Chapter Thirteen: Boxing Day
Friday, December 26, 1986
Angela took in the cluttered bedroom in the dim light. They would have to finish moving Tony's things into the primary suite and start working on the nursery. She felt unsure what to call the room in the interim. Was it the guest room? On their first night back home, her mother had slept there. It definitely wasn't the housekeeper's room anymore. Hadn't been since the day Tony and Sam moved in. "Tony's old room" was the most accurate description. She had been so hurt by the idea of him staying there when they first returned, and only a month later, she had banished him to sleep alone.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she said, rubbing his arm. "If you take a shower, you can come to bed with me."
Laughter rang out from under the blanket, the whole bed shaking along with the amused man. "That's a generous offer, Angela, but I think I'll pass," he said, uncovering his face and smirking at her.
She jumped to her feet and balled her hands into fists. "Michael! What are you doing here? Where's Tony?"
"I needed to sober up before I drove home. Last I saw him, Tony was going to bed with you. He swore you'd never kick him out. Ha! Looks like the honeymoon is over." He sat up and started putting his pants back on.
"He's probably on the couch. Are you good now?"
"Yeah, I'll go home to catch some more Z's and then I'll be a hundred percent," he promised. "I still wanna take the kids out." He pulled his sweater over his head and turned his socks right side out.
"Alright. Be back at noon?" she asked, one hand on the doorknob.
"With bells on," he said. "Assuming my headache goes away." He finished slipping on his shoes and followed her downstairs. "Thanks for the hospitality," he said, taking his camera case and closing the front door behind him.
Tony managed to snore through the quiet exchange. Angela settled into a chair and watched her husband's rough slumber. His neck was going to hurt as badly as hers had. "Tony," she said assertively. "Get up. I don't want the kids finding you down here like this."
He rolled off the couch and landed on the floor. "Ouch," he whined. "I'm up."
"You're going to wash your hair and brush your teeth," she told him.
"OK," he agreed, standing and stretching. "Did Michael leave?" he asked, noticing that the camera case was gone.
"Yeah, your little friend went home," she said, mocking him.
"I'm sorry. We were a little out of control last night," he told her. "Ricky's sleeping on the couch, too!" He was hoping to spread the blame around. Truthfully, it wasn't one person's fault. The men had fed on each other's energy, one-upping one another like adolescents.
"Can you just rinse off the stench and cuddle with me? I missed you," she admitted.
By the time Tony finished his shower and slipped in between the sheets, Angela had devised a plan. "What do you think about having Michael take the kids to visit Mrs. Rossini?" she asked him.
"Who exactly are you trying to punish?" he asked.
"She wants to see them. They'll want to see her. And he deserves to get his cheeks pinched," she said mischievously.
"What about me?" he asked, wondering if he would escape unscathed.
"We'll have the run of the house all afternoon. I can pinch your cheeks myself," she teased.
Ricky woke to see Mona standing over him with a glass of water. She plopped two Alka Seltzer tablets into it and waited for him to sit up. "How are you feeling?" she asked.
"Like I overindulged," he confessed. "Sorry about the cigars." He gulped down the fizzy drink.
"Apology accepted. You can take me out shopping to make up for your transgressions."
"That's fair, but could I come to bed for a while? This couch is giving me a backache."
"You may," she allowed, extending her hand to help him up.
Michael returned to the Micelli house at noon and loaded the kids into his car. He was given the address to the new office and assured that Sam could navigate to and from Mrs. Rossini's apartment. Jonathan was packed for the weekend, and both of the kids brought their skates with thick socks to cushion against the stiff new boots. Michael's skates were well worn, older than Samantha, he realized, though they hadn't been used in the past decade.
The drive into Manhattan was easier than usual, with light midday traffic. The chance of precipitation was zero, and no snow was left on the ground. Blue skies and sunshine threatened to peek through the layer of gray clouds. Michael navigated into the private garage, with help from the kids, and parked in a reserved space. Everyone put on their scarves, jackets, gloves and hats before picking up their skates and stepping into the cold.
They walked up to Central Park and found the short ticketing line. After a couple of minutes, they were the only people in the queue. "One adult and two children," Michael stated, counting out the exact admission.
The worker leaned over and looked at Sam. "Over twelve is adult price, sir. Your girl must be sixteen," he said, leering at her body as though she wasn't covered in layers of insulation.
"Alright, two adults, one child," he said, putting another couple of bills on the counter. "And she's only fourteen," he corrected with an irritated edge to his voice. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Nineteen," he said, taking the money and sliding three tickets and a receipt back across the counter.
Michael turned away and handed the kids their tickets. He was about to usher them toward the rink when the young man called after Sam.
"Hey cutie. I get off in twenty minutes, if you wanna hold hands with someone besides your dad."
"He's not my dad!" she shouted.
"Even better," he yelled back.
"Go ahead, kids," Michael said. He stepped back up to the counter. "Are you seriously going after an eighth grader?" he asked.
"Hey, if there's grass on the field, I'm gonna play," he laughed. "What's it to you? Unless…sorry, man. I didn't realize she was spoken for."
Michael couldn't conceal the disgust he felt at the implication. "Lemme talk to your manager," he demanded. There were some people who should not work around children. Or the general public.
Mona navigated as Ricky drove the jag to her favorite Greenwich boutique, where he sat outside the dressing room and waited patiently while she tried on dozens of garments.
"Would you like some water with lemon, sir?" an associate asked.
"Please! I'm so thirsty," he said. "Things took a turn last night," he chuckled.
"We've all been there," the salesperson said. She returned with the water and a small plate of crackers, knowing that a happy hubby was the key to a good commission.
"Thank you!" he said. "Hey, is there a good jewelry store around here?" he asked.
After lunch, Angela and Tony set out for the Fairfield Mall to shop for appropriate wedding attire. At fifteen weeks, she needed a new dress to accommodate her fuller bosom and flow over her abdomen. He wanted to buy a new suit, as well. They didn't need to worry about the kids. Sam was planning to wear her Wendy Darling dress again, and Michael had promised to take Jonathan shopping for smart separates over the weekend.
The Micellis started their search in the men's department. "How about navy blue?" Angela asked, showing Tony a three-season wool jacket.
"Ooh, I like that. Let me find the matching pants," he said. After a minute of flipping through the rack checking all the tags, he gave up. "They all have thirty-five-inch inseams!" he complained. "Does Tommy Tune shop here or something?"
"Tony, hemming is included," Angela laughed. "Why don't you try it on?" She pulled a white oxford off a neighboring rack and handed it to him.
"Alright but come with me. I'm afraid I'll fall on my face if I try to walk out here for approval."
"Sure, sweetheart," she agreed. The fitting rooms were empty. She followed him in and closed the door behind her, making good on her promise from that morning by goosing him the moment he turned away from her.
"You think that's funny?" he asked, stepping close and caging her in against the louvered door.
"Yeah, I do," she said, pinching his butt again.
"What if I did it to you?" he asked, rucking up her skirt and squeezing her bottom. The moan that emerged from her throat only encouraged him to kiss her roughly while she undid his jeans and dropped them to the floor. Suddenly he stepped back. "I'm gonna have trouble with these pants if I don't take a breather," he said. "But I do want to continue this when we get home."
"You're right. I'm sorry," she said. He quickly dressed in the new outfit but caught her biting her lip and staring while he was shirtless. "You look great. I mean, the suit looks great on you. Why don't I find a salesperson to mark your hem?" she asked, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks.
"OK," he said as he pulled the jacket off. "Ow!"
"What's wrong? Is it your neck?" she asked. He had been complaining about it since that morning. She remembered how sore she had been after only one night on the couch. "Wait, let me try something," she said, kneeling on the floor.
"That might distract me, but it's not gonna make my neck feel any better," he said playfully.
"Sit down. Jack showed me this acupressure reflexology trick. It loosened me right up," she explained.
"Oh yeah?" He sat and gave her his stocking feet, and she pressed firmly on the side of his big toe, then rubbed her thumb across the ball of his foot. "That helps," he said, starting to relax. They both froze, hearing a man and a woman enter the area.
"Just a quickie, Don. I promised Walt I'd meet him in the food court," she said. The two quickly entered another fitting room and closed the door. Angela looked up at Tony with her mouth agape. He was just as shocked but pulled her to sit on the padded seat next to him.
"I'm glad we ran into each other, Joanne. I didn't think I'd see you this week," the man panted. Tony and Angela heard the unmistakable sounds of kissing and heavy breathing, followed by the rustle of fabric.
"Oh my god," Angela whispered. A rhythmic slapping echoed through the space. "We have to go," she hissed.
Tony vehemently shook his head no, then tilted it down at his pile of clothes to let her know there was no way for him to get re-dressed without the libidinous couple hearing them. He squeezed her hand, hoping the encounter would be over soon. Sure enough, Don groaned out an expletive just as Joanne let a high-pitched squeal escape.
Tony and Angela shook in silent laughter, leaning against each other for strength. When the pair departed, they each heaved a sigh of relief. "So, you think you can find someone to mark my hem?" he asked, pursing his lips to keep from giggling.
"Give me a minute or two," she said, her pulse still racing from the moment they'd just witnessed together.
After Tony purchased the navy suit, leaving the pants behind for alterations, Angela browsed for a new dress. She easily found a sleeveless, empire-waist style made from deep purple chiffon. The ladies' dressing room was much more populated than the men's, so Tony loitered near the entrance. When she stepped out and did a twirl, he teased her with a frown. "You're gonna outshine the bride, baby," he said, breaking into a grin. He grabbed her and spun them around to see how the dress would fare on the dance floor. "Buy it," he said. "It's gonna look great on the carpet in our bedroom," he whispered in her ear.
"Tony," she exhaled, wondering if their unplanned voyeurism had riled him up as much as it had her. "Let's get home, while everyone is still out," she murmured, giving him a little kiss on the cheek before going back into the fitting room.
"Alright!" he said to himself.
Ricky stowed Mona's purchases in the trunk and took her arm, leading her away from the car. "It's so sunny today. Let's go for a little walk and get some vitamin D," he suggested.
"I get plenty of vitamin D," she argued, going along anyway. Her curiosity was piqued by his purposeful course: a block down, two blocks left, and around a corner. He had never been to this town before, so where was he going?
"Oh look, complimentary cappuccino," he read off a sandwich board. "I could use a pick-me-up," he said, opening the door to the jewelry store for her.
The couple strolled around the store sipping from paper cups and pretending that they weren't shopping for engagement rings. She tried on several styles, giving specific notes on her likes and dislikes. Before they departed, Ricky took the sales associate's business card.
"Gee, those rings were pretty. It's too bad we're not getting engaged," Mona said.
"Yeah, it's really unfortunate," he responded, retracing their path to the boutique's parking lot.
The teenaged skating rink employee suddenly realized he was in real trouble and dropped his cavalier attitude. "I'll leave her alone, sir. I promise."
"Look, you little pervert. You can either get your manager or I'll have my friends at the zoo drop you into the lions' den for enrichment," Michael threatened. "And if you think I'm kidding, I swear to you, I'm dead serious," he said with quiet intensity. That did the trick, and the punk scurried into the back office, a middle-aged woman emerging in his place.
"Good afternoon. My name is Daphne," she said. "What seems to be the problem, sir?"
"The problem, Daphne, is that creep trying to make time with a very underage girl."
"Shawn has been warned not to flirt with the guests," she said. "He keeps telling me he's just being friendly."
"No way. This wasn't friendly; it was predatory," Michael said. He repeated Shawn's comments and pointed out Sam as she stepped onto the ice, so Daphne could see that she was impossible to mistake for a grown woman.
"I'll take care of it," she assured him. "I have daughters myself."
"Thank you." He went to the bench and secured his skates, easily catching up to Jonathan and towing him past Sam. He dropped his son's hand and skated backwards in a figure eight around them.
"Wow, you're really good!" Jonathan said.
"I skated a lot as a kid," Michael replied. "You know, I used to bring your mom here."
"Angela doesn't skate," Sam said.
"She did with me," he told them. "Course I couldn't let go of her for a second." He remembered their first time at the rink.
"I'm afraid I'll fall and hurt myself," Angela protested.
"You think I'm the kind of guy who would let my girlfriend injure herself?" Michael asked, helping her step onto the ice.
"Your girlfriend?" she repeated in shock. "This is only our third date." Her hand was clamped around his like a vise.
"Ouch!" he joked. "Here I was feeling like we have something special," he said. She was so consumed by the conversation that she forgot her fears and allowed him to glide her along.
"You were?"
"Yeah, I've been feeling that way since the first time we met, but if you don't want me to be your boyfriend, I'll understand." He gave her an exaggerated pout for effect.
"I do!" she cried. "It's just that I've never had a boyfriend before."
"A pretty girl like you?" he asked. He had been told before their first double date, with his friend Jake and Jake's steady girlfriend, Emily, that Angela was smart and had a great personality. It was a real surprise when she hadn't turned out to be a kibble muncher. Later, he would learn that, although she had technically been married, it was to a near-stranger. Every guy she had actually dated refused to commit to a relationship with her.
She nodded. "There are a lot of things I haven't done," she hinted. An hour later, they were tumbling into his bed, which they hardly left for the rest of the weekend. Two weeks after that, he introduced her to his family, and in a matter of months, they were engaged.
Michael drove up Park Avenue, pausing in a loading zone near Eighty-sixth Street. "That's where my grandparents lived. They had the whole fifteenth floor," he told the kids, pointing at a pre-war building. Jonathan leaned out the backseat window and peered up, counting the floors. He was one short on the initial count but quickly realized that his father meant the penthouse.
"They musta been loaded," Sam muttered from the passenger's seat. She couldn't imagine having a private terrace.
"They were. Made their nut in publishing," he said, understating their considerable wealth.
"So why aren't you rich?" she asked bluntly. Jonathan listened in, feeling as though he should already know more about his family.
"My grandmother was a philanthropist. She gave away most of my grandfather's estate after he passed away."
"What about your parents? Are they still alive?" She couldn't understand why Jonathan didn't know his paternal grandparents.
"Yeah, but I don't talk to them anymore," he said, pulling away from the curb and turning toward the FDR. Sam got the sense that he was done sharing, and she turned up the radio, listening to Vivaldi until they had crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.
Jonathan rang Mrs. Rossini's doorbell, and she welcomed the group into her apartment, hugging and kissing the children as enthusiastically after a month apart as she had done after a year. "I missed you two!" she said. "Hope you're hungry. I made lasagna. Sit down. Let me feed you," she insisted. Both of them were starving from their afternoon skate, and they eagerly pulled up to the dining table.
"Can I give you a hand, Mrs. Rossini?" Michael asked.
"How kind of you," she answered. "Call me Carmella," she said, inviting him into the kitchen. "Thank you for bringing them out."
"Of course. I really appreciate how welcoming you've been. Jonathan loves spending time with you."
"Aww. He's such a good boy. So, how was Christmas? I got gifts for the kids, but you know Tony and Angela hate me. I have no idea why," she moaned, scooping a large portion of lasagna onto a plate.
"Christmas was great. I don't think they hate you. They just want you to respect their choices."
Not wanting to admit that she had been in the wrong, Mrs. Rossini changed the subject. "Are you seeing anyone?" she asked, continuing to dish out meals.
"No, I've been busy getting settled in my new place and my new job, and I have Jonathan every other weekend."
"Well, you could still find time to date. It would be good for you. Unless you want to be the third wheel for the rest of your life," she said, shaking her head in pity.
"I've been divorced twice in the past two years, Carmella. I'm not exactly what the ladies are looking for," he pointed out.
"Oh, stop it. There are plenty of women who would love a chance with an eligible bachelor like you."
"Well, I'm sure I'll meet someone when the time is right." They took the four plates out and sat down to listen to the kids talk about their holiday. They reminisced about the sparse celebration the year before. Both were clearly happy to be home.
"Dessert? Of course you'll have dessert. You need something sweet," she said, answering her own question. "I've got cheesecake. Would you help me again, Michael?" she asked.
"Sure," he said, following her. She swiped a small item out of a drawer on the way to the kitchen.
"What kind of girl do you like?" she inquired, expanding a plastic accordion sleeve full of portraits across the counter. She pulled a dish from the fridge and started cutting slices.
Michael shook his head. "It's not so much about how they look. I just want someone who I can talk to about what's going on in the world. Like acid rain and global warming, you know?"
Mrs. Rossini was taken aback. "You want a hippie?" she asked, looking at him like he was deranged.
"No, I just want someone mature and intelligent," he said. "My second wife was all boobs, no brains." He leaned in to get a closer look at one of the photos. "She's gorgeous," he said.
She pointed at the image of the woman to confirm. "You like? I can fix you up," she said, handing over two plates.
"I can't imagine that a girl like that needs your help," he laughed, heading out to the table. Mrs. Rossini followed, but didn't sit down.
"Coffee?" she offered.
"Sure. Just black will be fine," he accepted. She ducked back into the kitchen and picked up the phone.
"Hey. Is your daughter still there? Do you think you could send her over right away?"
Sam kicked at the front door. "Hey!" she yelled. "I'm home!"
Angela got up from the desk where she was addressing envelopes and welcomed her in, taking the containers of food out of her hands and allowing her to remove the pair of skates that had been hanging from one arm and the gift bag hanging from the other. "What's all this?" she asked.
"Veal parmigiana, lasagna, cheesecake, and mackerel," she said, taking off her jacket and hat. "And Christmas presents."
"I'll put the food away," Angela said. "Your dad is making dinner. Are you going to be able to eat?"
"Not a chance," Sam said, following her into the kitchen. "Guess what, Dad."
"You brought fish," he ventured.
"Well, yeah. But guess what else."
"You'll have to give me a hint, sweetheart."
"Michael has a date with the one girl in the whole neighborhood who wouldn't go out with you."
"I thought Anna Camisa was still married!" Tony said.
"Not her," Sam groaned. "Frankie Candino."
"The Frankie Candino?" Angela asked. "The one Mrs. Rossini tried to set you up with at Thanksgiving?"
"The one and only," Tony responded. "Boy, Mrs. Rossini must really like Michael if she's setting him up with good Italian girls."