Chapter Eight: Job Search

Monday, December 8, 1986

Angela left the Sterling and Simpkin building at precisely ten-thirty. She had been expecting her interview to take an hour, but the creative director seemed to rush through her resume. His questions were perfunctory, and he didn't write any notes. With two hours of prepaid parking in a garage off Madison Avenue, she decided to go to the Four Seasons for a cup of herbal tea and a chocolate croissant. The items had just been served when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Is this seat taken?" a man in a grey three-piece suit asked.

"No," she answered tentatively, wondering why he didn't sit in one of the many open seats at the bar.

"Kenneth MacNeil," he introduced himself. "You can call me Ken."

"Angela," she replied, avoiding a fraught decision about her surname. She felt uncomfortable using Bower socially, after leaving the name behind for a year, but it didn't sit right to introduce herself as a Micelli when she was in Manhattan for professional reasons. Besides, the paperwork hadn't been filed.

"How is your day going, Angela?" Ken asked her. "Cappuccino, please," he requested when the server came by.

She sighed, figuring she may as well voice her troubles to a seemingly sympathetic stranger. "I'm not sure. I had a job interview, but they didn't seem that interested."

"What line of work are you in?" he asked, sneaking a peek at her engagement ring. It didn't necessarily mean she was taken. A lot of attractive women used jewelry as a signal to avoid being hit on, and this brunette looked like she could easily afford to buy herself a modest solitaire.

"Advertising," she said, picking apart her croissant in the same way her mother liked to pick apart her toast.

"Of course you are. I should have known from that great red suit. What are you, a VP?" he asked, thinking any executive secretary would be flattered by his guess.

"Not anymore," she said, surprising her companion. "I was out west for a year, and now I'm trying to get back in the game."

The server slid a cup and saucer in front of the man, who thanked him with a nod. "LA?" he asked.

"Phoenix. I worked in education administration," she disclosed.

Ken didn't know how to categorize Angela, but he wanted to know more about her. "Education? That's interesting. Were you ever a teacher?"

"No, but my husband wants to teach. He's in college," she explained, watching her new friend nearly do a spit take.

"You could just tell me you're not interested," he laughed. "No need to remind me that I'm pushing forty."

She flushed with embarrassment and backpedaled. "Oh, I wasn't saying that! He's close to my age, anyway. We have a fourteen-year-old and a nine-year-old."

"How is it that he's going to school so late in life, then?"

"Well, he was a professional athlete and now he's looking for a second career."

"Oh yeah? What's his sport? I was a pretty fast cross-country runner in undergrad, but then I got involved in the family business."

"Baseball. He played second base for the St. Louis Cardinals," she said, sipping her tea. "What's the family business?"

"The company's called Sparkle and Shine," he said, pulling out a slim metal card case.

"Jewelry or cleaning products?" she asked lightly, accepting a business card.

He slid the card case back into his pocket and picked up his cappuccino. "Party supplies. Streamers, gift bags, paper plates, that sort of thing."

"Ah, I should have known that."

"Well, Angela, it's been very nice chatting with you, but I have to get to a meeting with our lender. Good luck with your job search!" Ken stood up and slapped a ten on the bar, which the server quickly retrieved with a quiet knock. Angela couldn't manage a response before the man was out of range. She slipped his card in her pocket and went back to her tea.

Tony sang "wait a moment" over and over as he vacuumed. Angela had been gone for four hours, and he was sure she must have had a good interview. Even if she didn't take the head copywriter position, the offer would boost her confidence.

Angela opened the front door and closed it quietly behind her. Tony was too preoccupied to notice her, so she began shedding her layers, hanging her purse and coat up and dropping her portfolio on the desk. The small thud prompted him to turn around. "Hi sweetheart," he said, turning off the vacuum and rushing to her side.

"Hi. How was your morning?" she asked, maintaining a neutral expression.

"Oh, great, great. I went for a run, bought groceries, and did the drapes already. It's really nice having that cargo net in the back of the Jeep."

"Oh good," she replied numbly, drifting over to the arm of the couch.

"How was your interview?" he asked nervously.

She looked at a spot on the floor and rolled her shoulders forward. "Eh."

"What do you mean 'eh'?" he asked.

"I don't think they'll be extending an offer, Tony."

"That's alright, Ange. It was good practice. You have another interview day after tomorrow."

"Uh huh." She unbuttoned her jacket and started toward the stairs.

"Hold on, I have a surprise for you," he said, pulling her toward the kitchen.

"I already ate a chocolate croissant," she confessed, resisting slightly. "I'm kind of full."

"It's not food. Look up."

"Mistletoe!" she said excitedly, before remembering that it was hardly necessary to hang a parasitic plant over a doorway. "You don't need an excuse to kiss your wife, Tony," she said. She held a hand to his jawline, fully expecting a long smooch in response.

"Oh yeah?" he asked, caging her waist with both hands and leaning in slowly. He jerked away before their lips touched.

"No teasing," she pouted.

"Fine, you can kiss me," he said, closing his eyes and puckering up in a comic manner.

"That's OK. I don't want to anymore," she said, walking quickly toward the stairs. Her fingers worked three shirt buttons out of their holes along the way, and she stopped a couple of steps up to let him see her unbutton the fourth. His mouth watered at the hint of cleavage, and he paused before following her to the bedroom. Her jacket, shirt, and skirt had been dropped on the stairs, and her undergarments tossed aside in the upstairs hall. By the time he carried the heap of clothes into their bedroom, she was propped up on her elbows on their bed, high heels kicking behind her. "Took you long enough," she said impatiently.

"Maybe I should have hung the mistletoe over our bed," he joked, dropping her clothing on the floor and startling her with a kiss on her tailbone. She quickly rolled over and he crawled between her legs, victorious that he'd tricked her into assuming the position he wanted her in. "I'm gonna make you forget your own name," he threatened, sucking gently on her inner thigh. She considered pointing out the irony, but his progress toward her center blocked her ability to use more than one syllable at a time. She kicked off her shoes and put her feet flat against the comforter.

"Oh!" Angela yelped, clamping her knees together involuntarily at the sensation of a warm tongue.

"Relax, honey," Tony said. "Just breathe and let me take care of you."

"Kay," she said, taking a deep breath.

The phone rang twice before Angela registered what it was. She shook off her own sleep and Tony's heavy embrace while it rang a third time. "Hello?" she answered. "Oh, Jack. What'd they say?" she asked, sitting up in bed.

Tony rubbed his eyes and yawned, massaging his sore jaw. He watched his wife hang up the phone and slink back under the covers, this time turned toward him. "Sterling and Simpkin has chosen to proceed with another candidate," she said.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Hold me?" she asked, draping her body onto his side.

"Yeah," he agreed, looping an arm securely around her and pressing a kiss to her forehead. He fell back asleep almost immediately.

Tony crept down the stairs with a cello case in one hand and a music stand in the other. "What do you think you're doing, buster?" Mona demanded from her spot on the couch.

"Shhh! Angela's interview was a bust," he said quietly. "I wanna surprise her when she gets up from her nap."

"I told you she never practiced! I should have burned that thing when I had the chance."

"How bad could it be? I just thought it might make her feel better to reconnect with a hobby."

"Bad! I'm leaving tomorrow, but won't you think of the children?" she asked dramatically.

"Ahhh! My cello!" Angela squealed from the top of the stairs.

"I'd love to hear you play something," Tony said.

"Oh, I'm so out of practice. I couldn't possibly!" she demurred. "Besides, that instrument has been in storage for years. I don't even have any fresh rosin."

"Darn!" Mona said, snapping her fingers.

"I'll run to the music store right now," Angela said.

"Damn," Mona said with a grimace.

Tuesday, December 9, 1986

"I'll see you at your arrival gate tonight, sugar," Ricky said. "Libby will be so happy to have you back."

"Can't wait. Angela's already been practicing again this morning. As if an hour of screeching last night wasn't enough."

Ricky laughed warmly. "I love you, Mona."

"I love you, too, Ricky. Bye."

Mona took her weekender to the main house and set it down inside the back door. Sure enough, a rusty arpeggio wailed through the living room, but it stopped right away. "Is it time to go, Mother?" Angela asked, opening the case and stowing her instrument.

"I'm ready to roll. A couple of hours in the airport bar will be fun."

"Thanks for being flexible. I was really lucky Antoine could fit me into his schedule on such short notice."

"Don't expect miracles. It's only a haircut. It's not going to turn you into a model."

"Hey! She could be a supermodel if she wanted to," Tony said.

"Suck up."

"I'll miss you, Mone," he said, giving her a squeeze.

"I'll be back in two weeks," she said, squirming out of the embrace. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Come on, Mother. Bye, honey," Angela said, putting on her coat and kissing her husband.

"Goodbye, my love. Hurry back."

"Yuck," Mona grumbled.

"Oh, hush. You'll be just as bad when you get to Phoenix," Angela said, ushering her mother out the door.

"I know. He's never seen me in person as a redhead before," Mona said, getting into the car with her bag. "He told me that one of the polaroids I sent him is on the fridge. The one Michael took. The rest had to go in his nightstand."

"Well, it's very becoming on you. I'm sure he'll love it," Angela said, buckling her seat belt and turning the key in the ignition. She was looking forward to the hour or so of girl-talk they had ahead. It had to be easier than Sunday night manicures with Sam, when she'd been grilled about every aspect of pregnancy and childbirth, some of which she had put out of her mind for nearly ten years.

"To tell you the truth, I'm a little nervous about it. I feel so much more myself than when I was grey, but Ricky fell in love with that version of me."

"He fell in love with the person you are on the inside. Even when he didn't know your name, he saw the real you."

"You're right, dear. Besides, what man cares about your hair when you have a body like this?"

"I wouldn't know."

Antoine's early afternoon client cancelled at the last minute, leaving him more than six hours for Angela Bower. He wondered why she had suddenly stopped coming in. The last time he did her roots, she had entertained him with a story about going to California to attend her ex-husband's wedding to some bimbo. It sounded like a big family trip, with her son, her mother, her housekeeper, and his daughter. Antoine listened intently every time Angela mentioned her male housekeeper, which was pretty often. She swore they were just friends, but it sounded like the man was awfully involved in her private life. She and her mother had even brought his daughter in for a blowout once, to celebrate her twelfth birthday. If the young girl's looks were any indication, her father was quite attractive.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a brunette talking to the receptionist. He peeked out the back door and saw a red jag in the small surface lot. Angela's car was the same make and color, he remembered.

"Antoine?" the receptionist called. "Your client is here."

Angela turned to the stylist, flipping her silky brown hair. "Antoine!" she said, smiling.

"Oh, babe. What happened to you?" he asked, leading her to his station.

"You're not going to believe this," she began, thinking he was referring to her whereabouts instead of her darkened locks. Ten minutes later, he had a stool pulled up next to her chair, listening to the story with fascination. "And I'm due June twenty-first," she concluded.

"Wow. Babe, you deserve a makeover," he told her.

"It's ok. Just a trim. I know you don't have a lot of time."

"I can make your homecoming complete, babe. Do you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, Antoine."

"OK, babe. I'm going in the back to mix some color." He pulled the bleach and forty-volume developer down and mixed a bowl to start, then put it on a rolling tray with a brand-new box of foils.

"Angela, I've been worried sick," Tony yelled, stomping into the driveway. The kids huddled at the back window, peeking through the curtains to see their mom emerge from her car as a blonde.

"I'm sorry, Tony. I didn't realize the salon was going to take so long."

His brain short-circuited, just as it had on their first morning waking up in Angela's bed. Earlier in the day, his pregnant wife had left, and now his long-lost best friend and boss was returning in her place. He froze as she approached.

"Don't you like it?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"My hair. Do you think it looks alright?"

"Oh. Yeah, it looks good."

She mistook his bewilderment for annoyance. "I'm really sorry. I should have called you."

"Did you eat lunch?" he asked.

"I had a sandwich while my hair was processing." She pressed toward the house, prompting him to jog until he was just ahead of her.

"Good. Dinner's in the oven," he said, opening the kitchen door for her.

Jonathan and Samantha scrambled into their chairs and pretended to be deeply involved in reading their respective textbooks. "Oh, hi Mom," he said.

"Nice do," she added.

"Thank you," Angela said. She noticed Tony was staring at her. "Are you alright, honey?" she asked. "Can I help with anything?"

"No. I mean yes. Uh, I'm fine. We'll eat in twenty minutes," he stammered.

"OK. I'm just going to do some interview prep in my office."

"Uh huh," he said, letting her go. Shortly before mealtime, the phone rang.

"It's Grandma," Jonathan told Tony.

"Go tell Mom," he said, taking the receiver. "Hi Mona."

"Ricky and I are back at his place," she informed him. Libby was already snoring in her lap.

"Mother! How was your trip?" Angela asked loudly on the living room extension.

"I'll let you two talk," Tony said. "Glad you had a safe journey," he said before hanging up.

"Is it just me, or is he acting weird?" Mona asked her daughter.

"I just got home from the salon fifteen minutes ago. I thought he was mad because I took so long and didn't call him, but maybe he doesn't like my hair."

"What did you do to your hair?"

"I thought about what you said this morning. That you feel more like yourself as a redhead. So, when Antoine wanted to take me blonde again, I went along with it."

"Angela, you broke Tony!" Mona chided. "Didn't I tell you how sensitive he is?"

"I didn't mean to," she said defensively. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Make sure he knows you're approachable."

"I've always been approachable! When was I ever unapproachable?" she screeched.

"Dinner's ready!" Sam announced.

"Go act normal," Mona advised.

"What's that mean? How am I supposed to act normal?"

"You'll figure it out," Mona told her daughter without bothering to say goodbye before she hung up.

All through dinner at the kitchen table, Tony was quiet. He snuck long glances at Angela, but when she looked at him, his eyes darted away. Eventually, she resorted to toeing off a shoe and sliding her foot up his ankle. He tugged at his shirt collar and swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, looking like he might overheat and set off the smoke detector.

After dinner, Tony ran up to his room. "Jonathan and I will clean the kitchen," Sam offered, sensing that their parents needed some time alone.

"Huh?" Jonathan said. Sam pinched his arm, and he fell into line. "Yeah, Sam and I will clean up."

"Thank you, kids," Angela said. She went upstairs and knocked on Tony's door.

"Come in," he called. She slipped inside and locked the door behind her. Her husband was sitting on the other side of the bed, looking at the far wall. She sat opposite him and turned to put a hand on his back.

"Are you ok?" she asked. "Do you not like what I had done today?"

"Oh, I like it," he said, dropping his voice. "I wasn't really prepared to see you like that. It's such a…."

"What, Tony?" she asked, swinging her legs across the bed so she could sit by him.

"It's a turn on," he said. "I had to think about cold, dirty dishwater all through dinner. And I almost lost it when you started playing footsies with me."

"Oh yeah?" she asked, licking her lips at the proof in his lap. Out of nowhere, they were reclining on the bed, locked in a passionate kiss.

"Do you know how much I wanted you to come to my room?" he asked, nuzzling at her neck while he unbuttoned her blouse.

"I thought about it so many times," she panted while he mouthed at her cleavage, "but I couldn't pressure you."

"I didn't want to get fired, or I would have gone to your room," he said. He paused to pull off his shirt and found his wife already topless underneath him, frantically pushing down her pants.

"We have to be quick," she urged him.

"I'm ready to explode," he assured her. A mere five minutes later, they were dressing and smoothing down each other's rumpled garments and messy hair. "I already wanna do that again," he said, grinning like a fool.

They crept out of the room and down the stairs, finding that Jonathan and Sam had loaded the dishwasher and were sweeping the kitchen. She eyed their mom's misaligned buttons and their dad's dopey smile. "Can we watch TV?" she asked, looking for an escape.

"Sure," Tony said. "Knock yourselves out."

"There's never anything good on Tuesday nights," Jonathan complained, as she led him through the swinging door.

"So, you ready for your interview tomorrow?" Tony asked Angela.

"I think so. I'll just focus on the skills and accomplishments that would make me a good account exec. My growth potential should be obvious."

"You should get to bed early," he said, noticing that her shirt was askew. Without saying a word, he fixed one button at a time. Her breath shortened at his proximity and the tender care he provided.

"Maybe I'll take a bath and listen to some classical music. Do you mind?"

"No, that's a great idea," he said.

She brushed her lips across his cheekbone and dropped her voice into its low register when she reached his ear. "Feel free to join me."

Wednesday, December 10, 1986

Angela's eight o'clock interview ran for a full hour, ending only when a secretary interrupted to remind her boss of a scheduled morning meeting. She was optimistic, having relaxed as soon as the conversation started. Getting ready to go was a nightmare. The suit she wanted to wear didn't fit. Her belly seemed to have popped overnight, and she settled for a dress with a wide belt that camouflaged it.

By midmorning, she was home, but the Jeep was gone, and the house was quiet. A pile of mail sat on the desk from the day before, and she started opening the account statements and bills. This month would be their first full financial discussion since their lives were again upended. The wedding had been more expensive than they budgeted for, eating through most of their savings. One-way tickets to New York had consumed the rest. They were fortunate to have gotten access to her accounts right away.

Meanwhile, Tony was at a jewelry store, browsing for wedding bands. He wanted a different design than the simple bands that they had worn before their vows. Her new jewelry would still need to coordinate with the engagement ring he had chosen when they expected to continue wearing those first bands. He hadn't even realized they were on loan from the government until they were planning to return to Connecticut. Overwhelmed by the options, he gave up, hoping that Angela would be there when he got home.

He walked in the front door to see her wearing an old pair of glasses with her professional attire and bouncy blonde coif. She hunched over an array of papers with a pencil in her mouth. The only difference he noticed from the previous year was the ten pounds of baby weight padding her figure.

"Hi Tony," she said casually.

Another wave of déjà vu washed over him. "Hi Angela."

"Are you busy right now? I thought we could review our financials."

"Your financials," he muttered.

"What was that?" she asked, taking off her glasses and giving him an unamused look.

"Nothing. I can talk now," he said, sitting down next to her.

"Great. Here are our balances, adjusted for nonrecurring items," she said, flashing him a legal pad and flipping the page before any of the numbers registered. "I've started putting together a high, medium, and low scenario for our expenditures, but it would be great if you could let me know about anything I might have missed. Once we agree on those, we can calculate a burn rate," she started.

"Hold on. I didn't understand half those words. What happened to 'income minus expenses equals savings'?"

"Remember on the plane when we talked about things being more complicated? Well, now we also have to be concerned with 'assets minus liabilities equals net worth.'"

"Oh, OK," he said, still perplexed. He listened to her whole presentation, which sounded a lot like a rehearsed pitch. When they got to the 'nonrecurring' adjustments, he realized that his car and debt repayment were the major items, although she had spent an obscene amount at the salon. "Did you pay off my loan from your mother?" he asked.

"Yes," she said matter-of-factly.

"I wish you'd talked to me about it first."

"Well, she wanted to be made whole. Don't worry, you saved enough on your Jeep to make up for it."

"I didn't save anything. You negotiated with the dealer and bought me an expensive gift. When I buy something, I usually like to be the one buying it. Same with your ring. I never would have given it to you expecting you to pay for it."

"Oh, so you can buy me expensive gifts and I can't do the same for you?" she challenged him.

"I just can't have you doing all that for me, Angela."

"I'm not just doing it for you. Our whole family depends on you having transportation. We're married. We can't go fifty-fifty anymore."

"I understand that."

"Then what's the problem?"

"It feels like I'm taking advantage of you. You're looking for a job. You're carrying the baby. You're spending your savings on me."

"Well, you have no savings and no uterus. What do you want me to do? Stay home and let you abandon your educational pursuits to support us?" she demanded.

"You'd do that?" he asked.

She looked at him like he was crazy, and he realized her offer was made sarcastically. "No!" she yelled, storming up the stairs.

Tony sat down and started crunching numbers, determined to find a solution. While he was in the middle of adding a long column, the phone rang. "Hold on," he said aloud, trying to finish before the caller hung up. After three rings, he tossed the calculator and picked up the receiver to find that Angela had answered the bedroom extension.

"…an update for me, Jack?" she inquired. Tony held his hand over the mouthpiece and listened intently.

"JWT isn't moving you along to the next round," the headhunter told her. "They didn't feel you're your image is consistent with their agency brand."

"What does that mean?"

"Confidentially, they said you were blonde and stacked, and that their clients would never take you seriously because they'd assume you slept your way to the top."

"The top? An account executive is barely the middle. Who would give it up for that?" she retorted.

Tony silently celebrated his wife standing up for herself and missed the last part of the conversation. Angela had already hung up, so he replaced the extension and went back to his numbers, concluding, after a few more calculations, that he had married a babe with seriously deep pockets. They could live comfortably for years on her investments.

Two envelopes sat directly on the table, under all the other papers. He unfolded the contents of one and saw that Jonathan had a six-figure college fund. The other envelope was for Samantha's account, which he had learned of during his honeymoon. "Fifteen thousand dollars? That's the 'little savings account'?" It was much more than he ever could have expected his boss to give his daughter. "She loves Sam. She even loves you, you jerk," he told himself. "That's it. We're buying wedding bands right now."

Tony went upstairs to apologize and heard Angela talking quietly through the open door. For some reason, he felt uneasy, causing him to loiter in the hall and eavesdrop. "I'm really having a hard time finding the right role, so if you could possibly make any introductions, I'd be grateful."

An old colleague? Nothing to worry about. He straightened up and smiled at his foolish behavior. Then he heard something more alarming.

"Tonight? I don't know. It's awfully short notice."

He searched himself for a reasonable explanation. Maybe this old colleague wanted to see her in person before endorsing her. It's not like she was making a date.

"Yeah, alright. Eight o'clock at La Fleur. See you then, Grant."