Physics
Angela looked up at the sky. The morning haze of clouds was burning off, and the air was warming up. It still felt like summer.
Hard to believe it'll be October tomorrow.
Angela smoothed out her peach linen skirt and blazer. It was a cheery color for a cheery day.
If only I *felt* cheery.
Her stomach grumbled. Maybe the Xanax hit harder on an empty stomach. She was feeling particularly flat today. Of course, she felt pretty flat most of the time now. Xanax seemed to have that effect.
After all that's gone on, I should welcome flat. Flat is good.
She still had nightmares, but they weren't so scary as much as annoying. She wasn't waking up screaming anymore -- that was good. She wasn't always teetering on the edge of a crying jag -- that was good.
Considering the wreck she'd been a couple of weeks ago, and the trouble that seemed to keep piling up in her life, the Xanax effect was the only thing keeping her from losing it.
Yes, flat is good.
Flat broke, on the other hand, not so good. Well, I'll solve that problem today.
Then maybe I can do something about my housing problem.
Angela did a quick stretch -- that little kink in her shoulder was back.
Too bad that mattress isn't flat.
The place where she was staying wasn't exactly the Oak Valley Grand Plaza. But it could have been worse -- she could still be living with the Aquinos.
Mr. Aquino -- no, *Noel* -- Noel had been such a jerk. The nerve of him. She'd only tried to be helpful, and he threw it in her face. Like he had any room to talk after what he'd done, the dirty lecher. It made her even more glad she'd left. Sleeping on a lumpy mattress that smelled like cigarettes and fruit punch was a small price to pay...
Best not to dwell on it.
The old Angela would be spitting-mad right now. But Angela wasn't like that anymore. Despite everything that had gone on, she was remarkably calm. Angela was an adult now, and she was going to act like it. That's why the sooner she could get a real job and pay him off, the better. She didn't want to owe him anything.
She didn't want to sleep on that mattress any longer than necessary, either.
Angela checked the folded newspaper one last time before throwing it in the car and locking up. Administrative Assistant, up to $36K. Boy, if she could get this job, she could pay Noel off in, like, a month. (Well, maybe a month and a half, with living expenses to take care of now.) And nine to five would still let her moonlight as Sapphire...
Nothing like before, of course. As good as it might feel to go in like a gunslinger, it wasn't very smart. She'd been lucky. She had a second chance now. She wasn't going to blow it. She was going to be safe. She was going to be stealthy.
That's how crimefighting *really* worked. Her new contact at the police department -- her *partner*, she thought with a satisfied grin -- said so.
Angela smiled. Noel would *really* have a cow if he found out what she was doing -- and who she was doing it with. Maybe she should tell Ricky; he'd tell his dad for sure. No, they'd just use it as another excuse to lecture her.
Well, I'm not going to give the Aquinos the satisfaction. I'm going to make it on my own.
Angela's first job interview had barely gotten started, and already there was a problem.
"One thing you must know up front. We are a very traditional company, and have a strict professional dress code -- will that be a problem?"
The woman's eyes quickly scanned up Angela's legs and lingered in her lap. It was not an approving gaze.
Angela looked down at her crossed legs. The lace tops of her stockings peeked out from under her peach skirt.
It hadn't seemed that short when she bought it . . .
< < "What do you think?" Angela held a short little white satin babydoll up to her body, shaking her hips playfully.
Angela noticed Ricky's expression. She recognized that universal male hunger flash over him. From anyone else, she would have felt distaste at catching such a look. But Ricky was different. That look reminded Angela that her new boyfriend was a man.
She felt bad for him -- all that time alone with him up at the cabin, and nothing ever happened. Angela had been a wreck -- her body beaten and abused, her whole life in shambles -- it was almost two whole days before she could physically and emotionally manage to leave the cabin for a little sun. And Ricky had been right there with her, making her comfortable, feeding her, reassuring her, sympathizing with her, even giving her the clothes off his back. He shared the heartbreak of losing his own mother as a young boy, barely old enough to remember it but painful nonetheless. Angela's loss still overwhelmed her at times, but he helped her begin to appreciate the lifetime of mother-daughter memories she had. And in all that time that he held her, all that time she laid her head against his chest to soothe herself with the sound of his heartbeat, curled up in his lap wearing nothing but a stretched-out T-shirt, his hands never wandered where they shouldn't have, his words never did anything but soothe, his eyes never showed anything but love. Even when she lost herself in a tidal wave of emotion and kissed him. Maybe it was just inexperience that made him a gentleman, but Angela liked to think it was something more.
Three days in the woods and nothing to show for it. Poor guy.
No, that wasn't true. They *did* have something to show for it. He'd shown her a kind of selfless caring she thought she'd never feel again. He hadn't made everything all better -- her hurt was way too much for that -- but he helped her realize that life would go on. And with his simple kindness he'd shown her there was still something worth living for -- worth fighting for. They were still just learning basic stuff about each other, but on another level they already had a profound connection.
So when Ricky gave her that lustful gaze, she simply smiled. She knew that if any man could get her past her hangups, Ricky could. And boy was that going to be fun. Angela was tired of seeing sex as a weakness or a weapon. She wanted it to be fun. She wanted it to be the way it was supposed to be -- something beautiful.
Angela held up another item; this one went all the way to the floor, but was entirely see-through. "How about this one?"
Ricky blushed.
He was so cute when he was embarassed!
"So where to next?"
"Twenty-One."
"Didn't we already go there?"
"No..."
"The place where you got the zip-up velvet bustier."
"That was Perfect Seal, silly. Twenty-One is totally different."
"If you say so. Don't you think you've got enough tops and skirts? Don't forget you still need shoes and, um, underwear."
"I was thinking I'd just go without underwear." Angela waited a beat for Ricky's eyes to bug out. "Ha! Gotcha. Seriously, I was saving that for last. I don't wanna get you riled up too early," she winked. "And I'm not about to forget shoes -- no offense, but these funky old beach thongs of yours have *got* to go. I feel like a short little kid! And then after the shoe shops, maybe Mason's for an interview outfit."
"But you already have a job."
"The fabric store? Please! When you graduate you'll realize you can't just live in the present. You need to think about your future," Angela said matter-of-factly.
Ricky just rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay. If you keep spending up a storm, you won't *have* a future. My dad's gonna kill you when he sees the bill."
"Oh, don't worry, I'll pay him back."
"Yeah, maybe by the time I graduate..."
"Hush! Have a little faith. Oh! Here's Twenty-One. Oh... my... gawd... look at this." Angela pointed to a mannequin in the window showing a spaghetti string halter top and wraparound miniskirt, both in silver satin. "What do you think -- too sexy?"
"I think at this point the smaller the better. I can barely manage the bags I have."
"You always know the right thing to say," Angela winked.
"How about this one?" Angela held out a waist-length linen jacket in a soft peach and matching skirt.
"Kinda bright, don't you think? For an interview, shouldn't you wear something dark, like gray or blue?" Ricky pulled a smoky wool pantsuit off a nearby rack.
Angela wrinkled her nose. "I'm going to interviews, not funerals. I like this one. Help me find my size."
"Well?" Angela did a quick twirl, ending with her arms out and palms up in a game-show-assistant's pose.
She watched with some satisfaction as her boyfriend looked her up and down. His face wore a mask of critical evaluation, but she could tell by the way his eyes kept darting and lingering and darting that he wasn't thinking about job interviews.
"From a human resources perspective, I think it works," he quipped.
Well, Angela thought, if he still has control of his wit, it should be conservative enough . . .
She'd hit every store, finding lots of great outfits, even among the discount racks of last season's leftovers. She couldn't have bought anything more if she'd wanted to.
Okay, maybe that wasn't true. But she was tired of Ricky "joking" about wearing out the magnetic stripe on the credit card.
Ricky staggered along behind her, a shapeless collage of shopping bags. Another reason they were done shopping -- Angela didn't think he could carry one more bag -- and he refused to let her carry anything. Some misplaced gallant/macho thing.
It was actually hard work to shop for clothes when you had nothing to start with. Angela had to keep reminding herself -- all the coordinating stuff she used to have at home in her closet was gone now. (Heck, her *closet* was gone now.) But the chance to reinvent herself and finally cast off the last of that dowdy old high school version of Angela Barrett made the task bearable.
As she tiptoed down the promenade toward the exit in her new pumps and her favorite new outfit, she thought about what fun she'd had leading Ricky around through all the girlie shops... and what fun she'd have when they got home modeling all her new things for him. Well, maybe not *all* of them; the Jessica Intimates bag would have to wait for another time....
Angela smiled. Maybe things could be normal again. For the moment, at least, she could forget about all the weird and terrible stuff that had happened to her. For now, she was just an ordinary girl.
She was about to be reminded just how ordinary.
A shrill electronic wail suddenly pierced the air of the mall. Angela spun around, looking past purchase-laden Ricky, who'd fallen several steps behind.
"Stop! Somebody stop him!" An old man was jumping up and down several shops back, gesturing wildly.
Several yards closer, an old couple carrying Sears bags was suddenly thrust apart, a tall greasy-looking man bursting from between them. Angela watched as he dodged and weaved through the stunned shoppers.
From out of nowhere, a light-blue shirt leaped at the fleeing man, briefly getting a hold of an arm, yanking him around in a spin. But the security guard couldn't hold on and went crashing into a kiosk. The runner neatly completed the spin, pushing off a planter to slip back through the halting flow of mall foot traffic.
Ricky had been watching the man approach as well; Angela saw him spin adroitly out of the way. The runner was almost upon her. She got a good look -- a craggy-faced twentysomething in a black concert T-shirt and dirty blue jeans, his long greasy hair rattily flying the flag of Fuck Everybody behind him.
"Angela, look out!"
Thief's eyes met hers. A sneer of contempt began to raise his lip.
Sapphire's instincts took over.
Never releasing his gaze, she quickly stepped out and squared up, throwing her shoulders forward. Her indignant stare pulled him right into her...
But then it went wrong.
Her chin met his collarbone.
His bottom rib smashed her breasts.
Arms clashed like swords.
His knee slammed her thigh.
She felt her whole body compress into his; her vision blurred, but he seemed to be lifting her... no, she was moving... backwards? But she'd braced herself...
He seemed to be getting taller. He was leaning over her. She'd lost his gaze; he faded into a background of jagged blobs of black, beige, green... a very bright light.
Something struck her backside -- did he have a partner? She felt it press into her shoulders, then smack the back of her head... the light got brighter, filling her rattled field of vision...
Angela felt something squeezing her right breast. Suddenly he was behind her! She flailed her right arm back, elbow striking something fleshy; she twisted frantically to her left, her feet scrabbling for traction. "Ow," she heard in her ear, very calm. Her adversary shoved her up and away from him; she used the momentum to get her left foot under her, leaning forward to find support for her right foot, then spun around to her left to face her foe... but her right foot lost traction halfway around, and she nearly fell, taking a moment to steady herself before looking up the dark green mass in front of her to the face of...
...an old fat guy?
Angela's eyes darted rapidly around the scene; several people were standing there, looking at her strangely. The runner was nowhere to be seen. Angela craned her neck, trying to look beyond the bystanders...
"Where'd he go?" She took a menacing step forward, but her right foot slipped again; she straightened and squared up. The floor was uneven... No, she'd lost a shoe.
A shoe! She looked down... a white pump? And she remembered.
She wasn't Sapphire.
"Calm down, now, missy," the fat guy said, raising his plump hands in a defensive "woah now!" gesture.
She felt a hand take her bicep. She yanked her arm forward to escape the grip...
"Angela." The voice was firm, and close behind her.
Ricky.
She turned toward him.
"Angela, are you all right?"
"Where'd he go? Did I get him?" Titters from the audience.
"Shh," Ricky soothed. "He's gone. He really nailed you." Ricky bent down past her to pick something up off the floor. She felt him put something in her right hand. She looked down at it -- her new shoe. "Knocked you right out of your shoes," he said, breaking a wide grin.
"That's not funny," Angela pouted, her left hand grabbing Ricky's shoulder to stabilize herself while she slipped on the errant footwear. More snickering and giggling from the crowd, which began to disperse.
"Are you okay?" the fat guy asked her, his hand gently touching her forearm.
Angela eyed the contact distastefully before looking him in the eye. "Of course," she said brusquely.
"Angela," Ricky said calmly, "that thief knocked you right into this gentleman and you both fell over. You're very lucky -- the way you fell, if you'd hit the floor you could have a concussion, or a lot worse."
"I'm sorry," Angela said, softening. "Are you all right?"
"I'll be okay," the fat guy smiled. She could tell he was trying not to let his eyes wander all over her. He turned to Ricky. "She gonna be okay? You need any help?"
"No, that's okay, I think we got it."
"All right then." He turned around and found his shopping bag, then turned back to say something else. "You might want to teach your girlfriend here how to throw a tackle if she's gonna try to stop guys twice her size."
Angela shot him a sideways glance.
Ricky couldn't stifle a chuckle. Angela gave him an even stormier look.
"What were you thinking?"
"I couldn't just let him get away. Somebody had to stop him."
"You could have been hurt!"
"I'm not made of glass."
"You're not the Girl of Steel either."
Angela harrumphed. I used to be. I should be.
"Remember: force equals mass times acceleration."
"Huh?"
"Didn't you take physics?"
"Is that science?"
"Yeah, remember, I helped you study?"
"Oh, yeah. I don't remember any of that stuff."
"Force equals mass times acceleration. It means that a big 180-pound dude running full tilt isn't gonna be stopped by a 130-pound girl standing in his way."
"Hey! I'm not that fat!"
"Sorry, I didn't mean..."
"You've been watching me try on clothes all day -- do I really look that fat?"
"A hundred and thirty pounds is not fat."
"For me it is."
"Whatever. I'm no better with weights than I am with clothes sizes."
"Tell me about it."
Angela saw the stunned look on Ricky's face. Why were men always surprised to be in the doghouse?
"Whatever," Ricky shrugged. "Anyway, you can't throw your weight around when you don't have much of it."
> > "Well?"
Angela looked again at the woman sitting across from her -- the conservative dark blue pinstripe pantsuit and high-necked blouse were quite a contrast from Angela's peach miniskirt and matching cropped jacket.
Angela tried to picture this staid office drone dressed as Sapphire.
Would professional attire be a problem?
That depends on the profession, Angela thought darkly.