Addendum 2.5 – "Angela's Ex pt. 2"

February 1985 – Fairfield, CT

As tired as she was, Angela had a hard time going back to sleep that morning. After a goodbye kiss that wasn't nearly long enough, Michael had left her for the office. Growling herself out of bed, Angela got ready for the day.

She got Jonathan to school and debated going into work, herself, now that she was up, but decided against it. I'll probably be just as efficient here, and I need some room to breathe about this Scrubbos campaign. Besides, she wasn't feeling at emotional capacity, and it was dragging her physically. There was extreme tension on the cord connecting her and Michael and she didn't even understand it all.

Angela worked in her office that morning. She sat at her desk and dug her fingers in her hair. She paced in a line. She paced in a circle. She went through her desk drawer, sweeping away bent paper clips and pencil shavings. She brainstormed 23 of the most unusable slogan ideas she'd ever contrived, including those from her team. I'm meeting with the Scrubbos reps tomorrow, and I've got nothing!

The idea to ask Grant for help entered her mind like a hot poker. In a knee-jerk reaction, she ran upstairs and snagged her gym bag.

At the gym, Angela rushed to the treadmill and started pounding away from her thoughts. They scared her.

Why?

Why am I so afraid of what I'm thinking? It didn't seem logical. So, as she eased her breaths and her gait, so also, did she try to step into her thoughts.

I like Grant. I like him a lot. I like how he treats me. I like how he talks about me. I like how I feel around him.

Scenes from their years together surfaced in her mind. He'd stood up to Jim for her. He'd asked her opinion on that furniture store problem and bet on it. He consistently had her handle assignments worth millions, and except for the hurtful, but understandable, outlier in Panama, never micromanaged her. He trusts me. He trusts me more than anyone else at the office. And speaking of millions, I still can't believe he didn't blow up at me about the Bensalem account… or am I just used to being yelled at?

Angela started to feel moisture at her tear ducts and shook off the thought. She felt tiny. That hurts.

She found she much preferred thinking about Grant and smiled. That felt warm and uplifting. She wanted to do a good job for Grant. Alongside her own drive for success, Grant's endorsement for the presidency continued to make her want to excel. He takes me seriously.

Even up at his house, amidst the sensuous occasion, they'd discussed work. Angela continued to let herself relax and found herself laughing a little. I've never had the Trans-Alaska Pipeline come up in pillow talk before.

Angela's eyes softened and a dreamy smile lifted as she fell into a steady jog and remembered being in front of the fire on Grant's living room floor.

Grant had turned off the AC and opened the windows so the autumn night could pass through the house. Considering how lovely the day had been, Angela had found it surprisingly chilly with the sleeping sun. But Grant had let her be closest to the radiant heat as she'd lain down next to him in nothing but his partially buttoned-up letter sweater. His baggy gym sweats had made a hard line across his bare core, and his equally conditioned arm had propped up his head. Pulling pillows down from the couch, they'd made themselves comfortable…

"Alaska's just giving money away. They've got so much, they don't even know what to do with it," Angela said, putting a frozen grape in her mouth.

Grant took a sip of champagne. "It's not a bad idea - incentivizes settlement and longevity among the residents. Plus, with the cost of living so high…" He shrugged, "Now, I don't know how I feel about the "permanent" part, but-"

"No, not the Permanent Fund; I mean what they're giving to the oil companies. The state doesn't charge nearly enough in royalties and taxes, and they don't even care yet because the amount of oil they produce is just that much. But they will. They should be making far more."

Grant made a little laugh and trailed a light finger down the middle of her torso, "I don't know if I'd start with that in the BP meeting."

Angela smiled up at him. I like how he touches me. She gently palmed his jaw, and he lowered down to kiss her softly.

He opened his eyes and pulled back. Angela followed, propping herself up on her elbows to drink some champagne.

Grant raised his eyebrows, "The cost of living extends to oil companies, too. It's hella expensive to cart all those resources up there and maintain operations. Alaska is enormous and one of the harshest environments in the world. Those companies can work a lot of places, and Alaska is finally pulling its weight. It's in their best interest to keep the boot off their necks. Nobody is making money if that pipeline is empty."

Angela smiled; she liked that he contradicted her. This was just another reminder that Grant knew she could handle herself. She decided to respond in kind.

Angela turned toward him on her side so that she mirrored him and popped another grape in her mouth.

"Compromise is important," she acknowledged, and he watched her fingers trace the ridges of his chest. "But every oilfield has its challenges, and what Alaska lacks in convenience, it more than makes up for in political stability and military security."

Grant gently rubbed his hand over the curve of her hip, past the hem of his sweater, down the outside of her thigh. He looked back up at her. "That's the hope, anyway," he drifted off.

She leaned up to his lips, and spoke softly against them, smiling, "Mark my word, Grant: one of these days, Alaska is going to get tired of its permissive stance. Those high rollers have had 7 years to attack their overhead, and they are not hurting."

Angela kissed him, then triumphantly lied back down and put her crossed arms behind her head. The quiet way Grant looked at her seemed past interested, or even charmed. He looks like he's delighting in me. This feels like a honeymoon… or what one should feel like, anyway. Angela's eyes flickered away her hurt and looked back to Grant. He'd moved his gaze to her chest.

Thoughtfully, Grant brushed away the side of the sweater nearest him and rolled a frozen grape over her nipple. Angela shut her eyes and held her breath as he dripped champagne onto its heightened awareness. He waited many back-arching seconds before licking it off and thoroughly squeezing her other breast.

Grant doused and played with both nipples, and when he finally released her with a playful suck, he smiled with conviction, "Angela, don't forget those high rollers have jumped through hoops to appease everyone. They pay royalties, a severance tax, and a corporate income tax to Alaska, and spill-reporting isn't their only regulation."

Angela finally started to open her eyes. She could hear him better now.

"And it isn't like Prudhoe Bay has one well, and everybody's slurping it up like chocolate milk. I've been talking with BP. Despite how well they're all doing, drilling is a gamble, and the oil companies are the ones making it. They send down many wildcat wells to find a viable area, and all wildcat drilling and roadmaking up there has to be done in the five or six month winter so they don't fuck up the top of the permafrost. The state's EPA is on them like a hawk. That's all money. Alaska couldn't ask for nicer guests, and BP has hired us to make sure people know that. They're already minding their manners because they want this to work, and it'd be best not to get too pissy with them."

Grant's voice had started to capture a slight boardroom lilt, a fact which Angela found awfully amusing considering their underwear was in the other room. Angela got back up on her elbows. She lowered her voice and looked at him coyly, "Grant Paxton, are you worried I'm going to screw this up?"

Grant made a nervous chuckle, "Maybe a little more than I was a few minutes ago…"

She laughed brightly and looked confidently into his eyes, "Not at all. I'm in it for the longevity, too. I'm not going to puff up BP with what they already know. They are well aware they don't need PR for the people. Convincing Alaskans to like oil companies? That's not exactly a hard sell. Oil is 90% of their income and provides some of the most coveted jobs in the state – not to mention the Permanent Fund. Everybody loves them up there. What BP needs is a ballast - someone to promote the reminder that drilling is in everybody's best interest."

Grant's worried look was slowly morphing to consideration.

Angela gently took his hand and held it by her face. She started kissing the pads of his fingers and kept her voice low, "Our real target markets are the state and federal administrations, and this campaign will be an open letter to them." She paused her kisses and looked him in the eye. "They will know that the people know exactly why they shouldn't inhibit production, and that lays a foundation for future administrations, as well."

She tilted her head, bringing light touches of her tongue into the finger kisses, and Grant's eyelids fluttered.

With a dainty shrug, she continued to make her case, "But neither the oil companies nor the state wants to get fleeced, and opportunism on either side is an inhospitable environment. They both need to remember that. This will be an awareness campaign." She sobered up her look and smiled confidently, "I've done my homework, too."

Grant cleared his throat and swallowed roughly, "True. With OPEC being such a bitch, the feds are bowing down to the oil companies right now."

Angela kept her eyes on his as she made little sucks on his fingertips, but Grant was watching her mouth and his voice strained, "That oil embargo made lines for gas reach to the horizon. We had to lessen our dependence on foreign oil."

Grant continued to eye her careful ministrations as he did his best to finish a coherent response, "Every time there's some little blip abroad, we can't be jumping twenty bucks a barrel or fearing international blackmail. But, yeah, Alaska could see that favoritism getting old real quick - if that reservoir is as big as they think it is."

He listens to me. Angela looked at him with a quiet sincerity and smoothed out her voice, "Exactly. Billions of barrels of oil and trillions of barrels of natural gas? That's significant staying power. And the biggest oil companies in the world coming to court? They'd both do best to mind their manners," she smiled widely, "because I want this account for a long time."

Angela leaned in to kiss Grant's lips, which he gratefully accepted. Placing his hand back on her hip, she reached up to hold the side of his face. He immediately obliged and went back to rubbing the outside of her leg, this time with his hand slipping under the sweater.

She smiled boldly into the kiss, "Acknowledging what both parties bring to the table is just good business."

He smiled back, still kissing her, "Very true."

Angela let her fingers inside his waistband and gripped him soundly. Grant answered with a mighty exhale and a deeper kiss.

Taking another breath, she added quietly, her eyes flickering to his, "But it is a delicate situation… I guess sometimes it takes a little finesse to work out the kinks."

Growling, he spread his quad over her and got up on all fours. "Angela," he breathed into a laugh. "I'm glad you're at the helm."

Angela laughed with a gentle squeeze and kissed him back, "Did you really just say that?"

Grant rolled his eyes, "Great, now you've got me doin' it."

Smiling widely, she helped him scoot his sweats over his butt as he reached in his pocket for yet another condom. This is so different. Great sex and support don't have to be mutually exclusive. Wow. …I am never going back to being treated like I'm stupid...

By now, Angela was crying on the treadmill. Her tears turned to sobs which she was only partially successful at swallowing. Hopping off, she stuck her chin in the air and tried not to make eye contact with anyone as she sped to the women's locker room.

Suddenly, she understood very well why she missed Grant, and she didn't hate herself for it. She liked what happened between them. Grant was right: it wasn't just hot. I felt validated in every way. Permitting that, she started to authorize other truths.

I had tried to kill my marriage. I'd wanted it dead. I told Michael the truth that first night. I slept with Grant because, at that point, I was NOT going back to him, and I had tried to give Michael the courtesy of knowing that. But I was not going to be at the mercy of his fits one second longer. Why did I act like all the painstaking soul searching I had done last summer wasn't important? It took so much strength to finally say, 'No more!'. Why did I give that up?

Angela thought back to last July, when she'd decided to file, and plopped down onto a wooden bench in the back of the locker room. She put her feet up next to her and hugged her knees.

She felt ashamed. I don't know that how I went about any of this was right. Michael wasn't, either, but maybe it isn't even a winnable situation anymore – all those years of both of us lying to ourselves?

Angela's thoughts started to circle.

But I told Michael the truth: I was done with him. I had made the decision that I wasn't going back. She felt her nose tingle and her eyes begin to fill. I had decided I was worth treating well, and I'm the one who needed to set that standard.

She let another single, full-on sob come out her mouth, but choked back the rest. Angela gulped and sniffed, wiping her nose on her knees. She knew Michael still didn't value her work. She'd seen the difference in Grant's eyes as they'd talked. That's what it feels like to be taken seriously. It's a night and day difference. But when Michael came home last week, I felt every bit as broken as I am. It hurt so much, and Michael's very good at fixing that.

And I'm still angry! Michael was probably just scared of losing me with the divorce papers and lied about being proud of me to keep me. …And I lied to myself because I wanted to believe it. I can see it in the way he pretends – just the same as he used to not pretend. He thinks my work is idiotic.

For some reason, he sees his work as more valuable than mine - unless we're with his family, then he can't stop moping about his lowly state. But that is not my fault! She almost wished she could belittle his work in return, but she knew it was good. He is talented. He is skilled. Why the hell can't he give that to me?

So, she had scratched back with no intention of recanting. Maybe all this with Grant was the final blow to our marriage. And maybe it should be.

Angela landed her chin on her knees.

I do feel guilty. I feel guilty because I went back to Michael like nothing had changed. I've been so afraid of myself, because that did make it feel like I cheated on him. And my persistent feelings for Grant make it worse. When the truth is, I broke it off with Michael last year. We were done. But I didn't even talk to Michael about this being a fresh start, a new relationship, for us. We just stepped back into the same shit, and I was too scared to call attention to it.

But I left Michael for a reason, and it still exists.

And I am not the same woman he left.

Angela sighed and dropped her feet to the floor. She took a lengthy shower and got a blueberry banana smoothie to go from the snack bar. When she got home, she blew out her hair and curled it into a pretty up-down. It feels nice to take care of myself. That's been important to me for a long time now. I can prioritize myself, if I care enough about myself to do it.

Do I?

She didn't answer herself but put on her business clothes. She always felt more like working when she looked the part, and she needed all the help she could get on this Scrubbos campaign. She was running out of time, and it was her night to make dinner.

Angela's thumbnail went into her mouth.

She gnawed on it all the way down to her office.

All the help I can get…

She stared at the phone on her desk.

Taking a breath, Angela's shaking finger dialed Grant's house number.