Chapter Nine: La Fleur
Wednesday, December 10, 1986
Tony didn't hesitate to charge into the bedroom just as Angela hung up the phone. "You called Grant? Really, Angela?" he fumed. "Were you planning on telling me about this little rendezvous?" His nostrils flared in anger, and he flexed and released his fists to burn off some of his excess adrenaline.
"Calm down, Tony. Of course I was going to tell you. It's just a dinner." She was conflicted about her husband's reaction. The jealousy was as flattering as it was irritating.
"Just a dinner at a romantic French restaurant," he spat.
She stiffened her spine and defended herself. "My intentions are strictly professional."
"Well, what do you think his intentions are? Because you seem to have a hard time saying no." The last part came out harsher than intended.
She scoffed. "Why should I have? Because you quoted 'My Way' at me? If you'll recall, I was single when Grant and I were involved."
Tony was unable to resist setting the record straight. "Actually, you were still married the first time around. I just thought you were divorced."
"I was separated!" she corrected him. "Wait," she said, narrowing her eyes. "What do you know?" They had never directly discussed the encore of her affair.
"I know you were fucking him from the time I started working for you until Michael came back and all through the next summer." The words left his mouth before his brain could consider their effects. As soon as he heard himself, regret set in. He wasn't really angry with her, and he certainly didn't mean to shame her for a past relationship.
She gasped and widened her eyes. "That wasn't any of your concern at the time," she reminded him.
"Sure it was, Angela. We were friends," he said softly, though it wasn't strictly true from the beginning. "I cared about you," he told her honestly.
It was difficult to stay mad when she felt so well loved. She decided to give him a little peace of mind. "Tony, you don't have to worry so much. I told him up front that we were married in Arizona. He's aware that tonight isn't a date, and I'm sure he's not expecting anything to happen between us."
"Oh. That's good," Tony deflated. He paced for a few seconds before continuing. "Angela, I didn't come up here to fight. I wanted to apologize to you."
"Is that so?" she asked, squaring up to him and putting her hands on her hips.
"Yeah. I was looking at the accounts, and it appears that you've made some wise decisions. I shouldn't be surprised about that. Not for nothin', but you're one smart cookie. And you don't let your emotions get the better of you like some people," he said sheepishly.
"One of my recent investments has already begun paying dividends," she said, taking a step closer and putting a hand on his chest, "but I'm really looking forward to it reaching maturity."
"That would be me," he guessed.
"Uh huh," she said quietly, her gaze bouncing between his eyes and his lips. Her tongue darted out and she bit her bottom lip, turning away and taking several steps before he could kiss her. He had to apologize first.
Tony was disappointed by Angela's sudden distance. "I was a jerk and I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me," he said. "Please. I'm an idiot," he said, dropping to his knees right in front of her.
She smirked at him. "Get up. I can't watch you grovel."
He took her hands and stood to his full height. "If you're accepting my apology, there's a purchase that I was hoping we could make together."
"What's that?" she asked skeptically.
"Well, earlier today, I was at the jewelry store, but it didn't feel right to make a decision on my own. Would you want to go back with me and pick out our wedding bands?"
"Now?" she asked with surprise. She hadn't expected to hear that he had been thinking about their rings at all. It was an item on their collective 'to do' list that had taken low-priority until this moment. Besides, shopping wasn't exactly his favorite pastime.
"Right now," he insisted. "You're not going to dinner with Grant until I put another ring on your finger." He caught her trying not to smile and knew that his possessiveness had pleased her.
"Marking your territory?" she teased.
"You bet," he answered, kissing her soundly.
The sales rep pulled another flocked ring display out of the glass case. She could tell this couple was going to buy something. They were mature, and the woman wore several simple, high-quality pieces, so they wouldn't need a basic education in metals. In her experience, it was best to remain unobtrusive and allow them to discuss as if in private.
"How about this one?" Tony pointed to a narrow gold band with delicate milgrain edges and a graceful swirling design in between.
Angela leaned forward to see better, then pulled her glasses out of her dress pocket and looked through the lenses, never unfolding the frames. "Oh, that's very pretty. It would go with the brushed-inlay band you liked, too." She stealthily tucked the glasses away again.
The sales rep had to speak up, if only briefly. "That's the last one of its kind. It's been discontinued." She pulled it out of the display and handed it to the man, who discreetly checked the tag while inspecting the embellishments.
"It's your size," he said, taking her left hand in his warm grip. She held her breath, watching as he slid the band up her finger until it nestled alongside her engagement ring in the slight groove made by her old wedding band. They looked into each other's eyes, each realizing that they had never exchanged rings in the usual way.
"Perfect fit," she said, finally exhaling.
There was a moment when the sales rep sensed they had forgotten their surroundings, and she cleared her throat. A few couples had started making out right in front of her over the years. It was incredibly awkward, and they never made a purchase. Her subtle interruption did the trick. The woman began studying the band, turning her hand to catch the light while the man watched. The sales rep took one big step to the side and retrieved the brushed-inlay band the man had chosen earlier. It was several sizes too large, but they had at least a dozen stocked in the back, and she was certain one would fit him. "Here," she said, handing the wide band to the woman.
Angela found Tony's ring finger and made eye contact as she slipped the band on. Their breath shortened and synchronized. The air seemed to crackle with electricity. Satisfied that her commission was ensured, the sales rep put away the ladies' ring display and went to the back to pull another men's band in the correct size. It was perfectly clean and polished, set in its little cushion in a small, hinged box. Surprisingly, the couple was still gazing at each other and holding hands when she returned.
"I can ring you up, if you're ready," she prompted them.
"Are we ready?" Tony asked, unable to turn away from his bride. In fairness, she was quite beautiful. Happy couples were often radiant, but she seemed to be glowing from within. The same could be said for him.
"I am if you are," Angela answered.
"I've been ready."
Angela slid a group of hangars back along her closet rod for the fourth time, hoping an appropriate outfit would materialize. Something nice enough for La Fleur, but not to attention-seeking. She wanted to feel confident without seeming to care too much about what Grant thought of her appearance. It had to be modest enough not to raise the alarm with Tony. And it had to fit.
"How about this one?" Tony asked, walking into the closet behind her and bringing her attention to the dress she'd worn to Michael's wedding. It was decidedly unsexy on the hangar.
"It might be too small," she said hesitantly.
"Give it a try for me," he begged. There was some yield to the velvet. Besides, Angela wasn't nearly as big as she thought she was.
"Oh, alright," she responded, not seeing a better alternative. She removed the dress from its protective garment bag and put it on over her snug ivory slip. It easily stretched across her larger bust, belly, and hips.
Tony looked over Angela's shoulder while she inspected herself in the floor mirror. "You look great, sweetheart." The dress was demure and old-fashioned, almost too prim and proper for anything but a meeting with an old flame. The dark, textured fabric hid what she thought of as her problem areas. He couldn't regard her fuller figure without noticing all the enticing markers of fertility. He held back from expressing his fascination, knowing the wrong compliment would have her back in the closet fretting as the time grew short.
"I could wear this," she decided. "Should I put my hair up?"
"Leave it down," he said, though he couldn't say which style was more appealing.
"How's my makeup?" she asked anxiously.
"Perfect. Hey, are you nervous about seeing Grant?"
"A little. You know, last time I saw him things were very different. Now I'm asking for a favor, and I have nothing to offer in return. Professionally, I mean." It went without saying that the physical expression of gratitude she'd provided after her appointment to lead Wallace and McQuade was no longer available.
"That's not true. Anyone he connects you with is gonna owe him a favor."
"Thank you, Tony. It means a lot to me that you believe I'm still a valuable resource." She put her arms loosely around his neck and gave him a sincere, vulnerable look.
"You are so much more than that to me. You know that, right?" he asked, encircling her waist.
She nodded and her eyes began to shine with emotion. "Thank you for trusting me. Nobody could blame you for being insecure in this situation, especially after—"
"That wasn't your fault," he interrupted. "Anyway, if Grant lays a finger on you, I'm gonna murder him like I wanted to murder Nate."
She snickered at the idea. "Would you really kill for me?"
He softened. "Only if I had to in order to protect our family."
"So, no crimes of passion? That's disappointing," she teased.
"I'm a lover, not a fighter," he said with a cocky smile.
"Lucky me," she murmured, leaning in for a kiss. The smoke detector started beeping loudly in the kitchen, causing them to rush downstairs.
"Fire! Everyone out!" Tony yelled before realizing the alarm had already been silenced. In the kitchen, Jonathan was waving a broom at the ceiling while Sam held a baking sheet out the door.
"Sorry, Dad. I left the garlic bread in the oven too long," she apologized.
"I ask you to do one simple thing," Tony muttered.
"She was on the phone with Todd," Jonathan squealed, letting Tony take the broom.
"You little blob of slime!" Sam raged, slamming the door and throwing the baking sheet on the table. Her target hid behind their dad.
"I'll handle them. Just go," Tony urged Angela.
"Be good for Dad tonight, kids. Let me give you hugs and kisses in case I don't see you later."
"No, I want you to come see me when you get home," Sam demanded. She had some inkling that her dad was uncomfortable about this outing, like he had been uncomfortable about her mom's hot boss, Nate. She wanted to assess the aftermath herself.
"No fair. I wanna see Mom when she gets home, too!" Jonathan whined.
"I promise to come and say good night to both of you, alright?" She planted a smooch on Tony's cheek. "Thank you and good luck with these two. I love you."
"I love you, too. Enjoy your dinner. Hey, maybe you can bring back some rolls. Uncharred, please!" he joked.
The phone rang, and Angela picked it up, happy to delay her departure. "Hello? Mother? It's good to hear from you!"
"Uh-uh. Time to go," Tony said, taking possession of the red receiver.
"I'll be home by ten," Angela informed him, disappearing through the swinging door.
"Where is she going?" Mona asked Tony.
"Dinner with a business contact," he said, hoping against hope that she would leave him uninterrogated.
"Dinner? Who's the guy?" she asked.
He feigned an unconcerned tone. "Just someone she used to work with."
"Enough with the evasiveness," Mona growled. "Just tell me the truth. Is it Grant Paxton?"
"Go ahead and eat, kids," he said, holding his hand over the mouthpiece. He stretched the cord into the living room and spoke quietly to Mona. "Yeah, she's having dinner with Grant." He preemptively held the phone away from his ear, expecting to be screamed at.
"You bonehead! Did you learn nothing?" she yelled. Libby barked once in the background.
"I trust her, Mona. It's just a friendly dinner between colleagues."
"I don't know how you can sit at home not picturing his sweaty, naked body on top of your wife."
The woman sure knew how to paint an obscene portrait. "Come on!" he pled. Grant's pale, flabby ass in motion was among the last things Tony would ever want to imagine.
"How sad that your baby will never know the love of two parents living in the same home," Mona said dramatically.
"Yo, what's with the doom and gloom? Angela and I are solid. In fact, we just bought wedding bands today," he told her proudly.
"We talked about this! Men don't notice half the time and the other half the time they don't care. That goes double for married guys like Grant."
"He's married?" Tony asked in disbelief. He couldn't see Angela as a homewrecker.
"I'm not sure about now, but he was, last I heard. I know the type. Probably a habitual cheater with a collection of sob stories about his horrible wife. And my poor, dumb baby fell for his act."
"Well, tell you the truth, I got a man on the inside. There's a busboy getting his Toyota detailed in exchange for keeping an eye on them," he said, hoping his ploy would gain Mona's respect.
"Good. Well, you can give me an update tomorrow."
"Wait, Mona. Why did you call?"
"I just wanted to check in. You people are lost without me."
La Fleur was warm and cozy, in contrast to the chill of the night outside. A grand piano tinkled out a soothing melody underlined by sustained chords while tuxedoed waiters tended to smartly dressed diners. "Thank you for your patience, sir. The chateaubriand for two will be out shortly."
"Oh, could I please have some more club soda?" Angela asked. She had wanted to order the ratatouille, but the chateaubriand wasn't served in individual portions.
Grant reiterated his offer. "Are you sure you don't want to share a bottle of wine?"
"Thank you, but I'm certain," she said. Already, she had taken one bathroom break between stories about Grant's daughters' high school and college graduations and his son's new BMW. If she kept guzzling, she would get another reprieve in the restroom before dinner was through.
"Suit yourself. Now, I know you explained over the phone, but tell me again how you ended up in Arizona."
Angela took a deep breath. It was the first question he had asked her about herself all night. "Tony's father-in-law was killed in our house. It wasn't safe to stay there."
"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Couldn't you have just moved, though? They weren't after you personally."
"We didn't want to break up the family. Jonathan and Samantha were like siblings," she explained. How could he begrudge the children their loved ones?
The server propped his tray on a folding stand. "Here you are. Club soda, another martini, and your chateaubriand. Anything else I can get you?"
"We're good," Grant said impatiently. He barely waited for the server to take leave of them. "So, you pretended to be married? That's insane, Angela. How did you even pull it off?"
"It wasn't that difficult," she mumbled, looking down and to the side.
"Oh, I get it," he said. "You were screwing the help." He underlined the point by taking a large swig of his martini and chomping on an olive.
"Grant! Keep your voice down." A busboy in a black vest was clearing the table closest to them, and he gave them a wary glance at the crude statement.
"Don't worry, Angela. I can keep a secret," he said, eating a cube of tender beef. "After all, my wife never did come up with any concrete evidence. I don't think she even suspected you were the girl I was seeing."
"When you said you were practically divorced, I thought that meant you were separated, not sleeping in another bedroom," she hissed. Her stomach was in knots, and she didn't think she could handle a single bite of the expensive roast.
"I got a pied à terre that we can use. No more hotels," he assured her.
"Oh, Grant. I don't think you understand," she said, knitting her brows together. She almost felt sorry for the man. "We won't be going anywhere alone together, and I'm not trying to keep my relationship with Tony secret. We're legally married. I told you that, didn't I?" When he gave her a blank look, she held her left hand up and pointed at her rings.
He blotted his mouth with the cloth napkin. "You said you were married in Arizona. I assumed you were off the hook now."
"Tony and I love each other very much. Neither of us wants to be 'off the hook.' We're staying together for good." She took a long sip of club soda and wondered if the night could be salvaged. Grant didn't take rejection, or even delayed gratification, very well.
"Then what are we doing here, Angela? I thought you wanted my help finding a job."
"I would appreciate it, if there's anything you can think of."
"Why should I?" he asked petulantly. "You're saying you'll never sleep with me again, and I'm supposed to keep treating you like my pet project? Grow up."
"You're an asshole," she said at full volume, standing up and grabbing her purse. On impulse, she threw her club soda in his face, then poured the basket of dinner rolls, complete with cloth napkin, into the crook of her arm before he could recover.
The valet stand was temporarily unattended, with a couple huddled near a propane heater waiting for their turn to depart. Angela could see her car in the lot. She snatched her key off a hook and marched over to it, ignoring a young man's frantic calls for her to stop. Grant was lucky she didn't key his car as she walked past it.
"You're back early," Tony said from the couch, where he was curled up with a blanket watching TV. It wasn't even nine o'clock and both Jonathan and Samantha were in their rooms reading, since they couldn't manage to get along with each other.
"It was horrible," Angela pouted, flinging her coat across the arm of the couch and kicking off her shoes so she could sit with her feet curled under her.
"Wanna talk about it?" he asked, offering her some of his blanket.
She shook her head and stood up. "Is there any food left? I didn't eat."
"Yeah, there's leftover pasta in the fridge."
"The dinner rolls are in my coat pocket," she told him. He hung her coat by the front door and brought the rolls to the kitchen, where Angela stood staring blankly into the refrigerator.
"Did you want one? I can warm them," he proposed, setting them down on the kitchen counter. She shook her head and burst into a wailing sob. "Oh, baby," he said, walking over and gathering her in his arms. "Tell me what happened."
"He's a liar and a pig. You were right. I never should have gotten involved with him."
"Hey, hey. Don't beat yourself up. He's the one who did you wrong."
"I'm sick of dealing with these horrible men!" she ranted.
"Present company excluded; I hope," he teased. "Do you want me to hurt him? Because I was thinking about it anyway."
"No, then he'd just feel vindicated," she sniffled, cracking a small smile.
"Sit down. I'll get you some dinner."
"OK," she said, collapsing into a chair.
Tony put a pan on the range and lit the burner. "You know what you should do, Angela?" he asked, going to the refrigerator and popping open a Tupperware container on the way back to the counter.
"What should I do?" she asked dejectedly.
"Be your own boss," he said, beaming like a child.
"You mean freelance?" she clarified. The thought had crossed her mind, but it would mean working with multiple small companies that lacked the budget for the type of campaigns she was accustomed to launching.
"I mean start your own agency. You've got the experience, and you're great with clients."
"I can't handle that on my own. Not to mention, I'll be taking time off this summer."
"So find a partner who can handle the day-to-day, while you strategize about bigger picture stuff."
"Oh, yeah, I'm sure there are talented people lining up to work for an untested entity," she jeered.
"There are, though. You said it yourself. 'There are more qualified people than jobs.'"
"I'd need funding for an office lease, equipment, outreach, salaries—"
"Borrow it," he said, stirring the leftovers in the hot pan.
"Bankers ask for a business plan, Tony. I don't even know how much I'd need for startup costs and working capital."
"Let's figure it out. Tomorrow, we can call one of those commercial real estate places."
"I don't know, Tony. Do you really think I could succeed?"
"If anyone can do it, you can," he said, plating her meal and sticking a fork into the food.
Angela inhaled the aroma of sage before lifting a heap of sausage and butternut squash to her mouth. "Oh, this is good," she said, holding her hand in front of her face while she chewed. "What's that flavor?"
"Fennel? Onion? Anise?" he listed, sitting next to her and enjoying the view.
"Mmmm. No, it's something sweet."
"My love?" he joked. "Actually, I think you're tasting the apples," he said. "They complement the sweetness of the squash."
"Yes, that's it. This is so much better than anything on the menu at La Fleur."
"What about the atmosphere?" he asked. Only occasionally did he remember that Nick had been whacked right there in their kitchen. Most of his memories were of warm family moments.
"La Fleur had a fire and pianist," she said lightly. "But I'd rather eat with a true gentleman," she conceded, squeezing his leg.
Tony jumped up, encouraged to give his wife every little thing she desired. "I'll build a fire and put on a record. We can dance together."
"No, wait!" she called. It was too late to stop him, so she kept eating. By the time she finished and went upstairs to tuck in the kids, he'd have a blaze going, she figured. It was certainly a better way to end the night than anything Grant might have had in mind.