Addendum 4.1 – "Custody pt. 2"
November 1985 – The Beverly Palms Hotel, Los Angeles
-Angela's Suite-
"Hey, uh, Angela?" Tony hushed close to her face.
The bachelors made their way to the exit with more than a few backward glances at Angela, and Tony looked her in the eye. "I can put Jonathan to bed. Why don't you take another stab at Michael?"
Angela grinned devilishly.
"Angela!" Tony's whisper growled. "I meant, reason with him! Try to get him to see what a commitment a kid is." He looked around at all the empty root beer steins dotting the landscape. "I'll clean up after I get Jonathan down."
Angela bit her lip, then looked over at Michael hugging Jonathan goodnight. Straightening, Michael ruffled Jonathan's hair and walked out the door.
Tony's right. This time, Michael's the one saying goodbye, but maybe not for long… Her fear didn't hide on her face and her breaths deepened on their own. Maybe a little diplomacy is in order.
Tony flicked a pointed nod toward the door and gave Angela a gentle push just below the small of her back. She whipped her head around, and her eyes challenged his moxie.
With a sheepish, little laugh, Tony backed off, but Angela's indignance had long since cooled.
Lower, Tony.
Turning her smirk toward the door, she hustled after her ex, and caught up with him at the elevator.
"Michael!" she waved.
Michael lifted his eyebrows at her as she closed the distance, "Jonathan want another hug?"
"Uh, no." She answered, still trying to organize her thoughts. Squinting, she held her breath, "Actually, I was wondering if I might speak with you for a moment?"
His face was tightening, and her blood pressure was rising. Michael always did that to her.
He rolled his eyes as the elevator dinged on her floor. "Sure."
"What?" she asked as they boarded the car.
Turning around inside, Michael pushed a button. "You're just as prissy as ever, aren't you?"
Oh, yeah - because February was so long ago… But Angela squinted at him nonetheless, "I beg your pardon?"
Michael cocked his head at her, "Come to think of it, you had a whole room of guys who'd be happy to mellow you out a bit, and you still didn't take 'em up on it."
Angela's disbelief silenced even her mind to stutters.
Michael looked her up and down, shook his head, and looked at the doors in front of him. "Paxton sure left you with expensive taste, didn't he?" Then he turned his head toward her and smirked coolly. "But you still have a thing for riff raff, huh?"
Angela folded her arms as she started to regain her wits, "Michael, I don't know to what it is you are referring, but-"
"In Jonathan's party tonight. I saw you gush when all my friends wanted a piece'a ya. Could've had your pick'a the litter…" he shrugged, "but I guess you've given up slumming…" Michael shifted his weight and tipped his head obnoxiously, "Paxton waxes, doesn't he?"
-the hell!?
Angela shoved her hands to her hips. "Now, hold on! You've been butting your nose into my business, stirring up shit, and getting snarkier and snarkier this whole trip. What the hell's your problem?"
"You really don't know?" He leaned in for a closer look. "How can you be this clueless and stay employed? Paxton isn't even there to feed and water you anymore."
"Excuse me!?" Angela stepped past Michael and slammed the heel of her hand on the stop button. She posted her solid jaw straight before him. "Alright, I want to know right now, Michael. What is this about?"
He squinted down at her, "For all your fancy degrees, you really don't know shit, do you? My problem is your attitude. You made it very clear in the airport that you have zero remorse for fucking around before we got divorced."
Angela's face was furiously calculating as he showed his cards.
"Even after I tried to make it work!" Michael spat. "I gave up my job for you – the one thing you'd never do for me! But all your tears in bed... and well, shit, everywhere – you didn't stop crying the whole two weeks I was home – and I dunno… I got it in my head that you cared…" His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head down at her. "But you don't give a shit about me. And even after all this time, you still don't regret it!"
"Remorse?" Angela had stepped back on her heels, and she situated her thoughts with a couple finger pads on her temple. "Michael, what I have remorse about is going back to you after I'd resolved against it. I got so caught up in the 'what if?' and that bewitching power you have, that I neglected what I knew to be true: that we were done."
"True? Since when you do you care about what's true!?" he yelled, shaking his head even closer to her face. "You're the fattest liar I know! You wouldn't have even told me about Paxton and… however many other poles your 'classy' ass had slid down, if I hadn't pissed you off enough!"
Angela pushed past his willful nescience to stay focused, and one truth stood out.
Shit. He's right about that; I should've told him about having moved on before we'd started to have sex again.
But Michael was already on a roll. "I always had to do that! You were never honest with me unless I got you to your breaking point - and then it'd come out like a fucking flamethrower! It was always fake smiles. Do you know how exhausting it was to have to pull everything out of you all the time - and then to do whatever I could to keep us together afterward!? I'm so sick of being your emotional nanny!"
Angela breathed through his indictment, "'Whatever you could to keep us together'? Like lying?"
Michael's eyes bugged out, "What!? For 9 years, I was the only one who told the truth about what was going on with us! You always acted like everything was fine!"
Angela looked at him and saw herself. "So did you," she said quietly.
Michael's brows scrunched and his head pulled back slightly.
She explained, "You weren't okay to be a real couple after that first New Year's."
Michael's forehead loosened, and Angela's voice stayed smooth, "You weren't okay to get married after I told you I was pregnant."
Then his whole being started to retighten, and his breaths deepened the more she spoke.
"You weren't okay I insisted on working. You weren't okay to be on my side after your family treated me better than you. You weren't okay to stay married after Panama. You weren't okay we'd stopped having sex. You weren't okay with Tony there-"
Michael swiped his finger like a blade in front of her face. "And I sure as hell wasn't okay after you'd been having sex with the man I'd warned you about for years!" he screamed.
Angela looked up at him with a peaceful, if uncomfortable, clarity. We're both liars.
Michael's breaths started to even out the longer they stared at each other.
Angela pressed quietly, "But you kept going like you were, Michael. Instead of holding your line and letting the chips fall where they may, you picked and picked at what precious few threads held us together. You just had to say something cruel, and then keep going like nothing had happened. That's how you served justice and still got what you wanted."
Michael's face hardened quickly, but she continued, "And I did it, too. Mostly, I hated myself for sticking around; I was so embarrassed. But that seemed like a fair punishment for someone who wouldn't hold her own lines, and I still got to keep you." Angela made a slow blink as she confessed, "And I flirted with Paxton." With that, Michael's face turned to stone, and Angela couldn't tell if the tears in his eyes made more sense or less.
She took a breath, "The truth is, I wasn't okay, either. I wasn't okay that you only wanted me when you were hot for me. I wasn't okay that you acted like I'd been handed my job. I wasn't okay that I had no idea how you could go from sweet to vicious in less than a second. I wasn't okay that you said terrible things to me when you were hurt. I wasn't okay after Panama. I wasn't okay that you were gone for so long, and I certainly wasn't okay that you wanted it that way. What I was, was hurt. But I wanted you, like you wanted me." She shrugged and spoke little, "So I lied." She shook her head, "I wasn't okay."
What had started off in Michael as rolled eyes and jutted jaw, had fermented into shallow breaths and held eye contact.
Herself, Angela's face was full of quiet pain, and Michael answered in kind. "I know," he breathed. "Me, neither."
While grateful for his softened countenance, Angela now faced sticking to her guns and damning the rocking of the boat.
"I know. And I knew it then." She shrugged sadly, "I just wanted you anyway."
Michael sighed, "Same here." He held his blink shut and braved a self-deprecating laugh. "You're so fucking hot," he whined. Opening his eyes, he smiled, "And you're funny as hell."
As much as she was able to return the compliments, Angela felt uncomfortable.
Shivering, she rubbed her upper arms. "This truth stuff feels weird," she scrunched her face at him in curiosity, "and I hate it. I mean, I know it's right. …But it still hurts, and I don't know why."
Michael smirked, "Because we still love each other." He'd just started to move his right hand up before stuffing both hands quickly in his pockets.
Angela didn't comment on his hands, but rolled her eyes and laughed, "Know-it-all… I hate you, too, you know."
His cocky smile was there to stay. "That's cuz you love me."
"Okay, you can stop now, Sigmund."
Michael's smirk warmed into a smile, and he pushed his fists deeper into his pockets.
Angela easily remembered those shoulders. Biting her lip, she flicked a nervous glance up at him. "I really do hope you and Heather are happy together."
Something settled in Michael's face, and he held her gaze.
"I want you to be happy, Michael," she said quietly.
Michael, please back off. Neither of us actually want each other.
Licking his lips again, Michael stood up straight and brought his hands out of his pockets.
He made an extensive sigh and agreed, "Yeah, you too." Then he smirked again, "You know, whenever you get around to being honest about Tony."
Relieved and in a fresh mood to tease, Angela popped her pointer finger right up under his nose and offered a heavily suppressed smile.
Michael glanced over her again and released a sincere entreaty to her face, "Don't lose him, Angela."
Angela's nerves deepened her breaths, and her hand sought rest behind her neck. I don't want to talk to him about that. She tried to smile up at him, "So, can we be alright?"
Michael's face stalled and he squinted a little, "Angela," he sighed. "I mean, yeah, at first, I was like, 'Fuck it; I'm gonna take what's mine.' But now-" he exhaled again, and Angela stopped breathing completely.
Michael shrugged, "I know I'm gonna hate you if I let you keep Jonathan all the time and I never get to have him. That's gotta mean something, right? I love Jonathan. It'd be fun to have him around, and he likes it here. I know you were pissed earlier, but don't you want him to be able to be with his dad?"
Angela's face stiffened with each self-inflating word he uttered. "Michael, you. are. Santa Claus! You show up after weeks, months, or years with an exciting gift, piggy back rides, and ice cream!"
Michael rolled his eyes as tears rolled out of hers.
"But you don't know his favorite color is yellow!" she sniffed fast-falling snot. "You don't know he'd rather eat asparagus than green beans. You don't know he knows more about finance than any intern I have!"
She kept crying, "Jonathan is not just a toy you forgot you still want to play with. I've been feeding him, listening to him, and helping him grow up his whole life! You just show up for a while and leave when it isn't fun anymore. So, no! I don't want him to have that. Trust me - it hurts!"
Michael's eyes narrowed at her, "That is not all Jonathan is to me. You think if I'm tired of you, I'm tired of him. But that's not the case. I wanted you both to come to Rwanda with me but couldn't do it without your help. You said no for the both of you. I had to work, and you kept him from me. But it doesn't have to be that way anymore. Now I can leave you and keep Jonathan."
She hated how much his rejection still hurt her.
He loved to hurt her, and she loved to make sense of it. "That's why you're getting married so fast?"
Michael rolled his eyes and hit the button for the elevator to continue its course. "Yeah, Angela. I'm marrying a swimsuit model because my kid needs a babysitter."
Angela shut her eyes and tried to breathe. What is happening? She couldn't get her footing, and it frustrated her. Turning away from him, she tried to wipe her tears as covertly as possible. She hugged herself and sniffed. There is never resolution between me and Michael. We'll always be pinging. I can accept the fact that he's moved on – and even thank him for it - but I will fight him to the death over Jonathan.
The elevator dinged on Michael's floor. He turned to her, looking exhausted. "Look, Angela. I know you love Jonathan. But so do I, and it's my turn. If you need to drag us all through the court system, then do what you gotta do. But the answer's gonna be the same." Shaking his head, he made a weary sigh, "I'm going to bed."
Angela watched him walk away through a warping sheet of tears. Goosebumps popped up all over her skin as the doors shut in front of her.
She started to shake again. All day, she'd been antsy, her mind clogged with those stupid green potato chips, calls to her lawyer, and even desperate, internal debates about relocating to her LA office so they could trade Jonathan every other week instead of chunks of summer and school year. Regardless of how things should happen, deep down, Angela knew Michael was right.
It was the 80s. After the predictable bloodbath in court, there's no way she'd get more than 50 percent custody if Michael wanted their son.
Angela slowly opened the door to her suite and was met by Tony bounding over to her. No one else was around, and true to his word, the common area was spotless. His eyebrows shot up, "So, whud he say?"
She looked up at his blurry appearance and shook her head.
Feeling exposed, Angela stepped past him.
Silenced and a little hesitant, Tony followed her to the couch, waiting anxiously behind his mentor for her next move.
They both sat down, and Angela clasped her hands in her lap, rubbing her fingers aimlessly over her fists. Tony barely breathed as he watched her.
Nothing concrete formed in her mind, just a growing sense of fear and frailty. And her headache was back. It was all so empty.
And it hurt.
Wiping her tears seemed pointless, but Angela did manage a thick swallow as she watched her hands move of their own accord. No answers were there, just the grounding steadiness of what she could see in front of her.
Then Tony's left hand covered both of hers. She didn't look up at him as he lightly squeezed and shook her little, clenched fists. She saw that, too.
Her gaze followed the strong line of his arm, up to his shoulder. With him in the same kind of button-up shirt as Michael, she had an easy view of the comfort she didn't have to physically feel to understand. Her defeated eyes traveled to Tony's concerned ones, and she stared at her own helplessness clearer than if she were looking in a mirror.
If this were Michael, she'd know what to do.
If this were Michael, he would've already been doing it.
But this was Tony, and she had no idea what to do. Everything seemed right and everything seemed wrong.
No.
I am not going to mess this up.
Shaking her head quickly, she got up and sniffed, "Goodnight, Tony."
Angela forced herself to walk slowly to her room. Pausing only a second at the top of the stairs, she remembered her manners, "Thank you for taking care of Jonathan."
