A/N: Oh my gosh! You guys... I am honored for the warm response and amazing feedback. I'll get to you each separately with replies but please know, from the bottom of my heart, how much it means to me. Updates to this will be posted regularly on Tuesdays at 9 am, so look for the next chapter on 01/09/2024.

They'd say I hustled, put in the work

They wouldn't shake their heads and question how much of this I deserve

What I was wearing, if I was rude

Could all be separated from my good ideas and power moves

- The Man / Lover Era / Taylor Swift

September, 1984

A soft hiss escaped from the plastic tip on her large can of mousse as the dollop of soft white product appeared on her finger tips. She smoothed it through her permed, bleached tresses as she looked in the mirror that was still fogged at the edges from her shower, making sure the foam was applied to the roots and scrunched into the ends before she rinsed her fingers and grabbed her hairdryer. With a deep sigh, she flipped her head over and leaned her backside against the edge of the counter, doing her best to save her back and legs from aching once she was done with the blow out. It was no secret that Grant Paxton was moving up from President of Wallace and McQuade to Chairman of the Board of Directors, and Angela Bower wanted the presidency so bad she could almost taste it. She wanted Grant Paxton just as bad but securing his attention had been much easier than her career had been. It had been a struggle to work her way up in a male dominated world. She'd worked her ass off since her father had died, struggling to prove to everyone around her (her mother included) that she was just as capable and smart as he was; whatever it took to make him and his legacy proud.

She'd studied hard at Montague Academy. Her lightning sharp mind and natural creativity aiding her as she excelled through the advance placement courses and graduated as Valedictorian of her class in 1968. Between her grades and her father's connections, her acceptance into Harvard wasn't surprising to anyone, except Mona, and even she was impressed as Angela flourished in the ivy leagues. She still wasn't sure how she had managed to be recruited into a sorority. She'd once described herself as an ugly duckling and that felt like an understatement even now. She had't been focused on her looks then, much to the chagrin of her ever svelte and sexually appealing mother, but that hadn't impeded her ability to still catch the eye of the opposite sex. Things never were serious with many of the boys that she had her young adult flings with and more often than not it was simply just a mutual notch on each other's bedpost. She wasn't looking for love at an early age; at least, not until Brian, her first wild and irrational mistake at 18, and then she'd met Michael Bower, and everything had changed.

Michael had been at Harvard studying filmmaking and biology. His passionate expressions of love for wildlife and the world around them was contagious and Angela had fallen fast and, not surprisingly, alone because he had no idea that the brunette, chubby, nerdy girl with acne and bad hair at the table behind him in biology was listening to every word he was seducing his blonde lab partner with in Bio 101. That summer, like every other she'd spent at Harvard, she stayed to take summer classes while the overwhelming majority of the student body ran off in pursuit of beaches, tans, and freedom. She'd kept up on her schoolwork, taking a full load of credits once more, but this time ensuring that she was being mindful of her body. She started running on the campus, thankful that no prying eyes were able to watch as she huffed and puffed her way along and sparing herself the shame she knew she'd feel if she'd been witnessed by anyone. She had started to eat better, cutting out many of the things that she enjoyed with the familiar mantra of 'A moment on the lips, forever on the hips' bouncing around her head like an incessant rubber ball. A lifetime of her mother's comments about her eating, weight, appearance, and whatever else she deemed unacceptable had given Angela a guide for what she needed to change to become someone new, someone better.

By the time September had rolled around, a wonderful and chaotic 4 months later, she'd lost 30 pounds, bleached her hair for the very first time at a salon, and finally felt like she could compete with the rest of the sorority for the attention of men at school. That was how she'd caught Michael's eye in the quad one day and by the time she graduated from college early with her Bachelor of Science in Marketing, she and Michael were engaged. They'd agreed to wait until he graduated with his degree to marry, and in the meantime, Angela applied to and was accepted into the accelerated Masters of Marketing program. By 1973, she'd completed the MBA program, was completely content with being a newly wed while she and Michael were living in an apartment on the upper west side in New York. It wasn't big or well decorated but it was home and it was enough for her just to have him. Her graduate school internships had led her into the waiting arms of Wallace and McQuade as a copy writer while Michael struggled to find work in the floundering film industry of New York. 11 years and several quick but important promotions later, she had risen to the role of Vice President and if she was lucky, soon she'd be getting another promotion.

Jonathon had been a pleasant surprise discovered in May of 1977. She and Michael hadn't been trying. He wanted to. In fact, he'd wanted a child as soon as they'd wed in April of 1972, but she had been insistent that they establish careers to be able to support whatever child they would bring into the world. It had been a point of contention for them over their marriage, even after Jonathon had been born in January of 1978. Her little boy, her ray of sunshine, was growing up. It was hard to believe that he would be turning 7 in a few short months. She wasn't getting too old to consider having another child, but she would be soon. She'd just have to find a man, date him, seduce him, marry him, and then conceive. By the time that rolled around she'd be 40. The idea of turning 40 sent a sharp shiver down her spine.

The only thing that was scarier than turning 40 was her former housekeeper, Inga Hiller. Ever since they'd moved from their apartment in New York to 3344 Oak Hills Drive, Angela had made sure that they would have assistance in the house. She didn't have the time to clean, Michael was so rarely at home, and her mother had no idea how to keep the house as spotless and neat as Angela liked it. She'd hired a professional housekeeper almost immediately, there were still boxes that hadn't been unpacked when she was interviewing. They had all been decent enough. Some were better than others, like any job, but Mrs. Hiller had been the worst. She'd frightened Jonathon to a point of high anxiety. Even Mona had been scared of her, and Angela had to admit, she had been slightly afraid of her too. If it hadn't been for her demanding that Angela decide between her and her mother, Angela wasn't sure that Mrs. Hiller wouldn't still be working for her.

She did have to admit, Mrs. Hiller had been right about a few things. She'd insisted that Angela was too lax with the way she was raising Jonathon. She'd encouraged her to set boundaries and rules. Angela tried, she really had, but the reality was that even with rules in place, without a second parent to back her up, Jonathon just outright ignored her. She was too soft.

She flipped her head up, turning around to check her hair in the mirror and frowned at the still slight dampness. It wasn't horrible but it wasn't the best either. She prided herself on looking like a knock out at the office. She considered it a power move. The men on the floor could all look alike in their suits and ties, but none of them could wear a skirt and heels; that was something she had a monopoly on, one she thoroughly enjoyed using to her advantage. She hadn't slept her way to the top by any means but, as her mother had told her, she did have certain assets and she used them accordingly. She wasn't as built on top as her mother was but she had legs that went on for miles and if she occasionally wore a skirt or dress that showed them off, or her well toned, lean back off, who was going to hold it against her? She worked hard to look good. Even after her impressive transformation in college, she'd continued to work on herself. She was stricter with food now than she ever had been. She didn't starve herself, though she had struggled with that briefly after Jonathon's first birthday when she'd discovered a lipstick mark on Michael's shirt collar and had taken it to heart that maybe she was still a little too heavy with baby weight. Now she made sure she took extra precautions around food and things that seemed to trigger her desire to either eat her emotions or starve them.

She threw her hair into a towel, hoping it would absorb whatever remaining moisture dared to linger in her locks, making sure to keep her bangs free, then headed into her bedroom to begin dressing. Her pink robe and hair brush were tossed carelessly onto the bed as she paused with her hands on her bare hips, looking at the contents of the drawer of panties before deciding on black as the color of choice for the day. She'd just pulled them up her long legs and onto body when she heard the doorbell ring.

She covered her chest with her arm as she opened the door to her bedroom, a crack, waiting to hear if the door had been opened and if there was a conversation being had. Silence. She rolled her eyes, then hollered out towards the stairs, "Is somebody getting that?" She was never sure if her mother was in the house or not and didn't want to assume that it was still just her and Jonathon being alone. Her son's high pitched response in the negative echoed up the stairs. She dropped her forehead to the edge of the door. Why did she seem to be the only person with common sense in this household? She took another deep sigh, then called back to her son, "Jonathan, will you please see who's at the door?"

She shut her door and grabbed her robe, wrapping it around herself and gripping the lapels together, hoping that nothing was exposed. She grabbed her hair brush, a mediocre but available weapon in case she needed to defend herself and her son as she came out of her room and walked to the landing at the top of the stairs. "Who is it, sweetheart?"

"Oh, just some guy."

Angela pinched the bridge of her nose. Ever since Michael had left to go to the Serengeti or Amazon or wherever he'd run off to a year and a half ago, Jonathon had developed a bit of an attitude with her. Nothing demeaning or rude, but just annoying enough that it set her on edge and had a way of making her eye twitch. She'd ingested more Tylenol in that time than she had in all the years leading up to it. He'd finally gotten so bad that she'd sent him for therapy, a choice that had gone over like a lead balloon with Mona; but it had given them a direction. Jonathon needed a male role model to guide him.

Perfect. He needs a man. I need a man. Mother… well, she's got a whole little black book of them but I wouldn't dare ask her for a date. This is going well.

Maybe fate was giving her a break for once. Maybe this random male on her doorstep was a knight in shining armor coming to proclaim his love for her… or maybe he's a psychopath who is going to kill me and my son and we'll end up on the 11 o'clock news. She looked down to the front door, frowning at seeing that the door was still closed and that Jonathon was nowhere to be seen. "Well, what does he want?"

"How should I know? He was just standing out there."

"You mean you didn't even ask?" She jogged down the stairs, hair brush in hand and looked at her son in stunned exasperation. How was he ever going to be capable of surviving in the world if this was going to be his personality? Her eyes narrowed toward him. If he was doing this just to spite her…

"No. You just said to see who's at the door. You didn't say open it."

She came down the remaining 3 steps and pointed the brush at him in an idle, but deeply meaningful threat. "Jonathan, I'm warning you. Joan Crawford is my idol." She never would hit him, he knew her well enough to know that she was against any sort of physical punishment like that; but she hoped the idea of it would possibly make some level of impact on him. She walked to the door and opened it, bracing her free hand on the frame as she lifted her eyebrows and came face to face with a terribly attractive man in a sport coat and sweater with an alluring and bright smile. "May I help you?"

'Cause all I know is we said, "Hello"

And your eyes look like coming home

All I know is a simple name

Everything has changed

- Everything Has Changed / Red Era / Taylor Swift