what!?"

"So, what?" She leaned forward a little. "...So, WHAT!? You really do feel entitled to bash me around whatever which way you please, don't you? Well, I'm not alright with it!"

He lashed back at her, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you saying the meanest things you can think of! I'm talking about you waiting me out!"

"I was getting space!"

"You were getting revenge! Like it or not, I couldn't have sex with you and still be okay. We really were that messed up. I really was that affected by you!"

Michael's chest moved a few times, but his eyes didn't.

Several seconds passed in nothing but the glow of her bedside lamp.

"And now?"

Angela looked down and licked her lips together. After several more seconds, her strained, tear-covered eyes looked up into his. "You were gone a really long time," she squeaked. "Why don't you care?"

His breathing balanced, but his low voice was still stretched. "That's not what I asked."

Exasperation jolted her face forward. "Of course, I'm affected by you, Michael! You destroyed me!" she screamed, her many tears refusing to hide. "'Keep that pretty little ass on ice for me'," she relived, "'Give my office a call' …Like I mean nothing to you!" She wiped a trail of snot on her forearm. "I'm done believing what you think of me! I have to be, because it was killing me."

Even strained, Angela's voice lightened and sped up with the confidence of truth. "And I was doing really well! Things were going better!"

But then the flip side of truth shook her body as severely as she cried. "And now you're here, and I'm a mess!" Hugging herself, Angela leaned all the way forward and sobbed onto his chest.

Michael set his jaw off to the side and waited, staring up at the blanket of lace above him. He wiped his eyes, and looked slowly around the room, taking in all the new features. His gaze eventually made its way back to Angela, who was still hugging herself and shaking, the lamplight creating shadows from the goosebumps on her arms and legs.

Taking a slow breath, Michael folded his arms around her, one by one.

After a couple beats, a bubbly sniffle came out of her.

For several minutes, Michael held her tightly, and the goosebumps and shaking started to smooth out.

Crunching his neck forward, Michael softly kissed Angela's hair. "I shouldn't have left you alone so long," he whispered. Angela's cries regained their intensity and their volume. Uncrossing her arms and stretching out her legs, she shoved her hands underneath him as best as she could, and they held each other for a long time.

Eventually, Angela rolled over to the side of Michael, so her head could rest on his shoulder. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her outside arm and leg around him and held him tightly. She was exhausted.


Soft, early morning purple crept through Angela's window, and last night came back into view.

They were exactly where their hearts had shattered, both still in their underwear on top of the comforter. The only part of Angela that wasn't cold was that which was connected to Michael. Their warm skin stuck together, and she didn't want to risk waking him by peeling away. But her eyes still gave her the closeup for which she'd been longing.

She'd missed this down to the cellular level, a place she couldn't see or understand, and had no say in changing.

Michael's breathing altered and his back shifted. Angela watched as his eyes opened and looked down at her. He didn't let go of her, but he didn't smile, either. Neither did she.

But a growing intensity seemed to charge behind both of their eyes, and it was indiscernible who revealed it first.

Michael's outside hand slowly crossed his chest and came up to palm Angela's cheek. As the rest of his body turned over onto her, she rose her mouth up to meet his.