Coffee at the end of A Jack Story, Season 5
The Plaza's Champagne Bar was just empty enough that Tony and Angela were quickly seated at a quiet table near the windows facing the busy corner of 59th Street and Fifth Avenue. Food carts and street vendors lined the sidewalk along Central Park while tourists contemplated a ride in one of the iconic horse-drawn carriages waiting by the curb. But inside the storied hotel, the atmosphere was quiet and dim in deference to an exclusive clientele that preferred intimate privacy over public attention.
After ordering their coffee – hazelnut for her and French roast for him – Tony commented, "When I'm up this way, I usually get my coffee from Bert's cart over on Columbus Circle."
"Is he the little guy with the fedora who sells the blueberry muffins that melt in your mouth?" Angela asked with sudden recognition.
"That's him," Tony confirmed.
"I stop there anytime I have a meeting in the area – and sometimes when I just need to get out of the office for a bit," she confessed.
"No kiddin', who knew the big city was such a small world?"
The waiter arrived with their orders and a plate of shortbread cookies, complimentary for hotel guests.
"So, you and Jack think you have a winning presentation for tomorrow?" Tony asked, turning the conversation back to the reason for her stay in the city.
Angela nodded, "We're pretty confident. We're meeting the clients for breakfast at seven-thirty in one of the boardrooms upstairs."
"Not at the office?" Tony inquired.
"They are flying in from San Francisco tonight on the red-eye, so we figured we could splurge for some classic NYC luxury."
Tony looked around at the opulent decor and confirmed, "It doesn't get much more luxurious than The Plaza."
"I remember the first time I came here," Angela offered with a nostalgic smile. "I was seven, and my father had been promoted to vice president at McAllister Roth Investments. Mother and I met him here to celebrate, and I remember staring at everything all at once as we walked through the lobby toward the dining room. Everything was so big and shiny. I'd been in hotels and impressive office buildings before, but nothing quite like this," she concluded, glancing around the room as if seeing it as it had been thirty years earlier.
"I remember my first visit, too." When she met his eyes in anticipation of the story, he deadpanned, "It was about twenty minutes ago."
Angela looked incredulous. "This is your first time here?!"
He smirked at her perpetual naïveté. "A fancy lunch for us was Leo's Diner on Sutter Avenue. Heck, I was ten years old the first time I left Brooklyn, when my dad took me to a Mets game at the old Polo Grounds?"
"You're joking!"
"Scout's honor. I think most people in East New York thought you needed a passport to cross the Brooklyn Bridge," he joked.
She shook her head in wonder. "It's incredible that we grew up in the same city …"
"…but two completely different worlds," he interjected poignantly.
"Yet somehow we found our way here," she added softly.
They each took a few moments to silently acknowledge their steadily deepening bond that seemed to grow ever stronger day by day.
And then Angela asked, "What's Polo Grounds?" causing Tony to roll his eyes with exasperation and break the spell in dramatic fashion.
"Seriously? You don't know the historic stadium in Washington Heights where the Mets played their first two seasons before Shea was built?"
She shrugged guiltily, "Tony, before I met you, the only Met I knew was the art museum."
Tony chuckled and told her the history of the team and the story of his dad tracking down all the players to get their autographs on his baseball – the one he'd nearly sold to Paul Ferguson a few years earlier. Then he told her about the excitement of seeing the brand new Shea Stadium for the first time in 1964 after two years of games in the ancient and pitifully dilapidated Polo Grounds.
As always, anytime he talked about baseball, whether playing it or watching it, his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, and Angela could watch that boyish enthusiasm dance across his face all night. Eventually, he realized he'd been rambling on, lost in nostalgia, while Angela humored him and listened patiently.
"Sorry. I got a little carried away," he confessed, "I didn't mean to bore you with all that baseball history."
But she just smiled and assured him, "Listening to your stories is never boring."
As the moment drew out between them, Angela forced herself to focus on her reason for being at the hotel in the first place. Any time spent with Tony could come to feel like a date night, which made it easy to lose track of time – and even occasionally, self-control.
So, reluctantly, she dropped her eyes to her empty cup and followed up with, "But it's getting late, and we both have early mornings tomorrow."
Tony nodded and followed her lead as she stood up from the table. The check would be put on her hotel bill, so they were free to leave. To fill the silence as they walked toward the lobby, Tony needlessly assured her, "Don't worry about things at home. I'll make sure Jonathan remembers his gym clothes tomorrow morning and the bills on the counter get in the mail."
"I never thought otherwise," she confirmed. After four years, her trust in his ability to manage the house was implicit and unconditional. "Thank you again for bringing me the files," she said solemnly, as she leaned in and placed a light kiss on his cheek. "I'm glad we got to spend a little time together."
"Anytime, Boss."
If the title was meant to remind them both of their professional relationship, it instead came out sounding more like a term of endearment.
Rather than turning to leave, Tony hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to say more. Finally, he took a breath and said, "You know, Jack's girlfriend wasn't the only one who was getting a little jealous."
Angela's eyebrows raised in surprise, but she stayed silent and let him continue.
"I know it's not my place, but I convinced myself he was out to take advantage of you either professionally or personally – or both." He paused before adding, "I just missed being the one you bounced ideas off."
If her heart melted anymore, it would be a puddle on marble tile floor, she thought to herself.
In a voice raspy with emotion, she reiterated, "As I said, I am so lucky to have you in my life."
"Knock 'em dead tomorrow," Tony told her, their eyes locked and steady. Then, with a last smile and tip of an imaginary hat, he turned and strolled out into the cool New York night.