Lloyd's Angel: Unintended Consequences
November 2008
Wednesday morning found me feeling about as crappy as I'd feared, and far less than what I deserved. I splashed some coffee in my aspirin and slowly dressed for work while I waited for them to take effect. After buttoning my cuffs, I looked for a long moment at the Rolex sitting on the nightstand.
Everything Angela had said to me last night was true, but I couldn't wear it. It wasn't that it was out of character for my outfit, which it was, but that I felt I didn't deserve it. After what I'd done to her last night, I couldn't wear it, and I couldn't return it without insulting her.
After a little more thought, I pulled down the lockbox from the shelf in my closet and unlocked it. I opened the velvet-lined jewelry box inside and just looked, feeling tears well up inside me. Alexandra's wedding band and engagement ring were dwarfed by the ring she'd gotten from Jonathan and almost thrown away, but for some reason, she'd never gotten rid of it. I added the Rolex to the collection, and a minute later, my wedding ring. Dead or not, she'd never have forgiven me for what I'd done to Angela; I was no longer worthy to wear it, either.
Work was stressful for the first time, ever. Angela was there, right on time, looking normal. We greeted each other, checked the turnover from the previous evening's shift, and started out on our rounds. Nothing was wrong, but -- nothing was right. The easy banter I'd enjoyed was gone. Our conversation was stilted, and every so often I'd dart a furtive glance in Angela's direction, only to catch her doing the same thing.
By the time the day ended, I felt so heartsick that anything would be better than another repeat -- even coming clean and apologizing to her. I called Home Run and told them I had something to deal with, then put on my heavy coat and drove down to the university.
It felt like driving backwards in time, except there was permit parking and parking decks to deal with, and the Evans building where Alexandra's office had been was gone, replaced with the new student union. Heavy-hearted, I trudged over to the Newcomb building, where the business classes mostly were, and tracked down Angela's classroom.
The only problem was, she wasn't in it. I asked a few students, with no useful results, and ended up stumped. Where had she gone? I belatedly thought about calling Angela's cell phone, but the number was written down on some scrap of paper back in my apartment.
I discovered my feet, operating on autopilot, had brought me to Nino's. It wasn't called that anymore, of course; in fact, not much beyond the foundation looked the same. Having absolutely no better ideas, I pushed through the door and went inside.
The place was loud and crass and lowbrow, which probably was what Mr. Wagner would have said about Nino's if he'd ever visited it. They could have been playing satanic acid rock for all I cared, because the first thing I saw was Angela dancing on one of the tables.
Actually, she was wobbling on one of the tables, wearing some denim miniskirt I'd never seen before that was way too short for the weather, and one low-heeled sandal. The other shoe was probably with her top, assuming she'd worn one over the bra that was all she had on now.
"Fuck me!" she challenged the circle of onlookers, at least some of whom looked like they were willing to take a chance on her. The guy behind the bar was talking on the phone; I doubted he was calling the producers of "Girls Gone Wild."
"Jesus, Angela!" I shouted, rushing over. "Have you lost it completely?" My anger was fueled by the fear that she had, and that I was responsible for it.
"I'm a fucking slut, and there's nobody here who's man enough for me," Angela slurred, and I realized she was drunk. "Except you, M-Boss," she amended, pointing.
Every eye in the place focused on me, which was a little discomforting. So was my erection, although it was safely hidden beneath my coat. "Come on down, Angela. I think you've had enough to drink. Let's go home now, okay?"
"Are you kidding?" she shouted. "These drinks taste like
piss
!" Angela hurled a mostly empty glass to the floor, where it shattered. "I need spunk, sperm, jizz, cum, mancream, joyjuice, nutbutter ..." Her voice trailed off for a moment, and then she started up again. "I'm so fucking sexed-up and I can't even cum! I've been trying for
hours
!" She rubbed herself a few times, revealing she wasn't wearing panties and riveting the attention of the guys around me.
