Chapter Fifteen: Unfinished Business
Monday, January 5, 1987
Sam reapplied her lip gloss and fluffed her freshly permed hair in the mirror hung on the inside of her locker door. "Is he looking?" she asked.
Bonnie tilted her head. "I'm not sure. His eyes are open, but that doesn't mean anything. Sometimes I forget to close my eyes when I go to sleep," she divulged. "Oh! He's walking over here."
"Omigod. Wish me luck!" Sam requested.
"Good luck!" Bonnie chirped without moving from her spot.
"Bonnie," Sam said through clenched teeth. "Get outta here, would ya?"
"Oh! OK." She didn't clear the area in time for Todd's arrival, instead hiding her face with her hands.
"Hi Sam," Todd said. She slammed her locker shut and put her backpack over one shoulder. "Is your friend alright?"
Bonnie uncovered her face. "Hi."
"Todd Phillips, what a surprise. Bonnie and I were just talking."
"About what? Me?" he asked, smoothing his hair back with his palm.
"Cool," Bonnie said under her breath.
"Nothing! We were talking about nothing," Sam said. "Bonnie, don't you need to turn in that permission slip?"
"What permission slip?" She caught on right at the end of her question. "Oh, yeah. My permission slip," she said, giving Sam an exaggerated wink.
"How was your break?" Todd asked, interrupted by the warning bell.
"It was nice."
"I'll walk you to class," he offered.
"Yeah? OK." She gasped as he put an arm over her shoulders and started down the hall. The other students stared. "This is so cool," she said quietly.
"Sixty-four kilograms," Dr. Lennox read from the chart as his patient sat up on his examination table.
"What is that in pounds? Is it too much?" Angela asked.
"Don't worry about it, honey. It's perfect," Tony reassured her.
"What do you know?" she snapped.
Dr. Lennox cut in before an argument could begin. "Your husband is right, Angela. Your weight gain is in a healthy range."
"See, sweetheart?" It was dangerously close to an 'I told you so.'
"Your blood pressure and heart rate are also normal. I'm not seeing anything unusual on your blood panel or any proteins in your urine that would indicate pre-eclampsia. Have you been feeling well, getting enough sleep, staying active?"
"Yes, I've been feeling much better in the past month," she answered honestly.
"Good! Any bleeding or abdominal pain?"
"No."
"Are you feeling the baby move at all?"
"Yes, I started feeling little flutters in the past week."
"Let us know if there's any sudden change in fetal movement, and we'll get you in right away."
"OK." Angela didn't want to think about how panicked she'd be if the baby stopped moving.
"You should continue taking your iron supplements and prenatal vitamins, and I'd like to give you a whooping cough vaccine today."
"Alright."
"Do we get to hear our baby's heartbeat again?" Tony asked.
"Yes, of course. Let's do that now. If you'll just lie back." Dr. Lennox probed Angela's lower abdomen with both hands and then squeezed a bit of clear gel onto it. "Sorry if this is cold." He rocked the doppler probe for a few seconds and found a consistent whoosh."
"Isn't it supposed to be faster?" Tony asked.
"That's Mom's pulse from the placenta. It's exactly what we want to hear," he commented.
"Oh, sorry," he replied. "What about the baby?"
A steady galloping sound erupted from the speaker. "There you go, Dad."
"Thank you," Tony whispered. The doctor could tell the gratitude was directed entirely at the mother-to-be, but he didn't mind. "Can the baby hear us?"
"Not yet, but soon. When you come back in four weeks, you'll have an opportunity to see the baby's image and possibly find out the sex. We'll be doing measurements and checking on fetal development. Are you interested in amniocentesis?"
"Do you recommend it?" Angela asked. "I didn't know about it the first time."
"It's a personal decision, but we do recommend it for women your age. The risks are quite rare. I'll send you home with some literature and you can discuss it before your next appointment."
"Thank you doctor," she said. "Honey, I don't need you to stick around for the shot. You need to get to campus. I'll see you at home tonight."
Tony stood up and checked his pockets for his keys and wallet. His school bag was already in the Jeep. "OK, babe. Don't work too hard," he said, giving her a kiss and slipping out the door of the exam room.
"Study your periodic tables and read through chapter two in your textbooks. Next class, we'll review safety procedures and equipment. If you have a preferred lab partner, drop a note with this course number and both names before ten o'clock on Wednesday morning. Otherwise, you'll be randomly assigned."
It was one minute before the end of class, and some students began to pack up their supplies. Tony kept writing in his notebook, fearful of forgetting a single seemingly unimportant detail. "There may be a pop quiz!" Dr. Spangler announced over the din.
Tony considered the line of students waiting to get through the exit. Most were still teenagers. There were a few who might be in their mid-twenties and one woman who had to be over forty. He decided to walk to the sandwich shop a half mile from the edge of campus during his hour-long break before the next class.
Jack turned the chrome knob and watched a yellow gumball roll through the spiral tube. He opened the flap at the bottom and took the small sphere, throwing it up in the air and catching it in his mouth. "Ow!" he yelped, as the hard sugar shell collided with a tooth.
"That's it. No more espresso," Veronica said. "Isn't it for the clients, anyway?"
"We don't have any clients yet," Jack told the temporary secretary. "Hey, do you know that song?" he asked, without naming the experimental McCartney single aloud.
She ignored the non-sequitur. Her boss was a little kooky, and he'd had way too much caffeine. "Shouldn't you be working on getting clients?"
"I need to bounce some ideas off Angela when she gets in."
"Mrs. Micelli should be here soon," Veronica assured him. Her other boss was obviously a battle-tested leader. She wondered what she would have to say about the novelty that had been delivered that morning and filled with fifteen pounds of rainbow balls.
Angela opened the door and stepped into the reception area. "Good morning, Jack. Good morning, Veronica," she called, hanging her coat from the rack. Two folding chairs stood in for the seating that was set to arrive on Wednesday. "Oh, my stars!" she gasped at the sight of the six-foot-tall candy dispenser.
Veronica stifled a laugh. The woman certainly had a goody-two-shoes quality about her that didn't match with the legend of her year hiding from mobsters. Her husband had the requisite muscular build and broken nose, but he also exuded kindheartedness. He'd come to the office on Friday and helped position the filing cabinets after dropping his mother-in-law and her fiancé off at the airport.
"Good morning, Angela. Could we go over the Ping Rice Cakes pitch?"
"I thought you ordered one of the eighteen-inch tabletop gum machines, Jack!"
"Every agency has one of those," he argued.
"Exactly. We need to show that we're just as special and unique as everyone else."
"It was actually Tony's idea. He thought we could be unique in our own way."
"Oh. Well, that's very shrewd. I suppose we can keep it." She didn't want to ask how far over budget they'd already gone between gum, coffee, and cases of champagne.
"Great!" Jack said, giving Veronica a look of relief. She knew as well as he did that the item was non-refundable. "So, the rice cakes?"
"Yes, would you like to meet in my office?"
Tony studied the syllabus carefully. Anthropology was supposed to be easy, but there were several major exams and essays scheduled. He wondered if it was a good idea to take this class along with European History and Composition. He had never considered himself much of a writer in high school, but so far in college, his grades had been excellent. What's more, it was becoming less uncomfortable to face a blank page. His academic confidence was growing, he realized, lifting his head to watch his professor speak. The man droned on about the differences between social sciences, and Tony found himself reflecting on the social environment of this particular institution.
He and a twenty-year-old named Hunter had become acquainted while waiting around the deli counter for their sandwich orders. They ate at the small bar by the window and chatted during the walk back to campus after realizing they had their next class together. Tony looked around the lecture hall and recognized a couple of students from Chemistry, as well. Ridgemont enrollment had been rather low in recent years, and he was bound to share classes with other lower-division students.
"I'll be passing around a sign-up sheet for the Audio-Visual Club. The AV Club has received a grant from the Parents' Association, and the members will decide how to spend that money."
The classroom broke out in chatter, with ideas ranging from a pizza party to building a new movie theater. Even those students who had never shown interest were full of opinions. "Save the discussion for Thursday's meeting, please!"
Jonathan wrote his name halfway down the page, after twelve of his classmates. He had a few things in mind.
"Wallace and McQuade's Ping Rice Cakes campaign is a confusing mess," Jack began. "They have an unknown Chinese CEO acting as brand ambassador for Western-style puffed rice cakes seasoned with fermented fish and labeled as 'sushi flavor,' which Americans expect to be Japanese raw fish."
"That's what Ping asked for," Angela pointed out, playing devil's advocate. Jack had a point, but she wanted to see how far he got.
"Maybe he did, but all the TV, radio, magazine, and bus ads in the world aren't going to get people to buy a product they don't think is for them. And nobody thinks this product is for them."
"What's your solution?"
"We know from market research in the wine and spirits industry that sixty percent of consumers will try an unfamiliar flavor if others do so. And half of those will continue buying a beverage they don't enjoy if they believe it makes them more attractive."
"Yes, I know the survey you're referring to."
"Ping's Rice Cakes aren't bad. They're just an acquired taste. We need to lean on the umami angle."
"Oooh, mommy angle?" she repeated uncertainly.
"Umami. It's the fifth taste, abundant in Asian cuisines, but present in popular dishes from around the world."
"Like what?" she asked curiously.
"Stuffed mushrooms. Pepperoni pizza. MSG."
"Ah," she said, vaguely understanding that it was a savory, salty flavor with an indescribable something extra. She suddenly had a craving for chow mein.
"See, if a worldly, educated woman like you doesn't know these things, how can we expect the average consumer to make the leap?"
"I'm listening, Jack, but remember that your clients may have as short an attention span as their customers."
"We'll redesign the packaging with bright, fun callout graphics, so the product is easy to find in stores and easy to recognize in public. We'll emphasize the flavor adventure with fun facts about China on every bag. Carry that strategy through to print ads. If we have to use Ping, let's turn him into a snack superhero."
"You think he'll go for that? Won't it seem like we're mocking him?"
"He has enough of an ego to play it straight, and that will make the ads even funnier. Once sales go through the roof, he won't care that he's being mocked."
"Alright. Let's check in at the end of the day. Ping will be in town later this week. I'll have Veronica try to set up a meeting." She stood to walk him toward the door.
"What time is your AdWeek interview?" he asked, opening the door and stepping out.
"I'm meeting the writer at The Plaza at two o'clock. Do I look alright?" she asked, turning to the side. Her waist had widened, but her belly wasn't protruding any further. In fact, her figure appeared more average than ever.
Jack didn't feel comfortable commenting on his observations about his business partner's body. "Very professional," he said.
"You know what I mean!" she protested.
"I wouldn't guess that you're pregnant," Veronica volunteered.
"Good. It's not a secret, but I'd rather not draw any more attention to my personal life. This piece should be about business."
Wendy sat with Tony as their kids played upstairs. "Leave the door open," he had told Jonathan. "Make sure they don't do anything they shouldn't be doing," he whispered to Sam, sending her up to chaperone.
"Coffee or tea?" he offered.
"Herbal tea would be great. I've barely been sleeping as it is."
"Sure. So, when is he moving out?" Tony put the kettle on and took a box of tea from the cabinet. As an afterthought, he took Angela's circus animal cookies off the top shelf and handed them to Wendy.
She put one of the bright pink treats in her mouth and spoke around it. "Soon. He's gonna look for a place this weekend."
"I can't believe he cheated on you at a dental convention!"
"I don't believe it. Maybe he wanted to, but I can't imagine any woman being desperate enough." She fished around for a white cookie. "Mmm, I love these things," she said appreciatively.
He watched her gnaw the sprinkles and frosting off the edge before putting the cookie on her tongue. "Did you tell him about Geoff?"
"There's nothing to tell. Not yet anyway."
"So you're going to see him?"
"We're meeting for a friendly dinner on Friday. Do you think I should tell him I'm splitting up with Herb?" The kettle whistled, as if to send a warning.
"I wouldn't," he said, getting up to pour water into a mug. "That's a lot of pressure, and you don't even know if you want to date him yet."
"You're right, Tony," Wendy said, blowing on her tea.
He heard Angela's jag roll into the driveway, and snatched the box of cookies away, stowing it back on the top shelf. "Swallow!" he urged Wendy. "I don't want her to fill up on junk before dinner."
Angela stepped into the kitchen carrying her coat. "Hi, you two," she said.
"Sit down, honey. Sam's keeping an eye on Jonathan and Jenny upstairs." Tony automatically poured another cup of tea.
"I was just updating Tony on my pending separation," Wendy told her friend.
"You're going through with it?"
"Yep. When Herb told me he cheated and I didn't care, that sealed the deal. Besides, I'm really interested in Geoffrey."
"Not to be rude, but what exactly is it you see in him?" Angela asked.
"I know he's not your type—"
"You think she has a type?" Tony interrupted, laughing. He didn't think he and Michael could be more different.
"Not a physical type. She always goes for the guys she's not supposed to be with."
"What do you mean?" Angela asked. "Michael is from a very wealthy family."
"They disowned him," Wendy said flatly. "After that, it was always some womanizer or a guy you worked with. Or both."
"Oh." Angela sipped her tea to cover the blush rising to her cheeks. She felt as though she'd been called out, and Wendy didn't even know about the dangerous flirtation she'd had with Nate.
Tony put his hand on her knee. He couldn't deny Wendy's insights. "That's all in the past," he said, knowing exactly who she was thinking of.
"Anyway, Geoffrey seems like a sweetheart. He lives with his mom, you know."
"Can't afford to move out on his own?" Tony joked.
"Apparently, they each have their own wing. He just bought a new Porshe convertible," Wendy said excitedly. "We're planning to put the top down on the first warm day of Spring."
"I thought I saw him leave the wedding in a Saab," Angela said.
"That's his daily driver."
"Geoff and Mother Wells must have a big garage at their mansion," Tony said.
"Dad!" Sam screamed.
"I'm coming!" Tony yelled back. He rushed into the living room and saw his daughter at the top of the stairs, a younger child hooked underneath each of her elbows.
"They were giving themselves hickeys," the outraged teen said. "Look at their arms!" She released Jenny and Jonathan's necks and picked up their hands for a moment. They had each sucked several purple marks into their forearms.
"Sorry! I'll take her home," Wendy said, picking up Jenny's coat and coaxing her into it.
"Bye, Jonathan," Jenny called. "I had fun making out with you."
"That's not what that means!" Wendy hissed, ushering her daughter out the door.
"Jonathan, go to your room," Tony said. "Mom and I will come talk to you in a minute."
"Fine," he said, crossing his arms and stomping on the landing.
"Samantha, what happened?" Angela asked, leading her to sit on the couch. Tony followed.
"I was sitting on my bed reading, and I realized they were being really quiet, so I peeked into his room and they were slobbering on their arms.
"On their own arms?" Tony clarified.
"Yeah. It was so gross!"
"Thank you for letting us know."
"Don't punish him," Sam interceded. "The kid is clueless."
"We won't, sweetie, but it's nice of you to stick up for him," Angela said.
"Can I watch MTV?" she asked, leveraging the goodwill.
"Sure," Tony said, handing her the remote control. He and Angela proceeded to the bottom of the stairs and he shook his head. "Ready to do this?" he asked his wife.
Angela puffed her cheeks out and blew a raspberry. "I guess," she said, starting up the steps.
"Jonathan?" Tony called quietly from the upstairs hall. "Can Mom and I talk to you?"
"Yeah? I'm in my room, like you told me," he answered, sitting back against his pillows with his arms and legs crossed while his parents came through the doorway.
"You're not in trouble. Sam wanted to make sure of that," Angela said.
"Then why did she rat us out?" he whined.
"She was just concerned, honey. What you were doing was a little…unexpected."
"I was just trying to help Jenny. She's afraid she won't know what to do when she's married because her parents don't do anything."
"That's not exactly an urgent issue, pal," Tony pointed out. "Besides, what goes on between married couples is pretty private. It's not for other people to discuss."
"But she caught the bouquet. Doesn't she have to get married next? And does she have to marry the man who caught the garter? He's old!"
"Sweetheart, that's just for fun. It's not enforceable," Angela told her son.
"But Grandma and Ricky caught the bouquet and garter at your wedding, and now they're engaged."
Tony and Angela exchanged a glance, silently agreeing not to remind him that the older couple had also broken up the night of the wedding. "Sometimes it happens that way, but they're getting married because they're in love, not because they were standing in the right place during our reception."
"Mom, why don't Jenny's parents kiss each other?" Jonathan asked.
"Well, sometimes people's feelings change, and their relationship has to change, too."
"Are they going to get divorced?"
Tony gave him the truth. "It looks like they might, but they'll never stop being Jenny's parents."
"Like you and Daddy?" Jonathan asked his mother.
"Right," she said, feeling choked up. "You know Daddy and I still love you, don't you?"
"I guess," he said. "Do you still love each other?"
Angela hesitated. "Sure, they do," Tony volunteered. "It's just a different kind of love. Not the kissing kind."
"Daddy and I are good friends now, and that makes it easier to take care of you."
"I think I get it. Can I call Jenny and tell her she doesn't have to get married?"
"Don't worry about that. I'll call her mom and explain the situation."
"Thanks, Mom."
"Go watch TV with your sister," Tony said. Jonathan ran out to join Sam in front of the tube. "Geez, I thought we'd have eight or ten more years before he started trying to give girls instruction in the bedroom."
"Our little Cassanova," Angela mused, laying on her side on the full-sized bed. "I need to call Wendy."
"You should probably give Michael a heads-up, too," Tony suggested. "Why don't I make dinner?"
"OK. Can we talk later?" she asked, reaching a hand out. He kept hold of it while he sat down and began lightly stroking her back.
"About what?" he asked, dreading her response. More than two weeks earlier, he had put off telling the story of Sam's birth. Now that their friend Sheila was home with a healthy baby, his excuse for waiting was gone.
She sat up and leaned her shoulder against his. "I wanted to discuss amniocentesis, but it's been such an exhausting day. Maybe we can just catch up and save the heavy stuff for another time."
"That's a good plan," he said with relief. "Hey, before I forget, you got a letter from London."
"Nana?" she yelped. "Oh! I wasn't sure she was going to write back."
"Why don't you make those calls from the bedroom?" he suggested, standing up and helping her to her feet. "I'll bring your letter up, and you can just rest until dinner is ready."
"You're wonderful, Tony. I don't say that enough," she said, putting her arms around him. He leaned in to kiss her gently.
"You usually just say it in bed," he joked.
She smacked him playfully on the chest. "Go," she said. "I have to call Wendy."
December 24, 1986
Dearest Angela,
As you can imagine, it was heartbreaking to learn that my favorite granddaughter and great-grandson had passed away. I even shed a tear for your mother. Hardly had I gone to half-mourning dress when your letter arrived informing me that the whole situation was merely a ruse.
Were you aware that Granddad Rockwell also faked his death? I was devastated to discover that your mother was a party to this deception. She always was a Daddy's girl. Ultimately, it was for the best, as Grandad Reynolds and I had a number of wonderful years together. At least I saw him put to rest in Highgate Cemetery.
Best wishes on your marriage. Hopefully, your new husband is from a fine family. I am enclosing a cheque for your wedding gift, as well as one for Jonathan's ninth birthday, which I missed last year.
Happy Christmas,
Nana Reynolds
"It doesn't seem like she's interested in being a family," Angela said, as she got into bed. "Her letter was kind of cold."
"She's British," Tony excused, turning off the light and setting the alarm clock.
"No, she's not! She only moved to London when she was in her forties."
"Oh, right," he said, slipping into bed and mirroring his partner. "Well, do you blame her for being distant? Four of her family members faked their deaths, and she was widowed once for real."
"My mother was estranged from her for years." Angela pointed out. "I'm not sure if Nana even talks to Uncle Cornelius and Uncle Archie. She was only close to Aunt Molly before she died."
"Are we sure she's dead?" Tony asked, receiving a glare in return. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"I don't want to talk about Nana anymore. How was school?" she asked, scooting closer.
He put an arm over her waist. "Not bad, but it's gonna be a rough semester. I might need Jonathan to tutor me in CIS. How was work?"
"Good. Jack came up with a great strategy for Ping's Rice Cakes. I think we may be able to win the account from Wallace and McQuade."
"It's a big account, right? That would be a nice start for the agency."
"Yeah, and I'd love to stick it to Jim Peterson," Angela snarled. "Oh, the gumball machine looks great," she told Tony.
"I'm glad you like it."
"It got me thinking about the nursery. I'd love to do something bright and colorful."
"Don't you want to wait until we know whether it's a boy or a girl?"
"We'll know in a month. Besides, we could choose a theme that would be appropriate for either."
"Like what?"
"Care Bears or Winnie the Pooh. Or rainbows. Or circus animals," she said, thinking of the cookies.
"This is gonna be one spoiled kid," Tony joked, bringing his hand under her pajama top and palming her belly.
"It's impossible to spoil a baby," Angela protested. "And she's lower than that." He slipped his fingers under her elastic waistband.
"You're such an amazing mom," sliding arm under her neck. "Our baby is going to be loved like crazy."
"It feels marvelous to be loved like crazy," she said, before pressing her lips to his.
"I know," he mumbled against her mouth as his hand went lower.